Sylas studied the trembling newborn before him. The strange little creature seemed moments away from collapse, its wings still slick and weak, its eagle's head craning uncertainly toward the world.
With a flick of his wand, Sylas cleaned the foal of birth-stains, then slowly stepped forward.
The mare, gleaming pearl-white beneath the sun, whinnied sharply, ears flat with warning. She did not understand what she had birthed, but she knew it was hers, and maternal instinct drove her to shield it from the wizard's approach.
"Oh? So protective already?" Sylas chuckled softly.
This was no ordinary horse but a descendant of the Mearas, the divine line sired by Oromë's steed, Nahar. Even Gandalf had long admired such wild steeds, once traveling the plains of Rohan in search of one to tame. Yet this proud mare had found herself captured, and though she dared not strike, her eyes burned with indignation.
With a lazy wave, Sylas froze her in place. He crouched beside the newborn, observing closely. Magical hybrids were unpredictable: some were born frail and perished quickly, others were warped with rage and madness, attacking all around them. Only those with sound bodies and enough wit to be tamed could be called successes.
The foal tilted its eagle's head to regard him, bright eyes filled not with malice but with cautious curiosity, as though wondering whether this tall figure might be its mother.
Sylas smiled. "Hello there, little one." He reached out and stroked its feathered brow. The foal narrowed its eyes with pleasure, gave a high, thin screech, and pressed its head against his palm.
Overhead, the rush of mighty wings announced Thorondor's return. The great eagle landed nearby, golden eyes widening at the sight of the tiny creature, half horse, half eagle, nestled by Sylas's side.
"What do you think, Thorondor?" Sylas teased with a grin. "Does it look like your child?"
The eagle let out a bewildered cry, half-indignant, half-flustered. His feathers bristled, his mind reeling. He was not even fully grown himself, how could he suddenly be saddled with offspring? And this strange foal bore talons, a horse's body, and half-formed wings!
Sylas laughed aloud at Thorondor's stricken expression, eyes dancing with mischief. To ease the awkward moment, he produced a strip of dried meat and held it to the foal, who eagerly nipped at the offering.
"From now on," Sylas declared cheerfully, "you'll be called Buckbeak. Your kind will be known as Hippogriffs."
He borrowed the name from the magical world he remembered—why not? The likeness was uncanny.
At last, he released the mare from her enchantment, and she returned immediately to her foal's side, nuzzling it protectively. Buckbeak would grow under her watchful care.
But Buckbeak was the exception.
Soon, the other experiments came to term, and they were horrors. Lions sprouting dragon tails. Serpents tangled with writhing tentacles. Beasts with a lion's head, wolf's body, and serpent's tail. Wolves fused with draconic scales.
Some breathed gouts of dragonfire. Some dripped venom strong enough to corrode stone. Others bore petrifying eyes like the basilisk, or hides so resilient no blade could pierce them. All of them were wild, blood-mad, and utterly uncontrollable.
Worse still, many tore themselves from the womb before birth, ripping through their mothers in showers of blood and fire. The air of Isengard's enclosures filled with screams, wolves burned alive, mares strangled, surrogates poisoned by their own monstrous offspring.
Had Sylas not prepared his wards, even he might have been overwhelmed.
But his eyes hardened. There was no place in Middle-earth for such abominations. Raising his wand, he conjured a torrent of cursed fire. Protego Diabolica roared to life, writhing like serpents of flame, devouring each abomination one by one.
Though most of Sylas's hybrid experiments had ended in grotesque failures, a handful of viable new species emerged, beasts that bore both strength and reason.
One of these was born from the mingling of a giant eagle and a lion. The result was a majestic creature with the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and a keen, predatory head crowned with golden feathers. At its very birth, it radiated intelligence as well as raw power. Sylas, smiling with satisfaction, named it Aslan, "the Lion King."
Another success came from blending a giant eagle with the blood of a Mearas steed, carried to term in the womb of a common mare. The foal that emerged was pure white, with vast feathered wings stretching proudly from its flanks. It was a Pegasus, dazzling to behold, and Sylas felt a flicker of awe at having brought such a creature into the world.
But the most astonishing result was yet to come.
Sylas had once combined the essences of a dragon, a basilisk, a kraken, and a warg. He had expected this ambitious experiment to collapse before birth or yield a twisted monstrosity, as so many had before. The more powerful the creatures, the more violently their bloodlines rebelled when fused together.
