ORILION

I'll prove it, to you, to them, and most of all, to myself. For those ages I have forgotten how to fly. For the millenia I have forgotten who I am. I don't need my wings; my immolated, ashen wings. Gravity tugged him forward over the railing of the Vortex, the airship with no way to experience the sky. Hazel browns glared at him with equal measure of annoyance and wonder, sharper than the aethershark's teeth ahead. Harpoons lifted out of compartments in the Vortex and took aim at the magnificence of the sky's birth.

A heartbeat louder than lightning and he breathed with its roar — his first true breath since leaving the ground and the abyssal prison someone cast him into. Skyhunter, the title rang out through ages and draconic roars, a familiar call. It salted his tongue. Spiced flavours within the incense smoke of divine offerings while he sat in a cave full of gemstones, a flash of images as he careened forward, and took the first leap to feel like himself again the moment Alexavier swung the airship to keep pace with the aether shark.

Skyhunter, it's on the tip of my tongue.

Against the golden pillars of Arth'lun, shadows of massive scale hovered on the edges and chewed at the edges of his freedom. In the call of the hunt, he spread out his inner element into the cloud. His feet sunk into the thickened moisture as the fin pierced the fluff. On instinct, his thumb drove into the little crystal piece of the sky within the mortal hunting device. It clicked and drove power through the muzzle, and for once, he tasted the call and answered it in his dash. Someone yelled out his name. Asen'Orilion. Asen'Orilion. Skyhunter.

Airy twine stretched out from the air when the shark crashed through the cloud with its maw wide to swallow him whole. His boot cracked against the nose tip, and he rolled over onto its back with a puff of steam leaving his nose. Clarity sharpened to a fine point; the way the shark breathed, moved, and reacted to every little stimulus. Air filled his lungs, his soul, so fresh and sweet. He drove the hooks into its scales, and he held on tight when it lurched right into view of Alexavier's frozen airship, whose harpoons launched forward. Each one twirled around the fins, but Orilion hungered for the chase. Predator to predator.

On the deck, Zyle wrestled for control of the wheel while Alexavier kept a tight grip on the shrouds, with one hand on one of the larger harpoons on his back. Orilion leaped up to his feet when the aethershark rolled and spread out the clouds further. A small creature shadowed by his vanished wings. Pinpricks swept up his spine as he licked his lips, but jolted out of the haze at another call.

"Are you mad?!" Alexavier called to him. "I wasn't being serious!" He sent a foot into one of the smaller harpoons to realign it, and the aethershark fought against its bonds.

Another cloud towered over the hunting ground and he measured the distant floating island with misty waterfalls pouring out from underneath it. Airy twine hooked around the tip of the cloud while he drove the hooks, and his boots, deeper into the shark's skin. It let out a rattled hiss to match his own, and he leaped off and brought the chains with him. On one of the hills upon the cloud, he yanked the shark downwards when it went for a charge at the airship in its path. Tingles stretched over his legs when he flew once more, and he landed on it again with its disorientation when it slammed into the cloud.

"Hey!" Alexavier called and aligned one of the larger harpoons. "If you want to wrestle the beast, get it going towards the island!"

Wind blew around his ears when he slid closer to the nose of the beast. I don't have my full power... His boots clipped on the smaller fins which protected its eyes. I can still control some things though. One more airy rope around the next peak of the cloud, he used his other unused chain gun to wrap it around its nose. It chomped down in an attempt to bite at his arm, but he lurched back and grinned and held on tight to his strength as he wrapped the coil around his arm. Upon his whim, the shark moved with the twine, the airship following closeby. One last large harpoon launched from the bottom of the airship, and he leaned back when it struck the creature with a roar to shake thunderstorms.

But this form is so limited...

Orilion ducked for the dorsal fin when they rushed for the rocky island as the airship released a plume of mist and ascended. Netting bloomed out from the undercarriage as the shark writhed, and Orilion beamed when Alexavier leaped off the side to land on its back, driving a sharpened blade under its scales while the airship closed the hatch and the netting tightened further. Lightning kickstarted his heart as the aetherbeast stopped its struggle.

