We readied ourselves for the battle with a grim efficiency that spoke of desperation and determination. Lisa and Raon promised to watch over the cubs, their faces grave as they understood what was at stake. We took every man who had trained with my mates, all able-bodied warriors who could swing a blade or claw, and we assembled in the darkness as the moon hid behind clouds.
My three younger cubs cried as I prepared to leave, their small faces streaked with tears, their hands clutching at my clothing. They did not want me to go, could not understand why their mother had to walk into danger. I felt bad, my heart tearing with each sob, but I knelt and held them close, whispering promises I prayed I could keep. My older cubs gave us a brave face and told us to promise them that we’d be back safe. "I will come back safe," I told them. "I always come back."
Then I stood, wiped my own tears, and walked toward my mates.
Ravin shifted into his lion form, his body expanding, golden fur rippling in the moonlight. I got on top of his back, settling between his shoulder blades, my fingers tangling in his mane. The sensation triggered a memory, and I laughed suddenly, the sound startling in the tense silence.
Ravin turned his massive head, his amber eyes questioning. "What are you laughing about?"
I smiled and rubbed his mane, his soft fur tickling my hand. "Do you remember our first meeting? You called me ugly while I sat on your back like this."
Ravin looked at me with wide eyes, his lion face somehow managing to look embarrassed. "You still remember that?" He laughed nervously, the sound rumbling through his chest.
"Of course," I said, leaning forward to press my cheek against his neck. "It was our first meeting. How could I forget?"
"I wish you didn’t remember my idiot moments," he whined, but there was affection in his voice.
Everyone shifted into their beast form then, the air filling with the sounds of transformation: bones cracking, fur sprouting, wings spreading. Leon became the massive golden tiger with black mane, Aureon the sleek white tiger, Veylan’s silver wolf form shaking out his coat. Everyone except Caelion, who remained in his merman form, his tail gleaming in the dim light.
Because he would slow us down on land, Soryn wrapped his serpent coils around Caelion, lifting him off the ground. "Hold tight," Soryn hissed, and Caelion nodded, gripping the emerald scales.
We set on the path, Krane and Alara flying above our heads, their wings silent against the night sky, letting us know if we were near enemy lines or if we might bump into a foe. Krane had told us just earlier that Rina was going into labor, Rowen waiting anxiously to see his cub. We believed this was the time to strike.
It took two days of hard travel, our company moving like shadows through ancient forests where the trees grew so thick they blocked out the sun, their roots tripping us in the dark. We climbed over jagged mountains where the air grew thin and cold, our breath misting in front of us, fingers numb despite the fur and leather wrapped around them. We stayed quiet and careful, avoiding any paths that might be watched, any clearings where ambush could hide.
Krane flew reconnaissance above, his silhouette barely visible against the clouds, dropping down occasionally to warn us of patrols or to guide us around treacherous terrain. Alara joined him when the terrain allowed, her own wings carrying her silently through the canopy, her eyes sharp for any sign of her former tribe’s sentries. She knew the land better than any of us, knew which valleys held water and which ridges offered vantage. She would land beside me, her face grim, and whisper reports of what they had seen: patrols lazily circling, guards drinking near fires, the complacency of conquerors who believed themselves untouchable.
On the second day, a storm rolled in, forcing us to huddle beneath an overhang of rock, rain lashing down in sheets that turned the ground to sucking mud. We slept in shifts, two hours at most, eaten by insects and cold, our muscles cramping from the hard ground. We ate dried meat and pressed on through exhaustion that made every step an act of will.
When we got close to the hawk tribe, we waited until nightfall, hiding in a ravine as the sun bled out across the horizon in shades of crimson and violet that seemed too beautiful for the violence we planned. The scent of smoke reached us first, and we knew we were close. Too close to turn back.
By now, Rina must have had her cub already. We had watched from a distance, seen the activity increase. We made our strategy, and tonight we would strike.
When night fell, we moved in.
The attack was a storm of violence, sudden and terrible. We rained down on them like vengeance itself, and I stayed close to my mates as they formed a protective circle around me. The fight was gruesome, blood spraying across stone and earth, the screams of the dying mixing with the roars of beasts. Because it was a surprise attack, they were not ready; their guards were down. It felt like karma, like justice being served with cold precision.
Ravin found Rowen near the birthing den, the cheetah chief still flushed with the excitement of new fatherhood, his spotted fur bristling with protective aggression. Rowen snarled when he saw the golden lion approaching, his ears flattening against his skull, his claws digging trenches in the earth as he prepared to defend his new family.
They clashed in a fury of tooth and claw, two apex predators colliding with a force that shook the ground. Rowen was fast, his cheetah speed making him a blur of spotted death, but Ravin was faster, smarter, driven by righteous rage that burned hotter than any instinct for survival. The cheetah raked his claws across Ravin’s shoulder, opening four parallel gashes that sprayed blood across the stones, but Ravin barely flinched, twisting away from the follow-up strike and lunging for Rowen’s exposed flank.
Rowen spun, hissing, and they circled each other, blood dripping from both their wounds, eyes locked in predatory assessment. The cheetah lunged again, his jaws snapping for Ravin’s throat, but the lion ducked beneath the strike and slammed his shoulder into Rowen’s chest, knocking the breath from him and sending him sprawling against the wall of the birthing den.
Before Rowen could recover, Ravin was on him, his golden fur matted with blood and dust, his eyes burning with cold fury. He caught Rowen’s throat in his jaws, the powerful muscles of his neck coiling as he clamped down, teeth sinking through fur and flesh. Rowen thrashed, his claws raking desperately at Ravin’s sides, leaving deep gouges, but Ravin held on, shaking his head with violent force, tearing flesh and crushing windpipe.
