Fantasy Clovenhorn

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai hesitated for a moment, his stance shifting before he moved to follow. His pace was steady—not rushed, but without delay—as he crossed the room behind her.

“Yes…” he said slowly, as if testing the shape of the word. “The trip.”

He stepped out onto the balcony, the sunlight spilling over him at once. It caught the short black fur along his frame, casting a sleek sheen across his narrow features. His face—hollow and angular, with sharp lines carved into his expression—took on a stark edge beneath the light. The sun’s warmth sank into his dark coat almost instantly, heat rising across his shoulders and back like a slow burn.

He squinted slightly against the brightness, gaze settling on her once more.

“They do enjoy keeping you busy,” he remarked, voice even, touched with mild observation. “Many things to attend to, yes?” His eyes glanced down toward her, steady.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Ephraim turned toward him fully, her expression unreadable for a brief moment before she smiled.

“I requested it myself,” she said. “It wasn’t scheduled. I insisted.”

The breeze stirred around them, rustling the long fabric of her gown.

“And I told them I wouldn’t go unless you accompanied me.”

The palace gardens stretched below, vibrant and serene, but she remained still.

“They weren’t pleased,” she said, a faint trace of amusement in her voice. “But I don’t mind displeasing them now and then.”

Her head tilted slightly.

“I imagine they didn’t tell you that part.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai stilled slightly at her words, his eyes shifting toward the gardens below. The sunlight stretched over the greenery, vibrant and calm, but his gaze didn’t linger long.

“Yes…” he echoed slowly, a small nod following. His eyes drifted across the distance before a faint smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. He glanced toward her.

“Hm. I don’t believe they told me that.”

His gaze turned back to the horizon, his voice steady—flat, but not without weight.

“But many have already made me aware of how they feel.”

A pause.

“Bastards in royal courts don’t seem to be their… forte.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Ephraim watched him, the shifting light casting soft shadows across her features. She didn’t speak right away, her hands resting lightly against the stone railing.

“They will speak as they always have,” she said, her voice measured. “And when they tire of this, they will find something else to whisper about.”

She turned slightly toward him.

“But they are not the ones who decide where you stand.”

The air was quiet between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the city below.

She adjusted the fall of her sleeve, then gestured toward the staircase leading down from the balcony. “Come,” she said, stepping toward it. “The transport is waiting.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai watched as she turned toward the staircase, his posture shifting—stiffening briefly—before he followed. His steps were measured, the soft sound of his hooves tapping against the stone as he descended behind her.

He flicked an ear, then spoke, his voice low.

“Forgive my intrusion, but… what is it about this trip that’s drawn such interest?” His words were careful, deliberate. “You mentioned it was something you insisted on.”

He paused for a breath, his tone trailing slightly.

“Just… recalling things, and all.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The castle's spiraling steps gave way to a long, arched corridor lined with high glass windows, casting shifting reflections of the sky onto polished floors. At the end of the corridor, the world opened—beyond a wide marble landing, the royal transport awaited.

The Wind-Tethered Sailboat drifted just above the stone, hovering as if suspended in a dream. Its polished hull glinted with pale inlaid sigils, and its thin silver sails rippled gently despite the stillness of the air. Three silk tethers pulsed faintly with magical energy, anchoring the vessel in place like a balloon straining to rise. A robed wind-handler stood at the helm, faceless and motionless.

As they approached, Mordecai’s question hung between them.

Ephraim didn’t answer right away. She reached the base of the steps and stopped, one hand resting lightly on the vessel’s frame. Her eyes remained on the shimmering surface of the sail, the way the runes glowed softly with anticipation.

“This trip,” she said finally, “is to the Anima Archives. A temple that floats between the upper winds—above the cloudline, beyond where most can reach.”

She turned to him, her expression unreadable.

“It’s not part of any royal itinerary. No court presence. No advisors. Just a collection of forgotten things.” She hesitated. “It’s a place where memory... settles. Where magic keeps record of what people no longer speak aloud.”

