Up in the sky, far above cities and seas, lived a big, gentle cloud named Kumo.

Kumo wasn’t like the other clouds. He was softer, rounder, and a little slower. While the others raced with the wind, Kumo liked to drift. He watched birds fly below, admired the changing skies, and dreamed of places he hadn’t seen. Inside his fluffy body lived a quiet heart full of curiosity.

But one day, everything changed.

A sudden storm swept across the sky with a roar. The wind howled, the clouds scattered, and Kumo was pulled far from the ocean he knew. He tried to grab onto a tall radio tower, but his poofy shape slipped right off.

When the skies cleared, Kumo found himself floating alone over a strange land. He didn’t recognize the stars. The air smelled different — not salty like the sea, but warm and smoky… like grilled food and engines.

Kumo was lost.

As Kumo wandered the nighttime sky, unsure where to go, a streak of purple light zipped past his face.

“Hey! Watch it!” he puffed.

The light stopped. It spun. Then it giggled.

“Sorry, big guy!” said the voice of a little purple star. “You looked so serious. I had to see what was going on.”

Kumo blinked. “Who… are you?” “I’m Niko,” the star said with a grin, twirling in the air. “I live around here. What’s your name?”

“I’m Kumo. And I’m… not from here.”

Niko’s eyes sparkled. “Well, Kumo — welcome to the place with no name. Yet.”

Niko led Kumo through glowing clouds and over twinkling rooftops. Soon, they reached a hidden patch of sky filled with floating islands, soft lights, and cheerful sounds.

Below them was a secret land where children played, laughed, and dreamed. There were glowing slides, sky bridges, and bouncing platforms. But it was still quiet up in the sky — no one had ever noticed this land needed something more.

Kumo hovered at the edge. He wasn’t sure if he belonged.

“Come on,” Niko nudged. “They need you.”

Just then, a little girl cried out. She was too small to reach the top of a spiral slide.

Without thinking, Kumo puffed up his body and stretched himself beneath her. He became a cloud step. She climbed up, beaming.

Soon, more kids gathered around. They laughed as they bounced on his back, giggled at his poofy “poof!” sound, and followed him like a gentle parade. Kumo had never felt so full — not of rain, but of purpose.

Day by day, Kumo found his rhythm in the skies above the magical land. He cushioned slides, cast shade during hot days, and floated gently over play spaces like a quiet guardian.

Niko, meanwhile, was a ball of starlight mischief. He once reprogrammed a coffee machine to spray whipped foam across the entire café — soaking poor Kumo and making him look like a marshmallow.

But when things really mattered, Niko was all heart. He guided lost children home using starbeams that danced across the sky, pointing the way with constellations only he could draw.

Together, Kumo and Niko became the protectors of the place with no name.

One night, Kumo floated above the glowing Houston skyline, looking down at the lights that sparkled like stars on the ground.

“This place,” he whispered, “it feels like a dream.”

Niko twinkled beside him. “A dream you made real.”

Below, a child called up: “There’s Kumo! Look — it’s Kumo’s sky fort!”

Another chimed in: “It’s Kumo’s land!”

And just like that, the name was born — not chosen by Kumo, but gifted by the children who loved him.

From that day on, the magical playland in the sky had a name.

Kumo’s Wanderland.