The rider snapped from her daze, one hand clutching the coat at her chest while the other steadied herself against the horse's mane.
Above, the creature folded its wings once, gathering air beneath them.
Rain pattered against its hide in quick, stinging drops. A tail—long and jagged—streamed behind it as its body angled sharply downward. Its descent tore through the storm like a falling spear.
The wings tucked closer.
Its claws opened.
Its eyes burned red as embers.
And it dove toward the rider and her fleeing steed with vicious intent.
FWOOOOOM—!
The sky itself seemed to split around its fall.
Edora's pace increased, each stride striking the earth with a heavy THM—THM—THM as the stallion barreled toward the village gate.
Mud flew in long arcs behind them, the horse's breath coming in steady bursts of white vapour.
Ahead sat the gate's lone guardian—a scruffy fellow slumped against the wooden post. His beard was patchy, his coat several sizes too large, and his boots caked in old dried mud.
His helmet crooked sideways on his head gave him the look of a man who'd lost more battles with drink than with blades. Beside him lay an empty mug of mead, tipped against the post.
The trembling ground reached him first. His body shifted. One eye cracked open. But even the violent quiver of the earth could not pry him from his stupor.
The mug, however—
CLNK—tumble—
It rolled over, tapping his boot before falling into the mud.
And still he slept.
A moment later, Edora tore through the open gate.
WHOOM—!
The gust alone flung the man backward. He toppled from his seat, crashing face-first into a puddle. His rusted spear clattered beside him, the dull iron head sinking halfway into the soaked earth.
He awoke abruptly with a wet gasp, sputtering and swearing as he pushed himself up on shaking arms.
His eyes darted wildly until he caught sight of Edora's hindquarters disappearing into the twisting path within the village.
"You scoundrel!" he roared, raising a fist, slipping once in the mud. "Have you no courtesy? Can you not see I was attemptin' to—"
A sound cut him off.
A slicing rush of wind.
SHHRRRR—
Instinct made him turn.
His eyes widened. His pupils shrank.
"Oh… good heavens…"
The winged creature surged toward him, wings stretched wide, its dark silhouette framed against the red moon. Its claws extended, its descent direct, merciless.
He froze entirely, breath caught in his throat.
He saw the beast reflected in his own eyes as it closed the distance—
But just before reaching the gate, it angled its body sharply.
The creature's wings sliced the air with a violent arch.
FWSSH—WHRRM—!
It shot upward in a swift climb, talons scraping the air where the man's throat had been.
The force of its ascent sent another fierce blast downward.
The guard was thrown like a rag.
THUD—roll—SPLSH—!
He tumbled once across the mud, his helmet flying several feet away.
By the time he looked up, the creature had already soared above the wooden gate and vanished over the village wall.
He didn't see the exact motion—only the enormous shadow sweeping overhead, blotting out what little moonlight reached him.
He let out a strangled cry and planted himself flat in the mud, hands clasping over his head, his entire form shaking.
Only after a long moment did he dare lift his gaze. There it was—circling the town, wings carving broad arcs through the rain-heavy sky.
He scrambled upright at once, nearly slipping again, and lunged toward the iron bell by the gate. His muddy hands seized the rope.
CLANG—CLANG—CLANG—!
"Demon!" he shouted, voice cracking. "A demon! A demon descends upon us!"
Then, abandoning his post entirely, he sprinted to the nearby guard hut, threw himself inside, and latched the wooden door. Through a tiny round window, he peeked out, breath fogging the glass as he continued trembling.
The bell's cry roused the village.
Shutters flew open. Lamps flickered to life behind fogged windows. Housewives pressed fingers to their mouths, whispering hurried prayers. A few men—braver or simply foolish—stepped out onto porches with their lanterns raised.
Some saw it.
Others saw only the horse blazing down the narrow path, its hooves striking the uneven road as though it were born for such chaos.
Edora dodged a fallen cart with a neat sidestep and turned sharply into a cramped lane where the buildings leaned too close together for anything with wings to follow.
But the creature did not surrender its hunt.
It descended from above with ruthless certainty.
KRSHH—CRK—!
Its left wing speared through the roof of a wooden home, snapping beams as though they were reeds. Tiles scattered in broken shards. A chimney tore loose with a heavy KLOMP—!, crashing into a nearby shed.
Another sweep of its wings sliced through a workshop roof, sending planks raining down onto the street. Screams rose from inside as sparks burst from a lantern knocked over by the impact.
Edora weaved through the falling debris with effortless grace. A beam dropped at an angle in front of them—Edora leapt it smoothly, the splash of mud trailing behind as the horse landed.
