The announcement banners fluttered across the Middle Drift, their lightweight fabric catching the perpetual air currents. Brilliant colors procimed the upcoming Ascension Trials—an annual event where those born to lower altitudes could compete for the rare privilege of accessing higher spheres.

  Azaril studied one such banner as it rippled in the breeze outside Zephara's rehearsal space. The ornate calligraphy emphasized tradition and honor, but the underlying message was clear: upward mobility remained a tightly controlled exception rather than a right.

  "They make it sound so magnanimous," Zephara said, following his gaze as she emerged from practice. Her smaller wings were still damp with exertion, the iridescent feathers catching the afternoon light. "A grand opportunity for the deserving few."

  "While ensuring the majority remain exactly where they were born," Azaril added.

  Inside the rehearsal space, her dance troupe was cooling down after hours of preparation. Their upcoming performance schedule would take them through multiple altitude levels—a rare privilege granted to artists whose beauty was considered worthy of appreciation even by higher spheres.

  "Have you really decided to enter?" she asked, dropping her voice. "The registration officials will look for any excuse to reject someone with no wings at all."

  "Which is precisely why I must try," Azaril replied. "The rules state that any resident may enter. They don't specify natural flight ability as a requirement."

  Silvius approached, having been deep in conversation with the troupe's choreographer about performance schedules that would align with their secret pns. "Finding loopholes in rigid systems is something of a specialty of ours," he said with a hint of amusement.

  Over the past weeks since their successful prototype test, they had been forced to operate with increasing caution. Watcheye's visit to Thaddeus's workshop had been followed by "random" inspections of other lower-level invention spaces. Their work now continued across multiple locations, with Zephara's troupe providing both cover and transportation for essential components.

  "The registration office closes soon," Zephara noted. "They're in the Central Updraft tower today."

  The Central Updraft tower was a natural formation where a powerful vertical air current had been architecturally harnessed, creating a rare direct path between multiple altitude levels. While primarily reserved for official use and higher-born isnders, during registration period for the Trials, supervised access was granted to potential contestants.

  As they approached the imposing structure, Azaril adjusted his simple clothing—attire that would not immediately mark him as foreign-born, though nothing could hide his complete ck of wings. The absence drew curious and occasionally hostile gnces from passersby.

  "Remember," Silvius murmured as they reached the entrance, "you're not asking for special treatment, merely equal application of the rules."

  The registration hall buzzed with activity. Hopeful contestants, mostly from Middle Drift with impressively developed wings, filled out applications and underwent preliminary assessments. Officials in formal attire moved among them, their altitude of birth evident in both their bearing and the subtle markers in their clothing.

  At the central desk, Registration Official Entrymark looked up from his documents, his expression shifting from professional courtesy to surprise as he took in Azaril's wingless form.

  "I wish to register for the Ascension Trials," Azaril stated clearly.

  A hush fell over the nearest applicants, conversations dying as attention turned toward this unprecedented scene.

  "The Trials are for those seeking altitude advancement," Entrymark said carefully, wings shifting in a gesture that conveyed both confusion and dismissal. "I don't see how you would qualify."

  "The official procmation states that 'all residents of good standing may apply for consideration,'" Azaril recited. "It does not specify natural flight capability as a prerequisite."

  Entrymark's wings fluttered in the equivalent of a dismissive ugh. "It's implied, obviously. How would one without wings complete the aerial challenges?"

  "The rules state participants must ascend through designated courses. They don't specify the method of ascension must be natural wings."

  The official's expression hardened. "This seems like a waste of everyone's time."

  "Is there a specific regution prohibiting alternative means of ascension?" Silvius interjected smoothly, his silver eyes reflecting the light in a way that seemed to capture Entrymark's attention completely.

  The official hesitated, then reluctantly consulted a rge bound volume of regutions. "There is... nothing explicitly prohibiting alternative methods," he admitted. "But this is highly irregur."

  "Then there should be no barrier to accepting my application for consideration," Azaril pressed, pcing the completed forms on the desk.

  By now, Trialmaster Windcurrent, the senior official overseeing the registration process, had noticed the disruption. His massive wings, marked with the distinctive patterns of high birth, created small air currents as he approached.

