NYX

Nyx gritted her teeth, her muscles aching as the wind whipped around her like an unforgiving beast. The gale slammed into her, forcing her body against the cliffside with a sickening crunch of her wings against the sharp rocks. For a moment, she was pinned, unable to move, her feathers ruffled and singed from the harsh assault of the storm. She let out a sharp groan, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she fought to regain her bearings.

Nightstrike's voice cut through the howling wind, his tone calm despite the chaos around them. "Take it easy," he said, circling lazily above her, his dark wings cutting through the air with practiced ease. He flicked his tail, a gesture meant to reassure her, but his gaze never strayed far from the churning waters below. "Syrax isn't far away. I know that."

Nyx growled in frustration, a deep rumble vibrating through her chest. She was no stranger to storms, no stranger to flying in the harshest of conditions, but this was different. The wind was relentless, a furious force that seemed to rip at her very spirit. Syrax—her target, her foe—was out there, and Nyx could feel the pull of their imminent confrontation gnawing at her. She couldn't afford to waste time. Not now.

With a flick of her wings, she tipped them down, the powerful feathers cutting through the wind as she dropped lower. The gusts clawed at her, tugging at her feathers like a thousand grasping claws, but Nyx was determined. She fought the wind, pushing forward toward the water below, where mist swirled like the breath of a thousand dragons locked in eternal battle. The waves churned violently, crashing against the jagged rocks below, a wild, frothing tide that seemed to mirror the turmoil in her chest.

Nightstrike followed her lead, his dark wings slicing through the air behind her as they descended. "Careful," he called out, his voice barely audible over the roars of the storm. "The currents are rough. One wrong move, and you'll be swallowed whole by that beast of a tide."

Nyx didn't respond. She couldn't. Her eyes locked on the distant shoreline, her heart thumping in her chest as she felt Syrax's presence pulling her like a magnet. The storm may have been fierce, but nothing could deter her now. Not the wind, not the sea—nothing could stand in her way.

A golden dragon's roar shattered the air like thunder, deafening in its intensity. Nyx's heart skipped a beat as the massive creature emerged from the churning sea, its scales gleaming like molten gold in the storm's chaos. The dragon's eyes blazed with fury, its mouth gaping wide as it unleashed a torrent of flames straight at Nightstrike.

Nightstrike twisted sharply, his wings snapping through the air with practiced precision, narrowly avoiding the scorching wave of fire. His wings caught the wind, sending him spiraling out of harm's way. "Watch out!" he shouted, but the warning was lost in the roar of the golden dragon.

Nyx barely had time to react. The fire surged toward her with an unrelenting force, and before she could even attempt to dodge, the flames engulfed her. The heat seared through her feathers, claws, and skin, a fierce, agonizing burn that felt like it was melting her very soul. The pain was unbearable—blinding.

She howled, her body writhing in the grip of the flames, but there was no escape. Her wings locked in place, the searing heat overwhelming her senses as her breath faltered. The world around her blurred in a haze of fire and agony, and just as the pain seemed unbearable, she felt herself plummeting into the abyss.

The sea. Cold. Dark.

Her wings crumpled against the rushing water as she crashed below the surface, the waves closing over her. The burning sensation dulled in the shock of the cold depths, but now she could only feel the oppressive weight of the water pulling her down. She struggled to move, her body heavy, the darkness of the depths creeping around her like a suffocating veil. Her limbs grew sluggish, her mind clouded with pain and confusion.

Bubbles of air rose weakly from her nose as she fought to stay conscious. But the world around her was fading, slipping further and further away. Every movement felt like it took an eternity. She heard the distant sound of bubbles rising to the surface, and then, nothing.

Silence.

The current carried her deeper, the light of the surface fading into a cold, merciless dark.

SCENEBREAK

Nyx found herself in a glade filled with blue stones and other beautiful things. The air was cool and still, the ground soft beneath her paws. She sat up slowly, a strange sense of calm washing over her. Her wings ached, but as she ran a paw over her snout, she found no bloodstains, no burn marks. Nothing to indicate the fiery torment she'd just endured. It was as though the pain had never existed.

