It all happened so fast that Erian's mind barely registered the instant the ground vanished beneath his feet. He didn't even have time to scream.
The red ribbon tying his hands fluttered against his chest, smacking his chin. The wind clawed at his skin and filled his ears with a constant roar. A hollow weight settled in his stomach, churning everything inside.
By reflex, he shut his eyelids. The darkness was the same as always, but now it held nothing of peace.
He didn't know how long he had been falling… seconds, maybe. The air pressed him downward without pause. Then something broke into his trajectory.
A violent flapping of wings. Feathers so close he felt their rough brush against his cheek. A sharp caw. And then… impact.
His shoulder slammed into a bird struggling to stay aloft. Erian felt the vibration of brittle bones, the tremor of a creature that, like him, had been caught off guard by the collision in midair.
He did not know whether the bird died in that instant or managed to escape, but the blow altered his fall. He no longer fell in a straight line. His body twisted, and soon branches began to lash against him.
First, a dry lash to his side. Then, a scratch across his cheek. His tunic tore open, leaving him exposed to every branch and trunk in his path. With his hands bound, he could neither push them away nor grasp them to stop his descent. His skin tore in several places, stinging with every new strike.
Branches cracked under his weight. Some tangled around his arms and legs, slowing him for an instant, only to give way and let him drop again.
The smell of dry wood and dust mingled with the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth.
Finally, the last trunk gave way beneath him, and Erian plummeted the remaining meters, the impact knocking all the air from his lungs.
The hard, dry earth received him with a dull thud against his back. It was no gentle landing, but neither was it fatal. He knew this because, despite the pain slicing through him, his chest rose again in search of air.
He was alive.
He was breathing.
The word echoed in his mind, as if he couldn't quite believe it.
For a few seconds, that was all that mattered: hearing the ragged sound of his own breath, uneven and trembling. The faint rise and fall of his chest. Air going in and out.
He could not move; every attempt sent pain flaring through his ribs and limbs. Lying flat on his back, motionless, the veil over his eyes now seemed pointless. Even if he took it off, there would be nothing for him beyond the darkness.
With time, he didn't know if minutes or seconds, Erian began to hear more than his own breathing. The caw of carrion birds circling overhead. Then came the beat of wings, and beyond that, a crunch he couldn't tell whether came from branches… or bones.
The air here smelled different. Denser, laden with dust and dry leaves ground to powder by the wind. And something else… a sweet, rancid note of decay.
Erian wanted to believe he was still alive because of a miracle. Perhaps the God of Ruin had heard his prayers and, for some reason he could not fathom, had decided his fate was not to die yet.
But doubt came quickly. What if it wasn't a miracle, but a punishment?
A quick death would have been mercy. What he had now was pain, wounds, and a loneliness so vast it threatened to crush him.
He imagined those above already leaving the abyss, convinced he was nothing more than another body claimed by the darkness.
He didn't know what to do. He could not sit up. He could not run, nor even crawl. Blind, injured, and stranded in a place that smelled of carrion, all he could do was wait.
A knot rose in his throat. And then, unable to hold it back, he began to cry.
It was not a loud or frantic sobbing. At first, only a few tears mixed with the blood and dust on his face. Then came muffled sobs that made his broken ribs ache.
He wept for the pain, but also for the uncertainty and fear.
Then, a new sound made him hold his breath.
Coyotes growling.
And they were dangerously close.
Erian went still, holding his breath as if it might make him invisible.
The ground beneath his back carried the vibrations of cautious steps, drawing nearer. The stench of carrion seemed to grow stronger, now mingled with hot breath cutting through the dry air.
He could hear the faint click of teeth, the scrape of claws against earth.
His heart pounded so hard against his ribs that he feared the sound would betray him. Each beat seemed louder than the last. He thought of trying to move, to roll and shield his neck or stomach, but the commands he sent to his body dissolved in paralyzing pain.
The growls multiplied. There were not just two coyotes, but several. Five, perhaps more. He could not know for sure.
Erian pictured jaws closing on his flesh, the crack of bones breaking under wild force. A shiver ran along his spine.
He tried to breathe slowly, to keep control. Maybe, if he stayed still and gave no sign of life, the animals would lose interest. But deep down, he knew they could smell an easy prey.
And that was exactly what Erian had become: wounded prey, unable to flee or defend himself.