Everything he could feel, so close to his memory.

Orilion climbed the shroud with Alexavier back onto the railing. "And that," he said and brushed off the strange clothes which hugged against his body but gave him a sense of comfort and freedom. "Is how you hunt, thank you very much."

Alexavier released his own cackle of joy in flight when he bounced onto the deck. "I have never seen an air elementalist so confident and well-versed to manipulate clouds and air in such a way," he said with a bounce, though Orilion frowned at the pressure of Falora and Zyle's furiously impressed and curious gazes. Alexavier came closer to him when his boots hit the deck. "You didn't even use a brush."

"He's a bit odd." Falora got between him and Alex, who took a step back. "Back in our town, he was one of our best air elementalists, even before he lost his memory." Her breath stuttered at the lie and he frowned when her elbow hit his ribs in clear warning. "Besides, the best elementalists don't need their brushes to influence the world."

"Indeed, I've seen water elementalists create large waves without the support of a brush," Alexavier said and sheathed the hunting apparatus on his back. "I suspect this will be our catch of the day. You know..." The airship pilot crept around Falora to face him once more. "You started to make me think you wanted to take down that thing yourself that I must ask that, if you're a Lander born... where'd you learn how to do something like that?"

I... The answer hung on the tip of his tongue, but his memories failed him — an endless patch of darkness. Another clue, but so out of his reach. It was when Falora widened his eyes that his grievous error dawned on him. Hesitation, a weak crack of thunder. Alexavier, the descendent of his people, gave him a smile and turned to Zyle.

"When we reach the next island we'll split the creature twenty-eighty. We need to restock our supplies. If you two don't mind the quick pitstop," Alex said with a wave of a hand at them. "There's a settlement nearby that are expert cooks when it comes to aether creatures. It has a divine taste — fitting for even the dragon gods themselves." He bowed and headed for the wheel. A thinly veiled accusation from the way Falora flipped a glare in his direction.

Aethermist hissed around the ship as the clouds thickened and revealed the middlelands — the bridge between the ground below and the heavens above. Arth'lun; the Golden City. The Seat of the Six. It's not possible, there has to be an explanation. He touched the ridge of his spine and no longer felt wings on his mortal form. Mortal... whatever happened to me, it... made me mortal. Maybe that knife would have killed me if I had just... kept my mouth shut.

"Your breathing is better."

Orilion jolted at the comment of relief. Falora's expression softened with a cloudless touch. "I... feel better." And worse. "I know you warned me not to do anything crazy."

"It's not like I could stop you anyway." Falora raised her brow at him, the unspoken hanging on his head.

I am a God. A tyrant. For millennia I made mortals fear me, I supped on their flesh... and now I am one of them... maybe this is my penance — the cost of my sins. My very soul. Orilion grasped the front of his shirt for an answer when he stared up at the veil which hid the answers, forever out of his reach. Feathers fluttered out of his fingertips, and he winced at the heartbreak. Who am I... if I can't even fly?

On the back of the aethershark, the ripple of lightning breathed again. Skyhunter. Orilion. Skyhunter. Orilion. It breathed through the wood underneath him, but lacked the emotion and power of true freedom. Sky. Clouds. Rain. Stars, the beautiful stars bathed in the dragon fire of the Elder Crossing. He inched closer to the railing to try and peer into them again, but it remained too far for him to reach with his lowly, lackluster form.

"I'll also admit that you were amazing—" Falora tripped on her own words, but continued as if she hadn't. "Skyhunting. You looked more alive than before, is what I mean."

"More than I did in the closet prison?"

"It's not a prison." Falora scrunched up her nose. "Closets are made to put clothes in."

"I am not a piece of clothing. You were trying to keep me there. Hence, a prison."

