The wind tasted different.
Thin. Dry. Heavy with dust and the faint scent of scorched minerals.
Torian sat low on Skarn's back, his eyes narrowed against the light. The sky was wide and pale blue, but the world below felt wrong. Quiet in a way that wasn't peace—quiet like a breath held too long.
They had flown through a dozen landscapes in the past day—withered plains, spiral-scarred valleys, white ash deserts—but now the land had stopped changing.
For hours, the same terrain had stretched out beneath them.
Barren rock.
Broken fields.
And ahead—one shape that swallowed the horizon.
⸻
At first, Torian thought it was a plateau. A ridge, perhaps. But the closer they flew, the more it seemed… off. The slope was too steep. The size too vast. Its curve broke the sky like the edge of a world.
A mountain. But wrong.
It was black from top to base, not grey or brown or layered. Its surface was rough and gnarled, but unnaturally so—like skin dried and hardened to stone.
And it pulsed.
Not visibly.
But Torian could feel it through the wind.
A slow, massive presence.
Not sleeping.
Waiting.
⸻
"Skarn," he muttered, "take us higher."
The beast grunted and flared his wings wide, climbing on a heavy gust. The air thinned. Clouds dipped around them. The mountain's peak now loomed just ahead—a flat ridge, almost like a cracked crater at the top.
As they rose, Torian turned slightly, scanning the landscape.
No forests.
No rivers.
No signs of life.
Only this.
One impossible monolith in the middle of a dead land.
⸻
They circled once.
And for a moment, nothing happened.
Then Skarn stopped.
Midair.
He hovered, wings tense, eyes locked downward.
Torian followed his gaze.
And saw it.
A hole in the side of the mountain.
A gaping cavern, two thousand feet tall, carved into the black stone.
Perfectly round.
As if something had either crawled in…
Or crawled out.
⸻
Wind howled through it now.
Deep. Hollow. Ancient.
Torian's spiral flickered beneath his chest.
Not in power.
In instinct.
Danger.
He reached down, touching Skarn's neck.
"Circle wide. Don't get close."
Skarn turned in the air—
And the mountain moved.
⸻
It was slow.
Massive.
Unmistakable.
The surface rippled—an inch here, then a tremor, then a heave like a chest exhaling for the first time in centuries.
A groan echoed through the air. Not sound—pressure. It rippled through their bones, a thunder without thunder.
Then a shape shifted at the peak.
Not a peak.
A shoulder.
The mountain lifted part of itself—an upper curve shifting into a slope of muscle and ancient flesh.
Torian's eyes widened.
His breath caught.
"That's not a mountain."
⸻
From the gaping hole in the side, something emerged.
A face.
A massive, simian head covered in blackened stone-flesh. Its eyes were deep gold, wide and ancient, rimmed with cracks of glowing heat. Its mouth hung open slightly, breathing slow clouds of smoke.
Then—
It screamed.
⸻
The sound was pure force.
Skarn was hurled backward midair, wings straining to hold steady. Torian nearly flew off his back but gripped tight, his blade crackling faintly behind him.
The creature's roar shattered rock across the cliffs. Pebbles rained from the sky. Earthquakes cracked the plains below.
Then it moved again.
A hand the size of a cathedral reached up and pulled itself out of the cavern. Shoulders followed. Then its back. Then its other arm—covered in glowing spiral runes that pulsed with molten light.
A titan.
A gorilla.
But not like any living thing.
⸻
It was as tall as the mountain itself—4,000 feet of walking death, its back hunched, chest burning with a glowing gold diamond embedded in the center.
That shape—the diamond—lit as the titan turned to face the sky.
It saw them.
Torian and Skarn.
Just dots in the air.
But it saw.
And lifted one arm.
⸻
A beam erupted from its chest—pure gold energy, like liquid sunlight turned into a weapon. It lanced through the sky toward them, tearing cloud and air in half.
"MOVE!" Torian shouted.
Skarn dove, wings snapping tight.
The beam missed by inches—but the air itself burned.
They spiraled downward, past cliffs and rock spires, as another beam fired behind them—this one wider, sweeping.
The titan was aiming now.
Tracking.
Learning.
