The wind pressed against the cage, steady and cold.
Aster sat with his back to the bars, eyes half-lidded, counting the wingbeats, for the sake of nothing better to do.
Four strokes. Glide. Repeat.
The sky stretched in two halves.
From the east a brilliant white light of golden ambience tore through, a thin line where the sky touched the sea, and the fading image of a moon hung to the west.
The moon loomed enormous. Its crescent dripping with silver light like molten glass—eons away, yet at arms reach in the endless blue.
Between the two celestial lights—gold and silver—the world seemed to breathe in stillness.
Aster stared through the bars, his hair fluttering in the high wind. The griffin's wings beat slow and steady now, gliding across that strange horizon.
Every rise of its wings sent a tremor through the cage, and every fall pulled them closer to that forsaken place.
The wind sang faintly, brushing against his ears. And somewhere, beneath the clouds, the distant growl of thunder murmured like a sleeping god.
He exhaled.
Not knowing how long they had been flying made him restless.
Something stirred in him. The same unease he'd felt in the cell.. A faint pull—like gravity—but inward, toward something hidden.
Adjusting his hair with a hand, he thought of Laleah and Naram. The siblings had gone quiet some time ago, their heads bowed together in uneasy sleep.
He mouthed silently, the two names.
But the old man beside him…
Across lives, across years, Aster had never known his. And somehow, that felt like a failure he couldn't explain.
The cage shuddered slightly as a cold draft pressed through the gaps, carrying the tang of rain.
The griffin hissed, its head jerking downward. Aster blinked, gripping the bar tighter.
For an instant, just an instant, something moved below them.
A shadow beneath the clouds.
Aster's heart jumped. He turned his head sharply, eyes narrowing.
Nothing.
A chill crawled up his spine. He swore he saw something, a silhouette—limbs, slow and serpentine—cutting through the hanging fog like a specter.
Noticing his distress, the old man opened one eye and followed his movement.
He said nothing. Only frowned faintly and shifted his weight.
The moment passed. Clouds drifted. The shape was gone.
Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Still, he couldn't help but feel on edge.
The valley of Sha'deth loomed closer, and with it, unease deepened.
Or maybe... my mind is not as whole as I thought?
Considering what he had gone through, it was not very unlikely.
Later, the old man beside him spoke.
"You saw it too?" he asked
Aster gave no reply, but his hairs stood on end. He couldn't tell if the old man was mocking or measuring him.
Either way, it was unsettling. What he felt—saw, was no longer immaterial.
He had just confirmed he wasn't hallucinating. That should have brought relief.
But instead, the old man's words twisted the unease into something colder. If he was serious—if that shadow had truly been real—then blood could spill before they even touched ground.
The old man smiled faintly, then closed his eye again.
Aster's heart raced. The serene vista was suddenly not so beautiful.
They hung precariously over a sea of dark clouds—like bait. If something monstrous rose to swallow them, they'd have no choice but to accept it.
He was still powerless.
The griffins were strong—enough to deter most creatures stalking the dome. But it would be naïve to believe there weren't abominations stronger.
The feeling of leaving your life in the hands of others. He hated it. He was tired of it.
He rolled his head back, looking at the high vaulted arches of the cage. He wondered if it was worth the risk to use his ability now.
But what would that even achieve? Being able to fly would have been a much more useful ability in this situation... The plan is escaping this place, not life.
He sighed. Thousands upon thousands of meters separated them from the earth, destroying the cage would only lead to a faster death.
Still, nothing was useless until proven so. If not for any other reason, but the fact that, unlike his elder brother, most people lived their lives without any kind of supernatural ability at all.
A sound broke through his thoughts—a laugh.
Rough, mocking.
He turned slightly. Some men at the back of the cage were watching the siblings. One of them—a broad, scar-marked prisoner with broken teeth—grinned wide, saying something crude Aster barely caught through the wind.
The old man shifted but said nothing. Neither did the siblings. Laleah pulled her brother closer, her knuckles white around the bar.
Aster looked away.
He'd learned not to interfere. The world had laws, and weakness was often the most painful thing to have in front of them.
But then—one of the men reached them, and tugged at Laleah's sleeve. Hard.
She didn't cry out, only jerked away, silent, trembling.
Then the jeering started.
A group of older prisoners, three of them, leaned forward.
"Look at the little foreigners," one sneered with a strong Yifros accent "Still think your blood's worth something?"
"Maybe we should test it," another said. "See if it spills gold."
Not his problem.
The third prisoner leaned closer, voice low and sharp.
"You know what I did to a girl like you once? She cried just like that. Pretty little thing."
Aster's fingers twitched.
Laleah flinched but her dewy eyes didn't waver. Naram tried to speak, but the words caught.
The first prisoner laughed.
There was a stifled scream. And just like that, something in him moved.
He didn't look at them when he spoke.
His voice was calm, quiet enough that they almost missed it.
"Take your hand off her."
The laughter cut short. The man's grin faltered.
"What's that, boy?"
"I said," Aster repeated, still not turning, "take your hand off her.
Before you lose it."
The man sneered, stepping forward. "And who's going to make—"
Aster finally turned.
His cold, lightless eyes met the man's.
No anger.
For a heartbeat, the air between them hummed, faintly, slick with tension.
Aster stood.
The cage was still shaking, but his footing was steady.
He walked over slowly, hands at his sides.
The three men turned.
"What, you want to fight?" one asked.
Aster looked at him.
Then at the others.
Then back.
"No," he said. "I want to remember your face."
The man blinked.
"What?"
Aster leaned in slightly. A slow darkness stirred in the depths of his eyes.
