The workshop's interior was a chaotic symphony of motion and invention. Discarded sketches littered the floor, lightweight metals and current-sensitive fabrics hung from ceiling hooks, and the air smelled of oiled joints and determination. For months, Azaril and Highwind Thaddeus had worked tirelessly, testing design after design, each failure bringing them one step closer to success.

  Today might be that day.

  "The bance is still wrong," Thaddeus muttered, adjusting a tensioning wire on the mechanical wing frame. His compact, powerful wings twitched with concentration as he worked, a habit Azaril had noticed whenever the inventor was deeply focused. "Too much weight at the joint and the current capture will be inefficient."

  Azaril studied the prototype spread across the workbench. "What if we hollow out these struts? The cloudwood core with metallic reinforcement should provide enough strength while reducing weight."

  Thaddeus paused, blue eyes brightening. "Yes... yes! And if we adjust the membrane attachment points here and here—" his fingers danced over the design, "—we could improve the current flow by at least twenty percent."

  From the corner of the workshop, Silvius looked up from the air current map he'd been studying. His silver eyes reflected the workshop's dancing light as he moved to examine their work.

  "You're thinking like aerial creatures now," he said with approval. "Not trying to fight the currents, but dance with them."

  Azaril had long since stopped questioning how Silvius sometimes knew exactly the right thing to say at the right moment. After their centuries together across multiple realms, such insights had become both comfort and mystery—another facet of his enigmatic companion that simultaneously drew Azaril closer and maintained a certain distance between them.

  "The current Hawks don't try to power through headwinds," Azaril agreed, thinking of the raptors whose hunting patterns had informed several of their designs. "They shift angles and use the resistance to gain height."

  Thaddeus made a final adjustment to the tensioning system. "There. I believe we're ready for another test."

  The prototype was their most sophisticated yet—a lightweight framework of modified cloudwood and flexible metal alloys, with special fabric membranes designed to capture and channel air currents. Unlike the crude gliding devices occasionally used for emergency descents, these wings were designed for both ascension and controlled flight, with articuted joints that could adjust to changing air conditions.

  "Who's the brave soul this time?" Silvius asked, though they all knew the answer.

  "It should be me," Azaril said, removing his outer garment. "I need to feel how it responds firsthand."

  The testing area was a secluded courtyard behind Thaddeus's workshop, chosen for both the predictable air currents and privacy from prying eyes. As Azaril secured the harness system across his chest and shoulders, he felt the familiar weight of Seraphine's amulet against his skin—a reminder of how far he had come from the demon realm, yet how ties to his past remained.

  Thaddeus circled Azaril, checking each connection and joint. "Remember, small movements at first. Let the currents do most of the work."

  Silvius stood nearby, his stance casual but his eyes alertly tracking every detail of the preparation. "If anything feels wrong—anything at all—signal immediately."

  Azaril nodded, focusing on the sensation of the apparatus becoming an extension of his body. After centuries adapting to different realms, he'd learned that successful integration required not just physical accommodation but mental alignment—whether learning formu magic in the Human Empire or pnt communication in the Sylvan Territories.

  "Ready," he confirmed, moving to the unching ptform.

  Thaddeus gave final instructions: "The updraft should catch you about three seconds after jump. Extend fully at that moment, not before."

  Azaril took a deep breath, picturing the air currents Skydancer Aria had mapped for them, visualizing his path through the invisible rivers of sky. With a determined step, he unched himself from the ptform.

  For a heart-stopping moment, he fell freely—then extended the mechanical wings to their full span. The updraft caught the membranes exactly as predicted, and Azaril felt himself lifted as if by invisible hands. The sensation was unlike anything he'd experienced before—neither the controlled precision of human formu magic nor the organic connection of sylvan growth—but something uniquely aerial, a dance with an element that could neither be seen nor grasped, only felt and followed.

  He made minor adjustments, remembering all they had learned from watching Current Hawks and studying Zephara's performances. When he banked right, the right wing flexed subtly, capturing the cross-current and turning him in a graceful arc. When he extended both wings fully and caught a strong upward flow, he gained height with shocking efficiency.

  Below, Thaddeus was making notes frantically while Silvius watched with an expression Azaril couldn't quite read—pride certainly, but something deeper, more complex, as if witnessing the fulfillment of something long anticipated.

  For nearly ten minutes, Azaril tested the wings' responsiveness, gradually attempting more complex maneuvers until he felt confident enough to attempt a controlled nding. As his feet touched the ground, Thaddeus let out a whoop of delight that seemed to startle even himself.

