A colorised woodcut depiction of the fall of Icarus over a medieval town. [https://64.media.tumblr.com/e504760a1be7309fbf9b1ec2295708f2/ab7744b1ec6c4214-95/s1280x1920/e3e064cba2086e388a7a74b992fd48ef610229d5.png](Artwork: “Val van Icarus” by anonymous, between 1675 and 1711, colorized by author)

There’s someone in the clouds.

The boy had often seen shapes in the clouds as they passed by, fanciful forms that came and went at a moment’s notice. He sometimes wondered if the clouds had lives of their own, like those of his parents tending to the fields below.

This was different.

Staring directly at him is a girl, one made of wisps and skystuff, but a girl nonetheless. A child just like him, somehow, riding a horse made of smoke.

The boy had always been an inquisitive fellow, even before he could talk. Though he stands no higher than three feet, he doesn’t let it stop him from climbing the local rock faces or swinging from treetops.

From this plateau, one can see his parents working in the distance. They look like mere ants from here. He could see the whole world from here: the farmhouses of his neighbors, the lazy streams and winding canals, the flowers and wheatfields and orchards, even the distant marketplace. If one squints, one can spot a tower further ahead, filled with strange noises and even stranger people. Faint hints of gold can be seen on the midday horizon, seeming to curl upwards like a floor rug pushed against a wall.

Breathtaking as it may be, the boy remains glued to the sky above. He sometimes wondered if the clouds had lives of their own. He didn’t question it now.

Her lightning eyes are all that remains in his head as an inaudible command draws the girl away, into a hidden world amongst the clouds.

𐀔

Thick layers of snow sit on the plateau. The boy, now a foot taller, runs out of the farmhouse as his parents scream for him. He heads into a toolshed and pulls out a rickety device, made of twigs, strings, and animal hides, together resembling bird’s wings.

Device in hand, he trudges through the snow and, with difficulty, climbs a tree. He straps the device to his arms and waits.

The winter air bites at his nose and shakes his body - which is exactly what he’d been waiting for. All the while, his parents yell at him to come down.

Not too far off, a robed man with grey hair and a large forehead walks down the road, staff in one hand and bowl in another.

The boy continues waiting. The wind grows stronger and stronger.

It’s time.

In an instant, the boy lunges off the tree. He falls for a moment, before the wind billows the animal hides on his device and propels him forward.

Stolen story; please report.

Hovering a mere fifteen feet off the ground, the boy swiftly glides past his parents, past the farmhouse, and past the frostbitten fields. The sensation of flight is equal parts scary and exciting. If his teeth still chattered and his bones still shivered, he didn’t notice, for the feeling of gliding is all that occupied his mind.

It’s an exhilarating experience - until he plummets as the wind dies down. He hurdles faster and faster towards the ground, flying by the robed man, before crashing face-first into a snowbank.

Some time later, he wakes in the farmhouse, the robed man having tended to his wounds. He sees the man talking to his parents, pointing enthusiastically at diagrams and scribblings in the boy’s notebooks. Big words like ‘apprentice’ and ‘inventor’ can be heard here and there, which the boy can’t understand.

His eyes land on the fireplace and its smooth embers.

The wind only blows left and right, in-and-out. Humans naturally tend to fall. It seems only fire and smoke climb upward.

𐀔

The sun shines brightly on the tower of the Natural Philosophers’ Guild, where strange folks reside and the constant clammer of caustic devices emanates.

From one of its highest windows, the boy stares out into the distance. He’s now five-and-a-half feet tall, a well-off apprentice, and much closer to man than boy.

He’s learned a lot during his time at the Guild. Useless things, mostly. How to dissect a flower, the names of the beasts, how the pangene works…

But, also, useful things. Tales of distant places and the wonders therein, the five elements and their crystal spheres, how to sell your strange and incredibly hazardous inventions in the marketplace…

Even so, our apprentice inventor still looks out into the distance with longing. The farmhouse and plateau look so small from here, as if they were another world entirely.

Then, out in the clouds, a figure appears. It’s that of a woman, a specter made of clouds and billows, with eyes like two charges of lightning.

Those days climbing rock faces come flying back to him. He swears it’s the same girl from before, having grown just like him.

𐀔

Later that day, the apprentice lumbers out of the tower-cum-workshop with a device strapped to his back. It’s a distant descendant of the twiggy bird wings he fashioned so many winters ago, now reinforced with proper wood, light bits of metal, and paper wings. Now present is a metal box on his back, heavily concealed, with holes in the bottom. Inside sits a steel ball of water and an array of clockwork.

The other inventors chase after our apprentice, pleading for him to stop.

He pulls a match from his pocket (the latest invention from the merchant republics) and throws it into one of the holes. Inside, cogs and gears start turning. Bits of coal and saltpeter alight from inside the metal box. The water in the ball heats up. A chain reaction begins, growing louder and louder.

The apprentice fears for his life as an explosion emits from the holes in the bottom, launching him dozens of feet upward. Within seconds, he’s now flying among the clouds. Those down below scream or chant prayers.

His mouth is agape as he sees his comrades shrink into the distance. It remains agape as he turns and sees entire villages hidden among the clouds. Children of wisp float around the clouds as their guardians tend to fireplaces of lightning. Billowy reapers can be seen harvesting rays of sunlight from the sky. Pools of liquid rainbow can be seen here and there.

As he ascends, he starts to feel warmer and warmer. His senses return to him, and with a few obscure movements he slows his descent, calming the fires inside the box. He adjusts to the wind, and begins gliding through this welkin world.

Down below, the robed man ascends the guild’s tower and pulls out his simple brass telescope. Though nearly blind, he can make out the apprentice’s figure in the heavens, gliding from cloud to cloud. He smiles.