The muscles controlling the wings were very strong, much more so than any other in his body, having been tried and trained to lift and control a full-grown man in flight. As he twisted this way and that, he could feel the wings begin to unwind piece by piece until one (he couldn’t be sure which) slipped out from under his right hand. This allowed him to prop himself up that extra little bit, taking more weight off the wings.
After a few more tries, he could slip over to his side enough to free up his left arm, feeling it pop as it went back into place, sending a chill up his spine at the odd sensation.
Able to get up fully now, he got up on all fours and began folding his wings behind him, careful not to go too fast in fear of aggravating a wound he didn’t yet feel or ripping the skin that covered them on a nearby rock or thorn bush. They seemed alright, not sending any immediate warnings to the rest of his body. He’d have to wait until it was light to see if there were any rips or tears. He’d had some minor ones over time, but they were almost completely nerveless, and he barely felt a thing the times he had.
He brought himself up to his knees and began to stand. Each leg screamed in protest but did little else to stop him. Whatever their issues were, they weren’t bad enough to keep him from standing, and to Aryu that was good enough.
He pieced together what had hit him instantly, feeling stupid as he did so. Naturally there would be a shockwave, and he felt himself a fool for not realizing it sooner. He supposed it was because he had other things on his mind.
As to those particular “other things,” he pieced together his options to decide the best one.
He hesitated to fly again, not knowing if his wings (or the rest of him) were quite up for it yet. If he felt the way he did right now in the morning, he wasn’t sure he could continue anywhere. But, bridges to cross and all that.
It ate him up not knowing what had happened or where. He tried desperately to piece together the possibilities. Johan very likely was not in the blast itself, he’d concluded. Even with Rider Stroan’s warnings, he still was likely to have broken off the road and crossed the open land. Where he was unsure was the aftershock, and if it had been that powerful even by this point, how deadly was it when it hit Johan? If he were close to it, would he even be able to find what was left of him? He doubted it. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought, but the reality was it could be a possibility. There was far too much ground between here and there to find him even if he knew where to start. If he was far enough away, his chances were slightly better, but not by much. Besides, if Johan was far enough away and he did find him, it would just end up being a waste of time.
No. He knew the course of action. Going back made no sense now. Even if Johan had been badly hurt, he could never find them in the dark, he could never carry him to safety, and it was still hours until morning.
He slipped back to the ground, body screaming as he did so. The only logical choice was to keep going and hope his instincts were right, that Johan had made it off the road and trekked far enough away that he survived. He had no alternative but to believe it. His mission was far too important to delay his arrival in Tan Torna Qu-ay by another day or two of searching.
Eventually he took off again, adding a few more miles behind him before he landed and slept, wrapped once more in his wings. A part of him hated them for helping him so much in the last few hours. He assumed the days ahead would be hard and time to sleep would be rare. Of course he was right, but he didn’t know that for sure. And so, he simply slept the peaceful sleep of ignorance.
Chapter 5
-----------------------------------
The Village of Tan Torna Qu-ay
The pain had been unbearable. Never in all his considerable years and all his many lives had such a feeling overwhelmed him so completely. Not the pleasure of his first kill, or the invasiveness of his first rebirth. Indeed, not even the pain and guilt of losing Magnus those eons ago could compare.
He questioned if he was even still alive for a moment, finding it difficult to think clearly beyond the pain he felt.
Nixon of the Great Fire and Ash was a wreck. His mind jumbled and his body nearly obliterated, only particles and soot remained. Nothing in any time he could remember had ever so utterly defeated him, and that was proof enough to him something out there was very wrong.
He could still reform, but this was not an easy process. Even the ashes could still feel the pain, or at least the memory of it. The ground around where Nix had been standing was scorched; mixed about with the mess were the remnants of Nixon. He began pulling himself together, mentally drawing each bit to him. His body began to come together in a difficult jigsaw puzzle.
His mind began reconstructing the blast and the moments before it. At first it was all pain and confusion, his body reforming itself like death in reverse, creating his look and structure out of nothing. He remembered the drone, knew
