Skylrael was surrounded by a sea of clouds spanning tens of thousands of square miles.
Pure water from the Elemental Plane of Water flowed out of the lake atop North Peak, becoming waterfalls and rivers that wound around the flying island before pouring over its edges.
The falling water transformed into mist, forming the sea of clouds. A vast magical ritual bound those clouds firmly in place, holding Skylrael aloft while creating a partially natural storm barrier. Anyone wishing to reach the flying enclave first had to cross the storm zone.
The barrier drew its power from the Silver Tree's roots. Looking up at the island from below, one could see pristine white roots growing from its underside.
The Silver Tree's root system was far larger and more luxuriant than its trunk and crown. When the trunk had barely grown taller than two people, the roots had already pierced through the entire island. Like the aerial roots of a banyan tree, they hung freely in the atmosphere.
Anyone traveling through the tunnels and hollow chambers within the island could approach the Silver Tree's roots at close range.
Those roots shone brilliantly. They existed not only in the physical world but also cast projections across countless dimensions, much like the Weave. The perceptions of sentient beings could resonate and attune themselves to the roots. Close your eyes, and they were everywhere.
Torrents of magical energy surged through them. Even the power they naturally released was put to use shaping the cloud barrier, without the slightest bit going to waste. Despite being formed only from this excess energy, the power it supplied was immense.
The sea of clouds served as Skylrael's physical defense, while the Eye of Magnus concealed it from the sight of the gods. Even high-circle divination magic could not reveal the flying enclave's coordinates.
Because of this, outsiders found it extremely difficult to locate Skylrael. Anyone attempting to teleport there was likely to arrive by mistake in the heart of the cloud sea. Unless they were unusual creatures immune to lightning, such as blue dragons, flesh golems, or behirs, surviving the brutal thunderstorms at its center would be nearly impossible.
Nonmembers of the Tower who lacked the strength to cross the sea of clouds had to find another way to reach the flying enclave.
The Feywild, for example, contained a natural portal leading directly to Skylrael, which many fey creatures had used to migrate there and settle. Another option was to travel to the Elemental Plane of Water and search for the spring that emerged from the mountaintop lake.
Then there was smuggling oneself inside.
Elminster had entered that way. The unicorn had used the genetic information of his descendant, Simon Aumar, to create an atavistic clone, and the old mage had projected his soul and consciousness into that body. Although he lacked his assortment of magical equipment and the thoroughly trained body he was accustomed to, he remained formidably powerful, and the arrangement was safe enough.
As a seasoned veteran who had wandered Faerûn for many years, Elminster would never recklessly place his true body in danger. That was the cautious and rational way of a spellcaster.
The other stowaway was Bomogani, a sahuagin priestess. She was also the first person ever to infiltrate Skylrael. Through a blood-sacrifice ritual, she had offered up a noble sahuagin baron to open a precisely targeted portal.
The sahuagin chieftain had sacrificed himself willingly. Such noble selflessness was not normally associated with the sahuagin. Their race worshiped Sekolah, a greedy and vicious god. The sahuagin believed Sekolah represented the majestic force that purged all weakness and incompetence from the universe. Their god had created them and their shark servants to cleanse the oceans of every other weak and helpless race.
Slaughter! Plunder! Rule!
The sahuagin were simple, happy beasts. Guided by their priestesses, they sought to become the tyrants of the sea.
Only female sahuagin who earned the proper recognition were permitted to channel divine power, and Bomogani was the finest priestess in her tribe.
On the day the lighthouse descended from the sky, every sahuagin priestess in the Sea of Swords received a revelation from Sekolah. A terrifying roar from the Nine Hells of Baator delivered its command through slurred, incoherent whispers. They all understood that they had to reach the flying enclave, regardless of the price.
The sahuagin chieftain had been part of that price.
Bomogani stepped over the corpses of her own people and entered the flying enclave, eager to accomplish some great deed and earn more of her god's favor. Instead, she found only vast, silent forests covering the mountains.
There were no beasts, insects, or birds, only a few fairies hiding beneath leaves and among the flowers. The scenery was beautiful but hollow, filled with a profound loneliness.
The flying enclave's ruler did not appear particularly hostile toward outsiders. According to Strongpaw, anyone who signed the contract would be permitted to travel to the summit.