She watched his face as the words landed. Then:

“I wanted someone with me who doesn’t fit into the lines they’ve drawn. Someone who wasn’t born into the rules everyone else pretends not to follow. That’s why I chose you.”

She stepped onto the vessel, the deck shifting faintly underfoot but never tipping.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai’s gaze flicked briefly to the wind-handler at the helm. The figure stood perfectly still, robed and faceless, as if carved from the air itself—an extension of the vessel rather than a person.

He stepped closer, his eyes tracing the faint pulse of magic along the silk tethers before settling on the glow of the sigils. At her words, his attention shifted.

“A place where memory settles…” he repeated, his voice low.

A faint, wry edge tugged at his tone.

“Sounds like it might be overdue for a visit. I’ve been told mine’s prone to wandering.”

He adjusted the line of his coat, the movement small, precise.

“I appreciate the trust, Your Highness,” he added, quieter now. His gaze met hers for a moment, steady. “Even if I’m still learning what it means.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Ephraim studied him for a moment, the shifting light from the sails casting faint gold patterns against the smooth white of her fur. Then, with a small motion, she turned toward the wind-handler.

At the slightest gesture of her hand, the faceless figure moved. The silk tethers unraveled in a slow, fluid motion, their glow fading as they lifted from the marble landing. A gentle hum resonated through the air as the vessel pulled free, weightless as it drifted upward.

The moment the ground fell away beneath them, Ephraim glanced toward Mordecai.

“Have you ever been on a vessel like this before?” she asked, her voice carrying an easy lilt—less formal now, touched with curiosity.

She considered him briefly, the way his stance adjusted—solid, composed, but with an edge of something else. Uncertainty? A readiness to catch himself, perhaps.

“A carriage doesn’t count,” she added, a trace of amusement in her voice. “Though I imagine you weren’t taking many of those either.”

The wind pulled through the sails, guiding them upward with impossible smoothness. The city began to shrink below, rooftops turning to patterns of shifting light and shadow. The floating gardens of the palace passed beneath them, their colors bleeding together in soft greens and blues.

She shifted, her hands resting lightly at her sides as the breeze lifted a few strands of her long brown hair.

“You don’t seem the type to enjoy heights,” she mused.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai’s stance shifted, hooves scraping faintly against the deck as the vessel lifted. He braced a hand against a nearby support beam, steadying himself. The motion was subtle, controlled, but the tremble beneath his grip was unmistakable.

He glanced toward her.

“Can’t say I’m used to these,” he said, voice low, a short chuckle slipping through. “Carriages either.”

His eyes followed the movement of her hair as the wind caught it, the chestnut strands lifting effortlessly in the breeze.

“I’m more familiar with threads and needles than…” He looked out at the open sky, the city falling away below. “Heights. But the Anima Archives—those hold interest.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Ephraim’s brow lifted slightly at his words. She turned toward him fully, the deck beneath them settling into a smooth glide as the vessel caught its current.

“A tailor?” she repeated, the hint of a smile pulling at the edges of her lips. “That’s unexpected.”

Her gaze flicked toward his coat, the sharp lines of his attire, the way every seam seemed deliberate—practiced.

“I imagine that isn’t something most bodyguards would claim as their expertise.”

She shifted slightly, her posture relaxed as the wind curled around them, tugging at the flowing sleeves of her gown.

“Did you take up tailoring before your current line of work, then?”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai looked up at her words, a flicker of surprise passing over his face before his gaze settled on her.

“Yes… I suppose most bodyguards don’t start out as tailors,” he said, a low chuckle escaping—short, controlled.

He shifted his hand from the support beam, fingers brushing the edge of his tie. He adjusted it with a practiced tug, smoothing the line against his waistcoat before reaching up to nudge his glasses back into place.

“Yes. I was.” His voice steadied. “My mother was a tailor—I learned under her. Raised into it. Helped her run the shop. Clothes, fabrics…” He gestured faintly, the motion efficient, economical.

“She’s passed now. Been a few years.” The words left him quietly, without pause.

