The floating islands hung against the afternoon sky like broken pieces of the earth that had forgotten how to fall. Moss clung to their undersides like green beards, while their tops sprouted trees that somehow found purchase in soil that hung suspended above empty air.

Ryelle craned her neck, watching the nearest island drift overhead with the ponderous majesty of a cloud made solid. Wind from its passage stirred her hair and carried scents she couldn't name—something between pine needles and storm-charged air, with an underlying musk that spoke of creatures who spent their lives between earth and sky.

A shadow flickered across the ground beside her feet. Then another. And another.

She looked up to find herself ringed by harpies, their wings catching thermals that rose from the sun-warmed earth below. They circled at different altitudes—some barely clearing the treetops, others so high they appeared as specks against the afternoon sky. All of them watched her with the focused attention of predators evaluating potential prey.

"Ryelle!"

The voice came from above and slightly behind. Gwynelle descended in a spiraling glide, her brown feathers ruffled by wind and her teal eyes bright with what might have been excitement. She landed with a thump that spoke of enthusiasm overriding technique, stumbling slightly before catching her balance.

"You came! Skytalon said maybe you come, maybe you nae come, but you came!" The harpy bounced on her talons, wings fluttering in counterpoint to her awkward gait. "Ready? Ready to meet queen?"

"As ready as I can be." Ryelle adjusted her pack's weight, feeling suddenly conscious of how earthbound she appeared compared to the aerial grace surrounding her. "Is there some protocol I should know about? Customs I need to observe?"

Gwynelle's head tilted, a gesture that reminded Ryelle uncomfortably of how birds studied insects before pecking them from the ground. "Protocol?"

"Rules. Ways of showing respect."

"Oh!" Understanding dawned across the harpy's features. "Yes, yes. No sudden moves when Skytalon speaks. No looking away when she looks at you. No—" Gwynelle paused, her brow furrowing with concentration. "No being weak. Very important, nae being weak."

The advice struck Ryelle as less than helpful, but before she could ask for clarification, more harpies began landing around them. They touched down with varying degrees of elegance—some flowing from sky to earth like water finding its level, others arriving with ungainly crashes that scattered pine needles and raised small clouds of dust.

Within moments, Ryelle found herself surrounded by two dozen harpy faces, all studying her with unblinking curiosity. Their expressions ranged from wary interest to outright skepticism, and more than a few looked like they were evaluating how she might taste.

"Divine avatar," one of them said, the words carrying an inflection that made them sound like an accusation. "Why need teaching? Gods know everything already, yes?"

"Gods know many things," Ryelle replied carefully. "But knowledge and skill aren't always the same thing."

The harpy who had spoken—a compact figure with rust-colored feathers and predator's eyes—made a sound somewhere between a chirp and a snort. "Skill comes from being tested. Being hunted. Being made strong through pain." She gestured toward the floating islands above them. "What pain has divine avatar known?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge. Ryelle could feel the weight of two dozen stares, waiting to see how she would respond. The memory of Marcus's claws opening her ribs flickered through her mind, but somehow she doubted demon wounds counted as the kind of pain this harpy meant.

"That's what I'm here to find out."

A yellow-plumed harpy stepped forward from the crowd, her bearing suggesting authority despite her smaller size. Mesyori, if Ryelle remembered correctly from Ebonheim's memories. The harpy's movements carried a dignity that set her apart from the others—less feral, more considered.

"Queen waits," Mesyori announced, her voice cutting through the murmur of harpy conversation. "Sun moves. Time moves. Queen does not wait long."

The assembled harpies took to the air in a cascade of wings and wind, their forms scattering toward different islands like leaves caught in a gale. Within moments, only Gwynelle and Mesyori remained on the ground with Ryelle.

"How exactly am I supposed to get up there?" Ryelle asked, gesturing toward the nearest floating island, which hung perhaps fifty meters above the forest canopy.

Gwynelle's eyes widened. "You nae fly?"

"Dragons fly. I'm not a dragon."

The harpy's brow furrowed in a way Ryelle was beginning to recognize as her thinking face. "You... climb, then? Many vines, many trees. Easy, I think."