⸻
"We can't fight this," Torian growled. "Not up here."
Skarn dipped low over a ridge, then flapped hard, driving them back up and out of range for a moment. Torian turned midair, eyes locked on the titan's glowing chest.
The diamond dimmed—recharging.
A few seconds, maybe.
But the next blast would be faster.
And closer.
⸻
Torian's hand slid to the hilt on his back.
He didn't draw it.
Didn't flare the flame.
This wasn't that fight.
Not yet.
He leaned into Skarn's neck.
"Get us out of here."
⸻
But the titan was faster than a mountain should ever be.
It leapt.
One impossible, world-breaking jump—shoulders hurling it into the air like a cannon. The force cracked the entire plateau beneath it, sending stone flying like shrapnel.
It closed the distance in seconds.
Its fist came crashing toward them.
Skarn barrel-rolled midair, dodging just as the titan's hand punched through the sky where they had been—flattening clouds, creating a sonic shock that deafened the air.
Torian barely held on.
He looked back.
The titan was already crouching for another leap.
⸻
"We're not outrunning this," he muttered.
Skarn grunted, angling low toward a narrow canyon below.
It was the only chance.
⸻
But the titan roared again.
And this time, the beam fired not from its chest—
But from its mouth.
The beam tore through the clouds like a blade.
Torian shouted as Skarn spiraled, barely clearing the edge of the golden blast as it vaporized a stretch of sky where they'd just been.
The heat still touched him.
Even from that distance, it scalded the air, searing the back of his cloak and licking the edges of his boots with embers. It wasn't just light—it was destruction wrapped in radiance.
Torian gritted his teeth.
"That thing isn't alive," he muttered. "It's a weapon."
⸻
Skarn dove harder now, cutting through the air like a thunderbolt. The canyon below wasn't wide—just enough room for a few wingspans between its jagged walls. It wasn't safe. It wasn't smart.
But it was the only place the titan couldn't fit.
Behind them, the sound of the beast's second leap cracked the world.
The entire mountain seemed to shift as the titan launched again, its legs propelling it through the upper sky, its bulk trailing smoke and shadow as it zeroed in on its prey.
Skarn dove.
Torian held on.
And the world became speed.
⸻
Stone blurred past on both sides.
The canyon yawned open below like the throat of a beast. The walls twisted, forcing Skarn to bank sharply left, then right, dodging pillar-sized stones that jutted into the sky like broken spears.
A single mistake, and they'd be paste on the rocks.
But Skarn was born of pressure and chaos.
He didn't hesitate.
He flew harder.
⸻
Behind them, the titan reached the edge.
It couldn't fit.
Couldn't follow.
So it did the next best thing.
It roared—and punched the canyon wall.
The entire ridge cracked with a thunderclap. A fracture spread like lightning down the cliffside, crumbling tons of debris loose in a chain reaction.
The walls began to collapse inward.
⸻
"Down! Down!" Torian shouted.
Skarn tucked his wings and dove into the ravine as massive slabs of stone thundered down from above, crashing into the narrow path behind them.
The titan couldn't reach them—but it didn't have to.
It was burying them alive.
⸻
Rocks the size of ships slammed into the ground, shattering into dust. Skarn twisted mid-fall, dodging through the avalanche with impossible grace.
Still, one piece clipped his wing.
The impact twisted them sideways in the air.
Torian nearly flew off, gripping Skarn's mane with both hands, teeth bared against the wind.
A spiral of pain twisted up his side.
His shoulder was bleeding.
⸻
"Keep going!" he roared.
Skarn beat his wings once—then again—and righted himself just before slamming into the bottom of the canyon.
He landed hard, claws dragging through dust and ash.
Then he ran.
Massive legs pounding across uneven stone as the canyon quaked around them. The walls were still coming down. The titan roared above, unseen but present—its weight making the sky vibrate.
⸻
Then the light came again.
Torian saw it in the cracks above—a pulse of gold flashing down into the chasm, turning the shadows amber.
The titan was charging another blast.
Mouth or chest, it didn't matter.
It would cut the entire canyon in half.
⸻
Torian clenched his jaw.
