Time seems to freeze, though I know it doesn't. The giant beast—the Wyvern—stands beside me, its mouth slightly open, staring, wondering.
A thin layer of Var surrounds me like a shield. A persistent barrier, golden in color, separating me from it.
I know it's her Var. The same gold as her pearl—a bright, radiant light.
The wyvern is caught within her Var. But it's different. The air shifts, carrying a scent I don't expect—salt and sun, like a distant shore. Warm, lazy, soothing. It smells… good. Comforting, even.
The wyvern's Var is like the rest of this continent—black, thick, meant for destruction. It stinks of death, so pungent and overwhelming that it drowns thought itself.
Ryllie smiles slightly. Her wings jut out suddenly—then, her Var disappears.
The wyvern moves first, a blur of black against the sky. It slashes at Ryllie mid-flight, razor talons tearing through empty air as she twists away.
A hiss follows—its breath, a thick black mist, swallowing the air behind her. Whatever it touches crumbles, eaten away by pure destruction. She doesn't let it touch her.
It's fast, but she's faster.
She weaves between its strikes, her wings slicing through the wind. The wyvern barrels after her, massive and relentless, but she steers the fight upward, forcing it to climb.
It struggles against the thinning air, and that's when she dives—straight down, straight into a storm wind curling through the canyon below.
The wind takes her. She cuts through the draft, letting it carry her like a blade. The wyvern isn't as lucky. It fights against the current, its bulk too rigid, its wings too broad to adjust in time. That moment of hesitation is all she needs.
She slams onto its back, claws digging into the ridges of its spine.
It roars, twisting violently, trying to shake her off. Her wings snap open, balancing her weight as she drives her claws in deeper.
The wyvern spirals, its flight turning erratic, and she forces its descent, using her body as a lever. It crashes into the earth below, dust and rock exploding into the sky.
Ryllie barely lands before it surges back up, and suddenly she's the one slamming into the ground.
Pain flares through her wings—a sprain, maybe worse—but she doesn't have time to check.
The wyvern's maw opens, black mist rolling out. She throws herself aside as it scorches the ground, disintegrating stone like paper.
She dodges, staying low, moving faster than it can turn. Its tail swings—she drops beneath it. Its claws swipe—she sidesteps, letting them sink into the rock instead.
It's stronger, heavier, but it's also predictable.
She lets it chase her, lets it overcommit, and when it does, she strikes.
A feint—stumbling, just for a second. The wyvern lunges. Too eager.
She drives forward, claws slashing for its throat. The wyvern jerks back—fast, but not fast enough. Her talons sink in.
Hot blood sprays, a black ichor that reeks of decay. The beast shrieks, thrashing wildly. Then, with a sudden twist, its tail whips around—slamming into her side.
She staggers. A sharp gasp rips from her throat. But her grip doesn't loosen.
Teeth bared, she presses down harder.
It struggles. Then it stills.
Silence.
Ryllie stands over its corpse, panting. Her claws ache, stained black with its blood. Something in her still burns—anger, instinct, something deeper.
She doesn't stop. She slashes again. And again. And again. Tearing into it long after the fight is won, until her breaths come ragged and her vision blurs.
Until the rage ebbs, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
Her hands are covered in blood.
From a distance, I watch.
More movement—shadows streak across the sky. My heart pounds as I count them. Ten. Fifteen. No—twenty.
Twenty wyverns.
Panic claws at my throat. How can she fight twenty? She's strong, but she's not invincible. She can't be.
I open my mouth to shout—to tell her to run—but she only smiles. A sharp, cruel thing.
Then, a sound like the heavens splitting apart. A deafening crack.
Golden Var surges from her like a tidal wave, swallowing the sky in brilliance. It permits no resistance.
The wyverns seize mid-flight. Circles—no, arcs—of gold form inside them, their bodies frozen in place. Then, in an instant, they split. Some are cleaved in half before they even register their own deaths.
Others lose their heads as shields of light erupt from within, bursting outward like golden explosions. The air fills with the thick stench of burning flesh.
I stare, breath caught in my throat.
She was never in danger.
She was toying with it. With all of them.
Slowly, she turns to me, that same sharp, cruel smile still lingering on her lips.
She enjoys this.
She enjoys this.
And for the first time, I realize—Ryllie is only driven by one thing. Her hunger for strength.