Chapter 57

Chapter 57
The instant consciousness returned to my body, pain arrived first.

Then came a warm, rough sensation pressing against my ribs.

I jolted awake with a gasp. For that single moment, I thought I was already dead, standing at the entrance to hell itself.

Without thinking, instinct seized control—I tried to scramble upright, my body scraping violently against the rock beneath me as agony lanced through every nerve like electric current. I clenched my teeth hard enough to crack them, bracing my still-functional right hand against the ground, dragging my upper body backward until my spine slammed into the frigid stone wall behind me.

Nowhere left to retreat.

I gasped for air, my vision blurred by blood congestion and vertigo, but even through the haze I could see it—the creature standing before me, the one that had just nudged me awake with its beak.

It was massive, roughly the size of a full-grown horse, though its lines were sleeker, more uncanny. Deep brown and gold fur covered its body in alternating patterns, and a pair of enormous wings lay folded against its back. Its head resembled an eagle's, the black beak sharp and hooked at the tip, while amber eyes fixed on me with unblinking intensity.

It was still advancing.

One step. Two steps.

Those amber eyes held no emotion, only the focused attention of a predator sizing up its prey.

"Get back..." I tried to form words, but my throat could only produce a hoarse rasp.

My right hand moved instinctively toward my waist—the sword.

My fingertips met only empty leather. The sword had plunged into the abyss long before I had.

Trembling, my hand slid down to my boot shaft. At least the dagger was still there.

I drew the blade and gripped it in reverse with my shaking right hand, holding it horizontally across my chest in a defensive posture.

But I knew it was useless.

My left arm hung limply at my side—that last struggle had made it clear the shoulder was completely dislocated, too weak even to lift. Both my hands were covered in a mixture of dried and fresh blood, so slick I could barely maintain my grip on the hilt.

Against an apex predator like this, the small dagger was nothing more than a cruel joke.

It stopped.

Less than a meter away from me.

It lowered its head, and the massive shadow engulfed me entirely. I could even smell the distinctive musk of wild beast in its breath.

I squeezed my eyes shut in despair, tightening my grip on the dagger, waiting for the moment when my throat would be torn open.

But the anticipated agony never came.

It moved past me.

That sharp beak brushed against my shoulder as it reached beyond me, its target not my flesh but the crushed backpack pressed against the wall behind me.

A tearing sound split the air.

With practiced ease, it used its beak to flip open the pack's buckle, like unwrapping an exquisite gift.

Then it thrust its head inside and began rummaging.

Several seconds later, it lifted its head, now holding something cake-like in its beak.

Wizard rations.

I stared at it blankly, my brain experiencing a moment of complete emptiness.

I had forgotten about those. To replenish magic during long journeys, wizard rations were infused with concentrated honey and certain stimulating herbs. The taste was strange to humans, but to creatures with keen senses of smell, that sweet, toasted aroma was an irresistible lure.

It paid me no attention, simply tilting its head back with a gulping sound as it swallowed the rock-hard ration whole.

After finishing one piece, it apparently decided that wasn't enough.

It lowered its head again, thrust its beak back into my pack, and extracted a second piece.

I watched it devour the food ravenously, and suddenly the tension in my nerves released like a cut string, leaving me slumped against the rock wall in exhaustion.

So it hadn't come to eat me after all.

It was just hungry, following the scent.

As the fear receded, rationality and pain slowly returned to occupy their rightful places in my awareness.

I leaned against the wall, keeping a wary eye on the creature while searching my memory for any records of such a being.

I had never seen this species in any bestiary.

It possessed a raptor's head and wings, front talons that split and curved like an eagle's, yet its hind legs retracted and folded like those of a feline, while its body was covered in mammalian fur.

This defied natural taxonomy.

It seemed more like some kind of... hybrid between a Rift creature and a worldly horse. No one had ever documented such a thing—they shouldn't exist in any corner of this world.

If I had to classify it, I could only invoke a name that existed solely in mythology—Gryphon-beast.

It finished both rations from the pack but still seemed unsatisfied. I was surprised by its appetite; for ordinary humans, a single wizard ration could sustain them for two or three days without hunger.

It turned its head, those large amber eyes focusing on me once more.

This time, instead of advancing, it sat down where it was, its tail sweeping across the rock as its gaze took on an almost expectant quality.

It was waiting for more.

I took a deep breath, glancing at my blood-covered left hand, then at my right.