He jumped off Skarn mid-sprint and slammed his palm into the rock beside them, drawing the sword from his back in one smooth arc. The blade roared to life—fire racing down its molten core, the spiral within awakening.
Not bright.
Just furious.
He raised it to the sky and shouted:
"Try me."
⸻
The blast fired.
But not directly at him.
It hit the far end of the canyon—an exit they hadn't reached yet—turning the escape route into molten rubble. A flood of stone and heat rolled toward them.
Torian's eyes widened.
They were going to be buried alive.
⸻
He turned just as Skarn barreled into him, scooping him up in his claws and leaping forward with everything he had.
The wave of gold energy screamed behind them, melting everything in its path.
Skarn jumped into a vertical shaft in the cliff wall—a narrow crack barely wide enough.
The two of them vanished into it as the beam hit the canyon floor—
—And erased it.
⸻
There was no sound.
Only white.
Then darkness.
Then nothing.
Darkness.
At first, that was all there was.
Then pain.
Torian stirred, half-buried beneath a slope of shattered stone and damp ash. His ribs ached. His left leg throbbed. A deep cut along his side had clotted into stiff, blackened blood.
His fingers twitched.
Good.
Still alive.
Barely.
⸻
He pried himself free with a grunt, pushing aside loose debris. The air was still—thick with dust, sharp with the scent of scorched minerals. He couldn't see the sky.
Or hear the titan.
Just silence.
Not peace.
The kind of silence that waits for movement.
⸻
"Skarn…"
He coughed, the sound ragged.
"Skarn, where are you?"
No answer.
He looked around and spotted a faint blue glow in the darkness—soft, low, pulsing from beneath a mound of rubble across the small cavern.
Then it shifted.
A grunt.
A huff.
A rising mountain of fur and muscle.
Skarn.
⸻
The beast groaned as he stood, his body trembling slightly under the strain. One of his wings hung limp, scraped and bent—but his legs were still solid. His hide was singed in patches, blood dried along his shoulders.
But his eyes burned steady.
Torian exhaled in relief.
"Still with me."
Skarn huffed in response.
Then walked forward and nudged Torian gently.
Torian smiled through cracked lips. "That's your way of saying 'told you not to fly near the giant space-gorilla,' huh?"
Another huff.
Affectionate.
⸻
As his vision adjusted, Torian realized they weren't just inside a cave.
They were in a hallway.
A tunnel, cut unnaturally into the cliffside—wide and smooth, spiraling downward into deeper black.
The walls weren't raw stone.
They were engraved.
Not with words—but with carvings. Murals. Spirals.
Dozens of them.
Some large. Some barely visible. All woven together in rings that twisted around the hall like veins.
The flame spiral was at the center of most.
But not alone.
He saw others.
One shaped like jagged lightning.
One like shattered glass.
One that looked like a drop of liquid suspended in motion, yet burning from within.
All circling one thing:
A massive central spiral with no defined edge.
Like a black hole of power.
⸻
Skarn walked beside him, silent.
Torian ran his hand along the carvings.
"This wasn't built by the people above," he said softly.
Skarn rumbled in agreement.
"They buried it. Or it buried itself."
⸻
They walked for several minutes, descending gradually.
At every turn, more of the spiral bearers appeared—some triumphant, others depicted mid-collapse. One figure burned so brightly it scorched the mural itself, leaving cracks in the stone. Another was shown fleeing the others, its spiral bursting outward in jagged patterns.
Then they reached a final chamber.
And stopped.
⸻
It was round.
Massive.
Dozens of feet high, supported by six obsidian pillars, each carved to resemble different elements swirling around a humanoid form.
In the center was a stone platform.
On it—dust.
Bones.
And a sword embedded in the floor.
Not like Torian's.
This one was broken.
The blade shattered in three places.
The hilt melted into the stone, fused by heat so intense it had turned part of the platform to glass.
Torian stepped forward slowly.
Skarn stayed behind.
He knelt at the edge.
And something called to him.
⸻
It wasn't a voice.
It wasn't the spiral.
It was familiarity.
Recognition.
This sword had belonged to someone like him.
And it had failed.
⸻
Torian looked around the room again—this time not at the art, but the scars.
Blackened walls.
Caved-in cracks.
