POV Narrator:

By the echo of the worldly clock, the cycle of Ages comes again. The tenacious humans and mighty beasts return to dust. The world resets and cycles again, crawling ever closer towards its ultimate goal; a secret only known by a select few. Soon, the end will come, and the path will be complete, but for now, the next Age starts again.

Piece by piece, the continents crumble. The endless ocean seeing an opportunity consumes all that it can. The world and its vast continents succumb to the roaring waves. Against the tides, the lonely mountain peaks hold their ground; strutting out of the endless oceans. The mountain peaks transform into islands; housing the last vestiges of dry, surface ground. Alas, only a handful of mountain peaks manage to stand strong.

From the crumbled crust enormous volcanic vents spew their toxic gasses. In huge pillars of gas, they rise from the ocean floor and linger on its surface. These toxic pockets litter the ocean and threaten to kill anyone who dares to enter them. In the sky, new floating islands rise, housing the Age’s sentient races.

POV Achous Phantomwing:

“Ugh… Why does the sun seem especially bright today?” I can’t help but groan as the incessant sun leaks through my withered cabin walls. With this unpleasant awakening, my vacation, if it can even be called that, has come to an end. My days of wandering through our bountiful forests end here.

Slowly, I sit up, my back aching in the process. Carefully, I unfurl and stretch my wings, barely managing to extend its four-meter length in this cramped cabin. It takes little time for me to prepare; a quick change into my work clothes and combing of my feathers takes five minutes. Throwing one last longing glance towards my bed, I open the creaky front door and step outside.

I’m temporarily blinded by the sun, but I quickly adjust. Another sigh escapes as I observe my surroundings. A small tree sapling growing in the corner of my tiny garden breaths life to its dead surroundings. No vegetation usually survives this near the island’s edge, that sapling is my pride and joy. Shame I probably won’t ever see it grow…

The life of an explorer is never easy, but I don’t mind. It pays well, and I don’t have any other options left. Today is the start of this year’s exploration season. The winter has passed, and spring has just begun, making this the perfect time to explore. I’m heading into my second year on this job, one of the rare few. Most die before their first season even ends, whether, by a freak storm or something else, it doesn’t matter to me.

I probably won’t survive this season, one day my luck will run out, but what choice do I have left? Although this job has a high mortality rate, many still apply. Some seek fame and glory, but most, like me, only seek to survive the next winter.

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Even though I don’t particularly enjoy this job and I believe it will lead to my death, I understand its importance. Supplies are running dangerously low and it’s of the utmost importance that we find another island, else we’ll all die out like the other flying islands. Without the necessary minerals that we need to mine on those islands, we won’t be able to survive the next couple of years.

The last island was found almost a hundred years ago, a time before I was born. The minerals we mined there have sustained us ever since, but the situation is getting desperate. Even if someone manages to find an island, we’ll only have a month to prepare and three months to mine it.

The counsellors only have limited control over the island’s trajectory, they can steer it in a limited direction but are unable to stop it. If someone manages to find an island, it’ll take a month for the flying island to get near enough, for the short-range miners to fly towards it, and after three months we’ll be too far for anyone to make the trip.

With these bleak thoughts in the back of my mind, I head towards the nearby launching platform. Most explorers live near the island’s edge. It’s the only place we can afford. Although, if one of us manage to find a new island, he’ll have riches beyond his imagination. “He-he… if.” A self-deprecating laugh warms my throat.

As I approach the stone platform, I spot the new group of rookie explorers straight out of basic training. Out of the group of several hundred explorers, only five percent are here for their second season, the rest probably died during the last season. Leading us is Fregar, one of the rare few who has managed to survive three seasons as an explorer.

I can see him making his way towards the front of the group. He stops in front and turns to face us. “Listen up, I’m only going to say this once! I assume you all know the importance of our mission, so I won’t repeat it. This isn’t basic training, if you make a mistake here, you will die. If you follow me and stay in a group, you might stand a chance at survival. Now line up and prepare for take-off!” Fregar delivers the exact same speech as last year’s leader, hopefully, he won’t die the same death.

After his command everyone scrambles to their place and form the flying formation; Fregar at the front, the rookies behind him and the rest at the back. This mission will require weeks of continues flying, if anyone is unable to keep up, they will be left behind. Only trained explorers can manage to fly for so long, anyone else would die from exhaustion after a week.

“Ready, take-off!” Fregar shouts his orders and runs off the platform. After a moment’s hesitation the rookies runoff as well, followed by those in the back. As I jump off, the sun catches my golden feathered, outstretched wings. In front of us, stretches the endless blue ocean, looking as peaceful as ever, never showing a sign of the true dangers that it harbours.

I narrow my eyes, but I see nothing but blue water stretching over the horizon. In the back of my mind, I feel a soft prickling sensation, as if something is trying to warn me, but I’m unable to pinpoint it. My eyes stay fixed on the horizon and a wild thought runs through my mind, “This season is going to be very different from those before it.”.