The sky felt endless.
Nussudle laughed as Nova dipped sharply, the wind tearing the sound from his throat and scattering it behind him. Nayat'i's ikran streaked past on his left, wings flaring as she cut in front of him without warning.
"Hey!" he shouted, though the word came out half-lost in the rush of air.
She glanced back, braid snapping behind her, eyes bright. "Too slow."
Nova hissed in response, banking hard as if offended on Nussudle's behalf. The ikran surged forward, wings beating with confident strength. Three months ago, the movement would have felt overwhelming. Now, it felt natural, almost thoughtless. Nussudle barely needed to guide Nova anymore. They understood each other without effort.
Ahead, Nayat'i angled upward, climbing fast. Nussudle followed, laughing again as the forest dropped away beneath them. Home Tree shrank into the canopy, its glow faint in the distance as the two ikrans spiralled higher, cutting through thin clouds warmed by the afternoon sun.
Three months.
It was strange how quickly time folded in on itself. What once felt new and fragile now felt solid. The bond between him and Nayat'i had settled into something steady. Easy. They didn't need constant words or reassurance anymore. It was there in how they flew together, how they moved without colliding, how silence no longer felt awkward.
Nova levelled out as they reached a wide stretch of open sky. The Hallelujah Mountains loomed in the distance, floating shapes casting long shadows across the land below. Nayat'i slowed her pace, drifting closer until their ikrans flew side by side.
She leaned slightly toward him. "You're smiling again."
He glanced at her. "Was I not before?"
She shrugged. "You think too much when you're quiet."
He didn't deny it.
His thoughts drifted, uninvited, back to Home Tree. To Kamun, his father.
His father had not said the words outright, but Nussudle had felt it. In the way Kamun lingered longer when he sat. In how he let Eytukan speak first more often during clan discussions. In the tired set of his shoulders after long days.
Kamun was growing old.
Not weak. Not yet. But aware.
The decision had been shared only within the family. Ilara had spoken carefully. Eytukan had listened in silence, his usual confidence tempered by something more serious. Chiefdom would pass to him when the time came.
Nussudle had felt the weight of it then. Not jealousy. Not regret. Just understanding.
Eytukan would be a good olo'eyktan.
That truth eased the heaviness in his chest, even as it reminded him that things were changing, whether he wanted them to or not.
"You went quiet again," Nayat'i said, nudging his leg lightly with her foot.
He smiled at her. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
"Coming from you?"
She snorted. "Fair."
The mountains drew closer as they flew, the air thinning slightly, cooler now. Nova gave a low rumble through the bond, content but alert. Nussudle stroked the base of the ikran's neck absently, feeling the steady strength beneath his hand.
"Let's land," Nayat'i said. "Before you drift off mid-air."
They descended together, angling toward one of the broader floating mountains. Stone rose to meet them, rough and pale, vines trailing down its sides. The ikrans landed with practised ease, wings folding in as dust and loose grit scattered beneath their claws.
Nussudle dismounted first, helping Nayat'i down with an easy familiarity that still made something warm twist in his chest. She grinned at him the moment her feet touched stone.
Without warning, she shoved him.
He yelped as he stumbled backwards, barely catching his balance before she lunged again, tackling him fully this time. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs, laughter echoing against the open sky.
"Not fair!" he protested, trying and failing to flip her over.
"You're slow today," she replied, pinning his wrists with far more confidence than she should have had.
"Am not."
She leaned closer. "Are too."
He twisted suddenly, using his weight to roll them both, earning a surprised laugh from her as they switched places. They wrestled without purpose, more laughter than effort, until both of them were breathless and sprawled against the warm stone.
Eventually, they settled, shoulders touching, the sky stretching endlessly above them.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows as evening crept in.
Nova lowered himself nearby, folding his wings neatly, eyes half-lidded. Nayat'i's ikran mirrored the movement a short distance away. Both beasts looked settled, still.
Nussudle knew better.
Nova's awareness brushed against his own, alert beneath the surface calm. Always watching. Always listening.
As the sky darkened and stars began to appear, Nayat'i shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Her breathing slowed quickly, the day's activities catching up with her.
Nussudle stayed awake a while longer.
One star, brighter than the rest, caught his attention. It glimmered steadily at first, then seemed to grow, its light sharpening before dimming again, almost like a slow pulse.
He watched it, curiosity stirring faintly, though no fear followed.
Just wonder.
