By the time Edward felt ready again, the bruises had faded. Not completely—his shoulder still ached when he turned wrong—but enough. Enough to try.
This time, the build took longer. He spent more time drafting and redrafting, calculating load points, and adjusting the measurements down to fractions. Mira reviewed every design. Leonard made him test the joints repeatedly before assembly. Elsie hovered, poking the frame and offering commentary that was mostly unhelpful but strangely motivating.
"Looks like a big bird and a chair had a baby," she said.
Edward just grinned. "Good. Birds fly."
It wasn't just the construction that took longer—it was the process of understanding. Edward sat through long hours at the library, copying diagrams, reading merchant records, and analyzing the kites of distant seafarers. Mira handed him a new book each day, always without asking. The pages smelled of salt and time.
Leonard, meanwhile, introduced Edward to new tools. Brass clamps, a proper chisel, a bit of lead for testing balance.
"You're past the 'guess and glue' stage," Leonard said one evening. "Now you're a builder. Start acting like one."
Edward took it to heart. He started keeping better notes, labeling everything. He even redid his entire sketchbook, organizing it by component.
Elsie tried to help where she could, mostly by testing how strong the new wings were.
"If I can hang from it, it's strong enough," she reasoned.
"You're not hanging from anything," Edward said, but he let her tug at the frame anyway. She gave honest feedback, brutal but helpful.
It was nearly two weeks before the next test. The glider was larger now, but leaner—skeleton-thin and angled differently. The fabric was sailcloth this time, stolen from a pile Leonard had salvaged from a torn merchant tent.
Edward added a nose brace and reinforced the rear spars with a crisscross of leather string. The harness had also been upgraded, thanks to a few borrowed buckles and Mira's suggestion to wrap the joints with soft cloth for comfort.
They returned to the hill just after dawn. Mist clung to the grass. Edward checked everything twice before even thinking about putting on the harness.
"Wind's steady," Leonard said, licking his finger and holding it up.
"You ready to fall again?" Elsie asked cheerfully.
Edward exhaled. "Not if I can help it."
The slope looked steeper than he remembered. But the glider felt good on his back—balanced, like a second set of limbs.
He braced himself. Took a running start.
And launched.
This time, the wings held. The glider rose—not much, but enough. Enough for air to carry it longer, further. He stayed up for nearly ten seconds, arcing down the slope in a slow glide. When he landed, it wasn't a crash—it was a stumble. But a safe one.
From the top of the hill, Elsie whooped. Leonard gave a full applause.
Edward lay back in the grass, chest heaving, eyes wide.
He'd stayed up.
He'd stayed up.
---
Back in the village, the glider was the subject of whispers. A few people had seen it—seen the silhouette over the hill, just for a moment. It had looked like a bird. Or something stranger. Rumors spread faster than facts.
Mrs. Tanner at the bakery gave Edward two free rolls. "For the flying boy," she said with a wink.
Old Thomlin, who usually only complained about the noise, gave him a slow nod instead of a scowl.
His mother said nothing that night, but left his favorite stew on the stove. His father glanced at the dirt on Edward's boots and simply said, "So. Still chasing the wind?"
Edward nodded.
"Good," his father replied. "Catch it next time."
Edward thought about that later—how few words his father used, but how much weight they carried when they came.
---
That evening, Edward returned to the library, glider notes under his arm. Mira was reading, but she looked up when he entered.
"You didn't crash," she said.
"Almost did."
"But didn't."
He nodded. "Thanks for the cloth specs. They made the difference."
She tapped her pencil once against the desk. "Next time, angle the spar tips forward. You'll get smoother descent."
Edward smiled. "Next time."
Mira hesitated, then asked, "When?"
"Soon."
She gave the smallest nod. "Let me know. I'll watch from the ridge."
Edward blinked. "Really?"
"You've earned an audience."
It felt bigger than it was. Just a few words. But something in her tone had changed. Less caution. More belief.
He left the library that night with a new sketch already forming in his head.
The sky was still waiting.
And this time, it didn't feel so far away.