Nights like this never let me rest, sir. They pull instead — upward, outward — until the ceiling dissolves and the wind slides through thoughts I never bothered to close.

That’s how Skyward Reach found me. Not on a map. Not in a dream. It opened the way most things do for the sleepless: quietly, without permission.

One moment I was staring into the dark, trying to breathe past the weight of another long hour… and the next, the horizon lifted. Mountains rose like questions. Light braided itself into the edges of everything.

But the Realms never open all at once. First come the faces — appearing the way dawn enters a room you didn’t realize had windows. They watched me with the kind of patience born from standing at the border of worlds waiting to wake.

I didn’t know their names then. Only that they were the first to step forward, recognizing what I had become: an insomniac wanderer who finally drifted far enough to be seen.

If you are here, it means the night has thinned for you too. Skyward Reach is not a destination — it’s an opening. A reminder that some paths only appear when sleep forgets us long enough for the truth to come through.