"You are in my domain now, beloved Nyx," said a voice, smooth and familiar, though tinged with something dark and unsettling. Nyx's ears pricked, and she turned to face the speaker. There, standing in the midst of the glade, was a gray wolf with deep, crimson eyes. His fur shimmered with an unnatural sheen, and draped across his back was a cloak made of worn leather. Two strange jewels, one ruby and one sapphire, glinted from within the folds of the cloak.*

Nyx's fur bristled as a low growl rumbled in her chest. She narrowed her eyes, her claws digging into the soft earth beneath her. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice laced with suspicion and defiance.

"I am Muerte," the wolf said, his lips curling into a smile that sent a chill down Nyx's spine. "I am death."

His voice, both calm and terrifying, seemed to echo through the glade, reverberating against the shimmering blue stones. Nyx's breath caught in her throat. The presence of this wolf, this entity, felt all too real—yet also like a haunting dream, something that could slip away from her mind with the slightest misstep.

Death. The word hung in the air like a shadow, and Nyx couldn't help but shudder.

"What... What do you want with me?" Nyx demanded, her voice a mix of confusion and defiance. Muerte's red eyes gleamed with amusement, and a low, dark laugh escaped his throat.

"Isn't it obvious? You are dead, dear," he said with eerie calm, his gaze unwavering.

Dead? The word struck Nyx like a blow, her heart sinking. Her claws dug into the ground, and she shook her head in disbelief. "What? No, I still have a long life ahead of me. I have a son!" she growled, the mention of her son a fierce anchor to reality. She couldn't—wouldn't—accept this.

Muerte shrugged nonchalantly, leaning against a birch tree as though he were simply discussing the weather. "Doesn't seem like it. Syrax, whom you were looking for, is angry and embittered over losing her rider. Your nerves have only fueled her rage."

"But I didn't mean to scare her!" Nyx protested, her wings unfurling instinctively as if she might take flight, despite knowing she couldn't escape this strange, dream-like realm.

Muerte raised his paws in a gesture of placation. "Easy now, Nyx, no need to get angry with me. I didn't kill you," he said calmly, his voice like the rustle of dead leaves.

Nyx began pacing, unable to still herself. Her mind was racing. "But you're the one keeping me here," she insisted, her tone sharp and accusatory. "You must be the one keeping me trapped!"

Muerte shook his head, his sharp eyes glinting in the ethereal light. "No, my dear. It's only your fear and your mind that hold you here. This is the realm between death and life, the Ancestral Plane. Here, nothing can harm you, and you will be judged to either die or to live again," he said, sitting down and starting to play with the jewels on his cloak. "Your choice."

Nyx growled, her claws digging into the soft earth beneath her paws. "I choose to live," she declared boldly, her voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at her insides.

Muerte stood up slowly, his red eyes never leaving hers, an unsettling calm radiating from him. "Are you sure about that?" he asked, his voice cool and measured. "After all, you've gone through nothing but suffering." He brushed his paws off on his cloak as if the thought of her pain was insignificant, even amusing. "Death is more peaceful for creatures like us, trust me."

Nyx's chest tightened, the weight of his words pressing against her. She had been through so much—betrayal, loss, the fire, and Syrax's rage. But the thought of surrendering to death, to let it claim her, was not a choice she was willing to make. Not yet. Not while she still had a son, a future, and a chance to fight.

"I'm not afraid of pain," Nyx said, her voice steady despite the ache in her heart. "I'm not afraid of what I've suffered. I'm afraid of losing the chance to make things right. To see my son grow. To see what else I can become."

Muerte's red eyes flickered, a faint trace of something unreadable passing through them. He tilted his head, studying her as though she were a curious specimen. "So, you choose the struggle over the peace?" he mused. "You choose to face the endless torment of life over the quiet release of death?"

Nyx stood tall, her wings unfurled behind her. "Yes," she said, unwavering. "Because life isn't over. Not until I've made sure I've done everything I can."

Muerte watched her for a long moment, his gaze piercing. Then, with a slight nod, he spoke, his voice softer, almost respectful. "Very well. You may live, Nyx. But remember, life will never be easy. It will always challenge you, always demand more. And when you face the next trial, you will know what it truly costs to survive."

Nyx didn't flinch at his words. She had made her choice, and she would face whatever came next with a warrior's resolve. "I'll survive. No matter what."