He woke with a snort and a start, jarring himself. His shoulder was sore and his wing was a dull, throbbing ache, but the pain in his face and ribs was starting to subside. From the corner of his eye he could see movement and a table littered with potion bottles, both full and empty. Roy opened his mouth to call out, turned to find the keeper, but the motion made his head swim and he was dragged back into the comfortable blackness.

A voice came as if from underwater, and he tried to swim to it. His muscles wouldn’t cooperate, his lungs would only breathe deep and slow. He tried to speak, to call to the voice, but all he could manage was a weak whimper in his chest, followed by a breathy sigh.

“Oh! Is he waking up again?” The voice was bright and sweet. Cara? Maybe.

“Likely just dreaming,” And that was Maya. Maya! Maya would know what to do!

Roy struggled to open his eyes, but they blurred and swam and rolled shut. His arm was heavy and wouldn’t respond as he tried to lift it. Maya! Maya please help me, I can’t move! Maya!

“Hhhhaya…” he heard himself mewl.

“Easy now, boy. Can’t have you squirming around mucking up that wing of yours. It’s difficult enough to heal a flight bone properly.”

“Nnnner….” No, you don’t understand, I can’t move!

“Cara, send a note to Lord Engelbrecht, he can take him home next time he’s conscious.”

He felt himself sinking and clawed desperately for something -- anything! But the thick, gelatinous blackness consumed him again.

Someone was petting his hair and singing softly. He groggily opened his eyes and saw flecks of blue and green light dancing. A woman was sitting near his head, singing a tune he recognized but words he couldn’t make out. Her hand was gentle and soft, he turned his face towards it gently. Mother? You’ve come back??

“Muh…” Roy managed to get out, his breath giving up before he was able to complete the word. The hand paused, then gently continued stroking him. He forced his eyes open, and though they swam, he was able to focus for a moment. Above him was the seaglass suncatcher he had made ages ago. He was home? But when had he been awake? He shifted his head up to the source of the voice. Helena smiled down at him, continuing her soft song. It sounded like a lullaby. There was a guilty wave of disappointment that tinged the comfort. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy her touch.

The scent of sweet smoke tickled his nose. He stirred again, and this time found himself able to roll onto his side with relative ease. His eyelids were heavy, but obeyed as he tried to open them. The suncatcher no longer glittered, instead the room was lit by candles. Across from him on his desk he saw two empty plates. Had he been awake to eat? He didn’t feel hungry, but he couldn’t remember a thing.

Sitting next to the desk, chair turned to face him, Elias was reading a scroll. By the markings and the seal, Roy assumed it was court documents of some sort. Rune was sprawled on her back across Elias’ lap, demonstrating the strange liquid relaxation that only felines were capable of. A wooden pipe hung lazily from Elias’ mouth, held loosely between his teeth. The scent of sweet tobacco filled the room. The man moved with the slow caution of someone trying not to make a sound. When Roy turned over, Elias’ brown eyes studied him, trying to determine if he was truly waking or simply stirring again.

The scent was familiar and welcoming, warm and slightly spicy. It reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place. Of something foreign and exotic, and--

“Caravan man…” he heard himself murmur. Elias tilted his head in confused amusement, a faint smile on his lips. Roy simply shifted into a more comfortable position and let himself drift yet again.

The next time he opened his eyes, it was daylight again. He stretched his legs, muscles sore. He twisted his shoulders to ease his back. Everything was stiff, but the pain was almost gone. Sitting up slowly, he yawned and stretched his arms above his head, realizing that his shoulder no longer hurt. Cautiously he spread his wings, but instead of sharp pain, there was only a dull ache, slight enough to be ignorable. He stretched them as wide as they would go and gave a few cautious pumps, stretching out the muscles in his back.

As he folded them again, he looked around, waiting for the next surge of sleepiness to claim him. It didn’t. How long had he been out? A day? A week? How long had he spent in that potion-induced coma? He wanted to feel annoyed, but found it took too much energy. Instead, he simply stood, testing his balance. He was wobbly, but the strength came back quickly. Little by little he made his way around the room. Straightening the chair his father had left, changing into fresh clothes, hunting for his boots.

Once certain he wasn’t going to succumb to unconsciousness again, he gave a final stretch, slipped on his belt and left his room. The twin scroll cases bobbed against his hips as he turned to quietly shut his door behind him.

“You’re awake!” Came a gleeful shout that made him jump. Before he could turn he was caught in a tight embrace, and looked down in time to see brown wings and a beaming young face.