“That’s where my focus stayed, for a time.” His gaze met hers briefly, then drifted toward the sky beyond the sails.

“But it seems I’ve been called to… other things.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Ephraim’s gaze lingered on him as he spoke, her posture shifting subtly—less formal, more grounded. The wind played softly through the sails above, casting fleeting ribbons of light across the polished deck, "That's difficult, I'm sorry," she chimed in.

When his words quieted, she didn’t speak right away. Instead, she let her eyes drift to the horizon, where pale clouds rolled lazily beneath them like distant waves.

“My mother’s alive,” she said after a moment, her voice low. “Though I doubt I’ll see her again.”

She reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture slow.

“She wasn’t from the court. My father married her against the will of his bloodline.” Her gaze flicked toward the edge of the vessel, the world below barely visible now through the soft veil of high-altitude mist. “She came from the Clouded Cantons—small, floating isles that drift near the storm belt. No real influence. No allegiance. But she used to say the winds there were strong enough to carry anything, even memory.”

Ephraim’s voice dipped as the wind shifted. The sails flexed above them, catching an unseen current, and the vessel tilted ever so slightly before settling again.

“In her town, they weave the air into thread,” she continued. “Weather silk. It’s fragile, changes color with the wind’s mood, and wilts in southern light. Beautiful. Impractical.” She gave a faint breath of laughter. “So of course the court dismissed it entirely.”

Her hand lowered from her hair, fingers brushing the fabric at her side.

“When I was small, she used to fold scraps into wind shapes—little birds, twirling dancers. She sent them by skyfold. Quiet gifts I wasn’t supposed to receive.” Her fingers traced a shape in the air, absent and soft. “They stopped arriving. I was told the air routes became unstable, but...”

She didn’t finish the thought.

Instead, she glanced toward Mordecai again.

“The court,” she said, tone regaining its even edge, “prefers threads that are clean, uniform, easy to sort.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai shifted from the support beam, the steady hum of the vessel beneath him as constant as the wind pulling at his coat. He moved forward—measured steps across the polished deck—though he stopped short of the rail, keeping a respectful distance from the edge, and from her.

He watched as she spoke, his eyes drawn to the soft motion of her fingers in the air, the way the wind teased at the edges of her hair, lifting them like threads left uncut.

“That’s beautiful,” he said, voice low. “I’ve never heard of the Clouded Cantons. But it sounds… beautiful.”

His gaze swept out over the open sky, where the clouds below churned slow and endless. He adjusted his tie with a small motion, then his glasses, before his eyes returned to her.

“The court prefers their threads stiff. Uniform. Easy to fold the same way, over and over.”

A faint smile touched his lips, brief but genuine.

“Not much room for weather silk in that.”

He glanced away, fingers brushing the fabric at his waistcoat.

“Some things were never meant to fold cleanly,” he added, the words slipping out—quiet, almost to himself. “They’re better left to catch the wind.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The vessel gave a sudden lurch—not violent, but sharp enough to jolt Mordecai’s footing slightly off-balance. The deck tilted beneath them, a low groan reverberating through the hull as the sails tensed. Above, the wind twisted. Not the steady current from before—something else.

Ephraim’s hand immediately found the railing, her posture steady, but her gaze lifted sharply toward the sky.

A dark band of clouds had begun to gather far ahead, threading across the horizon like a smudge of ink pulled across parchment. The sails rippled with agitation, their glow dimming slightly as the wind-handler raised a gloved hand, fingers curling as if grasping at air.

The breeze that had once been gentle now tugged with uneven hands, pulling at coats, hair, and fabric with a growing urgency.

“Crosswind,” Ephraim said, her voice louder now over the rising whistle. She stepped back from the rail and toward the center of the deck. “We’ve drifted off the lane.”

The wind-handler gave no spoken response, but the vessel began to turn—slow, deliberate, as if resisting whatever current had found them. One of the silk tethers sparked faintly along its length, a brief flash of blue light before steadying.

