The Wings of Aerithar
High above the endless plains of Valthora, where the earth stretched flat and unbroken, floated the island of Aerithar. It defied the pull of the world below, suspended in a sky painted with hues of pink, purple, and gold. Jagged cliffs crowned its edges, spilling waterfalls that shimmered into mist before vanishing into the void. Ancient ruins of white stone, half-reclaimed by vines, dotted its surface, their faint glow hinting at forgotten magic. But Aerithar was not lifeless—it was home to the Aviri, winged beings with feathers that gleamed like opals and sapphires in the ever-shifting light.
For eons, the Aviri had lived in isolation, their songs carried on the wind, their lives woven into the rhythm of the island’s heartbeat. They were guardians of a secret: the Wellspring of Ether, a crystalline pool hidden within Aerithar’s core, said to be the source of the island’s levitation—and perhaps of all magic in Valthora. The Aviri believed it was their duty to protect it, for if it fell into the wrong hands, the balance of the world would shatter.
Below, the plainsfolk spoke of Aerithar in hushed tones, a myth glimpsed only on clear days when the sun caught its silhouette. But one among them, a tinkerer named Eryn, refused to let it remain a legend. She had spent years crafting a machine—a rickety airship of wood and brass, powered by a stolen shard of etherstone. With goggles perched on her head and a heart full of reckless hope, she launched into the sky, determined to reach the island.
The Aviri spotted her ascent, their wings cutting through the air as they circled her contraption. Their leader, Sylvara, landed on a rocky outcrop, her feathers shimmering as she regarded Eryn with piercing silver eyes. “Turn back, ground-dweller,” she warned, her voice like a melody laced with steel. “Aerithar is not for you.”
Eryn, clinging to the shuddering helm, grinned. “I don’t want to take anything. I just want to see it—to know what’s up here. Please.”
Sylvara hesitated. The Aviri had long shunned outsiders, but there was a spark in Eryn’s gaze that echoed their own curiosity. Against her better judgment, she allowed the airship to dock at the island’s edge. Eryn stepped onto the mossy stone, her breath stolen by the sight: waterfalls plunging into nothingness, ruins pulsing with light, and the Aviri soaring in graceful arcs.
Sylvara led her to the Wellspring, its waters glowing with a radiance that made Eryn’s etherstone shard hum. “This is what holds us aloft,” Sylvara said. “But its power wanes. We do not know why.”
Eryn knelt by the pool, her tinkerer’s mind racing. She pulled tools from her belt and examined the shard, then the Wellspring’s edge. “It’s a resonance problem,” she muttered. “The ether’s out of tune.” With deft hands, she adjusted the shard and placed it into a cracked basin near the pool. The water flared, then settled into a steady, vibrant glow. The island trembled faintly, rising higher.
Sylvara watched, awe softening her stern features. “You… saved it.”
Eryn shrugged, wiping grease from her hands. “Just a fix. You’re the ones who keep it alive.”
From that day, Aerithar welcomed Eryn as a friend. The Aviri taught her their songs, and she shared tales of the plains below. The island floated stronger, its secret safe, bound now by trust between wings and earth.