Terror of Talons ✦ A Wings of Fire Fanfiction

Chapter Four

✦✦✦

Shrike shuffled through the bustling marketplace, the throng of SkyWings pressing in on him like a suffocating wave.

It had been months- maybe more than a year- since he'd set foot outside the opulent confines of the palace, and the sight before him was a stark contrast to the polished marble floors and gilded tapestries he was accustomed to. The air hung heavy with the stench of sweat and rotting food, the vibrant colors of the marketplace a far cry from the pristine gardens of the royal grounds.

Stalls overflowing with wilted vegetables and half-cooked meat lined the narrow streets, vendors hawking their wares in desperate voices. Shrike winced as a scrawny SkyWing dragons, no older than two or three, darted between legs, pilfering a stale loaf of bread. An equally malnourished merchant with a tattered scarf roared at the boy, but the chase was half-hearted, a weary routine played out countless times.

A pang of guilt stabbed at Shrike. He remembered these streets well, remembered the gnawing ache of hunger that had been his constant companion before the SkyWing royal family had taken him in. A memory washed over him, vivid and raw.

He was five, a scrawny, dirt-encrusted scrap of a dragonet huddled in a doorway. Hunger tore at his belly, a relentless predator gnawing away at his insides. Days blurred into one another, a monotonous cycle of searching for scraps and avoiding the ever-present threat of thieves and gangs.

One particularly bleak afternoon, Shrike found himself slumped against a wall, his vision blurring with weakness. He was vaguely aware of a shadow falling over him, then a rich baritone voice broke through the haze.

"Lost little dragonet, are we?"

Shrike opened his eyes to see a imposing SkyWing with regal bearing adorned in crimson shawls. His eyes, the color of molten gold, held a piercing intensity, yet a strange kindness flickered within their depths.

"Yes, sir," Shrike croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Come," the SkyWing rumbled, scooping Shrike up in a surprisingly gentle grip. He carried him towards a luxurious carriage, the sight of which made Shrike's head spin. Inside, a young SkyWing with shining pink scales and eyes like the sun regarded him with curiosity. She must have been only a year old, maybe even less.

"Cathartes, this is Shrike," the older SkyWing announced. "He seems to be lost and alone. Give him some food and water, and see if we can find out where he belongs."

Cathartes, who Shrike would later learn was the princess, nodded silently. She offered him a piece of the roasted lamb that she had been snacking on and a cool glass of water, which he devoured with an urgency that made him ashamed.

After a nourishing meal, the King – for that was who the older SkyWing was – questioned Shrike about his life. The dragonet, emboldened by food and warmth, spoke of the harsh realities of life on the streets. He spoke of the hunger, the fear, the ever-present awareness of death nipping at his heels. King Cordovan listened intently, his expression unreadable.

Days turned into weeks, and Shrike remained at the palace. He learned that King Cordovan, disturbed by the suffering he had witnessed, had decided to take Shrike in. He saw not just a starving street dragonet, but a spark, a raw resilience that could be honed into something remarkable.

He saw Shrike's hunger for survival as a valuable asset. He enrolled him in the elite guard training program, molding him into a formidable warrior. Shrike excelled, his survival instincts honed on the streets translating into a natural aptitude for combat. He rose through the ranks quickly, his loyalty and fierce determination earning him the King's trust and the Princess's respect. He was appointed as Cathartes' personal bodyguard, a duty he carried out with unwavering dedication.