Ephraim turned to Mordecai. “Hold something.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai’s legs buckled slightly as the vessel lurched, the deck tilting beneath him. He stumbled back, his hand finding the support beam once more, fingers gripping tight against the sudden shift. A flick of discomfort showed in the set of his jaw, his stance bracing as the wind tore harder at his coat.

As the breeze sharpened into something more forceful, he straightened, shoulders squaring.

His eyes locked on the wind-handler, unmoving at the helm. The faceless figure stood in silence, robes billowing unnaturally, fingers still curled in the air as if manipulating something unseen.

Mordecai’s tail flicked sharply, irritation cutting through his control.

“Hey!” he snapped, voice raised over the wind. His eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

There was no accusation in his tone—but no softness either. A demand for clarity, the edge of suspicion flickering beneath his words.

Mordecai’s gaze didn’t leave the figure, but his arm reached out, fingers gripping Ephraim’s shoulder firmly—not rough, but with purpose. He pulled her back with him, guiding them both toward the center of the deck where a raised section of the vessel’s frame provided solid footing and a handhold.

He shifted his stance beside her, one hand steady against the frame as the wind howled louder, the sky above beginning to darken.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The sails above them snapped taut with a sound like tearing silk. The vessel jerked violently to the side, the hum beneath the deck rising into a strained, high-pitched whine. One of the silk tethers convulsed with light—first gold, then white-hot—before it snapped loose from its anchor with a sharp, cracking sound that echoed into the clouds.

The wind-handler’s hand jerked upward, robes twisting unnaturally around its form as if pulled by invisible cords. But whatever magic they were channeling faltered. The wind roared now, chaotic and wild, no longer flowing along a single current but surging in sharp, erratic bursts.

Ephraim stumbled as the deck pitched again, but Mordecai’s grip held firm, guiding her back against the raised frame. She steadied herself with one arm braced across the wood, her other hand clutching the side rail just above him.

Her gaze snapped toward the front of the vessel.

The sails were unraveling. Not torn—but unspooling, as though rejecting the air that once carried them.

“We’ve lost the windline,” she said, breath sharp.

The remaining tethers pulsed wildly, their glow flickering. Then, one by one, they detached—not broken, but released, floating free into the storm-churned sky like severed threads.

Without anchor, the ship lurched—then dropped.

The fall was sudden. Silent for a moment too long. The air rushed up around them like a living thing, howling past their ears, yanking at clothing, pulling breath from lungs.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

The vessel dropped.

Wind tore through the sky, screaming around them, yanking at coats, hair, and breath. The deck pitched hard beneath their feet. Mordecai moved instantly, his body angling into the wind, arms wrapping around Ephraim as he pressed her back against the raised center beam.

His frame blocked the brunt of the storm, shoulders hunched forward, coat whipping violently around them both. The wind struck his back in bursts, but he didn’t move—not from her. One arm braced above her against the wood, shielding her head and shoulders beneath his taller frame, the other secured tightly at her waist to keep her rooted.

Another lurch shook the vessel. His stance held.

Above them, the sails unraveled like threads coming loose from a seam. The last of the silk tethers vanished into the clouds, and with it, the hum of magic failed.

The wind-handler stood frozen—arm raised, robes twisted unnaturally by the gale, as if some unseen force coiled through them. The storm raged, but they remained still, expressionless, unyielding.

Mordecai’s eyes locked on the figure.

One hand remained firm around Ephraim. With the other, he reached beneath his waistcoat and pulled free a coil of glinting gold. It unraveled in a smooth, practiced motion—thread, but not thread. Fine, heavy, lined with small metal beads that glinted like dull stars.

The wind screamed, but the thread whipped forward, slicing the air as it flew.

It wrapped around the wind-handler’s arm, sharp and fast, the weighted length pulling tight with a single, precise jerk.

Mordecai’s voice cracked through the storm.

“Hey!” His tone cut, cold and commanding. “If you’re still in control, prove it.”

His grip on the thread held taut, pulling back hard. His body shifted slightly, never breaking his protective hold around Ephraim, shielding her with the full length of his form as the deck groaned again.

