The air was dead still.
Not even the wind dared speak.
Where once had stood a ridge of jagged black stone, only a cracked wasteland remained—split and smoldering, warped by the sheer force of the titan's final strike. A trail of fire-scorched rock stretched for miles behind, leading back to the monstrous crater torn into the side of the mountain.
And at the end of that trail…
Two bodies.
Broken.
Motionless.
One was a beast: massive, fur scorched, wings twisted at odd angles. Breath came only in faint bursts, chest barely lifting. His claws dug into the dirt as if to protect the one beneath him even now.
The other was a man.
Or what remained of one.
Torian lay curled under Skarn's collapsed frame, his blood soaked into the soil, face half-covered in ash, ribs wrapped in torn fabric from his own cloak. His spiral glowed dimly under his torn shirt, flickering like a dying coal.
They didn't move.
They couldn't.
⸻
Far down the ravine, in a patch of moss-covered stone where the trees still stood, two hunters from the valley crouched in silence, their spears held low.
"What is that thing…?" one whispered, voice shaking.
"A guardian," said the older man beside her. "Or something that fell from the heavens."
They crept forward cautiously, eyes wide, hearts pounding.
They didn't know who these beings were.
But they knew one thing:
No living soul could have survived what scarred the land behind them.
And yet… these two had.
⸻
By the time the rest of the scouting party arrived, the sun had dipped behind the cliffs. Shadows stretched long over the ruined earth.
They brought ropes.
Padded harnesses.
They were gentle with the man, though his skin was torn and his shoulder was bent at a wrong angle. One of them gasped when they saw the spiral.
"He bears the mark."
"The what?"
"The curse," the older scout muttered.
"No. It's more than that."
The beast—Skarn—began to stir as they approached. The children backed off. One brave man stood firm and held out his hand.
"Easy," he whispered. "We're not here to harm him."
Skarn's eyes opened briefly.
He saw Torian's still body.
And stopped struggling.
He closed his eyes again.
Trusting them.
⸻
They strapped both bodies carefully onto a massive six-legged pack beast called a dorva—a low-backed, thick-furred creature used to carry lumber through the mountains.
Torian was wrapped in clean cloth and furs to hold his ribs still.
Skarn was laid in a sling of netting lined with wet leaves to cool his burns.
No one spoke on the journey back.
Even the young scouts could feel it.
This wasn't a rescue.
This was the retrieval of something ancient—something dangerous—that had survived something no one should.
⸻
The Hidden Path
The trail wound steeply into the cliffs—known only to those born in the valley. Old steps carved into stone. Hanging ropes and worn wooden bridges. Mist clung to the air like memory.
Above, clouds rolled heavy and orange.
The sky was bleeding into dusk.
As the procession climbed, whispers carried between them:
"You really think they came from the mountain?"
"No. Higher."
"They fell."
"Fell from where?"
"Wherever the flame comes from."
⸻
The gates of the village loomed ahead.
No walls. Just a great arch of old bones, stacked from creatures long extinct, woven with vines that glowed faintly blue in the dark.
When the dorva crossed beneath them, the elder standing at the center of the courtyard turned toward the sound—without his eyes. His face was old, wrinkled like river stone. His staff bore the oldest spiral carved deep.
He stepped forward.
The villagers fell silent.
The torches hissed.
And then he said:
"Bring them in. This is where the flame has chosen to fall."
⸻
The Village of Peace
Torian and Skarn were carried to two separate huts.
Each structure was handwoven from thick cloth and rope, tied to the bones of great beasts long turned to legend. Everything in this village felt old—but not broken. It was alive with memory.
No metal. No glass. No lights.
Just fire. Smoke. Rope. Clay. Song.
A healer pressed her hand to Torian's chest.
The spiral burned faintly beneath his skin.
"He carries a curse," one whispered.
"No," the elder said behind her. "He carries a question."
The healer nodded, still fearful.
They removed his torn clothes, cleaned the wounds with root-paste and bark oils. They braced his ribs and wrapped his head in cool leaf bands.