The wet rip of flesh was audible even over the din of battle, a sound like fabric tearing amplified a hundred times. Blood gushed from Rowen’s throat, hot and copper-scented, soaking Ravin’s muzzle and chest. The cheetah chief’s body went rigid, his eyes wide with shock and denial, and then he fell limp, his head lolling at an impossible angle, his blood pooling in the dirt beneath him.
Ravin stood over the corpse for a moment, his chest heaving, his sides streaked with his own blood and that of his enemy. Then he lifted his head and roared, a sound of victory and grief that echoed through the burning village, announcing to all that Rowen was dead.
Rina cried out in anger, clutching her cheetah mate’s cub to her chest, three bundles squirming near her. She had given birth to triplets, and now she was surrounded, trapped, her eyes wild with fury and fear.
"You really stooped low to come and kill us!" she yelled, her voice hoarse from labor and grief. "How did you even know we were here!"
"Small world," I said, stepping forward, Soryn coiled protectively beside me. "This tribe belongs to my friend Alara. You hurt her. Killed her father. Did you really think you would get away with everything?"
"Oh?" Rina scoffed, clutching her newborns tighter. "The hawk female that got away? So what, will you kill me? You don’t have the guts."
"Rina," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. "It’s nothing personal. You’re just a really bad female."
Rina’s eyes widened, panic finally breaking through her arrogance when she realized it would not be me delivering the killing blow. Alara stepped out from behind me, her wing extended, her talons gleaming in the firelight, only hatred shining in her eyes.
"No! My babies! Don’t kill me, please!" Rina begged, her voice cracking.
Alara did not hesitate. She slashed, her claw ripping through Rina’s throat, tearing out her windpipe in a spray of blood that painted the stones crimson. Rina’s eyes stayed locked on me as death took her, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, until she was no longer alive. Her cubs cried, helpless and mewling in the dirt.
Alara turned toward them, her claw raised, ready to end them too.
"Wait!" I cried out, stepping between her and the newborns.
"What is it, Krys?" Alara asked, her voice shaking with adrenaline and grief.
"Are you really going to kill them?" I asked softly. "Alara, they are just newborn cubs."
"She killed many of my folks," Alara spat, tears streaming down her face. "These cubs will have the same mindset as her when they grow up. They are cheetahs, predators, monsters."
"Please," I begged, kneeling to gather the trembling infants in my arms. "Alara, I believe they are innocent. Let me take them. Rina is no more. Your father is avenged. You will be a mother soon. You will regret it when you realize how innocent they really are."
Alara stared at me, her chest heaving, her claw still dripping blood. Then she sighed, the fight draining out of her. "Fine. Do what you will."
I walked toward the cubs, cradling the three newborns against my chest, their tiny hearts hammering against my palms. Behind me, Rina lay with eyes open, blood pooling around her, and I turned away from her corpse to focus on the living.
My mates had killed everyone who colluded with Rina and her mates, the fighting dying down to sporadic gasps and whimpers. But there was no happiness in victory, no celebration. The hawk tribe survivors emerged from their pens, broken and traumatized, their wings clipped, their spirits crushed. They could not fly. How could they be hawks if they could not fly?
"Just kill us," one of the elders croaked, his eyes hollow. "There is no reason for us to live anyways."
Alara cried out, falling to her knees, angry that she could not help them, could not give them back what they had lost.
I looked at them, at their suffering, and I sighed. I had come this far. Rina was dead, anyone with ill-intent was gone. Maybe saving them was the right thing to do after all.
I pulled forth the blue binds.
The power surged through me, blue and bright, illuminating the night like a second moon. I pushed it outward, encompassing the entire hawk tribe in my healing light. I felt their wounds closing, their strength returning, and most importantly, their wings; severed and broken, knitting back together, feather by feather, bone by bone.
When the light faded, I fell against Caelion, who caught me, his arms strong and steady. I was tired, drained from using so much power, my body trembling with exhaustion.
Everyone looked at their wings, flexing them, testing them, tears streaming down their faces as they realized they could fly again.
Alara looked at me, her eyes filled with a gratitude so profound she could not speak. She walked to me and fell to her knees, bowing her head to the ground.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Thank you for saving my tribe and giving them back their wings."
Everyone was confused, murmuring among themselves, wondering what they had just witnessed.
Then an elder stepped forward, his eyes wide with awe and recognition. He pointed a trembling finger at me.
"The Azure Sovereign," he breathed. "Is it really true?"
He cleared his throat and knelt, his voice carrying across the silent crowd. "Thank you, Beast Gods’ descendant. Thank you for your mercy."
Beast Gods’ descendant? I thought I was a child of the First Mother, a carrier of the fourth daughter’s blood. The confusion must have shown on my face, because the elder looked up at me with knowing eyes.
"You did not know," he said softly, almost to himself. "The Azure Sovereign, the Healer of Wings, the descendant of the divine... they are one and the same, young one. The First Mother was the Beast Gods’ chosen. Her bloodline carries their blessing."
I stared at him, my mind reeling. All this time, I had believed my power came from one source, one lineage. But if what he said was true, then there is much more for me to learn and to understand. The weight of that realization settled over me, heavy and strange.
"I am just Krys," I whispered, but the words felt different now, charged with meaning I had not grasped before.
The elder smiled, ancient and sad. "You are far more than that, Beast Gods’ descendant. Far more than any of us knew."
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