Stolen Skies

Some people dream of touching the sky.

I was born above it-and I've never felt further from freedom.

They call Eirion humanity's salvation. A floating utopia suspended on gravity cores, high above a scorched Earth. To the people below, it's a miracle. To those lucky enough to be born here, it's everything they know.

To me, it's a gilded cage in the clouds.

I step out onto the balcony of my tower-barefoot, in a silk robe too thin for the cold. The wind tastes artificial, just like the lavender sky overhead, which never darkens, never rains, never storms. Our skies were designed to be "emotionally neutral." Whatever that means.

The glass beneath my feet vibrates softly. From up here, I can see the whole upper sector of Eirion: a sprawling city of domes and glittering walkways, floating like a god's playground above the world we ruined.

The world I've never seen.

A security drone hovers a few feet behind me, tracking my breathing, my heart rate, the chemical signatures of my thoughts. It doesn't speak-it's not supposed to-but I know what it would say if it could.

Unstable. Dangerous. Disobedient.

I give it my middle finger and turn my face back toward the skyline.

Even after all this time, I wonder what real stars look like. What real air feels like in your lungs. But questions like that make my father nervous. Damon Voss doesn't like his daughter asking about the surface. He says it's "for my safety."

What he means is: Stay in line, or I'll wipe you clean like last time.

I rub my temples, trying not to think about the gaps in my memory-months missing, dreams that feel like someone else's life. The doctors say it's stress. Trauma. Hormonal fluctuations. I say they're lying.

The wind shifts. My skin tingles.

Then it happens.

The tablet beside me pings. A standard alert. I glance down and read it.

URGENT NOTICE: EASTERN DOME SECURITY BREACH. PLEASE RETURN INDOORS.

My heart stutters. That's impossible. The Eastern Dome is one of the most fortified sectors in all of Eirion. It's where my father keeps his "projects"-the tech no one's supposed to know about. Military-grade, black-level, even off-record to our own council.

No one breaches the Eastern Dome.

A flash of light catches my eye corner. I look up.

And the skyline explodes.

Orange fire bursts from the far end of the city, tearing through one of the industrial towers like paper. A second later, the shockwave hits-glass shattering, alarms screaming, the whole city stuttering under the blow. I fall to one knee, the drone going berserk behind me.

This isn't a malfunction.

This is war.

Smoke billows into the sky, curling like ink through water. And then I see it-slicing through the clouds of debris.

A ship.

Low, black, and silent.

It doesn't fly like our crafts. No ID code. No broadcast signal. Sleek and predatory, it cuts toward my sector at an angle too precise to be a coincidence.

It's heading for me.

I don't scream. I don't run. I can't. My breath catches in my throat as something ancient and buried claws its way into my chest.

This has happened before.

Somewhere deep inside, I feel it-a memory not mine. A whisper of smoke and blood and someone's voice calling my name in the dark.

Calla...

The wind roars. The ship draws closer.

And in that moment, standing on a tower that scrapes a false sky, I know my life is over.

Or maybe... It's finally about to begin.

*********************************

The Man in the Smoke

The explosion knocked out the gravity for exactly 3.6 seconds.

I know because that's how long I hung in midair-weightless, breathless, suspended like a doll in a broken snow globe. The wind screamed around me, sharp and metallic, as the entire east wing of my tower shattered in a blast of heat and light.

Then the artificial gravity re-engaged.

And I fell.

Hard.

I hit the floor with a bone-jarring crack, the glass splintering beneath me like ice. My vision doubled. Somewhere, the drone was beeping madly, warning systems screaming in my ears.

"Miss Voss," it said mechanically, "you are in immediate danger. Evacuation protocol has been activated. Please remain still and wait for extraction."

Extraction?

There was no time for extraction. I could already hear the ship coming down, and the sound of engines was shaped more like the muted thrum of a beating heart than anything I would expect from Eirion's fleet. I jumped to my feet, tripping over rubble & choking on smoke. The sky outside was burning. The perfect lavender was replaced by swirling ash and fire.

And then the glass above me shattered.

A figure dropped through the smoke like a shadow falling from heaven. He hit the floor in a crouch, not ten feet from me, steam hissing from the thrusters on his boots. He was dressed in black-combat gear, matte-finished, strange lines of glowing silver etched into the fabric. His face was hidden behind a helmet, visor gleaming blue.

Time slowed.

He stood up slowly, deliberately. My body froze, my instinct telling me to run. But I didn't. I couldn't.

Because somehow, impossibly, I recognized him.

Not his face. Not his voice.

His presence.

It felt like gravity had shifted around him. Like the city itself bent to his existence.

"Calla Voss," he said, voice distorted by the helmet. "You're coming with me."

"What?" I blinked, backing away instinctively. "Who the hell are you?"

"I don't have a moment to expound. The building is unstable. We need to go-now."

"No." I glanced over my shoulder. "My father will-"

"Your father sent a kill order," he said flatly.

Everything stopped.

My blood turned to ice.

"You're lying."

"Do I look like I have time to lie?"

A second explosion rocked the tower. The balcony cracked further. Alarms wailed in angry protest as the tower's central AI began to shut off non-essential systems. We were near the borders of time.

"Follow me, please," and this time softer, he requested. "You don't know what's going on, Calla. But I do. I've seen what your father's hiding. You've seen it too-haven't you? In the gaps in your memory."

My breath hitched. The flickers. The nightmares. The silence.

He reached out his hand.

"Come now, or you won't get another chance."

Some part of me knew I should scream. Call security. Do anything but trust a stranger who just dropped into my life like a missile. But another part-the quiet part that had been locked up for years-leaned forward.

And took his hand.