Skykeel reached Jiang roof-first.
A house emerged through the ceiling sea with its chimney pointing sideways. Water poured from the open windows, carrying bedding, bowls, and a wooden bird that flapped one painted wing before vanishing below the city.
Behind it came a chain root thick enough to hold a street.
The root swung past the Bellmother's ridge and missed the nursery by less than the length of Beras's ruined frame. Its pale growth had split open. Warm water bubbled from a channel inside while human hands struck once against a submerged window.
Kesta saw the hands.
"We go back," she said.
Beras looked down at the bare ribs where his last sail had been. "I can steer a fall. I cannot choose where it ends."
"Then fall toward home."
Kesta had no hook, he had no whole wing, and the city had no direction it could keep. Neither of them pretended those facts changed who was trapped in the upper street.
Jiang moved toward the edge.
His bad leg failed under the first step.
