Angelico was in agony as he flew back to Mount Majwa.

Despite his sluggish and laboured pace, Qurora and Yoalie never flew out ahead of him, afraid that his tortured wings would cramp up and he would drop right out of the sky.

And if he did, what could they do?

The memory of Nihyl seizing him during their wingfight was sickening enough. He would fight even his own kith if they dared try to catch or carry him.

Angelico was barely over the edge of Majwa Pavilion’s outer courtyard before he let up on his wings, descending in haphazard circles, then crumpling into the ground, exhausted, when his weak legs folded under him from the weight they were too worn to carry.

Yoalie and Qurora touched down after him and hurried to where Angelico was raggedly heaving with relief.

When they tried to turn him over, he resisted, pushing away their hands.

“Wait. Stop.”

Angelico gasped as he turned himself over, unassisted, movements jilted as he tried not to aggravate his wounds.

He shrugged off his plain outer robe and unwrapped his inner tunic, finally exposing the damage.

There were three bloody gashes on his back where he’d caught the pennant posts he had broken.

Qurora gasped and Yoalie cringed. “You were flying like this?”

Angelico shook his head. “Only near the end.”

They both gawped at him.

It had not been a short flight from Frigid Mountain to Mount Majwa.

“How did this happen?” Said Yoalie.

Though there were differently sized splinters of wood in and around the affected area, the wounds themselves were thankfully shallow: his muscles would be fine.

“Doesn’t matter,” groused Qurora. “Whatever it was, Nihyl shouldn’t have done that.”

He shouldn’t have, agreed Angelico, rumpling his robe collar, but, “I was the one who escalated it.”

Qurora and Yoalie both sighed, unsurprised.

“You won’t be able to outmatch Lieran if you get yourself injured like this, you know.”

“You gotta be more careful, Angelico.”

“Right.” Angelico reached out a hand and Yoalie and Qurora hoisted him up between them.

They helped him into the expansive front courtyard of Majwa Pavilion, through the manicured gardens, elegant gazebos, and well-kept footpaths which all week had been swarming with visitors from Stratos, raptors and lay’ven alike, but tonight was practically abandoned.

On the last night of the Caritas Festival, all visitors to the Inner Sky were invited outside Triple Yobel Mansion, to a celebration hosted by the esteemed custodian of Mount Majwa, Madame Anahina.

The jovial sounds of the festivities there were audible from Majwa Pavilion.

“We should have stayed longer,” said Qurora. “You could have caught your breath on Frigid Mountain…”

“Nihyl and his posse went out for a victory lap, so I think we got out just in time,” said Yoalie.

“How can he take a victory lap?” Said Angelico. “He didn’t shake me. It was a tie. Right?”

“Yes,” said Yoalie with a smile. “Not bad.”

“Then he owes me another wingfight,” murmured Angelico.

“You barely made it out of this one,” said Qurora. “How can you already be thinking about that?”

“You couldn’t twitch a wingtip right now, let alone lead a wingfight,” added Yoalie, as the three of them entered the Pavilion building.

Lit with fewer lanterns, it was a spooky trek down the halls and closed guest rooms as they made their way to the infirmary.

Though they didn’t encounter any Pavilion servants, the infirmary itself was staffed with two Aven chatting quietly inside.

Yoalie knocked and slid the door open.

“What is it this time?” Griped a senior ‘ven.

Quartermaster Yeng of Majwa Pavilion ushered the three of them inside curtly, and left the priestess at the medicine drawers to finish tidying things up as he saw to the eyas’ concerns.

When the Quartermaster heard their story and saw Angelico’s wounds, he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

He went back to the medicine drawers and wrote some notes in the infirmary logs, complaining to the priestess as if the three eyas weren’t there.

“Eyas these days love to fly like they’re invincible. Well, they’re not. Don’t they know that?” He scoffed. “And they say every eyas sent up to the Eyrie is a blessing.”

“Indeed,” said the priestess, lifting her familiar head, “that’s the vigour of youth.”

Priestess Neary smiled sympathetically. “Why don’t you go and turn in, Quartermaster? I’ll see what I can do for them.”