"Let him rest."
"And the beast?"
"Let the children see him," the elder said. "It will keep their hearts strong."
And so, Skarn was carried—gently, with five men pushing—to the shade of the great stone where the village children played. They gathered around him, climbing on his back, hiding behind his paws.
He groaned once.
Twitching.
Then gave in.
⸻
The night grew quiet.
Torian breathed in peace for the first time in days.
But his body didn't move.
His flame did not rise.
And so he slept.
Beneath reed-roof and stars…
…in the one place on this planet that still remembered what it meant to be unafraid.
Torian awoke to the scent of smoke and roots.
The inside of the hut was warm but dim, filtered light seeping through a cloth ceiling woven so tightly it almost looked solid. The walls were strung with herbal bundles. Feathers hung from carved bones. Smoke from a small clay dish drifted toward the ceiling, carrying the bite of crushed seed and dry moss.
He blinked slowly, then groaned.
Everything hurt.
His ribs were tightly wrapped, and his head throbbed with dull pressure. His shoulder was braced with curved wood and plant fiber. The bandages were done with care. Whoever lived here wasn't primitive—they were practiced. Skilled. Survivors.
Torian sat up slowly, gritting his teeth.
The pain flared but didn't stop him.
Not now.
He needed to see Skarn.
⸻
He pushed aside the curtain door and stepped barefoot onto the clay path outside.
The light hit him gently—soft golden rays filtering through the high cliffs that ringed the valley. It was still early morning. Mist clung to the edges of trees and rooftops. Smoke from cooking fires spiraled into the sky in loose curls. Birds called from the edge of the forest, but not the kind he knew.
Then he saw the crowd.
He heard it first—laughter.
Dozens of children surrounded a massive fur-covered shape curled up beneath the valley's oldest tree. A few were climbing. Some were hanging from its tail. Others ran in circles, laughing as the creature spun in slow, half-hearted escape.
It was Skarn.
Groaning softly. Half-rolling. Trying to get away—but clearly not trying hard.
Torian felt the corner of his mouth pull.
A short, involuntary laugh escaped his throat—the first in what felt like years.
⸻
Then movement caught his eye.
Across the firepit, seated in a half-circle on flat stones, were five figures. Four men and women in leathers and bone armor, each marked with old scars and ancient gear. They sat beside a much older man with pale eyes and a spiral-carved staff—the village elder.
They had seen him.
All of them.
They stopped talking.
The Four Warriors stood.
And walked toward him.
⸻
The first to speak was Kaen—young, lean, sharp-featured, and missing his right forearm. The black obsidian prosthetic he wore glimmered in the sunlight, cold and clawed. His icy-blue eyes slid over Torian without concern.
"That's him?" Kaen said to the elder, pointing casually with his frozen arm.
"He looks like he fell out of a tree."
The others chuckled.
Tegun, the hammer-wielder, broad-shouldered and gray-bearded, gave a booming laugh.
"I thought he'd be taller. I've seen squirrels with more muscle."
"Maybe the beast carries him," said Eris, the pale woman with silent steps and two wind-silver daggers hanging from her hips.
She tilted her head. "He does look fragile."
Torian said nothing.
Just stared at them—wounded, shirtless, but unmoved.
Vaka, the largest of them all, said nothing. Just crossed his arms and looked at Torian the way one might study a stone.
⸻
The elder stood slowly and cleared his throat.
"Enough," he said calmly. "Mocking the wind does not stop the storm it carries."
He turned to Torian, offering a small nod.
"You were found broken. Bleeding. We thought you would die."
The elder gestured to Skarn, still swarmed by delighted children.
"But your companion…" He paused, almost reverent. "He woke first. Protected you. Refused to move until we took you both."
Kaen leaned in and said under his breath, "So the beast's the protector."
The others murmured in agreement.
Still, Torian said nothing.
⸻
The elder looked Torian over again, this time more carefully.
"You're recovering faster than you should. Whatever you carry inside you—it heals."
