"Do you ever wonder if the sky has an end?"

A boy asked. He was leaning against a tree with a wooden sword in hands. His breath was uneven, and his forehead was covered in sweat. The boy sat motionlessly, transfixed by something in the distance, smiling softly.

"No."

A girl replied. She, too, was leaning against the same tree, a thick book with a thick leather cover sitting on her lap. Her blue eyes were glued to the book, scanning each page with almost machine-like precision. Her lips were frozen in a stoic frown.

"I don't like wasting my time pondering over such nonsense," explained the girl. "What makes you think such a silly thing can exist in the first place, Alan." Her expression softened as she let out a small chuckle.

"Silly?!" the boy quickly jumped on his feet as if all the exhaustion he felt moments ago was a lie. "It's not silly!" he pointed at the girl with his finger and huffed. "All skyfarers worth their salt know about this legend! If you find the right map, you can reach the sky's end and become the richest man ever!"

"A legend, you say?" the girl smiled, placing a handmade bookmark between the pages. "Who exactly, pray tell, told you about this legend, then? Did you hear that from that drunkard at the bar?"

"He's not a drunkard!" Alan - the boy - said defensively, his cheeks flushing red. His face became even redder as the girl started laughing out loud. "Duncan is great. He tells me all kinds of stories about distant lands and whatnot. I have no idea why you don't like him, Marie."

"It's not that I don't like him," Marie - the girl - replied. "I just think he is a has-been, a womanizer and a drunkard. He's been working on that air-ship of his for years now, and that blasted thing still won't budge, much less fly."

She looked at the boy, and his expression made her feel as if she kicked a puppy. "Look, I have nothing against the man, but he's a bad influence on you, Alan. He probably tells you these tall-tales to amuse himself."

Marie gently took his hand and smiled. "I know you want to leave this island and become a sky-farer, and I'm sure you will manage to convince your father eventually, but putting so much trust into hearsays and fairy tales won't do you any good. Instead, you should focus more on your studies and training."

Alan opened his mouth, ready to answer, but before he could utter a single word, a gruff voice rebuked him. 

"Damn right, he should!"

The owner of this voice was a tanned man with numerous scars running across his face. His blonde hair were tied into a loose ponytail, and his short was popped open, revealing a chiseled body.

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"Cormac!"

The children called out in unison, and the man revealed two rows of teeth in a smile that could be best described as thuggish.

"It seems you can stand, young master," the man - Cormac - said. "This means you can swing your sword, too. Why won't you give that bastard a go? I'm feeling gracious today, so twenty swings would be enough."

"Cormac!" the boy whined. "My break was supposed to be longer."

"No buts!" said the man. "If you're a real man, you will do this with no problems." He looked at amused Marie and added with a smirk. "We don't want to make you look bad before your girlfriend now, do we?"

Suddenly, the boy's face felt very hot. "She's not my girlfriend," he wanted to point out, but before you could say anything, Cormac loudly cleaned his throat, urging him to start moving. The man silently showed Alan three fingers, implying that he was strongly considering adding some changes to this regimen.

Then, while the boy was busy, the man sat down, hiding from the scorching sun beneath a comfortable shade and peeked at the girl with a pair of eyes full of curiosity.

"What a weird kid you are," he said with a grin. "All the kids your age are playing games back in the village, and here you are, studying things I can barely understand." He lightly flexed his shoulders, making his muscles wiggle like a snake. "By the by," he added, staring at the clouds, "does Ymir know you took one of his magic books?"

If the girl was surprised, her face betrayed none of that; it remained as stiff as ever. "Oh my," she said as her lips curved upwards, "I never thought you can read, Cormac. What a surprise."

"I will take that as a "no," then," the man concluded and immediately started laughing, "you and your dad are quite something, kiddo." He brushed off a single tear and started his tale. "Normally, you can't become a mage's apprentice until you reach fifteen or so. Mind you, it's not a rule. Just the way things are, is all. Ymir, on the other hand, became one at twelve."

He vaguely pointed at something barely taller than Marie. "A runt like this, pitter-pattering around, a book on magic the size of his torso in hands. Imagine that!" Cormac laughed again, shaking from mirth. "Then, we both got conscripted for that bloody civil war and saved Lord Justis himself."

"Alan's dad," the girl nodded. "Ignatius Claus Justis."

"Don't tell anyone that, but your dad and me call him Iggy when it's just three of us," Cormac said. "That's what we used to call him back when he was pretending to be an ordinary conscript."

"The first son of the Baron Justis runs away to join the army under a fake name and returns as a war hero," the girl summarized. "Truly, it sounds like something out of a poem."

"Well, the poems don't tell about the times the proud hero had to pull splinters out of their rear because one of the crates decided to explode when he was walking by," Cormac smiled. "Or that the mighty war hero had the stuffings knocked out of him by his dad first thing after he came home."

"How crude," Marie said and closed the book with an audible poof.

"Done already?!" Cormac asked. "Damn, your brain must be as big as your ears, then."

At this, Marie's elongated ears visibly twitched, showing her irritation.

"You really are one-of-a-kind, missy," the man said. "First, you fall from the sky on our tiny island one day, then you start throwing spells by accident, and finally, you somehow manage to befriend that oaf over there. Color me impressed."

"It's nothing much," the girl brushed him off.

"If that's nothing much," Cormac parroted her, "then I'm looking forward to what something much would look like."