The ceiling half-melted near one edge.
"This is where one of them lost control," he whispered. "Where they brought down the mountain trying to stop it."
He turned to Skarn.
"This is where they sealed it."
⸻
Suddenly, the chamber trembled.
A low, humming vibration.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
The carvings flickered—lines glowing faintly like veins awakening after sleep.
The spiral inside his chest flared once, pulsing so hard it burned through his ribs.
Skarn growled and stepped closer.
The sword embedded in the floor sparked.
And for one second—
The air twisted.
⸻
Not just around them.
Behind them.
Torian turned.
A spiral of black mist coiled in the far wall.
A shape.
Not full.
Not formed.
But something trying to become.
The mist swirled, then hissed—and vanished.
⸻
The spiral dimmed.
The tremors stopped.
The chamber returned to stillness.
Torian stood frozen.
Skarn stared into the dark.
Torian finally whispered:
"This place remembers me."
The spiral chamber stood silent once more.
Torian stared at the broken sword in the stone, the echo of the black mist still burning in his vision. Skarn stood beside him, unmoving, his fur bristling faintly despite the stillness.
There were no answers here.
Only warnings.
Only ghosts.
Torian turned to leave, the pulse of his flame dim but coiled tightly beneath the surface, like it too was watching the walls.
"Let's go," he muttered.
Skarn gave a low grunt and turned with him.
⸻
The tunnel back up was slower, harder. Parts of the passage had collapsed in the quake. They climbed over jagged piles of stone, cracked ribs of the ancient ruin, walls still etched with the spirals of lost gods.
But at the top—light.
Real sunlight.
The sky was visible again, split through a vertical crack high above the debris where the titan's final beam had nearly collapsed the entire canyon.
Torian shielded his eyes.
Then heard it.
A faint hum.
Low. Metallic. Growing louder.
He looked up.
And the sky shifted.
⸻
The clouds weren't clouds.
They were moving.
Being pushed.
Not by wind.
But by weight.
The titan had returned.
Skarn roared, wings flaring open as he shoved past rubble and leapt to the nearest ledge. Torian followed, sprinting with every ounce of strength left in his battered legs.
They scaled the incline fast, climbing the spiral of stone until they reached the sunlight.
And emerged.
⸻
Above them—sky.
Blue.
Wide.
And then—black.
A massive shadow covered the sun.
The titan had climbed the ridge.
Its body glowed at every joint, veins of gold threading through obsidian skin. That diamond on its chest burned with furious energy, swirling like a star trapped in glass.
It didn't roar this time.
It didn't leap.
It just raised its arm.
And pointed.
⸻
The air thickened.
The light dimmed.
Torian's flame pulsed wildly inside his chest, warning him, screaming in silence.
"MOVE!"
⸻
Skarn launched forward, wings beating once, twice—and just as the titan's chest lit up—
The beam fired.
It struck the mountain—not directly at them, but at the ground beneath.
The entire plateau exploded.
⸻
Torian and Skarn were hurled backward like sparks from a forge.
Stone cracked, shattered, lifted into the air. A geyser of dust and light erupted beneath them as they were flung hundreds of feet across the sky.
Torian screamed as the world spun.
Skarn tried to stabilize—one wing badly torn—but the force was too much.
They fell.
Together.
⸻
They crashed into the far slope of the mountainside, bouncing, tumbling, smashing through dead trees and rock until they finally hit a flat stretch of earth and skidded to a violent stop.
Silence followed.
For a long time.
⸻
Torian groaned.
Every bone hurt.
He sat up slowly.
Skarn lay beside him, breathing hard, one wing dragging uselessly in the dirt.
But they were alive.
Barely.
⸻
Torian looked back.
The titan was retreating.
It wasn't chasing them anymore.
It had made its point.
Blocked their path.
And reminded the world that the age of monsters was not over.
⸻
Torian stood.
Blood streaked down his brow.
But his eyes burned.
"We're not turning around."
Skarn rose beside him, one foot limping—but steady.
"We go around."
⸻
And together, they turned from the mountain—
—and began walking again.
South.
Toward the forest with no name.
Toward the birthplace of all magic.
Toward a reckoning.