The first hint that something was wrong came with dawn's arrival. Azaril and Silvius approached Zephara's rehearsal space just as the first light illuminated the edges of the floating isnds. The door, which should have been locked, stood slightly ajar.

  Inside, they found Zephara's senior dancer—who had volunteered to guard the wings—slumped against the wall, a bruise darkening on her temple. She stirred weakly as Silvius knelt beside her.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, voice thick with shame. "They used some sort of sleep gas... I couldn't..."

  "Rest," Silvius said gently, checking her injury. "You're not seriously harmed."

  But Azaril was already moving toward the central table where they had left the mechanical wings. The protective covering had been thrown aside, and the magnificent apparatus they had spent months perfecting y in pieces. Key connecting joints had been snapped, the delicate bance mechanisms twisted beyond recognition, and the current-sensitive membrane shredded in strategic pces.

  "They knew exactly what they were doing," he said quietly, lifting a mangled control rod. "This wasn't random destruction. Someone understood the design well enough to target the most crucial components."

  Zephara burst through the doorway, her wings fluttering with agitation. "What happened? I just heard—" She stopped short at the sight of the devastation. "By the Infinite Current... who would..."

  "Someone who fears what these wings represent," Silvius replied, helping the injured dancer to a more comfortable position.

  Footsteps at the door announced Thaddeus's arrival. The inventor froze upon seeing the destruction, his compact wings drooping visibly. "The trials begin in four hours," he said, voice hollow with despair. "We can't possibly repair this in time."

  For a heavy moment, silence filled the rehearsal space. Months of work, careful pnning, and hopes for change y shattered before them. The saboteurs had succeeded in their immediate goal—the mechanical wings could not fly today.

  Then Azaril straightened, his eyes reflecting a determination familiar to Silvius after centuries of companionship. "We start now," he said simply. "Four hours may not be enough to restore everything, but it's enough to create something functional."

  "But the precision work alone—" Thaddeus began.

  "Will require all our skills and every shortcut we can manage," Azaril interrupted. "Zephara, send word to your cousin to collect any spare materials from our other work locations. Thaddeus, what's the absolute minimum we need for basic flight capability?"

  The inventor hesitated, then moved to examine the wreckage more closely. "If we focus only on the essential mechanisms... perhaps. But it won't have the maneuverability we designed for the trials' tight turns."

  "Then I'll compensate with technique," Azaril said. "Silvius, can you help the dancer to medical attention? We'll need every pair of hands here afterward."

  As Silvius departed with the injured woman, Azaril and Thaddeus began the painstaking process of salvaging what components they could. Zephara dispatched messengers to gather additional supplies and returned to assist, her experience with the maintenance of theatrical flight equipment proving unexpectedly valuable.

  "Who do you think did this?" she asked quietly as they worked.

  "Could be several factions," Azaril replied, carefully straightening a bent support strut. "The High Sphere Purists see us as a threat to their altitude monopoly. The Current Controllers might fear competition to their expertise. Even some middle-altitude traditionalists might oppose any change to established systems."

  Thaddeus nodded grimly. "Whoever it was had technical knowledge. These breaks are too precise for random vandalism."

  An hour ter, Silvius returned with unexpected help—Skydancer Aria, the current cartographer who had provided crucial air flow data for their design. Her unusual rge, iridescent wings marked her as someone who could have risen to higher altitudes but had chosen to remain in the middle levels.

  "I heard what happened," she said without preamble, setting down a case of tools and materials. "This was a cowardly attack on innovation itself."

  With her assistance, the work progressed more rapidly. Aria's intimate knowledge of air currents helped them simplify the wing design while maintaining essential functionality. Where the original prototype had included sophisticated adjustments for various current conditions, this emergency version would focus on basic stability and lift.

  As the morning advanced, more supporters arrived—friends of Zephara's troupe, colleagues of Thaddeus who risked association with the controversial project, even a few strangers who had heard rumors of the sabotage and offered assistance. What had begun as a desperate repair effort transformed into something more—a community response to injustice.

  Three hours into their work, with the trial's commencement approaching, Silvius noticed a figure watching from the doorway—Officer Watcheye, the same security official who had previously investigated their workshop.

