The sky split above Veyra, not with thunder but with silence. Lira stood on the rusted balcony of her workshop, hands braced against the cold iron railing, watching the twin hemispheres drift apart. One half glowed with the amber light of a setting sun, its air thick and humid, carrying the scent of oil and metal from the lower city. The other hung pale and brittle, a frozen blue that crackled with static, its winds sharp enough to slice through her coat. She’d always thought the divide was a relic, some ancient flaw in the sky’s stitching. But today, the gap had widened—just enough for a single gust to slip through, carrying a whisper she couldn’t name.
Her fingers curled around the railing, knuckles whitening. The city below pulsed with life: merchants hawking wares in the alleyways, steam hissing from vents in the cobblestones, the distant clang of hammers against steel. But above her, the sky’s fracture pulsed like a wound. Lira had spent her life repairing things—gears, pipes, the odd automaton that stumbled into her shop with a broken leg. Yet this… this was something else. Something she couldn’t fix with wrenches or solder.
A voice cut through the hum of the city. “You’re going to fall, you know.” Kael leaned against the doorframe, his leather coat creaking as he shifted. His dark eyes flicked to the sky, then back to her. “That’s not a balcony. It’s a death trap.”
Lira didn’t look at him. “It’s sturdy enough.”
“Sure. Until the wind decides to take a bite.” He stepped closer, his boots scraping against the iron. “You’ve been out here all morning. What’s so important?”
She hesitated. The whisper still lingered, a thread of sound she couldn’t place. “I don’t know. But it’s not natural.”
Kael exhaled, a low sound that might have been amusement or frustration. “You’re thinking too much again. Come inside before you get blown away.”
She didn’t move. The wind had shifted, carrying the whisper again—this time clearer, like a voice just beyond hearing. It wasn’t the city’s usual cacophony. It was something older, something that didn’t belong.
“Lira?” Kael’s tone had sharpened. “What is it?”
She turned, meeting his gaze. “Something’s wrong with the sky.”
He studied her, then nodded slowly. “Then we’d better find out what.”
—
The lower city was a labyrinth of steam and shadow, its streets choked with the scent of grease and salt. Lira and Kael navigated the alleys, their footsteps muffled by the ever-present hum of machinery. The air shimmered with heat, and the occasional hiss of a ruptured pipe sent plumes of vapor curling into the sky. Above them, the divide had grown wider, its edges fraying like torn fabric.
“You’re sure it’s not just a storm?” Kael asked, glancing up. “The upper city’s always had weird weather.”
“This isn’t weather. It’s… separation.” Lira’s voice was tight. “Like the sky’s been split open.”
Kael frowned. “You’ve been working too long in that shop. You’re seeing things.”
She stopped, turning to face him. “I’m not crazy, Kael. I heard it. A voice. Or something like one.”
He hesitated, then sighed. “Alright. Let’s see what the old man thinks.”
The old man was Jorin, a former engineer who’d retired to the lower city after a scandal involving a failed skyship prototype. His workshop was a haphazard collection of gears, blueprints, and half-finished contraptions. The air reeked of oil and burnt metal.
Jorin looked up as they entered, his gray eyes sharp despite the wrinkles around them. “You’re here about the sky again, aren’t you?”
Lira nodded. “It’s splitting. I think it’s… breaking.”
Jorin stood, his movements slow but deliberate. “You’re not the first to notice. The council’s been ignoring it. They say it’s a natural fluctuation.”
“But it’s not,” she pressed. “I heard something. A sound.”
The old man’s expression darkened. “Sounds like the sky’s been screaming for years. You just finally heard it.”
Kael frowned. “What do you mean?”
Jorin gestured to a rusted machine in the corner, its gears frozen mid-turn. “This city was built on a lie. The sky wasn’t always split. It was… repaired. A long time ago. And now, the repairs are failing.”
Lira’s breath caught. “Who did it?”
“The Council of Aether,” Jorin muttered. “They’ve kept the balance for centuries. But something’s changed. And if they don’t fix it, the sky will tear itself apart.”