"There's nothing left," I said hoarsely. "The pack is empty."

It clearly couldn't understand human speech, merely tilting its head and emitting a dissatisfied chirping sound from its throat.

I sighed, using my right hand to wipe some of the blood onto my clothes before slowly reaching toward the corner of the ransacked backpack.

Fortunately, there were still some broken crumbs remaining.

I pinched the small fragment of ration between my fingers and extended my hand tentatively.

Its eyes lit up instantly.

Rather than lunging to snatch it away, the creature approached carefully, moving with the delicate grace of a house cat. It stretched its neck forward and used the tip of its beak to pluck the crumb from my fingertips with remarkable precision.

Its beak brushed against my skin—cold, but the motion was gentle.

After consuming this final morsel, as if it had filled the last empty space in its stomach, the creature finally seemed content.

It rose to its feet, shook out its fur, then performed an action I hadn't anticipated.

It stepped closer, lowered its head, and gently rubbed that eagle-like skull against my uninjured right shoulder.

It was a gesture of friendliness.

Perhaps even one of attachment.

I stared at it, absurdity welling up inside me.

Minutes ago, I had been certain it would kill me.

Minutes later, I seemed to have become its keeper.

"What in the world are you..." I murmured, extending my right hand to tentatively stroke the feathers atop its head.

The texture was pleasant—smooth, warm.

It closed its eyes contentedly and produced a low, rumbling purr.

I selected a name in my mind.

The process was brief. From all the bestiaries I had read, I chose the simplest sound, one that a creature could easily remember—short, forceful.

"Pip."

When I spoke those two syllables, I kept my voice soft, as if afraid of disturbing the wind itself.

The creature's ears immediately perked up.

Its head tilted slightly, a flash of confusion crossing those amber eyes, followed by understanding.

Its gaze met mine directly.

I repeated it.

"Pip."

It extended its beak forward and touched my forehead.

The contact avoided the wound on my brow, landing on the uninjured side as feathers brushed lightly against my skin, tickling slightly.

It was acknowledging the name.

I allowed myself to close my eyes in that moment.

I didn't let myself cry—tears would steal away body heat.

From the moment I left the court until now, my mother, Cade, Sevan, Rendell, everything that had happened along that journey—betrayal, death, the fall, despair—all of it compressed into a single point somewhere in my chest cavity, pressing down until I couldn't breathe.

That pressure eased slightly when Pip lowered its head to touch my forehead.

Here on this desperate cliff ledge, I had lost a friend but salvaged my life, and gained... a pet? A mount?

No. If it could understand what I said next, it would be my savior.

I forced my eyes open again.

"Pip," I said, my voice rough. "I can't walk."

It seemed to comprehend.

It lowered its body, front legs bending, hindquarters settling into a crouch.

Its entire frame pressed against the rock beside me, bringing its back down to a height I could reach. Its wings spread slightly to either side, as if paving a path for me.

It was inviting me to climb on.

I braced my right hand against the stone.

Slowly, I shifted my upper body over, enduring the searing pain throughout my frame as I draped myself across its back. My left hand was useless, my legs unable to exert force, but my right hand found purchase in a tuft of long fur at the base of its neck—positioned perfectly for a rider to grip, coarse and resilient.

It could bear weight.

Its size wasn't particularly large, but the load-bearing capacity of its back exceeded what I would have estimated from its build—muscles taut, filled with explosive power.

It stood up.

The movement was steady, keeping my body secure on its back without slipping.

It turned its head toward the sky, toward its domain.

In that moment, its wings unfurled completely.

Those wings were far larger than the folded state I had observed earlier, vast enough to blot out the heavens. The wingspan from tip to tip measured roughly the width of three men, each feather appearing as precisely crafted as a honed blade.

It beat them once.

Wind compressed beneath the wings and rushed downward past the rocks, producing a tremendous roar.

Its entire body lifted away from the stone, light as a feather.

I had never flown before.

Now my entire body rested on Pip's back, separated from the rock, from that ledge where I had thought I would die.

Pip continued climbing, occasionally emitting calls. Initially the flight required visible effort, but at a certain point an air current caught us, making its movements graceful as we pierced through the cloud layer.

All I could do was grip its feathers with every ounce of remaining strength. Fortunately, its speed was moderate—I wouldn't be thrown off.

I realized its flight direction was northwest.

Toward the Sky City.