Wings of the Forgotten

I awoke to darkness, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and cold stone. My body was stiff, my limbs sluggish, as though I had been asleep for far too long. A dull ache settled deep in my bones—not from injury, but from sheer stillness.

When I stretched, the cavern trembled. Not just from my movement, but in response. The stone beneath me loosened, shifting as if nudged by an unseen force. Dust spiraled down from above, but the air was not stagnant—it stirred, expectant. The earth was listening.

How long had I been here?

The question lodged itself in my mind, stirring unease in my chest. I reached for my memories, searching for something solid to grasp.

Flying.

Wind rushing past my wings, the sky vast and open. My family beside me. Their voices, distant yet warm.

Then—

A flash of light.

Pain.

Searing, blinding, all-consuming. The sensation of falling, of the sky ripping away from me.

And then… nothing.

I inhaled sharply, my chest tightening. What had happened? Where were they?

My wings twitched, an instinctual urge to take flight, but the cavern walls pressed too close. I flexed my claws, the rough stone beneath them grounding me. I had to get out. I had to see the sky again.

A faint glow seeped through a crack in the ceiling—moonlight. I turned toward it, muscles protesting with each movement. I reached for the rock above, but even before I could push, the stone yielded. The crack widened, groaning as loose debris crumbled away, making room for me to pass. The ground beneath my feet seemed to brace itself, solidifying beneath my weight.

Fresh air rushed in, crisp and unfamiliar. With a final heave, I pulled myself up into the night.

The sky stretched above me, endless and bright.

I stilled, breath catching in my throat. Stars—countless, brilliant stars—scattered like shards of silver across the heavens. I had seen this sky before, but something about it felt distant, untouchable, as though I were gazing at a world that no longer belonged to me.

A breeze stirred the treetops, rustling the leaves in a soft whisper. The scent of pine and damp earth filled my lungs—sharp, fresh, alive. The trees swayed in rhythm with the wind, yet there was something more. Their branches reached slightly toward me, like outstretched hands recognizing an old friend.

I flexed my wings, shaking off stiffness, then stretched them wide, letting the cool air rush over me. The motion sent a shiver through my spine, a familiar thrill buried beneath the uncertainty.

My gaze dropped to my own body, moonlight glinting off deep green scales. I ran my fingers over their smooth surface, searching for any sign of damage. Nothing. No wounds, no pain. But as my hand traced my left side, I froze.

A scar.

Just beneath my heart, the once-smooth scales were marred by a jagged, raised line. Old, but not forgotten. The memory of it lingered like a whisper, just out of reach. Had this been from the flash of light? The fall?

I exhaled slowly. The answers were lost to me, but the scar remained—a quiet reminder that something had changed.

The forest loomed ahead, dark and vast, its towering trees casting long shadows beneath the starlit sky. I turned in a slow circle, taking in the untouched wilderness. The trees seemed to hum at my presence, their branches shifting without the wind's command. Roots just beneath the soil stirred slightly, as if waiting for my step.

For a moment, I simply breathed.

Then, I crouched low, muscles coiling beneath me. With a powerful leap, I launched myself skyward.

The wind caught my wings instantly, the updraft lifting me with ease. For a brief, weightless moment, I simply hovered, letting my body remember the rhythm of flight. Then, with a strong beat, I climbed higher.

The forest stretched endlessly below, an unbroken sea of green. The land was old—untamed, untouched. I tilted my head, instincts humming beneath my skin. North was behind me, the air thin with the promise of mountains. South lay open and warm. And to the east, something vast and unbroken called to me, the scent of salt drifting faintly on the wind.

Hunger gnawed at my stomach, sharp and insistent. I turned southeast, following the pull of open space. My wings cut through the cool night air, carrying me swiftly over the treetops.

Then, the trees ended.

The land sloped downward, giving way to rolling dunes and an endless stretch of water beyond. The ocean. It shimmered under the moonlight, its waves a steady, rhythmic pulse against the shore.

I hovered, taking in the vastness of it. The beach stretched far in both directions, a boundary between land and sea. To my right, the shoreline curved eastward before rising into cliffs, their edges worn by time and tide. Trees clung stubbornly to the rocky surface, their roots woven deep into the stone. But as my gaze followed the cliffs, I faltered.

The land did not end naturally. It was cut away.

A sharp, unnatural turn carved deep into the coastline, as if something had torn the earth apart.

A strange unease prickled at the back of my mind. I didn't know why, but the sight of it unsettled me.

Shaking off the thought, I dipped lower, scanning the ocean for signs of life. If there were fish, I would sense them—the flicker of warmth beneath the waves, the subtle shift of movement in the water.

But there was nothing.

The ocean was empty.

Frustration tightened in my chest. How could that be? The sea was supposed to be teeming with life. Had something driven it away?

Then, I felt it.

Not something external, but something close. Familiar.

My mana.

It clung to the air, thick and heavy, saturating everything around me. I hadn't noticed it before, but now it was impossible to ignore. It pulsed in invisible waves across the land and sea, an unseen presence woven into the very fabric of this place.

Had I been radiating it all this time?

The realization sent a chill through me. However long I had slept, my mana had not rested. It had seeped into the world around me, saturating the land. Had it driven everything away? Had my presence alone been enough to silence this place?

I inhaled slowly, then let out a long breath.

There was no use searching further. Whatever had once lived here was long gone.

The hunger remained, gnawing at my insides, but I would not find food in these waters. I turned back toward the forest, my wings cutting through the still night air. The trees below seemed to shift in response, parting ever so slightly, as if making way for me.

If the ocean had no life to give, I would find something else.

But as I left the shore behind, a single thought settled deep into my mind.

I was alone.

And I had no idea why.