Chapter Eight: The Cliffs That Float

 Chapter Eight: The Cliffs That Float

The path had turned rugged again, climbing steadily upward into the ridgelands. The morning fog had long since burned away, replaced by wide, cloudless skies and a steady, cool wind. Dusty stone gave way to slate and glimmering quartz patches that glittered underfoot. Somewhere in the distance, faint thunder rolled—not from a storm, but something else entirely.

Kip walked ahead of the group, his stick tapping against the stone as he hummed a tune only he seemed to know.

“Alright,” he said, stopping and spinning on his heels, “let’s talk terms.”

Boo narrowed her eyes immediately. “Terms? I knew this was coming.”

Kip held up his paws. “Now don’t get twitchy. I said I could lead you to the Shadowlands—and I can. I know the secret paths. Ones that twist through the Folded Hills and the Breakglass Basin. But...”

He grinned. “To get through the veil gate unharmed, I need a feather.”

“A feather?” Ariel asked.

“Not just any feather,” Kip said dramatically. “A feather from the Sky Gryphon.”

Thistle blinked. “Those are real? I thought they were a myth.”

“Very real,” Kip said. “Very fast. Very moody. And they only roost at the Floating Cliffs.”

“And what do you need it for?” Boo asked.

Kip sobered slightly. “The gate to the Shadowlands is surrounded by the Veilstorm. You can’t cross it directly without the gryphon’s wind-borne essence. Their feathers hold ancient air magic—enough to glide through the currents without being pulled apart or lost. It’s the only way I can lead us there safely.”

Ariel frowned. “Why can’t you get the feather?”

“Well,” Kip said, twirling his stick again, “Sky Gryphons aren’t exactly chatty. They don’t like Mooncoons. I’ve tried before. Got dive-bombed into a tree.”

“So how are we supposed to get one?” Boo asked.

“They like light,” Kip said, eyeing the charm on her collar and the bracelet on Ariel’s wrist. “That starfire you’re carrying... that’ll attract them. Let you get close.”

Ariel glanced at Boo, who was already frowning.

“So,” Kip said with a flourish, “we get the feather, we get through the veil, I take you safely to the Shadowlands, and we all live to tell the tale. Win-win.”

Thistle rubbed the back of his neck. “Or... we could just follow the map. Skip the gryphon. Head to the Shadowlands ourselves.”

“Sure,” Kip said, shrugging. “If you like being shredded into mist and screaming your way into the void.”

“That’s dramatic,” Boo muttered.

“It’s also accurate,” Kip said.

They sat down on a patch of mossy stone to talk it over. The wind rustled the tall grass, carrying with it a high, distant call—like a hawk, but deeper, more powerful.

“I don’t like being bait,” Boo said.

“But we have the light they need,” Ariel replied. “And if Kip’s right, we might not get through the veil without it.”

“Or he’s lying and we’re walking into a trap,” Boo snapped.

“Maybe,” Thistle said. “But if he were going to trap us, he’s had chances.”

Ariel looked down at her bracelet. The tiny gem pulsed gently, like it was agreeing.

“We’ll help you get your feather,” she said finally.

Kip beamed. “Excellent choice.”

“And if you’re tricking us,” Boo added, “I will personally make sure your tail stays knotted for a week.”

Kip gave a very dignified bow. “Understood. Mind if I see that map again?"

Thistle handed it over, and Kip unrolled it on a flat stone. His sharp eyes scanned the glowing trails and symbols etched across the parchment.

"Alright," he said, tapping a claw near a crescent-shaped cluster of peaks. "That’s the Floating Cliffs. You see here? And this,"—he pointed lower, to a swirling dark shape—"this is the Veilstorm. Nasty, unpredictable, all bite, no warning. And this shadowy blot near the edge of the map... that’s the Void. Nobody wants to end up there."

He traced a new route with his claw, looping around the Folded Hills. "We need to head this way. It’ll take us along the ridgelands and into the Windrift Valley. That’s our best shot at reaching the cliffs from below. Safer than trying to fly straight in with no feather."

Kip folded the map with care and handed it back to Thistle. With their path decided, they descended into the Windrift Valley, the ridgelands giving way to rolling dips filled with thick silver grasses and whispering trees with paper-thin leaves that clinked in the breeze.

The air was different here—cooler, scented with something floral and fleeting. Every now and then, a glint of color darted through the brush—strange fox-sized creatures with wings like dragonflies and eyes that shimmered like gems.

They passed two locals tending to floating lantern vines that hummed gently in the twilight. One was a tall, wiry creature with bark-colored skin and curling branch-like antlers. The other looked like a hedgehog had stood up and grown moss.

"Sky travelers?" the hedgehog-being asked, eyes twinkling. "Or just wanderers?"

"Bit of both," Kip replied, tipping an imaginary hat. "We're heading for the cliffs."

"Dangerous skies up there," warned the antlered one. "You’ll want your footing firm and your minds focused."

"Wise advice," Thistle said, bowing respectfully.

They shared a few pieces of dried moonfruit from the travelers, who wished them luck before disappearing back into the tall silvergrass.

As the ground grew steeper, the valley narrowed between jutting stone spires that glowed faintly under the moonlight. The trees thinned out completely, replaced by low, whispering shrubs and strange stone formations shaped like waves frozen in time.

By sunset, they reached the edge of a high plateau. And beyond it—floating above a chasm of swirling mist—were the Floating Cliffs.

Massive islands of rock hung suspended in the sky, drifting slowly like giant lily pads in the air. Waterfalls poured from them, vanishing before they hit the chasm below. Birds with glowing feathers danced in the air, and every so often, a shadow would pass overhead—fast and silent.

“There,” Kip whispered, pointing. “The Sky Gryphon lives up there.”

They all stared, wonderstruck.

“Tomorrow,” Ariel whispered, “we fly.”