The night was heavy with silence. A crescent moon dangled above the forest like a silver hook, casting shadows that stretched too long across the ground.
Ezagone trudged behind his brother, his sneakers slapping against the dirt road. "You know," he said between breaths, "for someone who just sprouted a pair of nightmare wings, you walk way too casually. Can you at least limp or something? Pretend to be human?"
Zethra glanced back, his crimson eyes glimmering faintly in the dark. "What, you want me to hunch over like some cartoon villain? 'Oh no, my big scary devil wings are soooo heavy.'" He bent dramatically, clutching his back and groaning like an old man.
Ezagone burst out laughing so hard he nearly tripped over a tree root. "Don't tempt me, Zeth. You already look like you're one bad day away from growling at priests."
But the laughter didn't last. Every time Ezagone's eyes flicked to his brother's back, those wings loomed in his mind — massive, leathery, curling with faint smoke. They weren't even fully spread now, just half-folded and dragging like shadows made solid. And yet… they didn't belong here. Not in their quiet world of human houses, streetlights, and Martha's apple pie.
Zethra sighed. "It's not like I can hide them, Eza. They don't come with an off switch."
And then, like poison dripping into his thoughts, the voice slid into his mind.
'Foolish boy. Of course they can be hidden. Do you think I walk the world with wings unfurled at every step?'
Zethra froze mid-step, and Ezagone nearly bumped into him.
"You okay?" Ezagone asked.
"Y-Yeah. Just… her again."
Ezagone's grin turned sly. "Who,"
"No one" Zethra growled, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
'— Listen, child,* the sultry voice whispered in his skull, every word brushing against his nerves like velvet claws. 'Your wings are an extension of your Aetherion, your profane essence. They obey your will. If you bleed enough energy into them, they manifest. If you seal that flow, they slumber within.'
"Seal… them?" Zethra murmured aloud.
Ezagone tilted his head. "Seal them? What, like zip them up in your jacket pocket?"
Ignoring his brother's snickers, Zethra closed his eyes. He could feel it — the steady burn of dark Aetherion coursing through his veins, pooling at his spine. It was wild, untamed, constantly demanding release. His wings weren't just bone and flesh; they were manifestations of that force.
'— Focus. Command them as you would a clenched fist.'
He gritted his teeth, envisioning the wings folding inward, curling like smoke, being pulled back into his body. The burn intensified, searing his back.
"Zeth—your skin!" Ezagone shouted.
Dark symbols were etching themselves across Zethra's shoulder blades, glowing like molten tattoos. The wings shuddered, resisting, before collapsing inward in a rush of fire and smoke. The forest filled with the hiss of vanishing Aetherion—then silence.
Zethra stumbled, dropping to one knee, sweat rolling down his face. His shirt stuck to him, damp with heat.
"…They're gone." He looked back at his bare shoulders, faint red scars curling like ancient script where the wings had been.
Ezagone whistled low. "Damn. That was… kinda badass. And also terrifying. You good?"
Zethra panted. "Feels like… I stuffed a dragon into a matchbox. They're not gone, just… waiting."
'— Well done,' the voice purred in his head. 'You're not entirely hopeless, after all.'
Ezagone clapped him on the shoulder. "Congrats, big bro. Now you don't have to ruin every shirt you own. Martha would've killed you for shredding her laundry."
Zethra snorted, standing slowly. Despite the ache, a smirk tugged at his lips. "You're just jealous you don't have wings."
"Oh please. I know my time will comes,and when it does, I'll get the deluxe package — angelic feathers, golden glow, the works. Girls will swoon. Boys will be jealous. Whole choirs will sing when I enter a room." Ezagone spread his arms dramatically, eyes half-lidded in mock-ecstasy.
Zethra shoved him, sending him sprawling into the dirt. "Or maybe you'll sprout one angel wing and one devil wing and just fly in circles forever."
"Hey! That's cruel." Ezagone dusted himself off with mock dignity.
For a brief moment, under the silver light, the brothers laughed together. It was ridiculous, it was heavy, it was terrifying — but they were together. And that bond was stronger than fear.
Still, the night pressed in, and the scars on Zethra's back pulsed faintly with heat. He knew this was only the beginning. The hunters would return. The world of Aetherion was stirring.
And he had to learn fast, or those wings wouldn't be the only thing sealed away.