I wake up in my cell to the sounds of the city outside stirring to life. I roll over and add a tally mark to the wall. One hundred and Seventy-Four days. It may as well be a lifetime. I rise, stretching out the soreness from the cot the guards so graciously provided, and head toward the door. Unlocked, like it always was.

It took me a week to try the door the first time. I remember the excitement in thinking that my captors had made some sort of mistake. Back when I still held onto hope. I take my morning walk, stepping outside to enjoy the bright sun and gentle breeze. Despite my extended stay I still draw looks from the locals. And why shouldn’t I? I stand out like a sore thumb. Their tall, lanky forms. Their smooth, pale skin. I’m clearly not one of them.

After my morning route, I return to my cell to find breakfast had already been delivered. Bread, cheese, and some kind of roasted root vegetable. Sustenance. I hungrily sit down, wishing once again for something more substantial. I finish my meal and head back outside, leaving my tray at the sink.

I make my way toward the market. I’m not allowed to carry money, but the sights, sounds, and smells remind me of home. I talk to the few vendors who tolerate my presence. Seeing if someone has a job for me to do in return for a small treat of some kind. No luck today, and so I move on. Out toward the city limits. It’s still a strange feeling being in a city with no surrounding walls. It looks wrong, like a drawing made by a child, missing key components. But they don’t need walls to keep invaders away. Just like they don’t need to lock my door to keep me here. Leaving the city isn’t the issue. It’s surviving the trip.

I cautiously approach the edge, laying on my stomach to shield me from any stray gusts. I peer down at the world below, a landscape of mountains and oceans laid out before me. A shimmer catches my vision as a flock of birds flies under the city, harmlessly passing through the protective bubble surrounding the city. The guards said something about it keeping the city safe and livable, but the specifics escaped me. Never been much one for details like that.

I continue on my walk. As I pass the docks, the guards eye me suspiciously. This is the only place I’ve seen any real security in the whole city. The flying machines that park here are the only safe way in or out. I make sure to give them plenty of space, making it clear I have no intention of messing with them. From a distance, I watch groups of guards systematically sorting through every incoming and outgoing crate, comparing them to the ship’s manifest. Other teams search each craft, checking for stowaways or contraband.

I return to my cell, and find one of the guards dropping off my lunch. I thank her, taking the tray from her hand as I sit down to eat. Bread, cheese, and some kind of beans. Thankfully, it’s Tuesday. Today’s cook remembers to season them, making the meal much more palatable. After I finish, I wash today’s two trays, and lay down for a nap.

Day after day, it’s all the same. I’m thankful for the rare opportunity to break the monotony. A vendor having a job for me. A large foreign ship carrying an ambassador from a country back on the surface. A scuffle in the streets over a perceived slight. Slowly biding my time, serving my sentence. If I had known who they were, I would never have attacked the caravan. I suppose everything is obvious in hindsight.

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Three hundred and Sixty-Five days. A whole year spent among the clouds. If I hadn’t kept track on my wall, I’d have no idea that it was my anniversary of being up here. I talk to the same people. Eat the same foods. I walk the same routes every day. I could probably do it blindfolded at this point. Which is why I almost didn’t notice the small crate.

It was around the corner from the docks, just out of sight from the guards. I lift the lid, finding a pile of fabric. It was rough to the touch. Probably for some industrial purpose. Now it was misplaced and forgotten, just begging for my attention. I carefully pull the fabric out before pushing the now empty crate to the edge of the city. Dumping trash over the edge is technically a crime, but I know many people do it. Besides, what would they do? Put me in prison? I laugh to myself, watching the wooden box tumble toward the ground, growing smaller and smaller before it completely disappears from sight.

I return to my treasure, and carefully bring it back to my cell. A guard notices it, but all it takes was a quick lie about doing a job to earn so I can use it as a blanket to satisfy their curiosity. I wrap myself up in it, thankful for the warmth despite its coarse texture, planning my next actions.

For the next several weeks, I forgo my daily walks, instead electing to spend time in my cell practicing tying knots in the fabric. I make sure to put it away when the guards bring me my food, not wanting them to take away my prize. I experiment wrapping the fabric around myself, finding ways to secure it with simple knots.

Finally, more than a month after acquiring my treasure, I work to put my plan in action. I resume my daily walks, checking the landscape below, waiting for the sight of some kind of civilization. When the day finally comes, I strike. I tie the fabric around myself in the way I had been practicing before throwing my cloak over myself, hiding my escape plan beneath. I feel my heart pounding as I navigate the now all too familiar streets, back out toward the edge. I reach the outer limit around the city, holding my cloak tight to avoid it blowing open. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and leap.

As I fall, I look behind me at the city now rapidly getting further away. From this perspective, I can see the array of glowing crystals that presumable keep the city afloat. Once I am satisfied with how far I’ve fallen, I finally let my cloak fall away, praying that my hard work will pay off. I tug on the carefully tied knot on my chest, releasing the excess fabric bundled around me. It billows up behind me, catching the wind and slowing my fall. I feel the makeshift harness tighten around me, but my practiced knots hold it in place and prevent it from becoming too uncomfortable.

I slowly drift down toward the city below, the time giving my mind plenty of opportunity to bombard me with questions I don’t know the answer to. How long will it take them to realize I’m gone? Will they hunt me down once they do? Who lives in that settlement below? Will they even allow me to stay? Will I even survive all the way to the ground?

Only time will tell. For now, I have escaped the sky fortress.