The wind had lost its song. For hours, it was nothing but a dull, constant roar in Boran's ears as he clung to Saiya's back. The world below was a meaningless tapestry of greens and browns, a blur that matched the numb emptiness inside him. The silence between them was a heavy, physical thing. Saiya, her falcon's heart aching for her friend, kept sneaking glances back at him, but the words she needed to mend a shattered prince and a grieving son would not come. What could she say? That it would be alright? That was a lie. That his father's death was a noble sacrifice? That felt hollow.
In her distraction, her exhaustion, a primary feather on her left wing buckled just slightly. It was a minute tremor, a barely perceptible dip in their flight, but it was enough.
Boran's voice, raw from disuse and grief, cut through the wind. "We should find a place to camp."
Saiya didn't argue. She banked, her sharp eyes scanning the jagged landscape below until she found a suitable perch: a secluded, windswept ledge on the side of a mountain, overlooking the vast, untamed expanse of the Wildlands. She landed with a soft rustle of feathers. Boran slid from her back, his movements slow and heavy. Without a word, he walked to the far wall of the ledge, curled into a tight ball against the cold stone, and did not move.
Three days passed.
The sun rose and set, painting the sky in colours Boran did not see. Saiya hunted, bringing back fresh fruits and laying them carefully beside him. Each day, the pile from the previous day remained untouched. He was a statue of despair, his vibrant spirit extinguished. On the morning of the third day, Saiya looked at the three piles of uneaten food, at the prince who was willingly fading away, and something inside her snapped.
"That's it!"
Her voice echoed off the mountain face, sharp and furious. Boran didn't flinch.
"You want to die? Is that it?" she stormed over, standing over his curled form. "After everything we all went through to keep you safe? After your father… after Kaelen…" Her voice hitched, but she pressed on, the words tumbling out in a torrent of long-suppressed frustration and shared pain. "You're just going to starve yourself to death in this pathetic little ball?"
She knelt down, her voice dropping, becoming fierce and personal. "I know how you feel. Do you think I don't? I was an infant when I came into the service of the royal family. No parents. No kin. The General found me, half-frozen. He saved me. Your family *was* my family. I grieve for him too! But this?" She gestured at his prone form. "This changes nothing! While you are here, wallowing, you are allowing that usurper to sit on your throne! To spit on your father's legacy! What will you do, Boran? What will you DO?"
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the wind. Then, slowly, Boran uncurled. He pushed himself to his feet and turned towards her. The movement was so deliberate it frightened her. She had just screamed at a member of the royal family, a transgression that, in the old world, would have had her grounded for a month. She braced for his anger.
But it didn't come. His face was still somber, hollowed out by grief, but his eyes… his eyes held a new, grim light.
"You're right," he said, his voice a low rasp. "I need to be brave." He looked at her, truly seeing her for the first time since the massacre. "Thank you for your words, Saiya. I… I needed to hear them."
Saiya, flustered by the sudden shift, cleared her throat awkwardly. "You… you are welcome."
She looked around at the desolate ledge. "So… what are we going to do?"
Boran took a deep, shuddering breath, the first that seemed to fill his lungs in days. "We survive. We are in the Wildlands now. The rules are different here. If we are to have any chance, we need a guide. Protection. Someone with great knowledge of this land and the way it works." He began to pace, the old energy of thought returning to him.
Saiya's mind raced, and a memory, old and slightly embarrassing, surfaced. "I think… I might know someone."
Boran stopped and looked at her, incredulous. "You? Know someone in the Wildlands? How is that possible?"
"It's… a bit difficult to explain," she said, shifting from foot to foot. "But I can take us there."
"Okay," Boran said, a flicker of his old resolve returning. "Shall we—"
Saiya raised a primary feather, stopping him dead in his tracks. She pointed her beak imperiously at the three piles of fruit. "First," she stated, her tone leaving no room for argument, "you eat."
In Sunrock, the throne room had become a tomb. Rajar, the Tiger-King, sat upon the high seat of honeycomb gold, but no light seemed to touch him. The great windows were shrouded, leaving the hall in a perpetual twilight. His dark, serrated sword was implanted into the dais before him, and he leaned forward on its hilt, a statue of simmering power. Behind him, the great black dragon, Ignis, was a coiled mountain of obsidian scales, its slow, rhythmic breaths sounding like a forge bellows.
Captain Valka entered, his polar bear frame now clad in armour that was a grotesque mockery of General Korbon's—golden, ornate, but colder and sharper. A larger, crueler-looking spiked mace rested on his shoulder.
"My Lord," Valka's voice echoed in the gloom. "Those who openly refuse to accept your ascendancy have been locked in the dungeons."
Rajar didn't look up. "Good. They will accept it in due time."
"Of course, my Lord." Valka paused, then delivered the news he knew would ignite his king's temper. "The murmurs, however, persist. They speak of the prince's escape as a sign of hope."
Rajar's head lifted slowly, his green eyes glowing in the dark. "Then ready the Royal Guard. We will hunt him down and remove that hope. I want his head."