He took a slow breath, then added, "We'll speak more tomorrow. You need rest. And food."
Torian nodded once.
Without a word, he turned from the group and whistled.
"Skarn."
At the sound of his voice, the beast erupted from the children, sending them scattering in a chorus of shrieks and giggles.
Skarn galloped across the village square, head low, ears twitching, until he skidded beside Torian and nudged his ribs gently.
Torian grunted. "Easy."
Then he scratched Skarn's neck.
The beast snorted in response.
Together, they walked back toward the hut.
No fire.
No show.
Just two broken survivors returning to the only shelter they had.
⸻
The warriors stood in silence.
Kaen whispered, "You think he's deaf?"
Eris smirked. "I think he's hiding something."
The elder said nothing.
But his gaze lingered on the spiral that faintly pulsed beneath Torian's shoulder.
"He's not hiding," the elder said.
"He's watching."
The next morning, the light was warmer.
It filtered through the woven seams of the hut in pale gold streaks, dappling Torian's face as he stirred. The pain had dulled. His ribs ached, but he could breathe. The stiffness in his arms had faded. His spiral no longer throbbed—it pulsed gently, calm, stable.
He sat up and stretched with a low grunt.
Outside, the village was already alive. Wooden buckets clacked at the riverbank. Hammers echoed off stone as two boys carved a new door. A group of elderly women tended to drying herbs while humming something soft and wordless.
And near the firepit, the Four Warriors sat gathered again.
This time, they looked toward his hut before he even stepped outside.
They were expecting him.
⸻
Kaen stood first, arms crossed, frostbrand sword across his back.
"You coming, or is the beast doing your hunting today?"
Torian ignored the comment.
He stepped out into the morning air, now wrapped in clean cloth across his ribs and shoulders. Someone had left his sword near the door, propped carefully with respect.
He took it, strapped it to his back.
Then walked toward them without a word.
⸻
The elder stood nearby, nodding.
"There's a stag path north of the valley. The beasts move through every few days. You'll join the warriors."
Torian paused.
He looked at the four of them, already turned and heading toward the woods.
He looked back at Skarn, still sleeping peacefully beside the elder tree.
"Stay," he said. "I'll be back soon."
Skarn snorted once and rolled onto his side.
⸻
Into the Trees
The forest was thick and silent.
They moved quickly, weaving between moss-covered stones and hanging vines, torches left behind for speed. The warriors were relaxed—too relaxed.
Torian walked behind them, saying nothing.
The warriors kept glancing back, whispering under their breath.
"Think he knows how to use that sword?"
"Think he knows how to speak?"
"I think he's scared we'll find out he's useless."
They laughed.
Kaen stopped once and turned.
"You're good at walking. I'll give you that."
Still, Torian said nothing.
Not a look.
Not a twitch.
He simply followed.
⸻
The deeper they moved into the northern woods, the stranger it became.
The air cooled.
The shadows lengthened.
Birdsong vanished.
The trees began to tilt—not broken, but bent inward, toward a central space none of them could see.
Tegun slowed his steps.
Eris lowered her daggers.
"Something's wrong."
Kaen stepped forward.
"It's just quiet. Nothing's out here."
That's when the ground rumbled.
⸻
Not a tremor.
A warning.
The forest trembled beneath their feet.
Leaves scattered.
Birds erupted from the canopy in a single screaming burst.
And then it stepped from the trees.
A massive creature—fifteen feet tall, fur like twisted bramble, eyes glowing red with something ancient and poisoned. Its jaw was too wide for its skull, and black veins pulsed with dark magic through its chest and arms.
A corrupted werewolf titan.
Born not of nature—but of something much darker.
⸻
The warriors froze.
Even Vaka took a step back.
Eris whispered, "It's too close."
Kaen reached for his blade.
But the titan didn't wait.
It lunged.
⸻
A blur of teeth and rot came crashing through the trees—sprinting straight toward them.
No time to think.
No time to move.
Kaen raised his blade, breath caught—
And then the world turned to flame.
