Through Smoke and Ashes

Twelve||Rin

I lifted my gaze from the map in my hands just in time to see Naxan descend onto the rocky outcrop ahead of me. The stone groaned beneath his weight as he landed, fractures spider-webbing outward while his claws scraped and caught for balance. He shook himself in a full-bodied motion, the movement rippling through layers of muscle and sinew beneath his hide, before folding his vast wings neatly against his sides with a sound like leather dragged across stone. Sunlight spilled over him, dancing across his obsidian-coloured scales and igniting them with flashes of gold and ember-red, as though fire smouldered just beneath the surface.

He opened his jaws wide, teeth still stained dark with blood, and slowly dragged his tongue between them, stripping away clinging strands of flesh with practiced ease. The casual brutality of it made my stomach twist. Following his gaze, I looked toward the carcass he had dropped nearby. Half of it was already gone, ribs shattered and torn apart, the cavity left behind ragged and steaming. What remained looked like a large buffalo, its sheer bulk enough to feed us both for now.

My stomach growled anyway, loud and traitorous in the quiet clearing.

Naxan tilted his head, one molten eye fixing on me as he nudged the carcass closer with a clawed forelimb. The gesture was deliberate. Unmistakable.

Eat.

I set to work building a fire, my hands moving on instinct as stone struck steel. Sparks flared, caught, and finally yellow flames burst to life. Their hunger was immediate and fierce. They leapt upward, licking eagerly at the meat as I held it over the blaze. Fat dripped down in hot rivulets, hissing sharply as it struck the fire, sending the rich scent of cooked flesh curling through the air. My mouth watered despite myself, but even as I ate, my thoughts churned restlessly.

I chewed in silence, resentment simmering beneath the surface.

The food I'd brought with me on this trip had been scarce from the start, and it had run out days ago. The nearby water source still held fish, but even that wouldn't last forever—and if I was honest, I was sick of it. Sick of the taste. Sick of the routine. Sick of measuring my survival by each small, repetitive meal. All I had left were a few daggers tucked into my pack, my fathers hunting knife and my wits, neither of which felt particularly reassuring. They weren't enough to hunt anything larger than desperation itself.

They certainly wouldn't save me if things went wrong.

With a quiet sigh, I packed away the few belongings I had left, tightening the worn straps across my shoulders. The leather creaked softly as I adjusted the weight. I could feel Naxan watching me, his presence heavy and unwavering, like a storm waiting just beyond sight.

Even though he had brought me part of his kill, I couldn't depend on him to hunt for me. Not forever. I was a grown adult. I should be capable of feeding myself.

Turning toward him, I said quietly, "We're going back to that camp. I need weapons, and maybe there's something worth scavenging there."

Naxan's lips peeled back, exposing rows of deadly, ivory teeth. A low rumble rolled through his chest, vibrating through the air and into my bones.

"Twolegs."

The word seared through the bond we shared, sharp with hatred and old wounds. I felt its meaning as much as I heard it—humans. My kind. And he didn't care for us. Not even a little.

"We're called humans," I said, exhaling slowly, forcing my voice to stay steady.

He studied me then, head lowering slightly, eyes narrowing as something unreadable flickered behind them. Curiosity, perhaps, or conflict. The bond hummed faintly between us, tense but unbroken.