He jumped when her hand punched his arm. Mortal strength, always a wonder, made him stumble back. Teeth bared, he wondered if the aethershark possessed her for round two. Orilion raised his hands up to defend himself, but she dropped her arm with a huff and flicked a stray strand of brown hair out of her face.

"If you two are done squabbling might I suggest taking a rest?" Alex said by the wheel. "Zyle, how's the skycore?"

"You ask me that everyday, Cuh'lahta." Zyle rubbed the ridge of his nose. "It is fine, if anything goes wrong, you'll be the first to know. Probably."

"Probably?"

Cuh'lahta? Orilion pursed his lips when the two draconic descendents got into their own bicker war. That... that doesn't sound right. "What does that word mean?"

"Cuh'lahta?" Both Zyle and Alex mused in unison, as if they hadn't been bickering moments before, though it was Alexavier who answered in full while Zyle glowed in the face with an awkward grin. It became clear Alexavier was both highly observant and had the perception of a stubby nub cloud. "It's an Azarian term of endearment. You Landers call it Draconic — which Azarian is so far removed it might as well be an entirely other language of its own. The Draconic you're thinking of is old, and Celestial Draconic even moreso, to the point I doubt anyone alive has ever heard Celestial Draconic spoken. I've heard it is very beautiful, and magically powerful. Like hearing it spoken can rattle your very soul. Only the Gods themselves and their High Priests could commune in such a manner." Alex tapped his cheek. "I believe the Old Draconic word would be Chuslata?"

"Chuz'lutah?" Orilion corrected at the butchery of his mother tongue. "It means dear one."

Alex and Zyle stared at him. "You can speak Old Draconic but... not Azarian?"

His blunder slipped out of his fingers while the two Azarian's stared at him — with no lie to cover him. Falora twitched in concern and fury. He opened his mouth, to explain, to lie. The thought scorched his tongue, his spine, his immolated wings. He slammed his lips shut, shuddering. Flashes of lightning. Screams. Burnt bodies. Lies. Lies upon lies.

Zyle broke in.

"Alex, we don't have time for linguistics," he said while Alexavier rubbed his fingers together. "Well, we do, but we should get going before we run into more aether creatures."

Orilion shrunk back when Alexavier broke out of his staredown to eye Zyle. "Are you embarrassed?"

"I am not."

Alex beamed, but Zyle shuffled to the front of the deck, muttering in Azarian.

A tug on his forearm dragged him to the lower deck. Unease prickled through him at Alexavier's curious grin following them until he was out of sight. Into the lower observation dome, he relished the view of the sky.

"Orilion, I can't make up stories on the fly at random whims!" Falora bit. "If they find out who you are—!"

"Evil. Sadist. Drink the blood of mortals. Assault them. Create hellspawn." Orilion drove his teeth into his lip. "I didn't ask for this." But... maybe I did.

"I am trying to help you," Falora said with a sigh. "I'm trying to help and protect you as stupid as that sounds. We can't trust them yet. We don't know what they really believe — for a mercy, from what I read of Azari culture... they paint you in more... sympathetic light."

"Yet still evil from the way you worded that."

Falora didn't reply, but he knew the answer. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. You didn't imprison me." Sunlight pulsed down his spine and turned his bones to ash. "Someone did though. I think it's too late to stop any suspicions though. I can't lie, and I don't expect you to keep lying." He twisted on his heel to face her, the mortal who was unable to strike him down with a knife and instead had done it with a paintbrush. "They are going to find out eventually, Falora. You must know this."

"I do but I'm trying to keep this going as long as possible or else we'll never reach Celestan."

"Arth'lun," he corrected.

Falora winced, then drew away from him. "Do me a favor and put the airdisc on," she muttered, but her smile brightened in a slight way. "I did mean what I said, by the by. That was pretty spectacular, as long as you keep jumping off airships to a minimum."

As she walked off, the roar of a dragon rippled through his ears with its mighty song while he was left to rot and burn with all the screams adding to the symphonic choir of the divine.