“Maribel!” He exclaimed, pulling his arms free to return the servant girl’s hug. “Was I out that long? It feels like ages.”

“Three days!” She gasped, dropping her voice to a loud whisper. “The Master hasn’t left the apartment, he’s been either in your room or in his office -- drinking.”

He shushed her lightly, glancing down the hall at the sound of boots. Elias strode into view and broke into a smile. “Ah! You are awake, I thought I was hearing things again.”

Roy returned the smile, but it faltered at the scent of alcohol and pipe tobacco. His father held a potion bottle in one hand, filled with familiar thick liquid. “Is that one of mine?” Roy asked, trying and failing to keep an accusing note out of his voice.

Elias’ expression darkened, and Maribel hurried away to some unknown task, sending worried glances over her shoulder. “And what if it is? Would you prefer to spend another half-day unconscious?”

Roy held his ground and turned to face him. “I’d prefer to be confident that my wing isn’t going to snap when I test it merely because you wanted relief from your overindulgence.” It was risky. Dangerous to call his father out, especially with the smell of whiskey hanging around him. The older man’s eyes hardened, Roy could see the muscles in his jaw tighten, hear the grind of his molars. But still he stood his ground, even as the heat rose in his cheeks. After what felt like an eternity, Elias let out a sigh through his nose like steam venting from an engine. The muscles in his shoulders and wings relaxed.

“No, I bought this one. You’ve had your entire dosage. Now did you want to stand around picking fights or did you want to rejoin the land of the living?”

Roy let out a breath of relief, feeling his own wings relax. “It would be nice to see something other than the back of my own eyelids,” he said with a slight grin. Elias came to join him and clapped him on the back.

“Good, lad, good. Widowmourne’s been asking for you. The old crow is losing her feathers with worry. You and your tales must be the only joy in that crazy bird’s life. Poor old woman.”

Roy frowned slightly and nodded. “I should go see her then, let her know I survived.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I have business at the Docks, I’ll walk you there.”

As the pair stepped outside, Roy blinked against the dazzle of the mid-morning light, shielding his eyes. The sky above was crowded with Aven going about their daily routine, the walkways less so. He paused for a moment, letting his vision adjust and getting an idea of how to traverse on foot. Somewhere to the west he heard arguing voices, and looked over to see a heated mid-air quarrel between a Peacock woman and what he assumed was her Falcon lover. Roy was unable to hear their words, but even at this distance he could see the glimmer of gold as she ripped a necklace from her throat and threw it down at the ocean below. With a shout of protest, the Falcon man dropped into a spectacular dive after the shimmering bauble. Tawny wings folded to his back, he cut through the air like a dagger -- and vanished from sight. When he glanced up again, Elias had already moved on.

The path was made of white marble, worn grey in areas from weather and pedestrians, weaving from tower to tower. Each walkway was hedged by broad stone walls that came up to the hip, and it was against one of these that Elias leaned, his keen eyes studying their route. Roy joined him and glanced around. By air, the Docks were only a few minutes flight, but on foot the road meandered back and forth, cutting first to one tower, then angling to the next, doubling back on itself to a third, offering what felt like minimal progress for maximum effort. He felt a sour frown start to creep on his face.

“Do you want to try flying?” Elias asked, glancing over at his son. He spread his own wings, and with a strong pump, hopped up onto the short wall. The stone dipped slightly where thousands of boots before his had stood.

Roy spread his wings, giving them a tentative flap. The wing moved easily and he felt the familiar pull upwards, though his feet didn’t leave the ground. The area where the bone had been broken was mildly sore, but with a second pump he was able to hop up beside his father. Glancing down between the walkways at the levels of city beneath him and the ocean far below, he felt a sudden surge of vertigo. Elias grinned at him.

“This reminds me of when you were just a boy learning how to fly. Your wings had barely molted out, all grey fluff and blue feathers sticking out in a mess. You didn’t wait for the safety harness or even the instructor! You just ran right past the other little girls and boys and leapt right off the edge,” he demonstrated by shooting his arm through the open air, swiftly forward -- and then down.

“I barely remember that. Did I make it at all?”

“Oh Imodai, no!” Elias laughed. “You fell like a rock. An awkward, flailing rock who didn’t even know how to beat his wings in time yet.” He chuckled, his fists on his hips, looking down at the glistening patches of water visible below. “You’d think I was a Falcon with how quickly I was in a dive. I might have knocked an actual Falconwatch off course. You were far more cautious the second time.”

“And if I flail this time? Will you still dive for me?”

“Always. Though I won’t need to.” He gestured across the open air to the walkway. “That’s about ten yards. You can make that.”

