Chapter 15: The Aerie of Stone and Sky
The world became a blur of cloud and rushing wind. Astra clung to Corvus's rigid armor, her knuckles white, her stomach performing acrobatics. Lykos, held under the Aethon's other arm, let out a low, continuous growl of pure displeasure. The ground was a distant patchwork of green and brown, the Silvermane valley shrinking to the size of a pebble.
"Breathe slowly, human," Corvus's voice was a dry rasp against the wind. "Your fear is loud."
Astra squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the one constant in the terrifying void—the bond with Kaelen. It was a thin, silver thread stretching taut behind her, thrumming with his worry, his pride, and his unwavering presence. She poured her own reassurance back along it, a silent promise of her return.
After what felt like an eternity, the wind's roar lessened. Corvus's wings beat powerfully, slowing their ascent. Astra dared to open her eyes.
They were approaching a series of jagged, impossible spires that clawed at the sky. The stone was a pale, almost white granite, and built upon them, seamlessly integrated into the rock, were structures of breathtaking elegance. Towers spiraled upwards, connected by delicate-looking but sturdy bridges. There were no walls, only open arches that let the cloud-kissed wind sweep through. This was the Aethon Aerie. A city in the clouds.
Corvus landed with a soft thud on a wide, circular platform at the peak of the largest spire. The moment he released them, Astra's legs buckled. Lykos stumbled but remained upright, his good leg taking his weight, his body tense as he scanned for threats.
The view was dizzying. They were above the clouds. The world below was hidden, and the sky was an endless expanse of brilliant blue. The air was thin and cold, and the silence was profound, broken only by the sigh of the wind and the distant cries of other Aethon.
"Follow," Corvus commanded, striding towards an archway that led into the main spire.
The interior was just as awe-inspiring. The walls were carved with intricate depictions of Aethon history—great battles against sky serpents, migrations across storm fronts, circles of elders watching stars. Aethon men and women moved with a silent, graceful gravity, their wings folded neatly. They cast long, curious looks at the earth-bound visitors, their eyes lingering on Astra with a mixture of hope and suspicion.
They were led into a vast, circular chamber. In the center, on a throne of woven wind-smoothed wood and polished bone, sat Theron, Chieftain of the Aethon.
He was ancient. His feathers were the color of iron and ash, and his face was a roadmap of deep lines. But his eyes, the same stormy grey as Corvus's, held a piercing, undimmed intelligence. Power radiated from him, not the fierce, physical power of Kaelen, but the immense, patient weight of a mountain.
He did not speak at first, his gaze sweeping over Lykos's defensive posture before settling on Astra. She felt stripped bare, as if he were seeing not just her body, but the system in her mind, the bond in her soul, and the very essence of her humanity.
"So," his voice was the rumble of distant thunder, quiet but felt in the bones. "You are the disturbance. The one who is not a beast, yet binds them."
"I am Astra," she said, forcing her voice not to shake. "And I'm here because you asked for me."
Theron's lips thinned. "I asked for the key. Our Seer dreamed of a light from beyond, a catalyst. The Rot we face is not of this world. It is a corruption, a hunger that consumes life and leaves... nothingness." He gestured with a gnarled hand, and two Aethon warriors brought forward a large, covered cage.
When the cover was pulled away, Astra gasped. Inside was a creature that might have once been a magnificent eagle. Now, patches of its feathers were gone, revealing not skin, but a swirling, viscous blackness that seemed to absorb the light. One of its eyes was a normal, golden eagle eye, filled with terror. The other was a pit of the same darkness, from which a single, oily tear tracked down its face.
The Beast Rot. Up close, it was a thousand times worse.
[CRITICAL ALERT: Analysis of anomalous corruption. Designation: "World-Devourer Pathogen." Source: Unknown/Extraterrestrial? Effect: Consumes biological and spiritual energy, converting it to inert void. High contagion risk.]
"By the spirits," Lykos breathed, his fur bristling.
"It started in the lowlands," Theron said, his voice heavy. "We thought it a ground-dweller's problem. But it climbs. It adapts. It has learned to fester in the high places. Our healers are powerless. Our magic slides off it like water. Our Seer believes that because you are not of this world, your essence, your 'magic,' may be invisible to it. Or you may understand its nature in a way we cannot."
Astra stared at the suffering creature, her stomach churning. This was the real enemy. The Boar-Tusks were a nuisance in comparison.
"Let me see it," she said, stepping forward.
"Astra, no!" Lykos warned.
"I have to," she said, her voice steady. She reached out, not to touch the cage, but to focus her [Beastworld Botany] and her bond-enhanced senses on the corruption.
The moment she focused, it was like plunging her mind into freezing, suffocating tar. There was no life there. No spirit. Only a cold, insatiable hunger. A scream that was not sound tore at the edges of her perception.
And then, something shifted. The black, oily substance in the eagle's eye seemed to... twitch. It oriented towards her. A tendril of darkness lashed out from between the bars, not physically, but psychically, a needle of pure malice aimed directly at her mind.
It was a consciousnes
s. A vile, predatory one. And it had just noticed her.