The rider, however, frowned deeply. Irritation flickered across her features.
'Damn them… are they truly willing to go to such lengths?'
Leaning close, she murmured, "Lose him, if you please."
Edora's reply came in a deep, resonant huff—but this time something else followed.
The thick white vapour from the stallion's nostrils expanded, sweeping outward in wide, curling tendrils.
It spread along the lane, drawing the dampness of the night toward it—gathering mist from air, soil, and storm.
Within moments, the fog began to thicken.
To move.
To grow.
Fog swallowed the town within minutes.
Thick banks of it rolled through the narrow streets, muffling lantern-light and swallowing shapes whole.
Those bold enough to lift their shutters could see nothing but a pair of burning red eyes streaking past—Edora's—followed by the heavy THM—THM—THM of hooves striking stone.
Above, the winged beast circled.
The fog hindered its view, yet did not deter its purpose. Each time a patch of movement caught its attention, it dove—either beating its wings in wide arcs to scatter the fog, or driving its weight through a rooftop, splintering beams and sending showers of broken timber through the mist.
KRSHH—CRRK—!
Another home buckled. A terrified cry rose somewhere deep within the haze.
Meanwhile, Edora pressed forward, rushing toward the church—the fog growing densest the nearer they came to the spire. The building's looming shape appeared and vanished again between curtains of vapor, its crooked silhouette barely discernible.
Just as the horse prepared to surge past, the rider's breath caught. She furrowed her brows, bit her lip, and murmured:
"Stop here, Edora."
The stallion obeyed instantly.
SKRR—THM!
Its hooves skidded across the wet stone before grounding firmly.
The rider swung herself down in one smooth motion, landing lightly despite the steep drop. She turned back to Edora, resting a hand briefly against the horse's flank.
"Please draw its eye for a short while. I shall summon you shortly."
Edora's response was a deep huff—warmer, more alive than any ordinary horse's breath. Then, without hesitation, the stallion pivoted and galloped away, vanishing into the fog until only the echo of hooves and a faint trail of mist marked its path.
The rider watched the shape disappear before turning toward the steps of the old church. She clutched the side of her cloak, careful—almost protective—as she hurried up the slick stone stairs.
Rain drummed against the wooden doors. They towered above her, warped by age, their carvings faded into near-oblivion. Ivy crept along the stone frame, trembling in the chill wind.
She stopped beneath the shallow overhang, shielded slightly from the rain. With a steady breath, she reached into the folds of her cloak.
What she removed was a child.
Small. Barely past infancy.
Wrapped in a white blanket trimmed in gold and red thread—though the edges were damp from the night's storm.
The infant's short dark hair clung to its forehead, the strands soft and fine. Its eyes remained shut. Tiny fists curled near its cheeks, the knuckles faintly pink against the pale fabric.
The rider's expression melted.
A small, fragile smile broke through the severity of her features as she brushed a finger across the child's plump cheek.
"I beg your pardon, my dear Adriel…"
Her voice faltered, drifting into the cold air. The smile faded into something hollow, something heavy.
She looked upon the child with a grief that tightened her mouth and lowered her gaze, as though each breath pressed against her ribs.
Another distant crash shook her from the moment.
CRRSHH—!
Screams. A structure collapsing. The winged creature's hunt tearing through the town.
Her face hardened again.
She lowered the infant to the stone landing beside the door, using the thickest fold of her cloak to shield him from the elements.
She smoothed it around his small body with meticulous care, tucking the edges so the wind could not pry them loose.
Her hand then drifted to her neck. A slender silver chain rested there. Attached to it—a simple crescent moon pendant, worn smooth by time.
She removed it with a soft click of the clasp and held it for a moment, her thumb tracing its curve.
Then, lifting her hand, she pressed a fingernail to the metal, carving something small and deliberate into its back. The mark caught a slit of moonlight before she placed the pendant beside the child, tucking it beneath the blanket.
She stood, raised her hand, and struck the door.
THUD—THUD—THUD!
The child stirred at once.
His eyes fluttered open—two bright, beautiful red irises shining through the gloom. A thin wail rose.
The rider flinched—not in fear, but in sorrow.
She turned from him. Took a single step. Another.
Then she paused.
Glanced back over her shoulder.
Adriel lay in the crook of her cloak, crying beneath the old church doors, the silver pendant glinting faintly under the lantern light filtering from a nearby window.
Her throat tightened.
But she forced herself onward, disappearing into the fog as the child's cries grew.