“That’s more than ten yards,” the Peacock said skeptically, eyeing the leap.

“You can make that. It’s just a hop, I’ll be behind you.”

Roy gave his father doubtful frown, but spread his wings wide, feeling the air against his feathers. Elias moved aside slightly to give him room. Slowly he moved his wings back and forth, testing the pressure, the soreness in his muscles, the tightness in his joints. His legs were frozen beneath him, unwilling to move. His mouth was suddenly dry.

“Take your time, lad. You can do this.”

He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Blue wings gave a mighty pump and -- his legs stayed frozen to the spot, refusing to leap. He caught his balance, lowered his wings. Shook out his muscles and adjusted his footing. The Eagle watched patiently nearby. Try again. Wings up. Knees bent, thighs taut, ready to launch. What if he fell? What if his wing wouldn’t hold him? What if Elias wasn’t strong enough to catch him -- what if he hit a lower walkway and broke something again? What if --

“You’re overthinking it. Take a breath, you’ve done this for years.”

Roy shook himself out again, hopped back down to the main pathway and paced a few feet in either direction, flexings his wings and shaking out his arms and hands. After a moment, he gave a determined growl and hopped back up onto the ledge, staring out across the precipice to the next walkway.

“That is not ten yards.”

“It is. Fifteen at the most.”

“That’s half a bloody block.”

“It’s just a hop.”

“It’s a whole mile!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“It’s ten miles! There’s no way I can fly that far!”

“Oh look, here comes Jacob.”

Without hesitation, Roy leapt from the wall, pumping his wings and feeling the air beneath him. His injured wing protested, but remained steady, beating in unison with its partner and easily supporting his weight. Just as they always had. He landed on the wall of the second walkway and stepped down, glancing over his shoulder just as Elias landed behind him. Looking back to where he had just come, not only did the leap seem far shorter than it had from the opposite bank but…

“...Jacob isn’t there.”

“Oh he’s not?” Elias said with a cocky grin, moving across the walkway to prepare for the next flight. “My eyes must be playing tricks on me.”

Roy scowled, but his father simply winked and gestured to the next platform. They moved like this, short flights from walkway to walkway through the morning. Before long, the deep thrum of propellers and the faint smell of coal fires mingled with the distant cries of seagulls. Landing on yet another low wall and stepping down, the two found themselves in Avenholme’s market square.

“I’m starving,” he said, veering away from the breezeway towards a small cafe. Elias followed without complaint. “I don’t remember anything while I was out. Did I eat?”

“Like a shark every time food was offered,” Elias replied, pulling out a seat at one of the small outdoor tables, watching a small troupe of musicians set up nearby. In the heart of the City, it was more common to see the different races of Taralensia, and it always interested him to see the exotic creatures he shared the world with. The bronze-scaled Yseren looked for all the world like a dragon in a failed human costume, lizard-like with a long muzzle full of sharp teeth and spiny crests that fanned around his ears. Balancing with his broad tail, he was a stark contrast to the lithe elven girl dressed in glimmering scarves beside him. Every movement of his was quiet power, of hers was glimmering bells.

As the elf stretched, warming up her muscles, the silver coins embroidered onto her clothes jangled gently and caught the light. She was tall and delicate-looking, with long ears that tapered to a point. She bent her body backwards with impossible flexibility, reaching down to clasp the backs of her own ankles, before moving back upright effortlessly. Elias felt the stiffness in his own joints and felt a tinge of envy along with his fascination. The dragon-man noticed him watching and grinned, winking at the Eagle. Elias cleared his throat and glanced over to his son as the barmaid approached for their order.

When they were through, he looked to Roy, surprised to see his attention wasn’t on the dancers, but instead on a small flower cart across the square. Beautiful blooms of all colors and varieties covered the little trolley. A Vulture girl with a deep complexion and tiny blooms coloring her dark hair was arranging her display in decorative buckets and basins. He imagined he could smell the delicate fragrances from here. However Roy’s brow was furrowed, as if in deep concentration.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

The Peacock pondered for a moment longer, before looking back over to him. “What do you know about the Khalis Wastes?”

Elias let out a laugh. “The Wastes? Here I was thinking you were going to ask me about how to approach that lovely girl.”

“No, Father, I try to only ask you about things you are knowledgeable on,” the boy shot back.

Elias scowled darkly for a moment, but let the jab pass. “The Wastes are exactly that. Ruined lands from a forgotten war. The sky there is sickly green and the land is a desert of ash. No one and nothing can live out there, any adventurer stupid enough to venture out has never returned. Why?”