Yet this time, the impossible had occurred. From that dangerous cocktail of bloodlines emerged a three-headed wolf pup.
The pup was massive, nearly half the size of its warg mother the moment it drew breath. Its birth was so difficult that Sylas himself had to intervene, cutting the pup free with careful magic.
Despite carrying the might of dragon, basilisk, and kraken, its body showed no deformities. Its six eyes gleamed bright and wet, filled not with madness but with clear intelligence.
Sylas stepped forward cautiously. The pup's three heads turned to study him in perfect unison, then sniffed the air. Recognizing the scent of the wizard who had brought it into the world, all three muzzles lolled their tongues happily, tails beating against the ground as they whimpered in delight.
Sylas almost reached out to stroke the creature, until he noticed the saliva dripping from its jaws. Where it fell, the grass hissed and blackened, the soil itself burning as though seared by acid. He froze, eyes narrowing, hand retreating instinctively.
The pup immediately looked crestfallen. All three heads whimpered softly, eyes glistening with reproach, as if asking why their master refused to touch them.
Through his gift of Legilimency, Sylas felt the truth of their thoughts. There was no malice, only affection, hunger, and a childlike need for comfort.
"Hungry… hungry…" came the fragmented thought, echoing from three minds at once.
Glancing at the lifeless body of the warg mother, Sylas sighed. With a flick of his wand, he summoned milk from his stores, transfiguring it into three sturdy bottles. The pup's heads latched eagerly, tails thumping as they drank with voracious energy.
Sylas was very curious about the attributes of this unexpectedly successful three-headed wolf pup, so while they were drinking milk, he continuously used his magic wand to detect their bodies.
The results of Sylas's examination left him astonished.
The three-headed wolf pup had perfectly fused the essence of dragon, basilisk, kraken, and warg. To call its body "iron hide and stone bones" would hardly be an exaggeration. Even in its newborn state, its fur resisted blades, and its flesh held a resilience that deflected most spells. Its natural resistance to magic was far beyond that of ordinary beasts, and its recovery rate was remarkable, wounds closed before his eyes.
What startled him further was how quickly its three heads revealed their different strengths. After gorging on milk, one head burped and coughed out sparks, so hot that the steel bottle vanished in a puff of flame. Another head did not breathe fire, but its fangs sheared through metal with ease, and its saliva hissed like acid as it ate through the remnants. The last head yawned sleepily, dribbling a string of drool that withered the grass and scorched the earth wherever it touched.
Sylas blinked, torn between laughter and awe. Fire from the dragon, venom from the basilisk, corrosive secretions from the kraken, each head seemed to inherit a different legacy. If raised and trained properly, this wolf pup might one day rival even the might of dragons.
"From now on, you'll be Cerberus, the three-headed hound of the underworld," Sylas declared, eyes gleaming with pride. To keep things simple, he affectionately named the heads Little Left, Little Middle, and Little Right.
But he was no fool. To prevent this beast from ever turning against him, Sylas pricked each muzzle for a drop of blood and bound Cerberus with a magical pact.
He repeated the ritual with the Hippogriff, the Griffin, and the Pegasus, binding them all under oath.
Of the four new hybrids, Cerberus was undeniably the strongest. Next came Aslan, the Griffin, inheritor of both the lion's ferocity and the eagle's sharp intellect. Even with pinfeathers still clinging to its wings, Sylas could already sense the majesty of its flight and the keenness of its mind.
Then there was Buckbeak, the Hippogriff, swift as a horse upon the ground, fierce as an eagle in the sky. Though it lacked the Griffin's intelligence, it was clever enough to obey speech and commands, making it a proud and noble companion.
Finally, the Pegasus, cloaked in pearl-white fur with wings like polished ivory. It was the most beautiful of the four, delicate in frame yet radiant with otherworldly grace.
Sylas placed each creature where it would serve Isengard best: Cerberus at Orthanc's gates, its three heads snapping and watching to deter intruders; Aslan soaring across the skies as a vigilant guardian; and Buckbeak roaming the green fields outside the tower walls.
The Pegasus, however, he set aside for another purpose. Traveling to Weathertop through the enchanted fireplace, Sylas released the winged foal in the courtyard.
"Arwen," he said warmly, "this is my gift to you. Do you like it?"
The silver-eyed elf looked upon the Pegasus and gasped in delight.