⸻
A blast of fire, wide and fast as a thunderclap, erupted from the treeline behind them.
It pierced the titan's chest clean through, vaporizing everything in its path.
The creature was hurled back, body spinning as the fireball tore through it, leaving a massive molten hole straight through the ribs.
The fire looped upward, searing across the sky in a blazing arc.
The trees shook.
The smoke parted.
And from the air, descending with quiet rage, came a single shape.
A man.
Cloaked in flame.
Landing beside them with fire curling off his shoulders like wings made of wrath.
Torian.
⸻
The flames vanished.
The clearing fell silent.
The titan's body collapsed behind him, crumbling into burning ash.
Torian stood, eyes glowing faintly, spiral alive beneath his skin.
He looked at the stunned warriors—none of whom could speak.
Then he cracked a smile.
"Still hunting," he said.
And turned to walk away.
⸻
None of them followed.
None of them even breathed.
They simply stared as the man they mocked stepped past them, untouched by blood or fear, leaving only scorched ground and smoke behind.
The village gates opened slowly as the warriors returned.
Their boots scraped softly over the stone paths, the kill left behind in the ash of the forest. Not one of them spoke. Not one dared to.
The sky was gray with haze, the fires burned lower than usual. It felt like the entire valley was holding its breath.
The elder stood waiting.
He could read it in their faces before they said a word.
They had seen something they weren't ready for.
⸻
Torian walked behind them, silent as ever, his cloak singed, his spiral pulsing faintly beneath it. His hands hung loose at his sides, still warm.
Children stared as he passed. Mothers pulled them back without realizing.
The man who had burned a monster in one strike.
The man who didn't roar when he fought.
The man who didn't smile when he won.
⸻
Kaen broke first.
"He's dangerous," he muttered to the elder.
Tegun added, "Too dangerous. That was no natural fire. It moved like it had a mind."
Eris didn't speak—but her eyes, once curious, now flickered with a cautious fear.
Even Vaka, unshaken in most things, grunted and nodded.
⸻
Torian stopped.
His back was to them, still facing the wide courtyard where Skarn waited by the river.
But he heard it all.
The whispered warnings.
The judgment.
The same tone he'd heard a hundred times before, in ruined cities and fallen temples, on backwater planets that feared what they couldn't control.
He was a weapon in their eyes.
Nothing more.
⸻
The elder turned slowly toward Torian.
"I do not doubt your strength," he said, voice calm. "But I must ask—will that strength bring peace, or ruin?"
Torian didn't turn.
His voice was low, flat.
"That depends on who keeps testing me."
There was silence.
Then he turned his head just slightly and called out:
"Skarn."
⸻
The sound of claws on stone echoed through the square as the beast moved instantly, trotting across the courtyard with heavy steps, tail low and slow.
He reached Torian's side.
Torian stepped up beside him.
He didn't look at the warriors.
He didn't speak to the elder.
He simply said:
"We're leaving."
⸻
The elder took a step forward. "You don't need to—"
But Torian raised a hand.
"No. I do."
"I've walked through storms, monsters, gods. I've burned titans to ash, watched kingdoms rise and fall. I came here broken and bleeding."
"You patched my wounds."
"And then you called me dangerous."
He looked at Kaen. At Eris. At them all.
"I know what I am."
"And I know what I'm not."
"I'm not your curse. I'm not your fear. And I'm done pretending I have to earn your permission to exist."
⸻
Flame erupted behind him—not loud, not explosive, but smooth and controlled. His spiral lit up beneath his chest, and the fire rolled over his back like a living cloak.
Skarn crouched low.
The villagers stepped back.
Some covered their eyes.
Some turned away.
⸻
With a quiet leap, Torian landed on Skarn's back.
The great beast spread his wings—still bruised but functional—and with a powerful thrust, they lifted into the air.
The fire from Torian's cloak trailed behind them in a swirling arc of gold and red.
Not destruction.
Not chaos.
But freedom.
⸻
As they disappeared over the cliffs, a hush fell over the valley.