“Or is something else working through you?” His voice lowered, sharper, distrust flickering beneath the words. “Because this—”
A jerk of the thread.
“—is not control.”

His eyes flicked back to Ephraim, arm tightening around her as the wind surged again.
“Hang tight,” he muttered, steady and low. “I’ve got you.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The storm didn’t answer. It only howled louder. For a long, harrowing breath, the vessel continued to drop—wind shrieking past, sails unraveling, sky spinning.

And then—
Stillness.

A ripple surged through the deck beneath them, like tension snapping all at once. The wind-handler’s arm twitched. The gold-threaded line around it shimmered briefly, then faded to a soft, humming glow. Slowly—mechanically—the figure lowered their hand.

Above, the sails caught.

Not all of them, but enough. Two snapped tight with a sudden burst of tension, runes along their surface reigniting with a steady, golden pulse. The third flapped wildly for a moment longer, then bent inward as if drawn back into alignment by unseen hands.

The vessel stopped falling.

It didn’t rise—but it glided now, stabilizing into a sharp downward drift. Controlled. Survivable.

The wind settled into a strong breeze, and the scream of pressure in the air thinned.

The groan of the ship’s hull faded into the steady hum once more. Not as strong as before, but present—like a heartbeat regaining rhythm.

Ephraim shifted against Mordecai’s hold, her breathing sharp and controlled. She didn’t pull away, but her hand reached up, fingers curling around the edge of his coat as if steadying them both.

Around them, the clouds began to part, revealing a silhouette below—faint, jagged, the outline of a platform or ledge clinging to the side of a mountain peak. A skypost. A place to land.

The wind-handler turned slowly back to the helm. No words. No reaction.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai kept his grip firm on the golden thread, the line taut in his hand as it remained wound around the wind-handler’s arm. His breath came hard—forced—but it slowed as the vessel’s wild descent shifted into a controlled glide. The tension in his stance held, legs braced, the weight of the ship’s recovery humming beneath his hooves.

His eyes stayed locked on the wind-handler, narrowed, unmoving.

He didn’t release the thread. Not yet.

One hand remained wrapped protectively around Ephraim, holding her against the beam, bracing both of them as the storm eased. The hum of the vessel’s magic returned—not strong, but steady—and Mordecai felt it beneath his grip like a pulse.

Only then did his hold on her ease slightly, just enough to look down. His voice was low, controlled.

“Are you alright?”

His gaze stayed on her for a breath longer before it snapped back toward the helm. His fingers twitched, tightening the thread as the golden line shifted across his knuckles, the spools at his hand glinting faintly in the muted light.

His voice rang out, sharp and demanding.

“You’re going to speak,” he said to the wind-handler, each word deliberate. “You nearly dropped us into the sky, and I want to know why.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

The wind-handler did not turn.

For a moment, it seemed they might remain still—mute and unmoving, their robes swaying gently now in the calmer air. The golden thread stayed wrapped around their arm, pulsing faintly with the returning hum of the vessel’s core.

Then—

They moved.

Slowly. Fluidly. Their head turned, revealing no face beneath the hood, only a surface like polished stone, faintly reflective and smooth as glass.

When they spoke, it was not a sound carried by voice, but by vibration—resonant, thin, as though echoing through dense fabric.

“Anomaly.”

The single word lingered, cold and detached.

Their hand lifted, palm opening toward the helm.

“Distortion along the windlane. Not… of this current.”

A faint shift ran through the sails as if in quiet agreement, catching a softer stream of air that had not been there before.

“It touched the vessel. Attempted redirection. Influence unknown.”

At Mordecai’s side, Ephraim's fingers curled subtly into the fabric of his coat, her grip firmer now, but she said nothing.

The wind-handler’s head tilted slightly, the reflective surface catching a shimmer of gold where the thread still bound their arm.

“Stabilization resumed,” the figure continued. “Path now clear to Skypost IV. Descent protocol engaged.”

