The Skyglass Isle
May 11, 2025
“You’re not going to find it,” Captain Rhessa muttered, squinting at the map as the wind lashed the airship’s sails. “That island doesn’t exist.”
Finn grinned as he tied down a loose rope. “Every map says that. Except this one.”
He patted the worn scroll spread across a barrel. It shimmered faintly under moonlight, its ink a strange blend of silver and green.
“Maps don’t shimmer, kid. And they don’t whisper either,” Rhessa added, flicking the edge with a calloused finger. “Where did you even get this?”
Finn looked out over the horizon. “Stole it. From a dead man.”
The Cloudstrider soared over endless clouds. Beneath them, the Skyspine Mountains disappeared into mist. Above, stars winked coldly, silent witnesses to the ship’s rebellion against gravity.
Rhessa watched Finn work, frowning. He wasn’t a pirate. Not really. He was too young, too clean, too full of belief.
“Tell me again,” she said finally, “why we’re flying into cursed airspace for a floating island no one’s ever seen?”
Finn held up a small crystal compass. It spun wildly, then locked into place, pointing due north.
“Because my brother disappeared three years ago, chasing the Skyglass Isle. And this compass just started spinning yesterday.”
Rhessa stared.
“And you think he’s there?”
“I know he is.”
By dawn, the clouds grew thicker, tinged with silver. The wind stilled.
That was the first sign.
The second was the sound—soft, musical, like wind chimes underwater. It hummed in the bones.
Rhessa slowed the ship.
“Cloudline’s behaving strange,” she muttered.
Finn leaned over the rail.
Something shimmered below.
A flicker. A flash.
Then it appeared—like a mirage turning solid.
An island made of crystal and sky, hovering above the clouds. Waterfalls of liquid light cascaded into nothingness. Spires of glass arched toward the sun. Strange birds with mirrored wings soared through golden mist.
Finn exhaled. “It’s real.”
Rhessa muttered, “Gods save us.”
They docked the Cloudstrider on a floating ledge of stone and glass. The moment they stepped off, the air changed—thick with static and memory.
Finn clutched the compass. It throbbed like a heartbeat, pointing toward a bridge of woven light.
As they crossed it, a figure emerged on the far side.
He looked older. Weathered. But the eyes were the same.
“Gareth?” Finn’s voice cracked.
His brother smiled. “Took you long enough.”
Finn ran to him, nearly tackling him in a hug.
Rhessa hung back, hand on her cutlass. “This a trap?”
“No,” Gareth said. “But you need to hear what this place is.”
Inside the glass towers, time bent.
Gareth explained as they walked past glowing pools and crystal-tuned trees.
“The Skyglass Isle is alive. It calls to people with longing in their hearts. Wanderers. Seekers. Dreamers. It offers them peace.”
Finn frowned. “So why didn’t you come back?”
“I tried,” Gareth said. “But the island doesn’t let go easily. The longer you stay, the more it keeps of you. I forgot my name, my face—until you arrived.”
Finn looked around. “How many are here?”
“Thousands. Trapped in beauty. They forget they’re lost.”
Rhessa spat. “Sounds like a jeweled prison.”
Gareth nodded. “Exactly.”
They reached the island’s heart: a towering spire with a spiral staircase of light.
At its summit sat a throne of glass.
A woman stood beside it—tall, serene, her skin gleaming like pearl. Her eyes held galaxies.
“I am Elyra,” she said. “The Warden of Skyglass.”
Rhessa stepped forward. “You’ve been stealing people.”
“I give them sanctuary,” Elyra replied. “The broken, the lost, the grieving. I offer them stillness.”
Finn’s voice was sharp. “They don’t need stillness. They need choice.”
Elyra regarded him. “Would you have your brother suffer again? Let him feel pain, doubt, and mortality?”
Gareth spoke quietly. “Yes. Because that’s life.”
The island trembled.
Elyra’s gaze darkened.
“You would reject my gift?”
Finn stepped forward. “We all carry wounds. But we heal by walking, not standing still.”
The compass in his hand flared suddenly—brighter than before.
Elyra blinked. “You carry the seed.”
Finn looked down. “What?”
“The Skyglass chose you long ago,” she said. “It was never calling your brother. It was calling you.”
The ground split—roots of crystal rising like veins. The spire cracked.
“Then I reject it,” Finn said.
And he crushed the compass in his hand.
The sky shattered.
The island screamed.
Wind roared as towers collapsed, trees crumbled, light bled into storm.
Rhessa grabbed the boys and ran. “Back to the ship! Now!”
They sprinted across the dissolving bridge as the Cloudstrider rocked violently. Rhessa leapt aboard first, throwing the mooring lines loose. Finn pulled Gareth up behind him.
The ship rose as the Skyglass Isle crumbled behind them, vanishing in a burst of falling stars and broken dreams.
They didn’t speak for a long time.
The clouds parted as they sailed south, back toward the world.
Gareth finally broke the silence. “You saved me.”
Finn shook his head. “You saved me first. I just came to return the favor.”
Rhessa chuckled. “Next time someone wants to chase a floating myth, count me out.”
Finn smiled. “No promises.”
Above them, the sky was open.
And free.