The elder stood motionless.
Kaen stepped forward and whispered, "Do we follow?"
The elder shook his head.
"No. He doesn't walk the path we do."
"He burns his own trail."
The wind hit hard as they climbed.
Torian leaned forward over Skarn's back, his arms loosely wrapped around the beast's neck. The cold rushed past them in waves. The smoke from the valley fires trailed far below, vanishing into the trees.
They didn't look back.
There was nothing worth seeing.
⸻
Above them, the clouds boiled.
Dark gray streaks and patches of gold broke open across the sky like scars. The sun was beginning its descent, the shadows crawling sideways over the distant hills.
Skarn flapped once, rising higher.
The wind stung Torian's cheeks, but he didn't mind.
There was peace in movement.
Peace in rising.
Even if the world had no room left for them below.
⸻
They flew for hours.
Past high cliffs.
Over jagged peaks.
Across dead fields where old machines lay rusting, long forgotten, half-swallowed by moss and ash.
Skarn flew steady, but slower than usual.
His wings were still sore.
His muscles still healing.
But he never faltered.
Not with Torian on his back.
⸻
As they passed a shallow ridge lit by evening light, Torian finally spoke.
Not loudly. Not to be heard by the world. Just enough for the wind to carry the truth away.
"I'm tired, Skarn."
"Tired of proving it. Tired of showing restraint."
Skarn grunted once in reply, his ears twitching.
Torian looked out over the horizon.
"They didn't see what I gave up to survive."
"They just saw what scared them."
⸻
The silence between them wasn't awkward.
It was comfort.
They had always communicated like this—few words, shared breath, trust without explanation.
No one else ever understood it.
No one ever would.
⸻
The First Storm Wall
Ahead, the sky turned a deep shade of violet.
A storm wall loomed—far more massive than any they had seen before. It wasn't just weather. It pulsed faintly. Magic in the air. Torian could feel it on his skin like heat off a fire.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Something's changing."
Skarn growled low.
He felt it too.
They tilted downward, banking around the edge of the coming storm. A wall of trees stretched ahead—taller, more twisted than the ones near the village.
"We'll stop for now," Torian said.
Skarn dipped low, searching for a place to land.
⸻
They found a patch of flat stone beside a winding stream. Water glimmered under the moonlight, reflecting stars that hadn't moved in hours. It was quiet. Still.
Too still.
But they were too tired to care.
Skarn landed gently, folding his wings.
Torian slid off, landing with a heavy step.
His knees buckled briefly, but he caught himself.
⸻
He looked up.
The stars blinked above.
The world stretched infinite.
And for once, there was no fear chasing them.
Only the cold.
Only silence.
Only the truth:
They were alone again.
And that had never felt more right.
The fire crackled low between them.
Torian crouched beside it, one hand resting on a flat stone, his other slowly turning a thick root-basted haunch of meat over the flames. It wasn't much—just a horned lizard they'd caught near the river—but the warmth was welcome.
Skarn lay nearby, massive frame curled close to the heat. His wings were folded tight to his back. A bandage still clung to one side. His chest rose and fell in slow, deep rhythm.
They hadn't spoken in hours.
And that, in its own way, was comforting.
⸻
The air was crisp.
Above them, the sky stretched open—wide and star-pocked. No clouds. No wind. Just silence. The kind that only came in the deadest corners of the world.
Torian tossed another twig onto the fire.
It snapped, throwing embers into the dark.
⸻
He stared into the flames.
Not with intensity. Just memory.
"I used to be afraid of this," he said quietly.
Skarn lifted his head.
Torian didn't look over. Just kept his gaze forward.
"Not fire. Not monsters. Not pain."
"Just… being alone."
⸻
Skarn blinked, eyes calm.
He snorted once—soft, understanding.
Torian nodded.
"But we never were, were we?"
He reached into his pack and pulled out a small cloth pouch—inside, a few herbs, some bitter root, and a thin sliver of cured meat. He tossed it to Skarn.
