A Prisoner's View of the Sky

My state of wonder was abruptly shattered as the guards propelled me forward, hustling me up a brief flight of stairs onto a small, exposed platform. From this elevated perch, the world opened up around me. A cool breeze caressed my cheeks, and with it came the full, staggering revelation of this realm’s true nature. The entire region—the city, the very nation itself—was an archipelago of islands suspended in the sky. The kingdom that had ensnared me, the one into which I had so unceremoniously arrived, was a metropolis adrift among the clouds.

A tremor of gooseflesh ran along my arms, a sensation I rarely experienced. The breathtaking panorama held me utterly captive.

The island that housed the dungeon was among the highest in the archipelago, floating perhaps a full kilometer above the principal landmass, which in turn hovered at an altitude surpassing even the distant mountain peaks of the world’s surface far below. A strategically sound choice, I mused, to keep prisoners both profoundly isolated and yet starkly visible. From this height, my view was almost entirely unobstructed. The whole of the kingdom was a magnificent tapestry of floating islands, each varying in dimension and elevation. The main island, the seat of the capital, was a sprawling oval that appeared to be nearly twice the size of Manhattan. On its farthest edge, I could just discern a colossal complex of structures that could be nothing other than the royal palace. It was an immense distance away. Had the young princess truly traversed that gap every single day, just for me?

Beyond the palace, the city was a dense concentration of tall edifices, most rising between three and five stories, though some ambitious towers stretched to ten or more. Drifting high above the metropolis, silhouetted against the sky, were innumerable kite-like objects. They brought to mind the advertising kites of Terra, but their exquisite ornamentation and graceful forms bespoke a different function. They were more likely civic decorations, a perfect aesthetic flourish for the floating island motif.

I was looking not merely at a city, but at a living, breathing landscape. Hills and small mountains, lush emerald forests, and fields of a deep golden hue that conjured images of terraced rice paddies graced not only the main island but also the smaller isles that orbited it like loyal moons.

My gaze followed the shimmer of water to the city’s periphery, where grand waterfalls cascaded from a smaller, higher island into a vast lake upon the main one. The origin of this water was a marvel unto itself: a river that began on an island so far above that it was lost to my sight. A majestic chain of waterfalls, some short and others impossibly long, wove a staircase of flowing water that connected a succession of islands at staggered heights, reaching all the way into the heavens.

At this altitude, the wind could be a formidable force. It lashed against the falls, at times compelling the spray to billow upward instead of down, birthing spectacular, multi-layered circular rainbows in the process. I stared, wholly mesmerized by the sublime, impossible beauty of the scene.

When I finally summoned the will to tear my gaze away, I discovered the envoy observing me, a look of smug satisfaction carved onto his features. His pride in his magnificent, floating nation was palpable. This, then, must have been why the little princess had insisted I see it for myself. She had been right; words were utterly insufficient to encapsulate such a spectacle. Even if they were to witness it with their own eyes, few from Terra would ever concede that it was real.

I turned from his arrogant expression, meaning to assess my immediate surroundings, but a final glance back toward the horizon made me freeze once more.

“Gods above!”

The words escaped my lips before I could check them, but how could they not? Looming on the horizon was a titanic, spherical object. A planet. I was standing on one world, and another hung in the sky, impossibly close. The brownish-green sphere, streaked with veins of blue, claimed nearly half the sky behind me, its lower curve swallowed by the horizon of the world I was on.

The realm I had been brought to was not just a floating metropolis; it was part of a binary planet system, two worlds likely entwined in an eternal gravitational dance. What an unbelievable new world. I had come prepared for the possibility of magic, but this… this shattered every expectation.

“Astonished by the splendid beauty of our great country, are we?” the diplomat remarked, his grin widening. It appeared that even in this world, a city that floated was an uncommon marvel.

I took one last, sweeping look around, at the profound blue of the sky above and the roiling sea of clouds below, before I answered. “Yes. Your nation is… captivating. I am utterly captivated.”

I gestured broadly as I spoke. My sincere appreciation seemed to take the envoy by surprise; perhaps he had not anticipated me to so readily affirm his boast. But even if I had wanted to, I could not have denied it. The scenery was simply too magnificent to dismiss.

The diplomat gave a soft chuckle. “Alright, that is enough sightseeing. Let us proceed.”

I followed him toward our next destination. On the way, we passed more structures that appeared to be entrances to other dungeons. That explained the emptiness of my cell block; I was being confined in a special section, while common criminals were likely imprisoned elsewhere. I had, after all, committed an assault upon their King.

We then moved past a heavily fortified area that could only be their main garrison. Following a brief inspection of some documents, we were permitted to exit the building. The entire structure was fashioned from stone, evocative of ancient Greek architecture but visibly reinforced with iron. How did they construct such things up here? I wondered. Was there some convenient form of construction magic involved? I mentally filed the question away to investigate later.

We crossed a meadow, following a short, stone-paved path toward a smaller building situated on the island’s edge. It was little more than a station, a simple post with pillars and a roof, possessing neither walls nor doors.

Once inside, I grasped its function. It was a terminal for a mode of conveyance much like a ski lift, but designed for a far larger vehicle. A box-like room was suspended from the structure, tethered by a thick cable to a building on the main island far below. It was a cable car, approximately four by eight meters, with the rounded edges, windows, and doors of a city tram. Inside, the floor was lined with polished hardwood planks, though the frame was unmistakably metal. Seats ran along the periphery, leaving the central space open, presumably for both passengers and cargo.

We stepped into the car. One of the envoy’s guards touched a panel on the front wall, which was inscribed with some form of script.