“Yes, do,” the Quartermaster grumbled.

He left and shut the door with a clack.

Only when he was out of earshot did Qurora say, “He sure was in a bad mood.”

“Yes,” said Neary. “It’s been a long week for the infirmary. The logs have  filled up with entries of altus sickness from over-enthusiastic lay’ven thinking they could try their wings on a mountain course.”

“You’d think some of them had never even heard of cultivating spiritus.”

Priestess Neary showed Qurora and Yoalie to the tweezers and bandages. Then she mixed up a salve for Angelico’s back, and they treated him.

When he was all wrapped up, the three eyas helped the Priestess finish tidying the medicine drawers.

Angelico picked up a warm saucer and inspected the dry herbal residue on it. “Huh? Isn’t this Master Akiyoh’s prescription?”

“You sure know it well,” said the Priestess, “But you know you shouldn’t call him that here.”

“Did he come up to Ouranos?” Asked Angelico.  “Is he in the Inner Sky?”

The Priestess simply gestured with a wing to the infirmary window.

Angelico went there and took in the view overlooking Madame Anahina’s front courtyard, where the celebrations were in full swing.

He spotted who he was looking for immediately.

In rich black robes with a tasteful white trim, Master Akiyoh cut through the sea of partying and revelry with dead seriousness.

The lower half of his face was concealed by a gauzy veil, and his long dark hair floated out behind him.

 Nothing about his posture or his stride suggested he was, or ever had been, a raptor.

He looked like a pampered, if severe,  scholar that led a cushy life reading about soarplay without ever tasting a wingfight.

And indeed, none of the eyas of the Jawbone had every truly seen him fly.

Yoalie and Qurora looked on from over Angelico’s shoulders.

“The Chief is here? When did he come up?”

“Why didn’t he tell us?”

Neary said, “There was something he was suddenly requested to do.”

“By who?”

Neary shrugged in answer.

“But he’s never even considered coming up before,” said Qurora.

“The timing of this Caritas Festival is unique,” said Neary. “Haven’t you noticed? Neither the Grand Chancellor nor the Hierarch are currently in the Inner Sky.”

“Ah, that’s right. They’re both still out in Stratos.”

Though neither the Grand Chancellor nor the Hierarch had been at this Festival’s opening ceremony, Angelico had seen both of them before.

His Excellency the Grand Chancellor conducted himself with the same grave dignity that Master Akiyoh did, and His Excellency’s tastes and stylings reminded Angelico of the Master too.

Angelico could imagine it: Master Akiyoh in the regal vestments of the Chancellor, holding Celestial Court from the throne of Celestial Palace, second only in power and prestige to the Hierarch himself.

As for the Hierarch, Angelico saw him all the time: from Stratos when he made a wingdance with the Holy Disk, and through the mystic waters of Lake Heaven’s Mirror when he flew the Empyrean during Hunting season, beating back every Archasaur’s attempt on his title and his life.

And in the flesh, the Hierarch was resplendent, as if a legendary hero had stepped out of a mythic relief mural to enact his perfect destiny.

But he was solemn as a statue too.

Angelico had never seen the Hierarch so much as smile, not even in victory. Instead, he had the bearing of a grim avenger merely righting wrongs in a wayward world.

“It’s good that the Master’s feeling well,” said Angelico, taking in the rare sight of Master Akiyoh out in the world and among its ‘ven.

In the distance, beyond Majwa Pavilion and Madame Anahina’s villa, the statue of the Great Majwa loomed, posed with outstretched arms.

 Master Akiyoh had once said that from a certain vantage point on Plum Blossom Mountain, the statue appeared to be cupping the Holy Disk over Celestial Hall.

Now, down below in the courtyard, the Master  had made it to the gate of Triple Yobel Mansion.

“He’s going inside?”

Priestess Neary said, “Yes. After all, he’s not here to party. He’s here for an audience with the custodian of Mount Majwa.”

---

Akiyoh adjusted the veil below his eyes as the mansion guards let him inside.

The years he’d spent all but confined to the Jawbone manor and surrounding swamp had made him forget how coarse and crude Stratos Aven could be.