Ryelle eyed the soaring earth-mass and its vertiginous sides. "I'm not climbing that. Is there some other way up? Can't you just carry me?"

"Carry?" Gwynelle sounded faintly scandalized, as if Ryelle had suggested she eat a particularly loathsome type of slug. "Nae, nae. Must get own self up."

"Gwyn!" Mesyori snapped, her tone sharp. "Enough delay! Take her up before Queen lose patience."

The younger harpy hunched her shoulders but didn't argue. "Come then, dragon nae fly. Hold tight, or fall. Maybe land soft. Maybe nae."

With that, Gwynelle grabbed Ryelle by the shoulders and launched herself into the air, wings pumping with sudden effort. Ryelle had just enough time to remember her own pack before the ground receded at alarming speed and she found herself looking down on an Eldergrove that seemed to stretch forever below them like some vast, tangled garden.

"Warn me next time!"

Gwynelle's reply got lost in the rush of wind past Ryelle's ears, but the harpy's grip tightened on her shoulders as they climbed through air that grew thinner and colder with each wingbeat. The forest below shrank to a green carpet punctured by shadow-pools where valleys cut between hills. Lakes glittered like scattered coins and rivers unspooled into serpentine threads that traced the lay of the land.

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The largest floating island approached with deceptive slowness—distance played tricks when dealing with objects the size of mountains. What had seemed like a brief flight stretched into minutes of Gwynelle's wings working against gravity and Ryelle's weight. The harpy's breathing grew labored, her talons digging deeper into the leather of Ryelle's traveling clothes.

"Heavy," Gwynelle panted. "Very heavy for nae-dragon."

"Sorry." Though Ryelle wasn't sure what she was apologizing for. Her divine nature came with certain physical realities, and dense bones were part of the package.

They crested the island's edge in a rush of disturbed air and grass-scent. Gwynelle aimed for a clearing near the island's center, her flight path growing increasingly erratic as fatigue set in.

The landing proved even less elegant than takeoff. Gwynelle's final approach was too steep and too fast, forcing her to dump Ryelle unceremoniously onto moss-covered ground before crash-landing in a tangle of wings and indignant squawks. Pine needles and forest debris scattered in all directions.

"Still alive," Gwynelle announced from where she lay sprawled among the ferns. "Good landing."

Ryelle pushed herself to her feet, brushing dirt from her pack. The island's surface felt solid enough under her boots, though something about the way the ground seemed to sway slightly made her instincts jangle. It was like standing on the deck of a ship in motion, the hull always moving just a little beneath her, ready to pitch her overboard at any moment.

"Come," Mesyori landed beside her with the kind of effortless grace that made Gwynelle's earlier crash-landing look even more ungainly by comparison. "Queen waits in Great Nest. Follow path, stay on path. Fall off path, learn to fly quick."

The path turned out to be a narrow track that wound around the island's circumference, sometimes following level ground but more often climbing across surfaces that would have challenged a mountain goat. Gaps where the path disappeared entirely were bridged by fallen logs or stone slabs that showed signs of deliberate placement, though their weathered surfaces suggested the construction dated back decades.

Harpies followed overhead, their shadows flickering across the path like dark birds flitting between trees. Some called out commentary in their own language—sharp, mocking sounds that needed no translation. Others simply watched, their silence somehow more unsettling than the vocal ones.

The Great Nest revealed itself gradually as they climbed higher. What Ryelle had taken for natural stone formations were actually carved platforms that stepped up the island's highest peak like the remains of some ancient amphitheater.

Each level held clusters of structures that mixed natural and artificial elements—hollow trees that had been shaped rather than cut, stone formations that had been carved to provide shelter, and frameworks of woven branches that created spaces open to the sky but protected from wind.

All of them were built for creatures who approached from above rather than below.

Harpies filled every level, their numbers far greater than Ryelle had expected. She'd encountered perhaps two dozen during her initial arrival, but hundreds perched throughout the Great Nest's terraced slopes. Their plumage varied from the earth tones of Gwynelle's brown feathers to brilliant reds, blues, and golds that caught the afternoon sunlight like scattered gems.

"Queen waits there." Mesyori pointed toward the clearing's far end, where the largest tree hosted a platform that commanded views in all directions. "Remember—no sudden moves, no looking away, no being weak."

