They rose earlier than either of their companions, preening their feathers and stretching with a few loud cracks echoing from their hollow bones. Mmmrm. They didn’t feel like going downstairs, but they weren’t sleepy anymore either… Looking out the window, the morning sun was somewhere in the horizon, only barely rising. Back at home, this was the hour where the gatherers woke up to swoop down the mountainside to find herbs for stews or to try and mine certain ores.

  Maybe they could do the same? They’ve never been around this many people. So, they climb out the window, take a deep breath, and drop down. The angle is tight, but they manage to tilt into a smooth flight before hitting the ground, gliding across the quiet street before they swerve right up into the air until they’re above most rooftops;

  some still unconquered at the highest hill of the city. That must be where the important people Maia and Homer wish to see reside.

  These skies were not as empty as they feared. They were the only harpy here, but there were other fliers present. A few creatures of rock with wings sprouted from their backs and hooked legs with strong, rge feet. A traveler on a winged horse, a gaseous being that they almost flew through in their hurry, just barely dodging while hearing what had to be curses and grumblings in a foreign nguage they didn’t know…

  And the most interesting of all, a floating machine of some kind.

  It was held up in the air by a giant leathery balloon. Aymanah had no clue about how the mechanism worked beyond that and some sort of heated, glowing rock that radiated warmth even to where they flew by, circling the balloon in curiosity. It had a hand-woven straw basket attached to it about as wide as the carriage they’d used to get here, and an old man sat aboard alone writing down into a rge book while occasionally examining other strange machines aboard.

  There was no good spot to perch. The balloon was low enough that if they tried to perch on the edge of the basket they’d be hitting their head, and their weight would likely imbance the machine… So they hopelessly fly around it for some time until the old man notices them with a wave.

  “A harpy, eh? Been a while since I’ve seen one of your kind.”

  Having a discussion with them constantly fpping and circling around the balloon was awkward, but their curiosity won over the inconvenience. This was a ‘weather balloon’ according to the old man; he was a geomancer who specialized in wind magic, tracking the currents to determine the upcoming weather for the city, which he then passed on to the crier’s guild who announced the weather around the city. His rate of pay wasn’t very high, but he did this out of a passion for listening to the wind sing.

  “I actually learned from one of yours. Over seventy years ago, when I was a little boy up to your knee… She turned up. Never expined who she was, but she settled here and started teaching that sort of thing. Wind currents, how to magically manipute them, and how to read the weather from them. Does your kind still do such things?”

  Aymanah nodded. Yes they did. Not to that level, though. Knowing how wind currents worked was common, maniputing them was down to the skill of the elder shamans, and they’d never read weather like so…

  Just who was this harpy woman, then?

  “Yti, she said her name was. Everyone accepted that, and nobody questioned her. Citizenship is easy to acquire here, as long as one finds a patron to sponsor them. My father sponsored her, since he was a noble of some import and I quite took a liking to her teachings… Although I’m sure he expected her to make me some powerful wizard instead of a weather watcher, hohohoho.”

  Yti, that sounded like one of the other tribes. Wanderlust couldn’t be contained no matter the rules, they supposed. They rarely spoke in return to the old man. Nods and shakes of their head were enough, and he always seemed to intuit what they wanted to know. The few words they spoke were to specify. Who? What? When? Where, and so on.

  And he just understood.

  This was nice. Not many people simply understood back home, and even on the travels, they spoke so much because they knew Homer and Maia would find the silence unnerving. And because they didn’t want them to feel unnerved.

  Because they were friends, they supposed.

  “She’s long gone now, as she was already somewhat aged when she taught me… But she left behind a school, and a daughter. A half-breed with an elf, if I remember right. Hyti doesn’t have her mother’s wings, but she does still teach the arts.” The old man reaches out of his basket and points to the very edge of the city below, to a rge building with a gss dome that sparkles with the rising morning sun.

  “There, the Academia Verdant. Her school is one of the many hosted in the halls within. I suggest you give it a visit if you want to hear more.”

  Aymanah nods and finally speaks longer than a word or two.

  “... Thank you. Do you know where a merchant named Hermes lives?”

  The old man thinks for a time and flips through his book- they can tell he’s not doing this for any reason, just to keep his hands busy.

  “Hermes, Hermes… Doesn’t strike any bells. I sadly do not deal with the mercantile distinct down yonder,” as he points to the busiest district even at these early hours, “but you can swoop down and ask at any point. Isn’t that the beauty of flight? I always desired Yti’s wings as a child, to have that freedom.”

  “I can’t imagine living without them,” Aymanah concedes, “but at the same time, I can’t imagine living a life like yours… Isn’t that a good thing? It’d be boring if you could have everything you wanted.”

  The old man chuckles and strokes his long, wispy beard with a smile. His features make it look pleasant; he must smile often, they think. Maybe they have a family, and he smiles like that to his grandchildren all the time. Maybe they’re projecting.