  "Official inspection?" Silvius asked mildly, moving to intercept before the officer could disrupt their frantic work.

  Watcheye's expression was unreadable, his perfectly groomed wings held rigidly. "I'm conducting inquiries into reported disruptions in this district st night."

  "How fortuitous that you should arrive to investigate a crime that's had no formal report filed yet," Silvius observed, silver eyes studying the officer intently.

  A flicker of something—discomfort, perhaps guilt—crossed Watcheye's face. "What exactly are you implying?"

  "Nothing at all," Silvius replied evenly. "Merely noting the efficiency of security forces in the Lower Currents. Will you be taking statements about the break-in and assault?"

  The officer's wings twitched slightly. "That won't be necessary at this time. I'm simply... observing."

  "Of course. And will you also be 'observing' at the trials? They begin quite soon, as you must know."

  Watcheye's gaze moved past Silvius to the frenzied repair efforts. "Such determination for a lost cause," he commented. "The disruption has already achieved its purpose. Why continue?"

  "Because some principles are worth fighting for, even against overwhelming odds." Silvius stepped closer, his voice dropping. "Tell me, Officer, did you merely know this would happen, or did you help arrange it?"

  The officer's wings fred briefly in arm before he controlled the reaction. "Be careful with such accusations. They could have... consequences."

  "As could interfering with an official contestant in the Ascension Trials," Silvius countered. "I wonder what Trialmaster Windcurrent would think of security forces being involved in sabotage?"

  Watcheye retreated a step. "I've completed my observations here." He turned to leave, then paused. "For what it's worth, I was only following orders. Some believe this... innovation... threatens the natural order of our society."

  "And what do you believe?" Silvius asked.

  But the officer departed without answering, his wingbeats rapid as he ascended to report to whoever had directed his actions.

  Returning to the work area, Silvius found significant progress had been made. The reconstructed wings bore little resembnce to the elegant original design, but the basic framework had been restored with necessary compromises.

  "It's crude compared to what we had," Thaddeus admitted, wiping sweat from his brow. "But the fundamental principles remain intact. The current capture system is functional, if less efficient."

  Azaril tested the control mechanisms, making minute adjustments. "The bance is off. I'll need to compensate manually during flight."

  "Which means more physical strain," Zephara noted with concern. "The original design did most of the work automatically."

  "I've endured worse challenges," Azaril replied, thinking of his centuries across realms. "What matters is that it flies."

  "Are you certain you can handle these modifications?" Thaddeus asked, his professional concern evident. "The original controls were intuitive, but these..." He gestured at the makeshift mechanisms.

  "I've been training with the prototype for weeks," Azaril assured him. "And before that, I spent hours each day studying Current Hawks and Wind Jellyfish—watching how they navigate different air patterns, how they adjust their bodies to changing conditions."

  Zephara nodded in agreement. "He's picked up more about current navigation in a few months than many isnders learn in years. When I demonstrated wing dancer techniques, he could analyze and break down the movements immediately."

  "It's not just about physical practice," Silvius added, a knowing gleam in his silver eyes. "Azaril has spent centuries adapting to different realms—learning human formu magic, sylvan pnt communication. His ability to absorb and implement new knowledge is... exceptional."

  "And I've had excellent teachers," Azaril said, nodding to both Thaddeus and Zephara. "Between Aria's current mapping, Zephara's movement lessons, and Thaddeus's mechanical understanding, I've developed a mental framework for flight that doesn't rely on having natural wings."

  Thaddeus seemed somewhat reassured. "True enough. You've approached this systematically, like a science rather than an instinct." He made a final adjustment to the control mechanism. "Just remember—"

  "Work with the currents, not against them," Azaril finished with a smile. "I haven't forgotten."

  With barely half an hour remaining before the trials, they transported the reconstructed wings to the competition grounds. The makeshift repairs were hidden beneath fabric covers, both to conceal the modifications from potential saboteurs and to maintain some element of surprise for the demonstration.

