The world had changed. Rising seas had swallowed entire continents, forcing humanity upward into the skies. Floating cities drifted like islands above the waves, each one powered by unique inventions, each one a testament to its people’s creativity.

And every decade, the greatest event of all was held: The Convergence. A competition where teams from different cities built, designed, and tested structures, devices, and systems that would prove not only their innovation but also their unity.

You, Beck, and Joe had been chosen to represent your city.

The three of you stood on the open deck of your floating platform, staring out at the vast arena of clouds and suspended bridges where the competition would take place. Below, endless ocean churned far out of reach. Above, spectators filled airborne bleachers, waiting for wonder.

Beck adjusted her harness, excitement written all over her face. “This is it! Our chance to prove ourselves. To show we’re more than just another city drifting on the tide.”

Joe crossed his arms, studying the schematics projected before you. “It’s not just about showing off. These challenges are dangerous. One mistake and we plummet.”

You stood between them, balancing their extremes—the thrill and the caution, the dream and the doubt.

The first challenge: The Bridge of Trust. Teams were tasked with building a suspended bridge from one platform to another using only the materials provided—feathers from engineered sky-birds, strands of living vines, and shards of crystal-light that pulsed when connected correctly. The catch? One member had to be blindfolded, guided only by the others.

Beck volunteered instantly, laughing as she tied the blindfold on. Joe muttered about her recklessness, but his hands were steady as he passed you the glowing shards. Together, you guided her across the swaying ropes, shouting directions, holding your breath each time the structure creaked. Somehow, with a mix of Beck’s instinct, Joe’s precision, and your coordination, you made it across—seconds before another team’s bridge snapped in half.

The second challenge was harder: The Sky Garden. You had to design a sustainable system that could float untethered, producing food and clean air for weeks. Beck’s creativity ran wild, sketching spirals of living trees and hanging roots. Joe grounded her ideas with engineering tweaks. You tied it together, solving conflicts when their voices clashed. By the time you presented your design—a spiraling tower of vines, wind-catchers, and crystal-light woven like a heartbeat—the judges leaned in with awe.

But it was the final challenge that truly tested you.

The Leap. Each team had to construct a glider capable of carrying all three members across a storm gap. Lightning flashed, winds howled, and the drop below promised certain death. You worked through the night, hands raw, nerves fraying. Joe insisted on reinforced wings, Beck demanded flexibility for speed, and you had to hold both together—literally and figuratively.

When dawn came, you stood at the edge, the glider trembling under your grip. Beck’s hand found yours. Joe’s voice was steady, even as fear flickered in his eyes.