The city was beautiful.

And like all beautiful things built by power, it was not made to welcome the weak.

The Mercy moored at Astochia’s docks in twilight silence, its stern scraping against the stone like a traveler collapsing on his own doorstep. Lily stood on deck, her fingers dug into the railing as she gazed for the first time upon the city that would become her home; every breath pressed her chest with both fear and wonder.

The sea lay calm, gilded by the last rays of the sun, waves scattering light like molten gold. Behind that beauty, the city seemed alive - breathing alabaster, watching them from above like a hawk.

Astochia was no mere city. It was a cascade of stone shells grown from the cliff, every line and arch deliberate. Terraces and towers climbed in white marble steps, bridges without railings spanned open air, balconies hung as if afloat. All of it faced the sky; all of it was built for those who fly.

At the base of that inhuman splendor, human dwellings clustered - small, but neat and ordered - and by the docks people and carts swarmed like ants. In that bustle there was something that loosened her grip, just a little.

“My lord,” bowed the captain.

On the prow, Eirran stood with wings slightly spread, receiving the city like an old friend.

“We’ve docked at the Merchants’ Pier, as you ordered.”

“Close enough not to draw attention, far enough to avoid the crowd,” he answered without turning. His voice was calm, but Lily sensed the muted impatience beneath it.

From the ship’s edge she saw the docks: a narrow pier, throngs of workers, draft animals, wagons. Above them platforms hung in the air, linked by long, steep ramps - no railings in sight. For the wingless -herself, Evan, and Mirna - the way up was like scaling a mountain. For the Ilari, like Eirran, it was a simple stroll through the air.

Jereh already stood on the stone quay, arms folded across his broad chest.

“Look at that,” he muttered to Evan, pointing at the railing-less terraces. “A city for birds. People like us are an afterthought.”

Evan said nothing, but Lily saw his hand tighten on the hem of his shirt.

“Jereh,” sighed Mirna, “we didn’t come to choose a dwelling. We came because of her.”

He glanced at Lily, then at Eirran, who waited atop the first steps. The lines etched around Jereh’s eyes were carved with doubt.

“I know why we came,” he said quietly. “That doesn’t mean I believe his wings will shield us from every storm.”

“Follow me,” Eirran said at last, turning; the lliath shimmered about him like a second skin. He did not see, could not see, how Evan’s face had already twisted at the sight of the climb.

He stepped forward, spread his wings. The gold of the setting sun stung Lily’s eyes. With a gust he rose lightly, circled once above them, and kept circling - watchful, patient.

They began to climb.

Near the harbor the city was still hospitable: shops with low thresholds, taverns with tables bolted to the floor, warehouses with wide doors. People everywhere, the hum of prices and ropes. But the higher they went, the less it belonged to her. Platforms narrowed, stairways steepened, porches opened with no railings. Every glance downward was an abyss; every gust of wind, a warning.

“Not far now,” called Eirran from above, circling like a hawk. He watched, even protected them in his way - but from the sky he could not see everything.

Lily bit her lip and pressed on. The soft soles of her new shoes gripped well on dry wood, poorly on smooth stone. Step-edges cut her feet through weariness; her dress snagged on thresholds, her breath shortened in chill drafts.

On the first wide ring of terraces, the path for the wingless narrowed into a spiral stairwell that clung to the outer wall: a hidden, silent ascent for those without flight. Cold stone under her fingers, wind slamming through the openings - step, another step. Evan handed her a hemp rope, the one he used to practice knots.

“We’ll tie ourselves,” he said plainly.

Lily only nodded. Evan took the place behind her, shielding her with his body when the wind struck. “If I fall, you hold me,” he smiled faintly. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

She didn’t tell him she knew he couldn’t. She didn’t need to.

They climbed across ledges without rails, crossed “bridges” that were no more than wide beams, squeezed through clefts in the wall where the wingless must struggle while the winged passed with a single beat. Eirran hovered above, offering directions that sounded simpler than they proved to be.

At last they reached the palace.

Her throat went dry. The palace had no visible gate at ground level. It was a vast circular structure of terraces open to the sky; the main entrance lay on the roof - for those who landed. For the wingless there was only a low, narrow hole at the base of the wall: a tunnel that led into cold darkness.

“Here,” said Eirran, pointing.

Lily looked at the dark mouth, then upward into the light. This is not a home. This is a test, she thought. And stepped inside.

Inside, it was even worse. Halls soared high, opening onto central shafts. Instead of stairs - vertical voids the Ilari traversed in three strokes of wing. For the wingless, walls held coiled ladders, so steep they were nearly climbs.

Eirran crossed one central gap without a thought, wings barely spread. Mirna clung to the wall, pale in the stone’s shadow. Evan stopped, looked down, and whitened at the sheer drop.

At last they arrived at the Great Hall: a round, towering chamber, terraces spiraling along the walls. In the center - nothing. Forty feet of empty air to the stone below.

Eirran pushed off and glided across. Lily stood at the edge, stared into the dark hollow, and understood.

The palace was a deathtrap.

Every open passage, every railing-less terrace, every “bridge” was perfect for a winged body - and a snare for hers.

At that moment Eirran turned. For the first time since they docked, he looked and truly saw: Evan trembling and clutching the rope, Mirna pressed flat against the wall, Lily on the brink of the void with eyes wide with terror. He saw the rope that bound them together.

The rope.

Then he understood. These children were clinging to life itself. And he, blinded by his own world, had nearly endangered his own child on the very first day.

“Eilleah,” his voice broke. But it was too late for words.

Later, when they were settled in the southern wing-spacious, beautiful, and cold as a stranger’s palm-Eirran stood on the terrace and looked out at the sea. He looked differently now.

He saw how every platform, every bridge, every open space was a trap for those without wings. He saw how the world he loved was hostile to his daughter.

And then something burned him more than any blade: the shame of having been blind to the obvious.

And the guilt of having brought his child into a place built to kill her.

Tomorrow, he would make it safer.

Tomorrow, he would find a way.

But tonight, all he could do was see it clearly,

for the first time.