With a hum so subtle I almost failed to notice it, the vehicle began to move. Magic, I assumed.

The car traveled at the pace of a leisurely bicycle ride, transforming the journey into a scenic cruise as a pleasant breeze filtered in through small ventilation slots. I gazed out the clear windows. From this angle, I could see that it was not just the city’s rooftops that were colorful; many of the buildings had walls painted in vibrant hues. It reminded me of certain tourist destinations on Terra, though here, even the roofs were a riot of color, a stark departure from the traditional red tiles of home.

The scene was dazzling. Sunlight glinted off countless shiny roof tiles, lending the entire cityscape a dynamic, energetic atmosphere.

I also noted that, unlike the prison, most buildings were not hewn from monolithic slabs of stone. Some were crafted from a smooth, concrete-like material, while others featured strong timber beams and colored brick walls, like rustic country manors. It seemed they possessed a form of cement, though I only saw it employed for large estates and important-looking structures. Concrete was likely a scarce or expensive commodity. I made another mental note to learn what kind of paint they used.

Near our destination station stood a large, imposing complex. In an open field adjacent to it, dozens of uniformed individuals were engaged in training drills. Their attire and armaments identified it as a military base. With its sky-blue, concrete-like walls, it looked less like a fortress and more like a sprawling university campus. The building’s entire facade was adorned with exquisite artistic carvings, and though it was a modest three stories in height, it covered a vast area.

Several rectangular buildings were arranged in a rough circle, much like the FSA’s Hexagon. The primary difference was the epic-looking tower that stood resolutely in the center. Atop this tower was a statue of a man brandishing a sword and shield. The sword was held with its point down, almost like a cane, while the shield was held firmly before the statue’s chest. The figure radiated pride and dignity—a truly impressive monument in both its design and placement.

Noticing my fixed gaze, the envoy began to explain, unprompted.

“That statue is the very symbol of our military! The shield, held firm, and the sword, held at rest, represent our non-aggressive doctrine. But do not mistake our pacifism for weakness. That sword signifies our strength and warns that we are not to be trifled with. Our military’s purpose is defense and protection. This facility is our nation’s central base, where countless skilled personnel are trained to ensure the safety and tranquility of the citizens of our magnificent Kingdom of Aeridor Valeria!”

It was quite the speech. It did, however, finally furnish me with the kingdom’s name. Aeridor Valeria. It possessed a distinctly fantastical resonance.

“We have thousands of troops! Elite knights, mages, and riders are all gathered here, ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice.”

Knight and mage sounded suitably elite, but what, I wondered, was a rider? Did they ride horses into battle? Up here? This was clearly more than just a fantasy kingdom.

As if summoned by my thoughts, a dark shape shot past our cable car, its passage buffeting us with a powerful gust of wind. What was that?

I stood and turned, craning my neck to track its path. There it was: a massive, winged lizard, its scales a brilliant azure, gliding effortlessly through the open air. A moment later, I spotted the rider perched upon its back.

“Perfect timing,” the envoy said with a proud smirk. “Behold. Our kingdom prides itself on having the finest Wyrm Riders.”

I see. He meant dragon riders. Or, rather, Wyrm riders. I wasn’t about to quibble over semantics. Still, it was the first time I had ever laid eyes on a true creature of fantasy.

We reached the main island shortly thereafter. Disembarking from the cable car, we proceeded toward the military facility. As we passed the open training field, we inevitably became the focus of the soldiers’ attention.

From a distance, I could see them whispering amongst themselves, their gazes riveted on me. Most of their faces wore expressions of contempt or outright disdain. It was to be expected. I had, after all, publicly attacked their King moments after he had granted me an audience.

“You ungrateful savage! I hope they execute you soon!”

There it was. Exactly the reception I had anticipated. The atmosphere had been charged with tension since our arrival.

The shout originated from a soldier who looked to be still in his teens. A hothead. Not a desirable quality, kid. You need to learn who you can and cannot afford to provoke. Muscles don’t stop a bullet.

“Stop it, Azgoth!” hissed one of the young men beside him, attempting to restrain him. So, his name was Azgoth. Time for a small lesson in attitude adjustment. It was fortunate I was no longer a psychotic killer, or his life might have been in genuine jeopardy.

I halted my stride and turned slowly to face him.

“Azgoth,” I said, my voice low and even. I fixed him with a predatory stare, the kind one uses when contemplating another’s demise. The irascible young man flinched at the sound of his own name. Every eye in the vicinity was now locked on us.

A menacing smile, the sort that could silence a wailing infant, spread across my face. “Be ready, kid,” I added, my tone chillingly serene.

I raised my hand and pointed my index finger directly at him. “After I’m finished with the King, you’re next.” The words were cool, harsh, and carried an unmistakable threat.

It worked beautifully. The boy and his companion recoiled instantly, and he scuttled away with a look of mingled terror and rage on his face. Hot-tempered youths were always so susceptible to this sort of trick. I recalled attempting something similar once before. I had been at Papa Ren’s Pizzeria, borrowing a first-person shooter from my coworker, Timmy. I was losing every single match, getting utterly annihilated, when some kid began screaming obscenities at me over the open voice channel. I taught him the same lesson I had just imparted to Azgoth. After hacking the game server and pulling the IP addresses of every player, I began to read out their home addresses in a spooky, low voice over the same chat. I concluded by saying I would be paying the screaming kid a visit very soon. Everyone disconnected immediately. It was the first and last time I ever played an FPS. I much prefer the real thing, after all. It’s more… organic.