  “Hohoho. Very true, young one, very true. Mmm. You will potentially find the Hermes you seek down there, but why not fly around and explore the city first? You’ve plenty of time. The earliest of birds can still enjoy the weather before they pluck the worm.”

  Aymanah considered this for a while and then nodded, doing one more circling ascent before diving down right next to the balloon, leaving the old man behind as he ughed loudly and waved over the edge of his basket. They never even caught his name. But that’d be fine. He’d be here tomorrow, and the day after, just as everyone back at the home vilge was always there.

  Until they weren’t.

  Their flight takes them to Academia Verdant. The academy is closed for vacation time, as they find out; it’ll reopen once the Day of Rebirth is over. They perch on the gss dome and look below to take in the great hall. Many hallways connect smaller domed lecture halls to the rger one, each containing its own ‘school’ to teach students different topics, ranging from the magical to the mundane…

  Akin to a beehive, maybe.

  From where they took flight again, towards the merchant’s quarter. The city center was dominated by a cathedral that seemed to be literally grasping for the heavens with its mighty pilr-like towers and sharp roofs. Being humble was clearly not in the vocabury of these gods that Maia and her kin worshipped. Mother Sky and Father Earth were happy with far less.

  They perch on one of those pilrs and look below. Priests wander the cobbled streets and into the cathedral, dressed in simple pin robes. There’s the occasional fancy hat, but their clothes cshed with the grandiosity of the cathedral. Maybe the barethread appearances were meant to show humbleness? From what Aymanah remembers of Homer’s rambling, this city was built by a god.

  Another swoop and they’re going further away from the merchant’s quarter. They’ve still got time. The sun has risen above the horizon now, but the city is barely coming alive.

  The harbor smells of fish, cheap alcohol and sea salt. Ships are already docking, some leaving, the buzz constant and loud. Seagulls stalk the bay trying to find any leftovers from the many fishermen carrying their hauls about, and some children- likely orphans- dive off the piers to try and find pearls or perhaps crabs close to the shoreline. Aymanah does not nd here; the concept of the sea intimidates them somewhat. The rgest body of water they’ve seen before this has been a mountain stream.

  Homer considered it important enough to lecture them about saltwater and how it is *not* drinkable, which made them feel like they were being patronized. Pfeh.

  The mage’s quarter, the foreigner’s quarter, the pace grounds that they dared not fly too close to, the many manses dotting the cityscape, fancy heraldries that seemed to range from intriguing to amusing (how would one represent themselves with a screaming rooster as their symbol) and many other urban wonders.

  By the time they considered themself satisfied, the sun had risen. Must be close to middle of the day… And there were still things they hadn’t seen. They hadn’t checked Homer’s home shanty-town, the rolling fields of olive trees and other fruit bearing orchards outside of the city walls escaped their notice due to the distance, and they had not dared to try and fly over the military training grounds. They’d rather not get skewered by a stray arrow.

  Now ought to be a good time to go and find Homer and Maia. They consider going right back to the tavern, but the merchant quarter is a likelier meeting pce. They swoop down and nd on a tiled rooftop, eyes scanning the area. It’s gotten even busier now. The vantage point helps, though… Being street level in this mess would drive them mad.

  So many people, though.More than they’ve ever seen in one pce in their entire life. Tall people, short people, fat people, thin people, people with the lower half of a horse, people with long ears, people with strange tones of skin, people who sold goods, people who bought goods…

  Was this what the harpies were missing out on? Or would it be more accurate to say that the harpies had been lucky enough to sequester away from this? They couldn’t say for sure yet. But their everpresent boredom had been much alleviated. Another issue did rear its head, one more relevant: they had no damn clue where Maia and Homer were.

  Maybe they had to change their approach.

  Feathers spun in the wind as they flew from stall to stall, scaring patrons and owners alike as they peppered them with questions.‘Where is Hermes,’‘Who is Hermes,’‘When was Hermes here st,’and so on.Many of them do not have answers. The ones that do paint a generic picture of a rich, but not *that* rich merchant with a successful but not *that* successful store.

  All of them give vague directions, but enough of those and they can start trianguting the store. It's at the very corner of the trade district, nestled between multiple almost identical buildings, with their uniqueness dictated by things such as signs and hired criers to try and convince you why this store had what you needed.

  Aymanah perches on the sign of Hermes’s store, a brightly painted peacock hitting a running stride. There were no signs of Maia and Homer yet, but they’d likely get here soon… Except if they were inside. That’d be awkward.

  A quick lean down to harass the somewhat nervous crier confirmed that no-one matching their description had gone inside yet. Great! They can surprise their friends by waiting here. Maybe they’ll just take a quick nap first… Perched here, waiting-

  …

  … In the end, it’s Maia and Homer who find them snoring away on top of the sign with a very, very frustrated looking crier.