"My Lord," Valka interjected carefully, "to send the army… it projects a certain… worry. A fear of a single boy. It could hurt your image in the eyes of the public. The mistake was in letting him go."
Rajar rose to his full height with a sudden, explosive motion. A roar of pure fury erupted from his throat, a sound so full of rage that the dragon behind him stirred, a low rumble vibrating through the stone floor. Valka stood his ground, but a primal fear tightened his muscles.
"Whose fault is it that he got away?" Rajar snarled, his muzzle inches from Valka's face. "You were supposed to be there! Behind him! To kill him at my word!"
"Forgive me, my Lord," Valka said, his voice steady despite the terror. "It was that old fool, the General. He intervened."
Rajar retreated, his tail lashing. "My rule must be absolute. They rebel because they know he is out there. I must kill that hope."
"There might be another way," Valka offered smoothly. "We know he fled into the Wildlands. That place is dark and unforgiving. It will not favour civilized minds and bodies like the prince and his falcon. And even if the Wildlands does not kill them…" A cruel smile touched Valka's lips. "We can ensure others do. We place a bounty on their heads."
Rajar nodded slowly, the idea taking root. "Yes. A hefty bounty. Make it 1000 gold. That should stir the scum of the earth to action."
"A thousand is a king's ransom," Valka agreed. "It will—"
"One hundred thousand," Rajar interrupted, his voice a deadly whisper.
Valka's composure broke for a single, stunned instant. "A… a hundred thousand?" It was a sum to buy a city, to raise an empire. It was madness.
"Do it quickly," Rajar commanded, returning to his throne. "I want this behind me. I have a kingdom to reshape."
Valka bowed deeply and retreated. He descended into the castle's underbelly, a network of damp tunnels where the royal spies, a clan of rats in tiny black masks, scurried in the shadows. He handed a scroll to one. The rat unrolled it, its beady eyes widening, then snatched it and vanished into a crevice. It moved through a hidden world of cracks and conduits, from the castle's heart to the seedy underbelly of the slums, finally emerging in a raucous, dimly lit tavern. With a practiced flick, it pinned the scroll to a central post.
A murmur began as the first patron read it, then grew into a wave of disbelieving chatter. A hundred thousand gold pieces. For the honey badger prince and his falcon. From the darkest corner of the bar, the panther from the Warrens race, his name was Razor, looked at the notice and smiled a slow, devilish smile.
The heat in the dunes was a physical weight. Saiya and Boran, their hoods pulled low, trudged through the sand towards a chaotic settlement of patched tents and rough shacks that seemed to breathe mirages. This was the Scab, a black market festering in the lawless borderlands.
"Let me do the talking," Saiya whispered, her voice tense. "This is the best place for strangers to get themselves killed."
They moved through the crowded paths, past stalls selling stolen Sunrock insignia, poisoned blades, and strange, glowing artifacts. A scrawny fox, his fur patchy and his attire a flamboyant but filthy assemblage of silk scarves and stolen jewellery, attached himself to them.
"Fine goods for fine folks!" he chattered, pulling out a tarnished compass. "Maps to hidden oases? Charms to ward off sand wraiths? A lock of a siren's hair, guaranteed to—"
"Pay him no mind," Saiya muttered to Boran, but the fox was a pest, jostling and weaving around them until, with a final, calculated bump, he sent Boran stumbling to the sand. His hood fell back, revealing his distinct honey-badger face.
The marketplace fell silent. Dozens of pairs of eyes—cunning, hungry, dangerous—locked onto him. The silence was more threatening than any noise. Boran quickly pulled his hood up, his heart hammering against his ribs, and stood. He and Saiya moved on, feeling the weight of every stare until they reached a shabby tent set apart from the others.
"If I remember correctly," Saiya said, her voice unsure, "it's this one."
They pushed inside. The tent was filled with the pungent smell of old leather, dust, and stale alcohol. Boran's eyes adjusted to the dim light and widened. Lying on a pile of ragged furs, snoring loud enough to make the tent poles vibrate, was a lion. He was immense, his mane a tangled, magnificent cascade of gold and tawny fur. He wore a ragged red kilt and leather bracelets on his powerful forearms. A necklace of large, fearsome teeth—from creatures Boran didn't want to imagine—rested on his broad chest.
Saiya sighed. "For goodness' sake." She strode forward and kicked his massive haunch.
Boran grabbed her wing. "Saiya, what are you doing? That's a lion! We thought them extinct! They're apex predators!"
"This one is harmless," she dismissed, though her voice lacked total conviction. She kicked him twice more. "Wake up, you overgrown house cat!"
The lion stirred with a grunt, dislodging several empty bottles that clinked beneath him. He rose, blinking sleep from his amber eyes, his head brushing the top of the tent. He towered over them, a mountain of muscle and dormant power. Boran instinctively shrank behind Saiya.
The lion's gaze focused, landing on Saiya. A slow, lazy smile spread across his muzzle. "Oh. Saiya, darling. What are you doing here? Come back for another…" His eyes then slid to Boran. "Who's the little guy?"
"Kyrus," Saiya said, her tone all business. "I need your help. Urgently. I have nowhere else to turn, or I wouldn't be here."