“The war. Do we know what it was about? Who it was between?”

Elias leaned back in his chair with a smile. “You’re so curious. This is good, then you’re going to like what I have planned for you. To your question, the history is muddy. The Yseri say that at the dawn of their creation, the Humans became jealous and wanted the favor of the Dragons for themselves. Other bards say that it was a war between the Gods. Either way, at some point in either version, creatures from the Great Nether were summoned and it escalated into the disaster that it is now, millennia later. Why do you ask?”

“Planned for me?”

“Later, later. Why are you so curious about the Khalis Wastes?”

Roy narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but let it rest for now. “Well, I remember hearing about the strange oasis in the Wastes. The flowers… They reminded me.”

“Love’s Ruin?” Elias furrowed his brow in concern. “That’s just a myth -- it’s not even based in reality.”

“We don’t know that, you said yourself no one ever comes back from the Wastes. Hear me out. Legend goes that the Ruin is in a basin valley, the only area in all of the Khalis Wastes with life in it, even if it’s only a few months out of the year.”

“Nothing grows there, it’s a sea of ash.”

“Just listen. In the legend, if one were to find the valley in the beginning of spring, it seems to be filled with lush green grass that flows with the breeze, and hundreds upon thousands of flowers that spring from every space, all leading to the mouth of a cave. Absolutely beautiful except for one thing.”

Despite himself, Elias found himself intrigued, and nodded for the boy to continue.

“If you were to pluck a flower from the ground, it would disintegrate from your very fingers. That’s because they’re not flowers at all.”

“Then what are they?”

“Jewels. Finely, delicately crafted gems, absolutely impossible for mortals to replicate. Daffodils made of citrine, roses of garnet and ruby, delicate diamond baby’s breath and always -- in every single retelling of the legend -- one single purple hyacinth.”

“What’s so important about the hyacinth?”

“I’m getting to that. So for all of spring and into summer, this emerald grass and these gemstone flowers bloom, but on the day of the Autumn Equinox, the ash begins to overtake again, falling like snow over the valley. And during this time, even the slightest breeze calls forth a gentle song from the flowers. Not so much as bells, but as ethereal tune, like a voice. Sad and mournful. And then when it’s all over, the valley is coated in ash and tear-shaped bits of iron.”

“Iron and hyacinths. I don’t understand how they’re related.”

“Well, the druids and many elves say that flowers have their own language. In fact, entire messages can be sent in a simple bouquet. The blue or purple hyacinth happens to mean deep sorrow or regret. It’s an apology. The iron tears are… well, tears.”

“Whose?”

“Hehzotz.”

Elias scoffed, nodding his thanks to the barmaid as she brought their food. Seasoned fish on buns flecked green with flavorful seaweed. “The God of the Mines? Out in the Wastes? Why.”

“Well, that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. And then it hit me. Hehzotz is more than the patron god of Mines, he’s also the god of Treasure.”

“But why the Wastes? There’s no one and nothing to come pay him worship.”

“Right, so how much of the old mythologies do you know?

“Enough. Which specifically are you referring to?”

“The Abduction of Kataya,”

“Right, right. I remember this. It was something about Hehzotz saw the Goddess of Nature bathing in a river after a hunt and was so enraptured he created a golden rabbit for her to chase. While she was in the form of a sacred wolf, he lured her into the mouth of a cave to be trapped. Hehzotz tried and tried to woo her to be his bride, but she refused.”

“Right, and trapped underground, she refused to thrive and all the world above began to die. And of course, she was already promised to Stavon, the Great Stag.”

“I always wondered why ‘freedom’ was one of his aspects.”

“This legend takes it a bit more literally, obviously. The natural world began to fall dormant and cold as the Stag hunted for his mate. I don’t know the details here. Some say that when Stavon found her, Hehzotz had realized he could not cage the wilderness itself and let the Wolf Queen free. Others say that in his rage, Stavon laid ruin to the land. But one thing remains constant. Kataya found freedom, and when she left, all of Nature left that area with her, never again to bring bounty to the land or sweetness to the wind.”

“And you think that’s why the Khalis Wastes are… wasted. Because Kataya refuses to set foot there?”

“Possibly. But if Love’s Ruin is true, then the valley is for her.”

“Apology? Invitation to return?”

“As I see it, both.” Roy said, starting to eat as the dancers began their performance.

“Well, this would be a wonderful first project for you. I want you to begin with the Scholars tomorrow. Report to the library in the morning and take a good, hard look at what the tomes say about the historical significance of this story.”

