Torian moved like a shadow through the ancient forest, unaware of the depth of the world below his
feet. The trees had long stopped whispering; here, they loomed—still, patient, impossibly old. Each
step felt heavier than the last. Hunger gnawed at his belly, his mouth was dry, and the cuts on his
arms stung from the bramble's bite. He hadn't seen the sun in hours. Only the dim haze of a fading
sky, fading fast.
He stepped over a mossy root and the ground shifted beneath him.
Before he could cry out, the earth vanished.
His body plummeted into open black.
The fall was not quick. It dragged. The air rushed past him like screaming wind as stone and dirt
blurred at the edges of his vision. He bounced off ledges, his side slammed against rock, and then—
he hit the ground.
Hard.
He lay in darkness, gasping. Dirt filled his mouth. His arms were tangled beneath him. Something
sharp had cut into his hip, but he couldn't feel broken bones. He was alive. Barely.
He groaned, rolled onto his back, and blinked.
A faint green light pulsed somewhere deep in the cavern ahead—slow, rhythmic, alive.
Torian's breath caught.There was movement.
He froze.
The chamber was vast—so wide it swallowed sound, and so deep it seemed to pulse with the
heartbeat of the world. He sat up, slowly, eyes adjusting.
And then he saw it.
At the far wall, half-shrouded in darkness, was a creature.
It was bound.
Massive and terrifying, it was unlike anything he'd ever dreamed. Its body was muscled like a
mountain's base, fur like black iron layered over a frame that pulsed with raw strength. The head
was broad, shaped like a giant wolverine, but its eyes—deep, golden, intelligent—watched him with
something he couldn't place.
And the wings.
Two bat-like wings, ragged at the edges but grand beyond reason, stretched from its back like a
storm cloud unfurling. One of them twitched—barely—but even the flicker moved air through the
chamber like thunder.
Chains did not bind it.
Vines did.
Twisting, thorned, glowing vines that pulsed with magic.
They had the beast pinned by its limbs, its chest, its neck. They grew straight out of the wall behind
it like veins from stone, wrapping tighter every time the creature resisted. One vine was coiled
across its chest, pulling slowly, dragging it toward the wall like prey caught in a spider's web.
The creature let out a low, rumbling growl of defiance.
Torian's fear swallowed him whole.He scrambled backward, pressing himself into the dirt, sword still sheathed across his back. His
breath came shallow and rapid. Every instinct screamed—run. Hide. This is death.
But the beast did not strike.
It didn't roar. Didn't lunge.
It watched him.
Bleeding. Dying.
Still resisting.
Its golden eyes met his.
And Torian understood.
It didn't want to kill him.
It wanted to live.
He rose slowly, heart pounding, and reached back for the sword.
The hilt was cold against his fingers.
He unsheathed it.
Steel whispered from scabbard. The light from the vines reflected in its edge.
He stepped forward.
The vines twitched. The ones binding the creature's neck glowed brighter, sensing threat.
Torian tightened his grip.
And charged.
The first vine snapped with a metallic shriek. Green sap sprayed into the air, burning his arm oncontact. He hissed in pain, but kept swinging. The second vine fought back, writhing toward his
face like a whip. He ducked beneath it and drove the blade through its core.
The creature thrashed, roaring now—not at Torian, but in rage at the vines.
Torian hacked the one at its leg. Then the wing. Then its shoulder.
The vines struck at him, slicing across his legs and arms. Thorns bit into his skin. One wrapped
around his ankle and yanked him backward. He landed hard on his spine and kicked, slashing with
the sword wildly. The vine snapped, spraying glowing sap across his face.
He coughed, stumbled forward, and slashed again—this time at the ones near the creature's throat.
The beast tried to rear but was pulled back. The magic was screaming now, glowing brighter,
tightening in desperation.
Torian stepped onto a pile of rubble, swung with all his weight—
And the final vine split.
The world went still.
Then—collapse.
The beast dropped from the wall like a boulder, landing with a quake that shook the cavern. A cloud
of dust burst outward, blinding him.
Torian fell to one knee, coughing.
The sword slipped from his fingers.
He looked up.
The beast stood.
Free.
It shook its wings wide. A full wingspan of power—so massive it blotted out the cavern walls. It rose
onto all fours, head lowered, and stared at him.Torian froze.
It stepped forward.
He reached slowly for his sword—but the beast didn't pounce.
Instead, it exhaled. Deep and low. A sound like the rumble of an approaching storm.
Then, before he could even react, it lunged—not to attack, but to grab.
Massive claws wrapped around his torso, lifting him into the air.
He shouted, struggling—
And then the wings snapped open.
They launched upward in a single, mighty thrust. Air rushed past him as they soared through the
stone shaft above. The earth narrowed into darkness behind them. Light flickered far above.
Wind howled.
Roots clawed at them as they rose, and the beast twisted in flight, dodging with unnatural grace.
Then—sky.
Open, pale, endless.
They burst into it with a thunderclap of wings.
Torian gasped.
They were flying.
Truly flying.
The forest stretched below like an ocean of green. The sun, nearly set, painted everything in gold.
Mountains curled on the horizon. Smoke drifted lazily in the distance from the ruins of his past.The beast angled downward.
The wind eased.
Then they landed—gentle as thunder—at the edge of a high clearing wrapped in stone. Trees bowed
slightly around them, as if even they knew what had arrived.
The beast released him.
Torian dropped to the ground, panting, heart still slamming against his ribs.
He staggered to his feet and turned.
The creature had folded its wings again, now crouched low, head watching.
It made no move to leave.
No sound.
Only watched.
Torian stared at it. Then at his bloodied hands. At the sword, still dripping sap.
He took a slow breath.
"I should be dead," he said aloud.
The beast blinked.
"I freed you," he continued. "And you saved me."
The wind stirred the trees.
"Guess that makes us even."
He sat down. Hard. His body was a symphony of aches.The beast stepped closer. The ground trembled.
Torian tensed—but it only lowered its head and sniffed the blood on his arm.
Then it huffed.
Not a growl.
Not a threat.
A sound of… agreement.
Torian laughed once, short and tired. "Alright then."
He reached for the wooden wolf still in his pouch and held it in his palm. "You're not just muscle.
You could've crushed me, but you didn't."
He looked up at the beast again—those golden eyes, glowing faintly in the twilight.
"I'll name you," he said. "You should have a name."
The beast tilted its head.
"…Skarn."
The name felt right the moment it left his mouth.
"Stone-blood. From the old tongue," he explained softly. "It fits."
The creature stared at him for a long moment.
Then it grunted.
Low. Firm. Final.
Torian smiled.
They sat in silence as the stars blinked to life overhead.Together, alone, and no longer strangers.
Just a boy and a beast—bound by a choice neither had expected, but both had made.
⸻
By the time the moon climbed high, Torian lay against the trunk of a crooked pine, cloak wrapped
tight, sword beside him.
Skarn lay a few feet away, head resting on crossed forelimbs, wings folded neatly against his sides.
His eyes never fully closed.
Torian glanced over one last time.
"Promise me something," he said quietly. "Don't leave."
Skarn's eyes opened.
Another huff. A softer one this time.
Torian nodded. "Good."
He leaned back, eyes heavy, heart steady for the first time in days.
He wasn't strong yet.
He wasn't ready for revenge.
But now… he wasn't alone.
And for now, that was enough.