The advice still struck Ryelle as inadequate, but before she could press for more specific guidance, the assembled harpies fell silent.

Liselotte descended from somewhere high above the canopy, her approach announced by the whisper of wings cutting air with predatory precision. She landed on the royal platform with barely a sound, her talons gripping ancient bark with the easy confidence of someone perfectly adapted to her environment.

The Harpy Queen looked exactly as Ryelle remembered from Ebonheim's memories—azure and white feathers that caught light like polished steel, long hair that flowed like liquid silver, and crimson eyes that held depths of intelligence and calculation. But seeing her in person rather than through borrowed recollection drove home details that memory had softened.

The sharpness of those eyes, which tracked movement with the intensity of a hunting bird evaluating prey. The way her human features blended seamlessly with avian characteristics—not a fusion of incompatible elements but something that had always been meant to exist in both forms simultaneously. The presence she carried, authority made manifest through perfect balance between beauty and lethality.

When Liselotte smiled, her teeth were very white and very sharp.

"Divine avatar," she said, her voice carrying easily across the clearing despite conversational volume. "You grace my territory with your presence. How... unexpected."

The words held layered meanings that Ryelle couldn't quite unpack. Was that sarcasm? Genuine surprise? A challenge disguised as courtesy? She settled for directness, hoping honesty would serve her better than attempts at diplomatic subtlety.

"Your majesty. I've come to request training."

"Training." Liselotte's head tilted, the gesture somehow both human and distinctly predatory. "From me. For you."

"Yes."

"How fascinating." The Harpy Queen stepped to the platform's edge, her wings spreading slightly for balance. "And what makes you think I have anything to teach someone of your... elevated status?"

The question carried barbs Ryelle could feel even if she couldn't see them clearly. A test of her motivations? An evaluation of her worthiness? A taunt to see how she'd respond to verbal sparring?

"Because you're faster than anything I've ever fought. And I'm tired of losing battles I should be able to win."

Murmurs rippled through the assembled harpies. Some sounded approving—honesty about weakness took a certain kind of courage. Others carried mockery that needed no translation.

Liselotte's crimson eyes narrowed slightly. "Losing battles? How... mortal of you."

"Mortality isn't the problem. Speed is." Ryelle kept her voice level despite the insult. "I can hit harder than most things can survive. But that doesn't matter if I can't connect with targets that move faster than I can track."

"And you believe I can remedy this deficiency?"

"I think you're the only one who might be able to."

The answer hung in the air between them. Around the clearing, harpies rustled and whispered among themselves, their voices creating a susurrus of speculation and judgment.

Finally, the Harpy Queen laughed. The sound was musical and genuinely amused, but it held undertones that made Ryelle's skin prickle with unease.

"How delightfully presumptuous. You arrive in my domain, request my personal attention, and assume I would waste time on someone whose only qualification is admitting they're inadequate." Liselotte's wings spread wider, catching air currents that seemed to respond to her will. "What makes you think I don't simply kill trespassers who make unreasonable demands?"

"Because Ebonheim would be displeased if you killed her avatar without cause."

"Ebonheim is not here."

"No," Ryelle agreed. "She's not."

The admission stripped away any pretense of protection or diplomatic immunity. She stood alone in territory ruled by someone whose patience for weakness was measured in heartbeats, with no guarantee that divine heritage would mean anything if she failed to prove herself worthy of consideration.

Liselotte's smile widened, revealing more of those sharp teeth. "Finally. Honesty." She launched herself from the platform, wings carrying her in a lazy circle around the clearing's perimeter. "You interest me, divine avatar. Not because of what you are, but because of what you're willing to admit you're not."

"Is that enough for you to consider training me?"

"Consider? Perhaps." Liselotte completed her circle and hovered directly above Ryelle, her wings creating downdrafts that stirred fallen leaves into small whirlwinds. "But consideration requires demonstration. I don't waste effort on students who break too easily."

"What kind of demonstration?"

The Harpy Queen's answer came in the form of action rather than words. She folded her wings and dropped toward Ryelle like a stone, talons extended and crimson eyes fixed on their target.

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