Against the Wind

22.3 || Corvin

Vipra prickled like a spark of lightning danced within her, all sharp angles and rolling tension and trembles that dripped into Corvin's ribs, and then her weight was gone. The cavern stretched and blurred in the vacant space she'd occupied, littered with burning droplets. One fell to graze his chin before it winked out. It began as a cold fleck of pain and rapidly spread to a scraping, bone-deep shiver, and he scrambled back with a breathless gasp, crawling under his mussed robe to hide from the painful specks.

Only when the mist cleared and his heart weakened its desire to break from his chest did the scene start to make sense. Vipra had sprung to a low crouch, wings sticking up in twin arches either side of her curved torso like the hackles of an angry beast. She was shaking her head wildly, the ashy skin where her arm met her wing's membrane marred by hot, charcoal starbursts, her hair frizzed out and crisp as desert grass. Skidding to a halt before her was someone Corvin recognised. A human, a mage—her eyes gleamed like a molten sunset, teaming with focus and threat. Something glinted between the warm pads of her fingers. She spat another string of loud, heaving up-down words that Corvin couldn't think fast enough to translate, her stance offensive, her foot pressed forward. She awoke a fast fluttering in Corvin's stomach, a dizziness that soured his breath and froze him in place, but fear didn't have the same power over Vipra. She snarled and went for the young mage's throat.

The girl backpedalled, an effect like shattering glass breaking the hard lines of her face, and threw the thing in her hand. It crashed into the side of Vipra's face with explosive effect. More scraps of light and flame swarmed into the air as if alive, buzzing and scattering eagerly outward before winking out, one by one, steadily snatched up by the patchy darkness. Their odd heat lingered, however. Another sharp chill went through Corvin, pinching at the skin around his antlers. He shifted further away, shoulders bunching up against the jagged rock.

Thrown sideways, Vipra hit the ground in a disorderly tangle of limbs, a fading steam rising from her face. She didn't get up again.

A distant, liquid horror crept up around Corvin's edges, slow and fingered, holding him still. He waited for her to breathe, though the splits in his vision made it near impossible to tell. He wished he had somewhere to turn and bury his face so he didn't have to know. His head spun.

The mage girl's stumble echoed as a few uneven, slapping steps. His stare shot to her with too much force, though she wasn't any nearer to him than she had been, nor was she looking. The taller figure behind her, however, snagged his gaze. She placed a steadying hand on the girl's shoulder and uttered some small, inaudible words, but her dark eyes drilled into him without wavering.

He dragged his tongue around his mouth, but his voice wouldn't come in the way he wanted it to. He felt like he'd woken up again, hazy with pain and shock, cornered, panicked. The air was slippery, his body indistinct. Sweat warmed his palms. With a pat to the other mage's shoulder, Raya moved towards him, her steps slow and taut with hesitance, and he did his best to focus on her and to breathe. His heart scrabbled at its cage.

On the other side of his curled knees, she bent down. The nearness of her skin stung like it had the first time; the touch of the dust lingered, as did the sour fear and the ricocheting echoes of Kyril's words, spun around and around. She stretched out a hand. A smooth piece of wood sat with it, dangling loosely: his flute, edges shaved by the green light above.

"This is yours," she said, with meaning.

Watching it, he swallowed. "Vipra." Breathe. Panic had him in a vice. "She..."

"She's alive." The sharp intrusion of the other mage's voice made him flinch. His antlers knocked against the stone behind. "For now." She spoke through gritted teeth, her words spiky and dragged out—reluctance, he assumed.