Chapter 93 Winged Tolls
Chapter 93 Winged Tolls
~Sylion's POV~
A few hours after the rift storm, Alaric and Elowen pulled the boy free from the Second World.
They brought him straight to Tharros... the safest stronghold left with its layered wards and high walls that had stood for centuries against every invasion.
The boy was exhausted, wings limp against his back like heavy sails after a storm, but he was alive and breathing.
We laid him gently in the healing wing, where ancient runes hummed softly along the stone walls, feeding him steady pulses of restorative energy...
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Dawn broke the next morning over the training courtyard, pale gold light spilling across the weathered stone flags.
My body felt heavier now, every movement carrying the undeniable weight of stolen years.
Silver hair caught the light constantly, a stark and unwelcome reminder of the toll the rift had taken.
Joints ached where they never had before, and my breath came a little shorter, but I refused to sit idle while the boy struggled with his new reality.
He stood before me in the center of the courtyard, new wings half-folded at his back, twitching with nervous energy that made the crimson-tipped feathers rustle softly against the breeze.
"Easy," I said, keeping my voice steady and patient, the same tone I had used with young wolves learning their first shift.
"Wings aren't just for flying, they answer to your will. Breathe with them and feel the air like an extra set of arms... gentle, not forceful. Let the currents guide you instead of fighting them."
He flapped once, hard and eager.
The motion lifted him a full foot off the ground before he dropped again, stumbling forward with a frustrated grunt and nearly losing his balance.
"Too strong," he muttered, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "They don't listen to me at all. It's like they have a mind of their own."
I stepped closer and placed a steady, reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Try smaller movements, like this." I guided his stance with careful pressure, adjusting the angle of his shoulders.
I demonstrated the subtle shift of weight I could still manage despite my newfound frailty.
"Control comes from the center, not the edges. Let them feel you, not fight you. Trust the wings as part of yourself."
He tried again, this time with more focus. The wings moved smoother, folding neatly against his back with a soft whisper of displaced air.
A small, genuine smile broke across his face, lighting up his dual eyes with sudden pride.
"It worked... Thank you, protector dad."
The words hit warm and deep, settling in my chest like sunlight after a long, bitter winter. I squeezed his shoulder gently, a quiet smile tugging at my own lips.
"I'll always protect you, that's a promise I intend to keep, no matter how many years the rift tries to steal from me or how heavy these bones become."
We kept practicing on slow lifts, and controlled glides across the yard, each successful movement earning quiet praise and gentle correction.
The bond between us grew stronger with every shared laugh and every small triumph.
He trusted me completely, leaning into my guidance without hesitation, his laughter ringing clear when he managed a short, wobbly glide across the flags.
From the corner of the courtyard, Alaric stood watching in silence, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes locked on us with quiet rivalry burning in their depths.
His stare was heavy, jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped, but he stayed silent for now, though the tension radiating from him was almost palpable...
★★★
~Alaric's POV~
In the same courtyard, I finally stepped forward, unable to hold back any longer. Sylion and the boy had just finished another round of wing drills.
The "protector dad" line still rang in my ears like a challenge I couldn't ignore, twisting something sharp and possessive inside my chest.
"You're pushing too hard," I said, voice tight with restrained anger as I approached them across the stone flags.
"Calling yourself his dad, filling his head with your version of family. That's manipulation, Sylion because he's not yours to claim or shape however you please. He carries Dravenmere blood first and foremost."
Sylion turned slowly, his older face calm.
"I never claimed him as mine, he chose the words himself. I was there when you weren't and that's the truth, not manipulation. The boy sees what he sees, and he speaks what he feels."
The boy looked between us, wings twitching nervously at his back, uncertainty flickering across his young face as he shifted from foot to foot.
Elowen moved in fast, stepping firmly between us with her hands raised in a clear barrier.
"Both of you, stop this right now, this fighting helps no one. The boy needs all of us... your strength, patience, and guidance... not your egos clashing every single time we try to move forward."
"Both of you can teach me everything without fighting."
Before either of us could reply, the boy spoke up, voice clear and steady despite his youthfulness.
"The red-eyes beast is still out there... The one with the hungry smile, he's hunting us right now. I can feel him watching, waiting in the darkness."
We all locked eyes in surprise as the air went still, his words settled over the courtyard.
Suddenly, a portal ripped open behind the boy without warning, violet lightning cracking across the sky with a sound like tearing fabric.
Valerian appeared and stepped through, coat flaring dramatically in the sudden wind, eyes glowing crimson with dark, possessive hunger.
He had seen and heard everything...
"Young hybrid," Valerian said smoothly, looking straight at the boy with a smile that sent ice down my spine. "Time to come home where you belong. The gate waits for its true key, and you are the heart of it."
Then a wing-suppressing net shot from his hand, unfolding mid-air toward the boy like a living snare woven from relic steel.
The boy cried out in alarm, wings flaring instinctively in a burst of crimson and gold.
Sylion lunged forward without hesitation, trying to shove him aside with his older but still powerful frame.
I charged at the same moment, relic energy surging violently through my scar as I roared, "Not my son!"
Elowen screamed, throwing herself between the net and the boy, her own power flaring bright and fierce in a protective shield.
Chaos erupted in the courtyard as the three of us moved as one... protecting, fighting, and clinging desperately to save the boy.
But the net grazed the boy's wing, drawing a sharp, pained yelp that cut straight through me.
Valerian laughed, low and mocking, stepping closer with predatory grace.
"You cannot stop what is already written. The Second World calls, and it will have its due, one way or another!"
The battle for the boy had begun again, right in the heart of our safest haven...