As if responding to the words, the runes etched across the helm flared once in sequence, then settled—dim, but steady. The sails above quieted, their glow fading into a stable rhythm as the vessel began to lower, smooth and deliberate.

Through a thinning veil of cloud, the skypost came into view—a circular platform of pale stone, ringed by iron arches and glowing with faint sigils. It clung to the edge of a towering peak, ancient and isolated, surrounded by nothing but sky.

The vessel began its final glide downward.

The wind-handler did not speak again.

The air fell quiet, save for the creak of the rigging and the soft, slow breath of the sky.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai stared at the wind-handler, brows furrowed, his mouth parting slightly at the sight beneath the hood. His voice slipped out, low and taut.

“What in heavens is that…”

His fingers twitched, a sharp flicking motion slicing through the air. The golden thread snapped free from the wind-handler’s arm, the line recoiling in a quick, controlled whip. It whirled back to him, a flicker of gold across the air, the faint clink of metal beads ringing soft as it coiled neatly into his waiting hand.

With a final, practiced motion, his fingers closed into a fist, the thread vanishing into his grasp—silent, hidden once more.

He turned his eyes to the platform below, the skypost now fully in view as the vessel descended.

“…Is this the Anima Archives?” he asked, his voice steadier now, directed toward Ephraim.

His gaze lingered on the expanse of sky, the steady glide of the vessel, the wind-handler silent at the helm.

“Truly, I am far away from what I’m used to,” he murmured, the words soft, touched with something near awe.

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Ephraim’s gaze lingered on the wind-handler for a beat longer, her posture rigid against the railing. Whatever she had expected beneath that hood, it hadn’t been that.

She turned toward Mordecai slowly, her expression unreadable beneath the calm settling over her face. Her hand released his coat at last, though it trailed down his sleeve for a moment longer before falling away entirely.

“No,” she said softly, her eyes drifting to the descending platform. “This isn’t the Archives. It’s a skypost—an outpost station for vessels like ours. We’ll need to check stability and recalibrate the lane before continuing.”

Her voice was steady, but quieter now, edged with thought.

“And the wind-handler?” she added, glancing once more toward the figure at the helm. “They aren’t… people. Not exactly.”

The sails above adjusted again, the motion delicate as the vessel descended into the cradle of the mountaintop post.

“They’re constructs—spirits folded into form. Old ones. Bound by windwrights from the early dynasties. No mouths, no minds as we know them. They don't speak unless forced. And they never deviate.”

Her fingers tightened at her side.

“Which is why that just now—what it said, what it did—shouldn’t have happened.”

The vessel drifted lower, the runes of the platform beginning to glow in response.

Ephraim looked at Mordecai again, her voice lower still.

“I’ve traveled this lane half a dozen times. I’ve never heard one speak like that.”

The ship touched down with a soft jolt, metal against stone. The sails stilled, the rigging eased, and silence settled once more.

Ephraim stepped forward, her gown trailing behind her as the doors at the edge of the vessel slid open with a low hiss.

“Come,” she said, not looking back. “Let’s see if the post is intact.”

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai’s eyes lingered on the wind-handler, its faceless form unmoving at the helm, robes now still in the settling air. His jaw tensed, fingers adjusting the line of his coat with a measured motion as he turned away.

The platform’s pale stone neared with each passing second, the vessel lowering in a steady glide. Mordecai stepped in behind Ephraim, his stride sure, each step echoing soft against the deck.

He kept close, his voice low beneath the hum of descent.

“Whatever touched this vessel... I don’t know if it’s finished.”

 

[scantilycladsnail]

Ephraim didn’t respond at first. She stepped from the vessel as it docked with a muted click, the sails folding overhead like wings coming to rest. The air at the skypost was thinner—cooler—carried on a hush that lingered across the stones like dust in an undisturbed room.

The mountaintop platform stretched ahead, ringed with silver railing and soft-glowing glyphs embedded into the pale stone. At the far end, nestled into the cliffside, stood a small stone keep—weathered, angular, its banners faded by years of wind. The door hung partially open.

Ephraim paused on the threshold, her silhouette framed by the clouds drifting behind her.

