From A Great Height

You can't remember when the world first started shaking, this little fragile patch of reality with so many cracks and such little support to keep it from breaking apart, but something was always going to give. It was just a matter of time. Nobody knew what really triggered the fall. Was it the breaking of the chains which kept your little quiet island floating in the sky all this time, imbued with the energy which kept it going for so long? Was it the final earthquake that split the lands of the humans, far below your precious little civilisation? Or was it something else?

It's easy to blame the humans who live beneath you, blame them for every little thing that goes wrong in the world. You're high enough to avoid the worst of the toxic gases that they leak into the atmosphere; you're smart enough to know not to drain the planet of what few resources remain to be cultivated; you're fast enough to hide yourself when they create a multitude of new dangers, unleashing terrors into the wild.

There is no war here, no government, no violence, no weapons or need to do anything but survive on your own and help each other out. The air is thinner here. Humans find it hard to breathe at this altitude without special equipment of their own. You pity them, but at the same time you admire them for being resourceful enough to create tools enabling them to come all the way up here. Then you remember what had to be sacrificed for such tools to be made, and you no longer admire them so much.

The island you've lived on for your entire life, along with your family and beginning to fall.