"Because when I decide to act... I don't want to mistake you for someone else."
Silence.
The cage creaked.
The wind howled.
The old man chuckled softly behind him.
Aster turned and walked back to his seat without waiting for a reply. Laleah and Naram followed a step behind.
He didn't look at the siblings.
He didn't need to.
The man appeared frozen. Confusion flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a nervous scoff.
"Heh. Whatever, kid."
He stepped back, muttering under his breath.
Everyone else watched silently.
Aster returned to looking at the horizon.
But inside, that same unease twisted again—even stronger this time.
A brief pulse. Similar to the one he felt with the dirty bowl of water.
It had beckoned him. While he was acting out character.
Not a lot of things could make him act in such an emotional manner. But he had a feeling the two were not connected.
All sorts of ideas started firing in his mind. He dismissed many as they rose. Because of this, he didn't notice the atmosphere within the cage.
Around him, the other prisoners shifted. Some muttered. The men he had threatened stared daggers at the four of them through a gap in the crowd.
Though they didn't act, everyone present knew that this won't be the end of it.
Above, suddenly, the griffins let out a sharp cry, wings jolting wide as the cage lurched.
The air roared around them. Aster gripped the bars tighter as the cage swung violently, wind screaming through the gaps.
The cold air turned harsh, biting. The golden horizon bent away, and the moon disappeared behind the clouds.
What is going on up there?
He looked down—and could finally see the world below again: an expanse of dry soil, like a field of ash and glass. Small patches of green flickered across the plain between openings in the passing clouds.
He felt his heartbeat steady.
The first hints of the valley's earthy stench reached them. One of petrichor and decay.
He contemplated his next moves.
He forced himself not to drift into thoughts of the grand scheme—the truth behind the incident, the final names etched into his revenge. That would come later.
For now, he focused on the immediate future.
First is understanding his gift. Whatever it was. He needed to grasp it at a basic, practical level—enough to test its edges and draw it in actual battles.
Second, the kitchen crew. If he could get close to the knives, the tools—anything sharp, anything that could be repurposed into a weapon, or better yet, an actual weapon—he'd test the orb again. See if it could retain whatever it touched, and to what extent.
And last but not least, the old man.
He didn't know his name. But he knew the weight behind his silence, and had gleaned some of the truth surrounding his imprisonment during their time together in his last life. If the opportunity to speak didn't present itself,
Aster would make one.
Just then, the winds changed again.
The griffin shrieked—sharp, unnatural.
Aster's head snapped up behind the columns. The air rippled as the flock banked sharply, wings cutting through the cold mist.
Then the clouds ahead split apart.
For a moment, he couldn't understand what he was seeing.
Something—someone—was running through the sky.
Two figures tore through the clouds. Their bodies shimmered, long garments trailing like burning feathers. The air warped around them, bent by an unseen force. One moved like a storm, the other like a blade. They collided mid-air—and the sky screamed in their wake.
Aster's breath caught.
A streak of white fire crossed the clouds. Then another, darker, moving like smoke. Their clash tore the air open, thunder rolling from the impact. The collision cracked the heavens apart, scattering light and cloud in waves.
The prisoners shouted, clutching at the bars. The cage tilted dangerously. The griffins fought the wind, their formation twisting into chaos.
Aster caught a glimpse through the chaos—two figures dancing through the sky, weapons meeting with impossible speed. One a thing of fire. The other a thing of ash. Their movements bent the air itself.
Beside him, the old man muttered, "Damn idiots..."
He recalled the serpentine shadow. It hadn't been hunting. It was escaping the calamitous terror of their clash. A dire warning, one ignored by those in charge, or perhaps not. And the reason behind his unease.
Another flash.
Another roar.
And then—a cry from one of the griffins ahead. It broke rank, wheeled sideways, wings flaring wide.
A command whistled through the air. Sharp. Cold. From the lead rider.
Aster's stomach turned as he watched.
The griffin twisted its neck, and with a single, deliberate motion—released its cargo.
The cage fell.
Vanished into the clouds.
Dozens of voices screamed, spinning into the storm below. Aster saw their hands through the bars—brief flashes of flesh, then nothing.
Silence swallowed them as the griffin dove after the two fighting figures with frightening speed, its wings folding into the clouds.
His breath hitched. For a second, he could feel it—the freefall, the approach of certain death.
This was the end.
But then the flight grew steady again.
The other griffins quickly reformed their line, wings beating in disciplined rhythm, as though nothing had happened.
Looking around in a daze, no one spoke. They could only stare.
A cold weight of realization settled in his gut.
It could have easily been his cage.
The thought repeated until it lost its shape.
He had just been making plans about the future as if he would surely live till then.
Everything happened too fast to process. The cage dropped sharply into the clouds, until the horizon was a smear of gold and grey.
Aster stared into them, the ghost of those screams still ringing in his ears. His chest felt hollow. The sound of impact never came. Only the echo of screams, thin and short, vanishing into the mist.
He didn't move. His body swayed with the motion of the flight, but his mind stayed fixed on the empty air where the cage had been.
His heart was hammering too fast to feel real. His breath came shallow. The fight above was already gone—lost to distance and mist—like a fever dream. But the world did not feel the same.
Aster's hair whipped about his face. He closed his eyes as the hurried descent began.
He clutched his chest—refusing to fill.
His thoughts scattered, spiraling into fragments.
Flashes of falling, of silence.
Something heavy slamming into his temple.
The moment his body had stopped being his.
The wind howled, but it was distant now—muted beneath the roar in his ears. His vision blurred.
It was happening again.