High above the clearing, hidden in the thick branches of an old oak, Pyro's golden eyes never strayed from the boy below. For weeks, he had lingered in silence, watching Hunnt with a curiosity he could not shake. Every stomp, every stumble, every time the boy's body crashed to the dirt only for him to rise again—Pyro saw it all.
There was something strange about this human. He was young, clumsy, and reckless, yet there was a strength in his eyes that unsettled Pyro. He had never seen a child smile so brightly after falling flat on his face.
And so, Pyro watched. Always from the shadows. Always hidden.
Because he knew too well how dangerous attachments could be.
---
Before all this, Pyro's life had been simple, safe, and warm. He had been part of a small family at the forest's edge, where life was measured not in battles, but in meals shared and laughter carried on the night air.
His mother—clever and patient—taught him how to craft small gadgets and set clever traps for prey. His father—strong and protective—showed him how to fight with tooth and claw, but always with a gentle paw resting on his shoulder afterward. Together, they had been his whole world.
Pyro could still remember the smell of roasting fish on the fire, the way his parents' voices would mix with the crackle of flames as they told stories of hunters, monsters, and faraway places.
It was an ordinary life. A precious life.
Until the roar came.
The sound had split the evening sky like thunder, shaking the ground beneath their camp. Pyro remembered how his fur had bristled instantly, how his parents had stiffened. Then, from the shadows of the forest, it emerged.
Gorgawump.
A brute wyvern, scales jagged and glistening with blood and saliva, its hungry eyes glowing like coals in the dusk. It was massive—far larger than anything Pyro had ever seen—and its presence turned their safe little camp into a death trap.
His parents fought with everything they had. His father charged first, claws flashing, while his mother hurled bombs and darts that sparked and snapped against the monster's hide. Their bravery was unmatched. Their strength undeniable.
But Gorgawump was something else entirely.
One strike of its massive claws hurled his father across the clearing, slamming him into a tree with a sickening crack. Pyro's breath had caught, his heart lurching as his father slumped and did not rise.
His mother screamed, dragging Pyro back by the scruff of his neck, desperation in her eyes. But before they could run, those colossal jaws snapped shut.
The sound of her bones breaking still haunted his dreams.
Blood. Silence.
Pyro's world ended in that instant.
The wyvern's glowing gaze fell on him next.
His body trembled, but his paws moved on their own. He ran. Branches whipped his face, roots clawed at his legs, and behind him the forest thundered with the monster's pursuit. His lungs burned, his heart hammered, and tears blurred his vision.
Every roar it gave shook the trees. Every crash of its steps drew closer.
Mama. Papa.
The memories of their faces, their warmth, their love—flashed before him, and only made the terror sharper.
Somewhere in the blur of fear and grief, instinct carried him to a place he knew—the clearing where the "little ones" of the forest trained, a place he had always thought of as safe.
But his small body could only take so much. Exhaustion stole his legs, adrenaline drained away, and he collapsed onto the grass, his breaths shallow and ragged.
The last thing he heard before the darkness pressed in was a voice—small, confused, but firm.
"…What the…?"
Pyro's ears twitched. Slowly, he cracked open one golden eye.
Standing before him was a boy—sweat dripping down his face, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in exhaustion. His expression was caught somewhere between confusion and determination.
And for the first time since his world had been torn apart, Pyro felt something stir in his chest.
Not fear. Not grief. Something else.