Morning hit the ridge like a curtain pulled back.
The old road climbed through pale stone and wind-bent grass, and the valley below was still half asleep under ribbons of fog. Wagons creaked uphill. Travelers joked to keep warm. A few recruits practiced grip changes on their sword hilts like the metal might run away if they stopped paying attention.
Then the clouds opened.
Aethergate floated there—clean, bright, unreal.
Not a drifting speck. Not a tiny miracle. A whole city, hanging above the world like it belonged to a different set of rules. Sunlight caught the high walls and turned them silver-white. Spires rose in ranks, some sharp and warlike, others shaped like cathedral fingers pressed to the sky. Bridges arched between towers, and banners spilled in long strips of white and gold, marked with layered circles and straight lines that looked like sacred script.
The wind tugged at everyone's cloaks.
Aethergate didn't sway.
It hung perfectly steady, as if gravity had simply decided to behave.
People stopped.
A woman with a basket of herbs sat down in the grass like her knees forgot they were holding her up. Two men at the edge of the road bowed their heads and murmured a prayer to the Pillars. A group of boys a few steps ahead whispered excitedly, pointing with the kind of awe that turned their voices into something careful.
"You can see the third ring-wall," one said. "Look—there. That's the Warden rampart."
"My uncle says the Pillar Court built it in a single night," another replied. "Like they lifted it straight out of the ocean."
"That's a lie," someone else scoffed, but his eyes stayed locked upward anyway.
Kairo stood among them with a plain pack on his shoulder and a worn cloak pulled tight against the cold. He didn't kneel. He didn't speak.
He watched.
Aethergate's shadow slid across the land beneath it, but it wasn't the heavy darkness of a storm cloud. It was… softer. Cooler. Like stepping under an awning on a bright day. The fields under it looked calm, as if the wind didn't argue there. The fog seemed to drift more neatly, as if it had been instructed.
The sight should have made everything feel safe.
Instead it made the back of Kairo's neck tighten.
Not fear. Not dread. Just a small, sharp awareness—like the moment before someone says his name from behind.
A traveler beside him let out a slow breath. "There it is," the man said, smiling like he'd found a home. "Aethergate. Pillar-blessed."
A younger recruit answered quickly, almost eager. "They say Marches can't cross its wardline."
"They say a lot of things," an older woman muttered, but her voice held warmth, not bitterness. "Still… if there's one place worth seeing before you die, it's that."
The line of travelers began to move again, the road pulling them forward like a shared decision. Kairo stepped with them.
As they descended from the ridge, the city grew larger, swallowing more sky with every turn of the road. Details sharpened—stonework along the walls, the glint of metal on distant parapets, tiny figures walking the ramparts like moving pins against a tapestry.
Then the first pulse hit.
Kairo's teeth vibrated.
It wasn't a sound. The air didn't shake. No one clapped a bell. The feeling came from deeper than hearing—like a low note pressed into bone.
He paused for less than a heartbeat, then continued walking. His hand slid up the pack strap and adjusted it, a simple motion that made his posture look normal.
Ahead, no one reacted.
Some pointed. Some laughed. Some prayed.
Kairo kept his eyes on the underside of the city as it came into view.
That part was never in the paintings.
Beneath Aethergate, faint pale lines traced across stone like enormous runes—too large to read up close, too wide to understand all at once. They curved in repeating loops and lattices. They didn't blaze like firelight. They glowed like moonlight trapped in ink.
The glow dimmed.
Brightened.
Dimmed again.
A slow rhythm, steady as a drumbeat you felt through the floor.
The second pulse followed immediately after, matching the rhythm.
Kairo stopped walking.
A cart wheel clicked against a stone behind him. Someone grumbled. The stream of travelers flowed around him like water splitting around a rock.
Kairo didn't look at them.
His attention stayed on the rune-lattice under the city. The lines pulsed again.
His jaw tightened once.
Then he moved again, stepping back into the current.
The road dipped into the cool region beneath Aethergate's shadow. The temperature dropped just enough to notice. The wind softened, like it had lost interest. Voices naturally lowered a little, the way people did in a chapel or near a sleeping child—not forced, just… instinctive.
Two merchants ahead of Kairo argued about coin for half a dozen steps and then stopped without finishing the argument. One of them scratched his head, chuckled, and changed the subject to the weather.
A child who had been whining for bread suddenly fell quiet and stared up at the city with round eyes.
His mother smiled, relieved, and squeezed his hand. "See?" she whispered. "It's peaceful here."
Peaceful.
Kairo's gaze slid forward.
A roadside shrine sat near a bend where the stones were worn smooth by centuries of travel. A shallow bowl was set into the base, with a carved circle above it. Travelers peeled away in twos and threes, knelt, and whispered into the bowl like it was a habit as common as tightening boot straps.
A man in a patched coat went first. His shoulders had been hunched tight from the cold. He leaned in, lips moving fast, then sat back. When he stood, his shoulders rolled loose like he'd set something down.
A young woman went next. She kept glancing over her shoulder as if embarrassed to be seen. She whispered quickly and rose with a small, bright smile that looked like relief.
