The scent of burning wood and oil filled Ayame’s workshop. It was finished. The Sky Strider, a wooden glider reinforced with leather and iron joints, the first flying machine. Nibbles, her pet squirrel, chattered excitedly on her shoulder. “Time to show the world!” She kicked the door open.

In the war council chamber, Canute rubbed his temple as Wulf discussed strategy. SLAM. The doors burst open. “CANUTE! I HAVE CREATED FLIGHT!” Silence. Canute exhaled. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Wulf raised a brow. “Flight?” Ayame slapped down a parchment. “The Sky Strider! It flies!” Canute sighed. “Ayame, last time you nearly burned down a village.”

“That was one time.”

“And the battering ram that crushed our own camp?”

“Okay, three times.”

Before Canute could argue, the doors slammed open again.

“AYAME, SHOW THEM THE THING! IT’S SO COOL!” Thorkell stormed in, grinning like a madman.

“See? Thorkell believes in me.”

“That does not reassure me.”

Minutes later, on a windy hilltop, the Sky Strider stood on a ramp. Ayame strapped herself in. Canute, arms crossed, muttered, “This is a waste of time.”

Wulf smirked. “Or a wonder of our time.”

Thorkell vibrated with excitement. “AYAME, CAN I GO NEXT?!”

“No! You’ll break it!”

She ran.

Wind caught the wings.

And then she flew.

The world fell away. The sun lit her hair, her light blue dress fluttered, her sword glinting on her back. She belonged up there.

Canute’s heart stopped.

Thorkell roared with laughter. “AYAME, YOU’RE A SKY WARRIOR!”

She yelled down, “TOLD YOU, CANUTE!”

Canute tore his gaze away, heat creeping up his neck. Wulf smirked. “Oh?”

Canute glared. “Don’t.”

“Oh, I would never, my king.”

As Ayame landed, Canute muttered, “…It was adequate.”