“I don’t either,” she said at last, her voice low. “But we’re not flying back into it.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“These quarters are meant for passing crews—travelers between long arcs. We’ll wait here. Recalibrate. Rest.” Her eyes flicked toward the horizon, then back to him. “See if anything follows.”

The interior of the keep was still and dim. The main hall opened into a wide common room, its vaulted ceiling lined with exposed beams and hanging lanterns that flickered faintly to life as they stepped inside. Dust clung to the stone floor, undisturbed, save for the faint prints of whoever had passed through long ago.

No signs of life. No staff. Only silence—and the sense of a place built to wait.

Ephraim moved through the space with quiet familiarity. She set a hand against the wall near the doorway, fingers brushing one of the inlaid glyphs. A soft chime rang out, and further lights bloomed down the corridor in pulses of warm amber.

“We’ll stay here until the winds settle,” she said. “Long enough to be cautious.”

---

Skypost IV – Interior Environment & Interactive Features
Common Hall / Entry Chamber

• Vaulted ceilings with arched support beams—some of the wood slightly warped from wind exposure but still solid.
• Glyph-lit lanterns along the walls and ceiling that respond to proximity or touch; they glow softly in amber or silver tones.
• Stone hearth at the far end of the room, inactive by default but enchanted for quick ignition (gesture or command-based).
• Long, low benches and tables with wind-smoothed edges—more utilitarian than luxurious.
• Wall-mounted scroll racks with brittle, curling route parchments—mostly outdated or worn illegible.
• Ambient hum of the post’s core magic—barely noticeable, like a soft, rhythmic pulse through the stone.

Traveler’s Quarters

• Single-occupant stone-walled rooms, narrow and sparsely furnished.
• Low wooden beds with rigid frames, topped with thin, tightly rolled mattress pads and wool-stuffed pillows.
• Linen sheets are crisp and magically kept clean, but slightly rough.
• The beds are enchanted to warm slowly with body heat—a quiet luxury in a cold sky.
• Storage alcoves carved into the walls for personal items—lined with faded velvet or thin felt to prevent rattling during high winds.
• Folding wash basins mounted against the walls—pop out and self-fill with cool mountain-filtered water when activated by glyph.
• Small metal-framed mirror embedded in the stone, slightly fogged with age but functional.
• A wall-mounted bell glyph—can summon a light breeze or signal the vessel dock outside, if needed.

Utility Room / Recalibration Chamber

• Accessed via a side door from the main hall.
• Contains a navigation sigil board—used for reestablishing sky lane coordinates, interacting with maps etched into crystal.
• Projection glass stands in one corner—flickering with stored aerial routes, marked with colored lines that shift faintly with weather conditions.
• Shelves of old sky-route markers and wind compasses—some cracked, some still glowing faintly with stored enchantments.

Overall Atmosphere

• Feels ancient but preserved—like stepping into a forgotten rest stop that still performs its duties without need for attention.
• No visible attendants or staff—entirely self-run by old windwright enchantments.
• The air is cool, dry, and thin, and everything is just slightly too quiet, as though the walls are listening.

 

[ThieviusRaccoonus]

Mordecai stepped through the doorway behind her, his hooves pressing into the dust-coated stone with a soft scrape. The air inside was cool, still, touched with the faint pulse of magic humming through the walls. His eyes drifted upward, taking in the vaulted ceiling and the lanterns flickering to life in soft amber, one after another.

He passed a long bench, fingers trailing briefly along its wind-smoothed edge before falling back to his side. The place felt untouched, preserved—not meant for someone like him. Never for someone like him. But still, it functioned—silent, waiting.

His gaze swept over the scroll racks, the dormant hearth, the distant hum in the stone beneath his hooves.

At her words, he gave a small nod, stepping further inside, his coat shifting with the motion.

“Seems as good a place as any to wait,” he said, his voice low and raspy, rough around the edges. His eyes lingered on the distant corridors, then back toward Ephraim. “You’re right to be cautious. I’ll keep watch.”