Wind roared past Torian's ears.
His eyes were barely open. Everything blurred. The world spun in streaks of ash-gray and pine-green, and all he could feel was the sharp cold biting into his cheeks and the thunder of wings above and below and around him.
He was flying.
The beast that carried him — Skarn — had him tucked tight in the crook of its massive jaws, not with cruelty but with the strange, firm grip of something… protective.
Torian didn't know where they were headed.
Didn't know how they had escaped the ruin.
Only that one moment he was bleeding in the dark…
And the next, he was above the trees, the shattered world below reduced to lines and shadows and broken hills that fell away beneath them like they'd never mattered.
Skarn's wings beat with crushing rhythm. Each movement cracked the air open and sent currents swirling through the clouds. The force of them pushed mist aside, split clouds, rippled the surface of distant lakes.
The beast was smaller than some of the monsters Torian had heard about in stories—smaller even than the one that had stalked him in the woods.
But he was faster.
Sharper.
More alive.
And as the flight went on, Torian realized something else.
This creature — this massive, strange, winged beast — had chosen not to eat him.
It could have. Easily. That first moment in the ruin, it had stood over him like death made flesh.
But it didn't strike.
It saved him.
And now… it soared.
After some time, Skarn descended, gliding along the edge of a towering ravine, coasting on wind and shadow until his claws slammed into the earth once more.
They landed in a clearing surrounded by jagged trees and stone pillars twisted by age. The impact threw dust and leaves skyward in a ring of noise and thunder.
Torian tumbled from Skarn's grip and hit the ground with a grunt. He rolled twice, then lay still, coughing.
When he looked up, Skarn was stretching.
Fully.
And for the first time, Torian saw his true scale.
The beast's back arched high above the trees, thick cords of muscle shifting beneath fur that gleamed dark bronze and black in the fractured moonlight. His wings extended outward—massive, like the sails of an ancient fortress-ship, easily spanning three times his body. Their leathery texture rippled with every movement, veins glowing faintly beneath.
His tail cracked the earth when it moved, long and barbed and so heavy it left divots in the stone.
Skarn shook himself once, hard, and vines from the ruin's ceiling tore free from his back, falling in strips to the forest floor.
Torian stared, breath caught in his chest.
This wasn't just a beast.
This was power.
Living, breathing power.
⸻
Skarn turned then.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment, something passed between them.
It wasn't speech. It wasn't a look of dominance or fear.
It was… recognition.
They had both been buried.
They had both survived.
And now, together, they stood above the dirt.
Skarn lowered his head slowly, nostrils flaring as he approached. Torian didn't move. Not this time.
He let the beast sniff his arm, the torn sleeve, the cracked sword still clutched in his hand.
Then Skarn did something strange.
He nudged Torian's shoulder—not with aggression, but with something closer to concern. Then he turned, lowered himself slightly, and looked back.
Inviting.
Torian blinked.
"…You want me to ride you?"
Skarn snorted once and looked forward again.
Torian limped forward. Slowly. Carefully.
Then climbed.
It wasn't easy. His ribs ached. His arms were weak. But he made it—clambering up Skarn's shoulder, grabbing onto the thick ridges between fur and bone, finally straddling the wide curve of the beast's back.
And then—Skarn leapt.
With one beat of his wings, they launched into the sky.
⸻
Torian didn't speak.
He didn't shout or cheer.
He just held tight and looked out across the horizon.
The forest stretched endlessly below, broken only by rivers, craters, and the ruins of stone cities swallowed by green. The wind carried the smell of pine and storm. The stars emerged overhead, cold and clean.
And for the first time since the world fell apart…
Torian felt free.
Not safe.
But free.
His arms curled tighter around the rise of Skarn's back. His head lowered. The wind hummed around them, and his heartbeat slowed.
And then…
Torian fell asleep.
High above the broken world, in the arms of a beast no one had tamed, the boy who had lost everything let himself rest.
For just a while.
Torian woke to silence.
