The skies may be beautiful but they’re never boring. Welcome to the Wind Rider world, where chaos is part of the forecast.
Let’s talk about my favorite little monster: worldbuilding.
It’s ambitious. It’s all consuming. It’s the reason I currently have lore docs bigger than most small town phone books. And it’s exactly why Wind Rider Wednesday is shifting gears.
As of now, Wind Rider Wednesday will be a twice-a-month feature instead of weekly… because if I keep building the skies at this rate, I’ll have a 300-page encyclopedia and no actual book to show for it.
Don’t worry, the chaos isn’t going anywhere. The skies are still brimming with floating islands, found family vibes, sky beasts, and emotional damage. You’ll just be getting all that goodness in slightly slower, biweekly doses so I can focus more on actually telling the story, not just mapping every Drift down to its laundry lines.
Thanks for following along with me! Whether you’re here for lore, character breakdowns, or random skyfruit facts, I’m so glad you’re enjoying the Wind Riders ride.
Next post is already in the works… see you in the skies!
Konnor and Telvan at the edge of memory… where grief, sky, and purpose meet.
🪁 Wind Rider Wednesday
“Peace Garden Drift Wasn’t Much. But It Was Ours.”
Konnor Chapman has always hated speeches. So when the Drift elders asked him to speak at the Remembrance Ceremony during the last Eddy, he froze. The request brought it all rushing back… the Scourwind, the screams, the silence that followed. Even after all these years, the wound hadn’t fully closed. But later that night, while sitting on the edge of the sky mooring rails with Telvan’s tail draped over his boots, he said something better.
Something true.
“Peace Garden Drift wasn’t much. But it was ours. You ask me what was worth fighting for? It wasn’t banners or sky medals. It was hearing our neighbor’s forge fire spark up at dawn. It was that sour plum tree by the orchard fence. It was the kid who built a glider out of garden shears and nearly crashed it into the grain tower twice. That’s what mattered. That’s why I ride.”
Drifts may look like scattered islands on a map, but to their people, they’re home. Floating gardens. Broken foundations made whole again. And no two are the same.
Peace Garden Drift isn’t Konnor’s home anymore, but it lives in his memory like sunlight through orchard leaves. After the Scourwind tore through it, taking nearly all of the thousand souls who once lived there, its absence became a presence in his life. No matter how much sky passes beneath his boots, that Drift still shapes his steps.
It was a midsize farming Drift that hugged the northern Mistral’s calmer bends. Its mooring lines would creak in the wind. The orchard was always half wild. There was a tiny stone clinic that doubled as a schoolhouse. The older kids painted murals on the walls every time the Eddy came around.
The Riders stationed there were long-serving. They knew every face, every roof tile, every knot in the bridge planks. They weren’t just defenders. They were family.
And for all his jokes, Konnor became a Wind Rider so no other Drift kid would have to go through what he did.
🔹 Curious about the skybound world Konnor came from? Next week’s lore deep-dive will explore what Drifts are, how they float, and why they matter. Don’t miss it!
I was elbows deep in Wind Riders fantasy worldbuilding, notes everywhere, cats prowling, tea long forgotten, when my daughter wandered in and casually asked, “What are you working on?”
Where the chaos begins… notes, tea, and the occasional cat. (Image created by Midjourney)
What followed was a two-hour lore-dump-turned-interrogation that felt like a surprise writing sprint disguised as a conversation. Nyx the cat was displaced so she could take a seat (and gave us both the look of betrayal only a black cat can muster, complete with a drawn out whine of protest. Poor baby.), but the moment she sat down and started asking questions, something clicked… and kept clicking.
We talked through the Cataclysm, the rise of the Riders, the floating islands, and the process of fixing plot holes and developing stronger character arcs, bringing life to story ideas that had been gathering dust. The next thing we knew, two hours had passed. By the time we looked up, we’d unraveled the antagonist arc, reshaped a love interest dynamic, and, somehow, figured out how the first book ends.
I’m not going to tell you that part. Not yet. But I will say that somewhere between her raised eyebrow and my rambling, I realized something big: this isn’t a standalone story.
What started as a standalone suddenly stretched its wings. There were too many threads, too much heart, to wrap in one book. And somehow, that made it all feel more real.
You know that feeling when a puzzle piece slots in and suddenly the whole picture shifts into focus? That. It reminded me how powerful it is to talk things out with someone who isn’t inside your head. I’ve always been a worldbuilding-first kind of writer (you can read more about that here), but getting outside input shook loose some things I didn’t even realize were stuck. Bouncing ideas off someone who isn’t emotionally attached to that one scene you refuse to cut, or the backstory you secretly wrote five pages for? Invaluable.
The kind of place my Wind Riders would call home… lanterns, walkways, and just enough altitude to make things interesting. (Image created by Midjourney)
And when that someone gets into it too? Starts pitching scenes back at you like a pro? It’s like biting into a story filled bonbon, surprising, rich, and just the right kind of sweet.
So yes, I got grilled today. Lovingly. And the result is a better story, a clearer arc, and a brain that’s buzzing with the kind of excitement that only comes from brainstorming a fantasy trilogy that finally works.
(Nyx remains unimpressed. I owe her a treat. Worth it.)
The Worlds of RG Newhouse 