Roy groaned around a mouthful of food. “I thought we already talked about this. In fact I’m pretty sure we talk about this annually.”

“Roy, you know you’d excel at being a Scholar! I see how many stories you write, you’re quite popular it seems. Why not put that keen mind to work that actually matters?”

“Thanks, Dad,” he grumbled sarcastically, taking a drink of wine. “Because I don’t want to be trapped in a stuffy, silent library for the rest of my days.”

“You didn’t want to be rank and file either--”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out. I don’t make a good Skyguard. I won’t make a good Scholar.”

“You’ll do magnificently there! Don’t sell yourself short.”

“I’ll go mad. My wings will go dull and I don’t have a mind for names and dates!”

“I’m sure it’s more complicated than that. Just give it a chance, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

He gave an unconvinced grunt and leaned back against the chair, watching the dancers in silence.

“Promise me you’ll at least try.”

“Fine. I’ll try.” He said, not looking at his father.

“I had to pull a lot of strings to make this happen…”

“I said I’d try,” Roy snapped irritably. Oblivious to, or perhaps in spite of the tension growing at the table only a few yards away, the dancers writhed and twisted, moving in unison at one moment then breaking apart abruptly. The Peacock knit his brow as he watched. “...I think they’re telling a story but… I can’t quite figure it out.”

Elias let out a bark of a laugh. “What’s this? A tale I know and you don’t? Watch.” He waited until the music seemed to return to the chorus, the beautiful elf woman and the draconic man starting again at opposite ends of the makeshift stage.

“A great celebration, a traveller from a far off place. From the moment they met, he was in love. Love as deep and strong as the sea,” The male crossed to the woman, with beautiful flourishes and dropped into a bow, catching her hand and kissing the back, his golden eyes looking coyly up at her. She giggled and swooned, and now that Roy was watching, he could feel the electric tension between them.

“His arms fit her just like a glove. And when she saw him she sparkled with glee,” The Yseren drew the elf in close, her delicate hand in his and the two moved in perfect rhythm. As they bent and swayed together, his clawed hand moved purposefully lower over his partner’s hip, and with a dramatic swat, she spun away. They were apart again.

“It was dance as old as time. A battle as sweet as it was sublime.” Halfway from her haughty retreat from him, she seemed to change her mind and in a single, fluid movement, she was back in his arms. Her back pressed to his chest, her hand guided his to her waist and again they flowed like water. Like music. The dragon’s bronze muzzle nuzzled into her thick auburn hair, his eyes closing with contentment. Elias’ face clouded. As the two broke apart again, Roy glanced over, concerned by the sudden silence from his father.

As if shaking from a trance, Elias counted out the coin for their lunch and laid it on the small tabletop.

“Well?” The boy pressed, rising to follow the other man. “Then what happened?”

“The man was cursed, the curse took hold and he spent the rest of his years alone and grim. The end.” Heavy leather boots started stalking away in the direction of the docks.

“Wait -- wait is that really how it goes?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know so much about this song?”

“Because I’ve danced this one,” Elias said stonily, pushing past the flower girl’s cart, pausing long enough for a small group of children with dull downy wings to rush past him, before moving forward with conviction.

“You have? When? Slow down, what’s the rush?”

“Ah! Elias! Roy! Good to see you on your feet again, I’m afraid you’re just in time for the chaos.”

The High Justice immediately straightened, his eyes going hard and keen like a blade. “Councilman, what happened?”

Roy turned just in time to see the older Peacock man approaching. Lelucas Hightalon had cut an imposing figure in his youth, though with age both his waist and his eyefeathers had continued to expand. The man’s dark blond hair was tied back in an intricate braid, his hands and chest covered with impressive jewelry. Though he had become portly, he was by no means soft, but his smile was not unkind. As he crossed over to the pair, the long eyefeathers of his wings trailed behind him like a lush cloak.

He patted Roy’s head affectionately before turning to Elias. “A ship came in, badly damaged, holes peppered all through its hull. The crew claims pirates.”

“Pirates?” The two Engelbrecht men echoed, Elias’ tone hard, Roy’s bright with interest.

“Go find Widowmourne, you’re keeping her waiting,” Elias snapped at his son, a snarl creeping into his voice.

“But--”

“Go!” He shouted, ignoring Lelucas’ disagreeing frown. Roy turned obediently and slunk off in the direction of the Trade Company’s headquarters.

As he rushed, he heard his father’s voice grumble, “Don’t look at me like that, Lelucas. I’m keeping him out of trouble.”