  "It works! By the Infinite Current, it actually works!" The normally reserved inventor pumped his fist in the air, small wings fluttering with excitement.

  Silvius approached as Azaril removed the apparatus, his silver eyes reflecting something like memories from distant times. "How did it feel?"

  "Like freedom," Azaril answered honestly. "Different from any realm's magic or technology I've experienced, but no less powerful."

  "That's exactly what we need others to understand," Silvius said quietly. "That different forms of movement—like different forms of strength—have their own validity."

  Their moment of triumph was interrupted by a sharp knock at the workshop door. Thaddeus froze, then hurriedly motioned for Azaril to hide the prototype. Within moments, the evidence of their work was concealed beneath canvas covers and behind workbenches.

  The door opened to reveal a stern-faced official in the distinctive uniform of the High Sphere security forces. His rge, immacutely groomed wings marked him as born to the upper altitude levels.

  "Highwind Thaddeus," the official said without preamble, "rumors have reached Heightwatch about unauthorized experimental activities in this district."

  Thaddeus adopted a look of innocent confusion. "I create wind instruments, Officer Watcheye. Perhaps you've heard my test symphonic pieces performed in Middle Current concert halls?"

  Officer Watcheye's gaze swept the workshop, lingering momentarily on the canvas-covered shapes. "And these visitors? I don't recognize them from this district."

  "Schors," Silvius interjected smoothly, stepping forward with the easy confidence that had opened doors across multiple realms. "We're researching the acoustic properties of different altitude currents for musical applications."

  The officer's wings twitched with suspicion, but he seemed unable to find immediate fault with the expnation. "Remember that experimental flight devices are strictly reguted by the Altitude Preservation Act. Any unauthorized development or testing faces severe penalties."

  After the officer departed, they remained silent until his wingbeats faded completely.

  "That was too close," Thaddeus whispered. "They've never monitored my workshop before."

  "Someone must have reported their suspicions," Azaril said, a chill settling in his stomach. He'd encountered simir resistance to change in every realm—the Human Empire's formu gatekeepers, the Sylvan traditionalists, the Undersea depth lords. Those who benefited from existing hierarchies rarely surrendered advantage willingly.

  Silvius was already moving, gathering critical designs and materials. "We need multiple workshop locations. Scattered, less obvious."

  "Zephara might help," Azaril suggested. "Her dance troupe travels between altitude levels for performances. They could provide both cover and transportation."

  Thaddeus nodded slowly. "I have colleagues who've questioned the altitude restrictions privately. Not everyone who benefits from the system believes in its necessity."

  As they quickly reorganized the workshop to appear innocent of any regutory viotions, Azaril reflected on lessons learned across realms. In the Human Empire, knowledge had been controlled through restricted formu access. Here, control manifested through physical restriction of movement. The mechanisms differed, but the purpose remained consistent: maintaining power through separation.

  "We succeeded today," Azaril said as they concealed the prototype's components for transport. "But success means nothing if only we three know it's possible. The prototype must be seen publicly, proven beyond doubt."

  "The Ascension Trials," Thaddeus said suddenly. "The annual competition for higher altitude access. If mechanical flight could be demonstrated there, before witnesses from all levels..."

  Silvius smiled, that mysterious expression that had accompanied Azaril through centuries of challenges. "A public demonstration would force acknowledgment, even from those most invested in the current system."

  As night fell, they separated the prototype into components and prepared to move their operation to safer locations. The increased surveilnce signaled greater challenges ahead, but also confirmed the significance of their work. Systems of control only defended themselves when truly threatened.

  "They're watching because they're afraid," Azaril observed as they worked. "Not of the device itself, but of what it represents."

  Thaddeus nodded gravely. "Freedom of movement would change everything. When you can travel between levels freely, the barriers between minds begin to fall as well."

  Outside the workshop window, Azaril could see the stratified isnds of the Floating Isles society—the privileged High Sphere gleaming with crystal spires in the distance, the Middle Drift where commerce and culture flourished for those with moderate flight ability, and the Lower Currents where those with limited wings were expected to remain. Physical separation maintaining social division.

  Not for much longer, he thought, carefully packing a crucial joint mechanism. Every realm had its walls—some built of stone, others of formu restrictions, pnt boundaries, depth pressure, or desert traditions. But walls could be scaled, tunneled under, or simply rendered irrelevant with the right innovation.

  The wings would fly again, and with them, the possibility of a different kind of society would rise.