As the cleric of an evil god, Bomogani was familiar with the methods of devils. Anyone with the slightest common sense knew better than to sign a contract carelessly. Otherwise, they might unknowingly sell their soul before they realized what had happened.
Every gift from fate came with a hidden price tag.
She decided to wait and observe the situation. First, however, she needed to find a river in which to soak. Sahuagin could survive away from water only for a limited time.
The visitors who remained at the foot of the mountain were led by the kobolds to a camp hidden in the forest. This would be their home for the immediate future.
The camp consisted of rough, battered wooden shacks and a communal bunkhouse, but none of the visitors allowed their expressions to change.
Andrei paced around the camp. His group consisted of eight adventurers from Waterdeep, none of whom had expected their journey to somehow carry them into the sky. They were excited, but they were also anxious.
The priest of Tyr had erected a temporary altar and prayed to the great Maimed God for guidance.
The answer he received was simple.
Remain just.
Of course. What else should he have expected from the God of Justice?
The priest did not dare dismiss the answer as a meaningless platitude. Instead, he repeated it constantly, pondering every possible interpretation.
Andrei let out a heavy breath and stared longingly toward the mountain. He simply could not stop worrying about his sister, Livia.
Shortly before noon, Livia finished settling into Skylrael and came down the mountain to find him.
"Andrei, why are you living here?" The young woman examined the miserable shack her brother had been assigned, then gave him a mischievous smile. "Come with me. I'll show you my room."
"Am I allowed to go to the summit?"
"You'll be fine with me around."
Livia looked exceptionally healthy. Since recovering from her illness, she had become livelier and more cheerful, and Andrei could not help smiling at the sight.
The concern in his eyes, however, did not diminish.
Devils beguiled mortals by promising beautiful illusions. Then the day of truth arrived, and every sweetness of the past became a knife that carved through the heart, leaving its victim covered in wounds.
"Livvy, tell me about your patron."
"Uh... honestly," Livia said, lowering her head shyly, "I don't know very much about Him. Do you remember the statue Father bought? Its creator was Mr. Skyl. He is probably the person closest to the High Tower King. All I know is that he was the first disciple of the Tower Covenant."
"Skyl..." Andrei rolled the foreign name across his tongue. It left a faint bitterness behind, as though it carried the taste of bronze rust and heavy fog. A connection suddenly occurred to him. "Skylrael?"
"That's right. Skylrael was built by him, and he was also the one who planted the Silver Tree. Mr. Skyl and I agreed that we would meet, but unfortunately, he recently left on a long journey. I don't know how long it will be before he returns."
"A mysterious religious leader and a mysterious organization. Livvy, I still don't trust this place. Everything is too strange, isn't it? Are you absolutely certain that you came here entirely of your own free will? Something feels wrong everywhere I look. A sahuagin killed himself the moment we arrived, and the priest of Tyr has been muttering to himself like a delirious man. I don't understand much about politics, but I have a feeling this place is heading toward serious trouble."
"Andrei, what place is peaceful? Waterdeep? Our home? You think I'm risking everything on one desperate gamble. You think I don't have the courage to face the consequences, don't you?"
Livia's words remained as sharp as ever, but she now possessed an even greater ability to see through people. White flames seemed to burn within her irises, producing a deeply unsettling sight.
She pulled back the sleeve of her coat, revealing a crystalline ring tied around her wrist with a black cord.
"What is that?"
"This is power, Andrei. Power I never would have dared dream of possessing before."
Livia whispered a short syllable, and a vivid illusory duplicate appeared beside her.
"Do you see it? The fifth-circle illusion spell, [Mislead]. How long do you think it took me to learn it?"
"Livvy?!"
Livia smiled in satisfaction at her brother's stunned expression. She and her duplicate spoke together.
"It took me only one hour to record the spell inside a Memory Stone. How many years of relentless study and practice would an ordinary spellcaster need before they could cast a fifth-circle spell?
"Look around you, Andrei. Knowledge and power are within easy reach on this island. Are you going to throw away the opportunity fate has given you, flee back to Waterdeep alone, and spend the rest of your life as an unknown member of the City Watch? Or will you remain here and pursue power with me?"
Andrei stared at the smiling, impish young woman before him and found her strangely unfamiliar.
His face turned ashen as he quietly invoked the name of the God of Justice.
He did so because he did not want to acknowledge the desire stirring deep within his chest.
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