Kyrus the lion smiled sheepishly. "Nah. You've just been looking for an excuse to see me."
Saiya's feathers puffed up in fury, but before she could explode, a loud, nasal voice called from outside. "Kyrus! Get out here, you flea-bitten coward!"
Kyrus held up a paw. "Hold that thought, love." He ducked out of the tent, holding a hand over his eyes against the blazing sun. A hyena stood there, dressed in a motley collection of stolen, ill-fitting silks and leathers, a gaudy feathered cap perched on his head.
"You stupid son of a—" the hyena began.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Kyrus interrupted calmly. "No need for that. What did I do?"
"You killed my brother!" the hyena shrieked, pointing a trembling finger.
Kyrus thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Oh, yeah! That guy." He pointed casually to the side of his tent, where the severed head of a hyena was impaled on a pike, its features locked in a final, silent laugh.
The hyena choked back a sob. "You did a job with him, then you kill him and display his head like a trophy?! You've signed your death warrant!"
"Yeah, see," Kyrus explained, as if talking to a child, "we were robbing some nice folks, and he wanted to kill them. Too violent for my taste. I did warn him, though. He just kept laughing for some reason." He shrugged. "Annoying habit."
The hyena drew a curved sword. "I don't care! I challenge you to combat!"
A crowd materialized instantly, chanting and hooting, hungry for entertainment. Kyrus sighed, went back into his tent, and emerged with his weapon: a long-hafted axe with a brutal, jagged blade that looked like it could cleave a tree in two.
Saiya grabbed his arm. "Kyrus, hear me out! We do not have time for this!"
"I'll only be a second," he said, winking before striding back out. Boran and Saiya followed, the prince watching with a mixture of horror and fascination.
Kyrus stood casually, his axe resting on his shoulder. He let out a massive, bored yawn, tilting his head back. As his head came down, the hyena was already in front of him, sword swinging. Kyrus leaned back, the blade missing his throat by a hair's breadth.
"Wow," Kyrus said, unfazed. "You're not even going to signal me or nothing?"
The crowd roared with laughter. The hyena, enraged, swung again and again, a whirlwind of furious, sloppy strikes. Kyrus dodged each one with minimal, almost lazy movements, his feet barely shifting in the sand.
"Would you just stop moving?!" the hyena screamed.
Kyrus chuckled. The next swing was unusually fast, or perhaps Kyrus was finally bored. The sword tip caught his arm, leaving a thin red line on his golden fur.
The hyena stopped, overjoyed. His hysterical laughter echoed across the dunes. But the crowd had fallen utterly silent.
Kyrus looked down at the scratch. He touched it, then looked at the blood on his finger. He slowly lifted his gaze back to the hyena. A low, deep growl rumbled from his chest, a sound so primal it silenced even the wind. He dropped his axe to the sand.
The hyena, seeing his chance, charged with a final, triumphant shriek. "Die, you son of a—!"
He didn't finish.
Kyrus lunged forward, not with a weapon, but with his true nature. His jaws, a trap of razor-sharp teeth, snapped shut on the hyena's neck. The force of the bite lifted the hyena's body clean off the ground, his limbs flailing. There was a sickening, final *CRUNCH*. Kyrus gave a powerful shake of his head, and the hyena's body went limp. He bit down once more, and with a terrible tear, separated the head from its body, dropping the carcass to the sand.
The silence held for one more beat, then the place erupted in savage cheers and shouts of "KYRUS! KYRUS!"
Boran looked at the lion, now wiping blood from his maw, with profound fear and a new, dawning understanding of the kind of power they would need to survive.
Kyrus turned back to them, his expression once again amiable. "So," he said, as if he'd just taken out the trash. "What were you saying, love?"
Saiya, utterly unfazed by the brutal display, took a deep breath. "As I was saying. I need your help."
"To do what?" he asked with a smile.
"To be a bodyguard. And a guide."
His expression changed, the smile fading. "No. Can't do." He turned and walked back into his tent.
They followed him inside. "Why?" Saiya demanded.
"I haven't seen you in gods know how long," he said, rummaging through empty bottles. "I don't know the little guy—no offense—and you want me to just drop everything and follow you? Hell, no."
Saiya looked pointedly around the squalid, empty tent. "'Everything?'"
"I'm doing fine," he grumbled, finding yet another empty bottle and tossing it aside in disgust.
Boran stepped in front of Saiya. "We'll pay you."
Kyrus's ears perked up. He indulged Boran with a look. "Oh, yeah? How much?"
Boran, summoning all the boldness of his royal lineage, said, "Name your price."
Without missing a beat, Kyrus said, "Fifty gold."
"How about five thousand," Boran countered.
Kyrus was on his feet so fast Boran stumbled back. The lion stretched out a massive, bloodstained paw. "Done! When do we leave?"
Saiya shook her head in profound disappointment as they left the tent. But as they moved away from the Scab, a lone wolf, its fur the colour of ash, watched them from a high dune, its eyes gleaming with malevolent intent before it melted back into the shadows. The hunt had begun.