The beast caught it in his mouth without moving his head.
Chomped once.
Grunted.
Satisfied.
⸻
Torian leaned back, hands behind him, staring up at the stars.
"I thought that village might be different."
"Thought maybe… they'd see more than the fire."
He let the words hang.
Skarn said nothing. Didn't need to.
"I'm not mad they feared me," Torian said. "I'm mad I gave them the chance not to."
⸻
The wind rustled gently through the trees, soft and distant.
It didn't carry words.
But it carried a weight.
A promise of what still lay ahead.
⸻
Torian closed his eyes for a moment.
Breathed in the stillness.
The simplicity.
It reminded him of the early days.
Before the flame consumed everything.
Before power had meaning.
Back when it was just survival.
Just the two of them.
⸻
He opened his eyes again and looked at Skarn.
The beast looked back.
A knowing gaze.
A bond that had been forged in blood, sharpened in flame, and carried across worlds.
"Still with me?" Torian asked.
Skarn didn't blink.
Just nodded once.
Firm.
Absolute.
⸻
The fire burned lower.
Torian scooted back, pulled his cloak around his shoulders, and lay flat against the earth. Skarn curled beside him, one wing draped loosely like a blanket.
No words.
No flame.
Just breath. And weight. And warmth.
⸻
Somewhere far ahead, the storm pulsed again.
Magic in the wind.
Something unnatural.
But for now…
Torian slept.
Not as a god.
Not as a warrior.
Just as a boy beneath the stars.
The fire had died sometime in the night.
Only pale embers remained—glowing faintly like the coals of a once-raging forge, buried now in ash and silence. Morning broke slow and red across the valley ridge, casting long shadows through the cracked stone cliffs around them.
Torian sat up first.
His breath misted in the cool dawn air.
The cloak had fallen from his shoulders, damp with dew. His ribs ached faintly, but it was a different kind of ache—not weakness. Just a reminder. A scar still healing.
He looked to his right.
Skarn still slept, massive frame curled tight beside the fire pit, his body rising and falling like a living mountain. His wounds were healing too, the cuts and bruises almost faded. The flame hadn't left them—it had just quieted.
"Wake up," Torian said gently.
Skarn's ear twitched. He let out a long breath, rolled over once, and stretched.
The wing that had once been limp now unfurled halfway before tucking back tight.
Still sore.
But functional.
"Time to move."
⸻
They packed quickly.
Torian tied the cloth satchel to his belt, slung his sword across his back, and poured the last of their water onto the embers. Steam hissed as the heat died for good.
He looked out toward the horizon—toward the vast stretch of twisting canyons and black-root trees that marked the continent's southern edge.
He didn't know what lay out there.
But he knew they couldn't go back.
Not to the village. Not to safety.
Only forward.
⸻
As they walked toward a ledge that overlooked the open world, Skarn walked beside him in silence. A few birds scattered at their approach. The wind stirred faintly, whispering of strange things to come.
Torian narrowed his eyes.
Below, the land stretched on for miles—rolling hills, shadowed forests, strange stone outcrops that pulsed with violet glow. And far in the hazy distance…
A faint blur of color in the mist.
Purple.
So faint it might've been imagination.
But Torian didn't blink.
He saw it.
"That forest…" he muttered.
"The one they spoke of."
Skarn tilted his head.
"The birthplace of magic," Torian said. "Where all of this might've started."
"Where the flame… or something like it… was born."
⸻
He reached down and touched the spiral etched into his chest through the cloth.
It pulsed—once, deeply.
As if it knew.
As if it remembered.
⸻
He turned to Skarn.
"That's where we're going."
"Not to find answers."
"To find the way home."
Skarn stepped forward beside him and let out a low, deep breath.
No hesitation.
No fear.
They stood together at the edge of the world once more—two survivors, walking against fate.
And without another word…
Torian climbed onto Skarn's back.
The great beast spread his wings.
The wind caught beneath them.
And they launched skyward—soaring toward the horizon, toward the shimmer of violet mist far, far away.
⸻