—
The upper city was a stark contrast to the lower one. Here, the air was crisp, tinged with the scent of ozone and stone. Towering spires of glass and steel stretched toward the fractured sky, their surfaces reflecting the twin hemispheres. The streets were wide and empty, save for the occasional patrol drone gliding silently overhead.
Lira and Kael moved cautiously through the city, their boots clicking against the polished floors. The divide above them had grown even wider, its edges now jagged, as if something had torn through the sky itself.
“This place is creepy,” Kael muttered. “Where’s everyone?”
“They’re hiding,” Lira said. “The council’s probably keeping them away. If the sky’s breaking, they don’t want people to panic.”
They reached the Council Hall, a massive structure of white stone and brass. The doors were sealed, but Lira spotted a maintenance hatch near the base. She crouched, examining the lock. “I can get in.”
“You’re sure?” Kael asked.
She nodded. “I’ve picked enough locks to know this one’s weak.”
The hatch gave with a soft click. Inside, the air was cool and still, filled with the low hum of machinery. The hall was vast, its walls lined with consoles and screens displaying data streams. At the center stood a massive device—a sphere of interlocking gears and crystal, pulsing with a faint blue light.
“What is that?” Kael whispered.
“A stabilizer,” Lira said, her voice barely above a breath. “It’s holding the sky together.”
But as they approached, the sphere flickered, its light dimming. A low groan echoed through the chamber, and the walls trembled.
“We need to fix it,” Lira said, already moving toward the console.
Kael hesitated. “You think you can?”
“I have to.”
She worked quickly, her hands moving over the controls, her mind racing through the schematics Jorin had shown her. The stabilizer was failing, its mechanisms jammed. She could see the cause—a crack in one of the crystal cores, spreading like a spiderweb.
“It’s not just broken,” she said. “It’s… dying.”
Kael stepped closer. “Then we need to stop it from dying. How?”
Lira’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a backup system. But it’s sealed. We need to find the key.”
They searched the chamber, their footsteps echoing in the silence. Finally, Kael found a panel near the base of the sphere. “This might be it.”
He pried it open, revealing a small compartment containing a crystalline key. Lira took it, her hands trembling. “This is it.”
She inserted the key into the stabilizer’s core. The machine whirred, its light flaring brighter. The crack in the crystal began to mend, the sphere pulsing with renewed energy.
The walls stilled. The hum of the chamber softened.
“It’s working,” Kael said, relief in his voice.
Lira exhaled, her shoulders sagging. “We did it.”
But as the stabilizer’s light stabilized, a new sound filled the air—a deep, resonant tone that seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the building.
“What was that?” Kael asked, his voice tight.
Lira didn’t answer. She stared at the stabilizer, her heart pounding. The sky above them had begun to shift, the twin hemispheres slowly drawing together. But something else was happening. The light from the sphere was changing, its blue hue deepening into a strange, pulsing red.
“Lira?” Kael’s voice was urgent. “What’s wrong?”
She turned to him, her eyes wide. “It’s not just repairing the sky. It’s… awakening something.”
—
The city below stirred as the sky’s fracture began to close. The lower city’s streets filled with people, their faces upturned in awe and confusion. The upper city’s towers shimmered with the shifting light, and the air grew thick with an electric tension.
Lira and Kael emerged from the Council Hall, the stabilizer’s red glow still pulsing in the distance. The sky above them was no longer split but seamless, yet something felt off. The air was heavier, the colors more vibrant, as if the world itself had been altered.
“What now?” Kael asked, his voice low.
Lira didn’t answer immediately. She looked at the sky, at the way the light seemed to ripple across the horizon. “We find out what we’ve set in motion.”
They turned, walking back through the city, their steps quiet against the cobblestones. The people of Veyra watched them, some with hope, others with fear. The sky had been mended, but Lira knew the true test was only beginning.
As they disappeared into the streets, the stabilizer’s glow faded, leaving the city in a strange, suspended silence. The sky above was whole again—but the balance it had maintained was now something else entirely.