After a while, sleep pulled at him. He adjusted carefully, nuzzling closer to Nayat'i, her warmth grounding him. The star faded into the background as his eyes closed.
Nearby, Nova remained still.
Watching.
Feeling the forest shift.
Sensing that somewhere, far beyond sight, something new had begun to move.
Morning came slowly.
The first light crept over the stone beneath them, cool at first, then warming as the sun rose higher. Nussudle stirred before Nayat'i, blinking against the pale glow of dawn. The air up here was thinner, cleaner, carrying the faint scent of stone and distant leaves drifting up from the forest far below.
He lay still for a moment, listening.
Nayat'i slept curled against his side, one arm draped loosely across his chest. Her breathing was even, relaxed in a way that told him she felt safe. That knowledge settled something deep inside him. Three months ago, he would have been tense, overthinking every movement. Now, it felt natural.
He shifted carefully so as not to wake her and sat up, stretching stiff muscles. Nova lay nearby, wings tucked in, tail still. At first glance, the ikran looked fast asleep.
Nussudle knew better.
You're awake, he thought quietly.
Nova's eye opened just enough to acknowledge him before closing again. The bond carried a calm reassurance back to him. Nothing close. Nothing threatening. Just… change.
Nussudle frowned slightly but didn't press. Nova had always sensed things before they became clear. It was one of the reasons he trusted the ikran as much as he did himself.
He rose and walked a short distance toward the edge of the floating mountain. From here, the forest spread out endlessly, layers of green broken by rivers and mist. The view reminded him of how small he was in all of this. How small they all were.
And yet, life kept moving forward.
His thoughts drifted back to Home Tree again. To Kamun, sitting longer than usual, listening more than speaking. To Eytukan, stepping forward without being asked. Taking responsibility with a seriousness Nussudle hadn't seen before.
It didn't make him jealous.
If anything, it made him proud.
Eytukan had always been strong, always confident. But leadership wasn't about strength alone. It was about knowing when to stand firm and when to listen. Over the last year, Nussudle had watched his brother change, sharpened by loss and responsibility.
He would lead well.
Still, the thought of Kamun stepping back carried a quiet ache. His father had always been there, steady as the roots of Home Tree itself. The idea of that changing, even gradually, felt strange.
Change didn't ask permission, though. It came whether you were ready or not.
Behind him, stone shifted softly.
"You always wake up early," Nayat'i said, her voice rough with sleep.
He turned to see her sitting up, rubbing one eye. "Someone has to make sure you don't roll off the mountain."
She smirked faintly. "You'd catch me."
"Probably," he said. "Eventually."
She moved to sit beside him, legs dangling over the edge. They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the forest wake. Distant calls echoed faintly upward, life stirring below.
"You were thinking again," she said.
He sighed quietly. "That obvious?"
She nodded. "You get that look. Like you're somewhere else."
He hesitated, then decided not to dodge it. "My father… he's preparing Eytukan to take over. As olo'eyktan."
Nayat'i didn't react with surprise. She simply nodded. "I thought so."
"You did?"
"I've seen Kamun watching him," she said. "Teaching without teaching. Letting him speak, letting him make mistakes."
Nussudle smiled faintly. "That sounds like him."
She leaned her shoulder against his. "How do you feel about it?"
He thought carefully before answering. "Sad. A little. But… right. Eytukan's ready."
"And you?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her. "I don't need to lead the clan. I just want to protect what matters."
Her hand found his, fingers threading together easily. "That's why people trust you."
He squeezed her hand gently, grateful for the grounding presence.
Nova shifted then, rising smoothly to his feet. His wings stretched wide, catching the morning light. Nayat'i's ikran followed suit, shaking out its feathers and letting out a low call that echoed across the stone.
Looks like they're ready, Nussudle thought.
Nayat'i stood, brushing dust from her legs. "We should head back before Ilara starts worrying."
"Or before Eytukan sends someone to drag us down," Nussudle added.
She laughed softly. "That would be embarrassing."
They prepared quickly, movements practised. When they mounted their ikrans, the take-off was clean and powerful, wings beating in unison as they lifted into the air once more.
As they climbed, Nussudle glanced back at the spot where they'd slept. It already felt like a memory, small but important.
The forest rolled beneath them again, familiar and alive.
Above them, the sky stretched wide and clear.
And somewhere beyond it, unseen but present, the same star from the night before lingered faintly, dim now in the growing light.
Nova felt it again.
Not danger.
Not yet.
Just the sense that something far away was drawing closer.