Truly, he didn’t belong among them.

The custodian of Mount Majwa lived in Triple Yobel Mansion, behind Majwa Pavilion, where she hosted ‘ven that did not reside in Ouranos, and did not belong to the Inner Sky.

 Richly decorated without being garish, Triple Yobel Mansion hadn’t changed much in the twelve years since Akiyoh had last been there.

However, the relief mural on the corridors leading towards the main hall entrance were new. He appreciated the craftsmanship as he walked to the mansion’s main hall.

The mural was exquisitely rendered.

Low to the floor was Lake Heaven’s Mirror, the denizens of Stratos represented in dingy fishing boats at the feet of the glorious mountains of the Eyrie.

The edges of Stratos were reportedly vast, but ultimately irrelevant to the concerns of the Inner Sky.

The mountains that rose up out of Stratos, high enough to enter Ouranos, were the domain of the Inner Sky.

 Aven with the spiritus to fly to Ouranos found a home there in its luxury, as long as they vowed to support the raptors of the Inner Sky, who’s duty was to vanquish serpents and light the night with the glory of the Holy Disk of Heaven.

In the mural, serpents twisted their massive bodies through the Eyrie and bared their fangs to the Orders of swarming raptors and their Archasaur generals.

Above Ouranos was the Empyrean, where the Hierarch in the mural had taken the Disk, and none of the serpents or raptors could reach him.

But the serpents on this mural were nothing like the ones in Akiyoh’s own paintings, accumulating for years in the Jawbone manor.

At the main hall entrance, a well-dressed,  especially naive-looking eyas blinked up at him. “Are you here to see Master Anahina?” He said.

Surreptitiously, Akiyoh looked around for the eyas’ supervisor.

Had this youth arrived in the Eyrie yesterday? Akiyoh was sure the Majwa weren’t sending them up so young in his day.

“You are her disciple?” Asked Akiyoh.

“I am.”

Then the main hall doors opened, and Lord Waysonn appeared, the wingmeet of Madame Anahina. He had dressed for Mount Majwa’s festivities, complete with a curved and oblique Stratos-style mask.

It had been more than ten years since Akiyoh had last seen him, but his air of cluelessness hadn’t dissipated.

However Akiyoh knew it was just that: airs. Waysonn and Anahina were a pair as shrewd and discerning as each other.

Lord Waysonn quietly instructed the eyas, named Riom, and then greeted Akiyoh as he removed his mask.

Upon seeing Waysonn’s face now, it was suddenly clear as day to Akiyoh why the profoundly inexperienced Riom was Madame Anahina’s disciple.

Lord Waysonn ushered Akiyoh into the main hall and shut the door.

Madame Anahina was sprawled out in her grand seat at the head of the hall, in front of a massive mural of Mount Majwa, detailing its geography. An imitation artefact of the Holy Disk hung upon it, miniaturised to the size of a large plate.

Madame Anahina was laughing merrily as she watched the servants take stock of the heap of gifted tributes amassed in the main hall.

She had been enjoying her liquor thoroughly and was barely fit to be holding court. She squinted at a codex of her schedule notes.

“My salutations. You were the one who made that  request to visit the Directorate of Records, were you? Hmm… I know I approved that previously, but… the Records are a musty place.”

“Why not visit the library some other time, when there’s no party to enjoy?”

That was not what Akiyoh had wanted to hear.

“What about this?” she proposed. “The Archasaurs of the Inner Sky have been showering Mount Majwa with tribute lately. In the spirit of Caritas, I will permit you to the Directorate of Records if you can offer a tribute as lovely as that Plum Blossom Mountain painting you first sent here.”

Akiyoh looked at the tributes, surprised to see the historic mythic mural of Cheela and Ponike from the Celestial Palace.

“Right now, that one is my favourite,” said Madame Anahina.

Did Akiyoh have anything that could compare with that?

He eyed the magnificent mural and the little disk behind her.

“Unfortunately, Madame, I am all out of paintings. But perhaps I could give Mount Majwa something it has never had before.”