Not the silence of fear, or smoke, or death. This was something else. A silence that felt earned—heavy with wind, cold stone, and distance. He was warm, tucked against the slope of something massive, breathing slow and steady.
He opened his eyes.
And saw the skyline.
They were high—above everything. The world stretched out around him like a broken dream. Valleys dipped into shadow below. Trees formed dark veins across distant hills. Far to the east, clouds broke open across jagged peaks, spilling morning light in soft golds and bruised violet.
He sat up slowly.
His body still ached. His back was bandaged in dried leaves and sap—Skarn's work, maybe. The fur beneath him shifted slightly with breath.
Skarn lay coiled on the wide flat of a mountain ledge, one wing draped over the curve of rock like a broken sail. His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell slowly. The ridge of his back formed a warm cradle for the boy curled into his side.
Torian blinked and sat up straighter.
He looked around. The mountaintop was wide and curved like a basin, ringed with old spiral-carved stone. Vines hung from the cliffs. Moss coated everything in green. Rain from the night had pooled in small clear hollows.
But Skarn wasn't in sight.
Torian stood quickly—too quickly. Pain flared in his ribs, but he pushed through it. He turned in place, eyes darting between stones and trees.
Nothing.
"Skarn?"
His voice cracked.
He stepped forward. Wind caught his shirt and flared it out like a banner. A sick knot formed in his chest.
"Skarn!"
Still no answer.
The emptiness hit him harder than he expected. His breath shortened. That deep, gnawing loneliness—the one that had curled up in him since the fire, since the crater, since the screaming—came back all at once.
He was alone again.
Had the beast left him? Had it taken him this far just to abandon him?
He backed away from the edge of the ledge, heart pounding. And that's when he saw it.
His chest.
A glow.
Soft at first—barely visible in the rising light. But when he looked down…
…a spiral burned just beneath the skin.
Not the ember-scar like the legends spoke of.
This was different.
Thin lines. Pale white fire tracing inward toward his heart, humming softly like coals not yet stoked.
Torian's breath caught in his throat.
He touched it.
It was warm. Real.
Alive.
"No…"
It didn't hurt—but it wasn't comforting either. It pulsed with some deep rhythm—one he didn't understand. It felt like it had been waiting for something.
And now… it had chosen.
He stumbled back.
His foot caught on the curve of a stone. He slipped—and fell to his knees hard.
"Skarn!"
This time it was a cry.
From fear. From confusion.
And from something deeper—a need that surprised even him.
"Don't leave…"
As he knelt, hand against the glowing spiral, something burst beneath him.
A flash of heat. A sudden whoomp of pressure.
The stone cracked.
A faint burst of flame shot up from the earth beneath his palm.
Torian flinched and scuttled back, wide-eyed.
The fire died instantly—but the mark on his chest pulsed brighter, once, then returned to a low thrum.
"What… what is this…?"
And then the sky split with a roar.
⸻
Skarn crashed down from the clouds like a meteor.
Wings tucked tight. Claws curled. His massive body landed in a crouch just feet from where Torian sat. Stone shattered beneath his weight. The wind screamed outward from the impact, scattering loose leaves and dust across the mountaintop.
In his jaws: a bundle of fruit.
He dropped it without ceremony, stared at Torian for a long moment.
Then snorted once.
And waited.
Torian stared back, breathing hard.
He looked at Skarn.
Looked at the fruit.
Then slowly walked forward, not saying a word.
He didn't mention the flame.
Didn't mention the spiral.
Didn't mention the part of him that had cracked open again, for the first time since the night everything ended.
He just walked to Skarn, reached out with both arms…
And hugged him.
Skarn went still. Only for a moment.
Then the beast exhaled—slow and low, like a mountain sighing—and let it happen.
Torian held on.
Not because he was weak.
But because he was still alive.
"…Let's leave," he whispered.
And Skarn crouched low.
His wings flared.
And together, they took off once more—into a sky not yet mended, across a world still fractured…
But no longer alone.