In the three-hundred and ninety-second year since the people of the surface were left behind, a boy the name of David Thompson looked up from the back of his horse, goggles protecting his eyes from the harsh glare of Midbright, and took in the clear blue skies, the merest wisps of cloud accentuating the serene, azure beauty.

As he looked up, his heart rose in his chest.

“One day… That’s where I’m going to be.”

 

Years passed since that day, the horse wasted away, and the boy became a man, but in his heart of hearts he still held the desire, a candle burning in the deepest darkness, a desperate wish to rise above and feast on the freedom that only the sky could offer.

His friend and long-time confidant, the old scientist who introduced himself simply as “The Doc”, had been working with him throughout the years on this desire, elevating it from the realms of fruitless dream to distinct possibility, and soon it would all pay off.

“Some day soon… That’s where I’ll be.”

 

 

The work had progressed slowly and gradually, for since they were deserted, and the storied of “Cities in the Sky” nothing but scorned legends, certain metals and components had become increasingly hard to get hold of.

The people, those of whom who had any interest in the old ways, were forced to depend on the so-called “Blessings of the Gods”, irregular showers of artefacts that tended to follow large thunderstorms, depositing scraps of metal and the “Holy Devices” that, despite not seeming to have any function, were nonetheless the cornerstones of belief.

“For what,” the priests say, “Can we surmise from these objects but that something created them? And then, in their benevolence, they gave these sacred items unto us.

Who could have such power and generosity but a god?”

These priests frowned upon David’s desire to fly, fearful that it would provoke this god to stop showering them with its blessing.

But the Doc knew better.