A boy—maybe twelve—hesitated. He stared at the bowl as if it might bite. Then he knelt anyway, whispered a short line, and stood with an expression that smoothed into calm.
He walked away without looking back.
Kairo stepped closer, not joining the line—just close enough to see the inside of the bowl.
Empty. Clean stone.
His hand hovered near the carved circle.
The pulse from above came again.
A small pressure brushed behind Kairo's eyes, light and curious, like someone testing whether a door was locked.
Kairo's fingers curled once, then stilled.
He lowered his hand without touching the stone.
The brush slipped away.
A pilgrim looked up at him with friendly eyes. "It helps," she said. "Just a quiet word. You'll feel lighter."
Kairo gave a polite nod that ended the conversation without starting it. Then he stepped around the shrine and continued toward the lift-gates.
The closer the road got to Aethergate's tether point, the more the causeway ahead looked like a ceremonial path. Pillars lined the stone, etched with prayers and circles worn pale by thousands of hands. White-robed attendants stood at intervals, staffs in hand, silver bells hanging at the tops that never rang.
The crowd tightened into lines on its own, as if everyone knew the shape of the ritual without being told.
At the far end of the causeway, two massive archways rose like a grand entrance to a palace.
Between them, the air shimmered.
Not with heat. With something cleaner. Like glass catching the sun.
Travelers stepped into the shimmer one by one and vanished upward, lifted so smoothly it looked like they were walking into the sky.
A pair of recruits ahead of Kairo whispered excitedly.
"That's not Threadwork," one said. "It's pure Bell lattice. My cousin tried to explain it once and gave up."
"I heard the Pillars themselves set the first gate," the other replied. "That's why it never fails."
A child began to cry somewhere behind them. It was sharp for half a second—then it stopped.
Kairo glanced over.
A robed attendant knelt beside the child and touched two fingers to his forehead. The child blinked, hiccuped once, and then stared up at the attendant with a calm little smile.
The mother bowed her head, whispering thanks.
Kairo faced forward again.
The shimmer rippled as another traveler stepped through.
The pulse in Kairo's bones answered it—quiet, automatic.
He reached the front.
An attendant stepped into his path, face calm and pleasant, like someone greeting a guest to a holy festival. The attendant's gaze traveled from Kairo's boots to his cloak to the pack strap across his shoulder.
Then the gaze paused—just briefly—at the small stone charm at Kairo's belt: smooth, etched with a simple circle.
The attendant's smile didn't change, but the pause was real.
"Welcome to Aethergate," the attendant said.
Kairo nodded once.
"First ascent?" the attendant asked.
"Yes."
"Then a quiet word is recommended," the attendant said, gesturing to a shrine bowl built into the archway base. "It eases the lift."
Kairo's eyes flicked to the bowl.
His hand didn't rise.
"I'm fine," he said.
Simple. Polite. Final.
For a heartbeat, the air behind Kairo's eyes tightened again—another small, curious brush. Not aggressive. Not painful. Just… checking.
Kairo's posture didn't change.
His jaw tightened once.
The brush slid away.
The attendant blinked slowly, then nodded as if Kairo had declined a cup of tea. "As you wish. Step forward."
Kairo stepped into the shimmer.
The world dipped—weightless for the briefest moment, like the road had vanished beneath his feet.
Then the lift caught him.
Pressure wrapped around his body in a smooth, steady grip. His cloak pressed against him, pinned by a calm force. His ears popped lightly. The pulse in his bones grew clearer, matching the city's rhythm above.
The shimmer brightened into pale lines around him—lattices, runes, patterns threading the air in a column. Not a platform. Not stairs.
A vertical path made of rules.
The ground fell away.
Kairo rose.
Below, the causeway shrank into a neat strip of stone. People became small figures clustered like ants around white pillars. The roadside shrines became pale dots.
Above, Aethergate's walls approached with slow certainty.
Kairo kept his hands at his sides. His shoulders stayed squared. His expression stayed neutral.
Halfway up, the brush returned—stronger this time, more deliberate. It skimmed the edge of something behind his eyes, like a fingertip tapping the surface of still water.
Kairo's breath hitched once.
His fingers curled.
The pressure held for a heartbeat, then slipped away.
The lift continued as if nothing had happened.
Stone rose to meet his boots.
The shimmer released him at the upper threshold.
Kairo stepped onto Aethergate's entryway.
The first thing inside wasn't darkness or doom.
It was beauty.
Stone streets swept outward in clean arcs. Towers rose like carved sculptures. Banners hung like sunlight caught in cloth. High above, bridges linked districts like ribs of an elegant skeleton. The air smelled faintly of incense and fresh bread.
People moved with practiced calm, smiling softly, speaking low, as if the city itself preferred gentler sound.
Kairo stood still for a moment and let the flow pass around him.
Another pulse rolled through his bones—steady, quiet, perfectly timed.
Not threatening.
Not welcoming, either.
Just present.
Kairo's hand drifted near the stone charm at his belt, then dropped again.
He didn't touch the shrine bowls built into the gate walls.
He didn't kneel.
He didn't look away.
Aethergate hung above the world like a miracle.
And Kairo walked into it like someone entering a test he hadn't agreed to take.