  The trial grounds buzzed with activity as contestants prepared and spectators found viewing positions at various altitudes. Azaril could feel eyes following him as he checked in with competition officials—curious stares, hostile gres, and occasional looks of cautious support.

  Trialmaster Windcurrent approached, his expression neutral but assessing. "We heard rumors of... difficulties... with your equipment this morning."

  "Nothing that would prevent my participation," Azaril replied carefully.

  The Trialmaster studied him for a moment. "The integrity of the Ascension Trials must be maintained. Any competitor who experiences outside interference has grounds for accommodation."

  It was an unexpected opening—a subtle acknowledgment that the sabotage wasn't entirely unknown to trial officials, and perhaps even a small gesture of fairness.

  "The trials should proceed as scheduled," Azaril said. "Equal treatment under established rules is all I ask."

  Windcurrent nodded, a flicker of what might have been respect crossing his features. "As you wish. Your qualification group remains the st of the morning session."

  As the Trialmaster departed, Thaddeus approached with final adjustment tools. "He knows something happened," the inventor murmured.

  "But won't intervene directly," Azaril noted. "Perhaps he's curious to see if we can overcome the obstacle."

  They made final preparations as the first qualification groups were called. The reconstructed wings required more manual adjustments than the original design, and the emergency repairs left little margin for error. Success would demand not just technical function but perfect execution.

  Silvius stood nearby, providing a buffer between their preparation area and the curious onlookers. "Officer Watcheye is here," he reported quietly. "Along with several observers from the High Sphere who arrived on the test current."

  "The saboteurs want to ensure their handiwork was effective," Azaril replied. "They'll be disappointed."

  As the morning progressed, Skydancer Aria approached with crucial st-minute intelligence. "They've changed the air current patterns in the qualification course," she whispered urgently. "The standard updrafts have been redirected."

  "Another attempt to ensure failure," Thaddeus said grimly.

  Aria nodded. "But I've mapped the new patterns." She quickly sketched the altered currents. "The main lift has been shifted three lengths to the east. If you adjust your unch accordingly..."

  Azaril studied the diagram, committing the new patterns to memory. "Thank you. This could make the difference."

  Finally, as midday approached, the announcement came: "Final qualification group, prepare for ascension."

  Taking a deep breath, Azaril moved toward the unching ptform. Thaddeus made a st-minute adjustment to the right wing joint while Zephara checked the harness connections. Silvius stood before him, silver eyes meeting his with quiet confidence.

  "Remember the Current Hawks," Silvius said softly. "They don't fight the air—they become part of it. Like you've become part of every realm you've entered."

  Azaril nodded, the simple reminder connecting him to all they had learned and experienced together across centuries. Then he stepped onto the ptform to join the other contestants in his group, all of whom regarded the covered mechanical apparatus with mixtures of curiosity, disdain, or nervous anticipation.

  From his vantage point, Azaril could see the qualification course stretching upward through three-dimensional space, marked by illuminated wind chimes that would sound when properly navigated. According to Aria's intelligence, the currents had been altered to make mechanical flight particurly challenging—yet another obstacle to overcome.

  Trialmaster Windcurrent's voice rose above the murmur of the crowd. "Contestants ready... Prepare for ascension..."

  In that moment of suspended anticipation, with countless eyes watching from every altitude level, Azaril felt the weight of what they were attempting—not just a demonstration of mechanical flight, but a challenge to the very foundations of a society built on physical separation. The sabotage had only reinforced how threatening this idea was to those who benefited from the existing hierarchy.

  "Begin!"

  As his competitors unched with powerful wing strokes, Azaril quickly uncovered the mechanical wings and completed the final attachments. Gasps rippled through the audience as the apparatus was revealed—not the elegant design they had originally created, but a functional, determined response to deliberate destruction.

  Adjusting his position based on Aria's current map, Azaril took a deep breath, stepped to the edge of the ptform, and leapt into the air of the Floating Isles—carrying with him not just the hopes of those who had worked through the night, but the accumuted wisdom of his journey across realms.

  The trials had begun, despite all efforts to prevent them. Whether the hastily reconstructed wings would carry him through the course remained to be seen, but the attempt itself was already a victory against those who feared change enough to sabotage it.