  "What seems to be the issue here?" he inquired, voice resonant with authority.

  Entrymark expined the situation, his tone suggesting he expected immediate rejection of this unusual request. Instead, Trialmaster Windcurrent studied Azaril with unexpectedly thoughtful consideration.

  "You understand the Trials involve complicated aerial navigation?" he asked Azaril directly.

  "I do."

  "And you believe you can complete such courses without natural wings?"

  "I do," Azaril repeated with quiet confidence.

  The Trialmaster's gaze lingered on Azaril, then shifted briefly to Silvius before returning to the application forms. "The Ascension Trials have always tested exceptional ability, determination, and innovation," he said slowly. "The regutions do not, in fact, specify the method of ascension—only the successful completion of the courses."

  He picked up the application and nodded to Entrymark. "Process these forms. Let us see what new... perspectives... might be brought to our traditions."

  As they departed the registration hall, a buzz of conversation erupted behind them. Azaril could sense the mixture of reactions—outrage, amusement, curiosity—that would soon spread throughout the altitude levels.

  "That was unexpected," Zephara said once they had returned to the retive privacy of her rehearsal space. "Trialmaster Windcurrent is known for his traditional views. I was certain he would reject your application outright."

  "Sometimes those who uphold traditions are the ones most aware of their limitations," Silvius observed. "They may enforce the rules strictly while privately questioning their necessity."

  Thaddeus arrived shortly after, slipping in through a side entrance with a satchel of new design modifications. His expression was a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

  "Word is already spreading," he reported. "By tomorrow, everyone from the Lower Currents to the High Sphere will know a wingless contestant has entered the Trials."

  "Perfect," Azaril said. "The more public attention, the harder it will be to dismiss our demonstration without expnation."

  "But this accelerates our timeline," Thaddeus cautioned, spreading out his test adjustments to the wing design. "We have only three weeks to perfect a prototype that must function fwlessly before hundreds of witnesses."

  The group gathered around the designs, discussing necessary refinements. The prototype had proven the concept possible, but the Trials would demand precision, reliability, and performance beyond their previous tests.

  "We'll need to establish a training schedule," Azaril said. "The courses change each year, but past patterns can give us some indication of what to expect."

  "I can help with that," Zephara offered. "My cousin competed st year. She didn't advance, but she memorized the course patterns."

  As the discussion continued, Silvius moved to the rehearsal space's high windows, looking out at the stratified isnds hovering at different altitudes. His expression was contemptive, almost wistful.

  Azaril joined him after a moment. "Second thoughts?" he asked quietly.

  "No," Silvius replied. "Just appreciating the magnitude of what you're attempting. In every realm you've visited, you've challenged fundamental assumptions—formu access in the Human Empire, sacrifice necessity in the Sylvan Territories. Now, the very definition of what it means to rise in this society."

  "Someone must," Azaril said simply.

  Silvius smiled, that enigmatic expression that sometimes made Azaril wonder how old his companion truly was, how much he had witnessed across time. "Indeed. And I've observed enough histories to know that meaningful change rarely comes without risk."

  Over the following days, their preparation intensified. Using information from Zephara's cousin, they constructed a training course in an abandoned storage cavern in the Lower Currents. The space was rge enough to practice basic maneuvers while remaining hidden from surveilnce.

  Azaril trained relentlessly, developing the instincts needed to navigate air currents with the mechanical wings. Each session revealed necessary adjustments—reinforcement here, more flexibility there, better current capture in the membrane design.

  "The key is cooperation with the currents, not domination," Thaddeus expined during one session, making a minor adjustment to the control mechanism. "This is what lower-born flyers understand better than those born to the High Sphere. When you have smaller wings, you must work with what the air offers rather than powering through it."

  A week before the Trials, they received unexpected intelligence from an ally within the registration office—the trial courses had been altered significantly from previous years.

  "They're making it more difficult," Zephara informed them grimly. "Adding narrow passages and sharp turns that would challenge mechanical flight specifically."

  "They suspect," Thaddeus said, his wings twitching nervously. "Perhaps someone revealed our pns."

  "Or perhaps they simply guessed," Silvius suggested. "The logical response to a wingless contestant would be to assume some alternative method."

  "It doesn't matter," Azaril said decisively. "We adapt, as we've done in every realm. Let's modify our design to handle tighter turns."

  As the day of the Trials approached, tensions heightened. Several contestants from traditional families withdrew in protest of Azaril's inclusion. Others, particurly from lower altitudes, expressed cautious support for this challenge to convention.

  The night before the Trials, Azaril stood on a lower observation ptform, watching the complex dance of isnders navigating between altitude levels. The natural grace of those born to flight was beautiful, but the stark separation of communities based on that single ability seemed increasingly arbitrary after all he had witnessed across realms.

  Silvius joined him, offering a warm drink that steamed in the cool night air. "Nervous?" he asked.

  "Realistic," Azaril replied. "Tomorrow will be just one step, whether successful or not. Systems don't change overnight."

  "True. But sometimes a single demonstration can pnt seeds that grow into forests of change."

  Azaril smiled at the metaphor that bridged their experiences across realms. "You've been saying simirly wise things for centuries now. One day you'll have to tell me how you became so philosophical."

  Silvius's silver eyes reflected the bioluminescent mps that lit the lower levels at night. "Perhaps one day I will," he answered, an uncharacteristic wistfulness in his tone that reminded Azaril of the many questions about his companion that remained unanswered after centuries together.

  The night before the Trials, the atmosphere in Zephara's rehearsal space was charged with anticipation. The mechanical wings y on a central table, surrounded by tools for final adjustments.

  "The bance is perfect," Thaddeus decred, stepping back from his meticulous examination. "We've compensated for the tight turns in the course design, and the current capture system is as efficient as I can make it."

  Zephara looked up from studying the test course information she'd obtained through her network. "The trials begin at mid-morning when the updrafts are strongest. You'll be in the final qualification group."

  "Which gives us maximum visibility," Silvius noted. "Everyone will be watching by then."

  Azaril ran his hand along the mechanical wing's frame, feeling the months of work, innovation, and hope embedded in its construction. "Tomorrow changes everything, regardless of the outcome. Once people see this is possible..."

  "It can never be unseen," Thaddeus finished, his wings twitching with nervous excitement. "Even if they try to dismiss it as a novelty, the idea will spread."

  They continued reviewing strategies te into the night. Each potential challenge of the course was analyzed, with contingency pns developed. When they finally dispersed to rest, Azaril remained behind with Silvius, making one st inspection of the wings.

  "We should secure them here overnight," Silvius suggested. "The fewer people who see them before the demonstration, the better."

  Azaril nodded in agreement. They carefully locked the rehearsal space, with Zephara's trusted senior dancer volunteering to sleep in an adjacent room as additional security. Exhausted but hopeful, they departed for their lodgings.

  As they walked through the quieter nighttime currents of the Lower Drift, Silvius gazed upward at the shadowy outlines of higher isnds barely visible in the darkness.

  "Tomorrow will be just one step," Azaril said, following his gaze. "Systems don't change overnight."

  "True. But sometimes a single demonstration can pnt seeds that grow into forests of change."

  Azaril smiled at the metaphor that bridged their experiences across realms. "You've been saying simirly wise things for centuries now. One day you'll have to tell me how you became so philosophical."

  Silvius's silver eyes reflected the bioluminescent mps that lit the lower levels at night. "Perhaps one day I will," he answered, an uncharacteristic wistfulness in his tone that reminded Azaril of the many questions about his companion that remained unanswered after centuries together.

  They parted at their temporary lodgings, agreeing to meet at dawn to transport the wings to the trial grounds. Azaril fell into restless sleep, his mind filled with air currents, wing adjustments, and the faces of all those who would witness tomorrow's challenge to tradition.

  Morning would bring either triumph or failure, but either way, it would bring change. The possibility of free movement between altitude levels—once demonstrated—would remain in the mind of every isnder who witnessed it, a current of thought that could not be easily contained.

  As darkness settled fully over the Floating Isles, neither Azaril nor his companions were aware of shadowy figures approaching Zephara's rehearsal space with purpose in their movements and sabotage in their hearts.