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"Can you… not… do that? Aiden’s mount was born in that forest. It ruled the Bramble. He doesn’t even needa fly. Once we convince the vraxle, it’ll take care of the rest."

Aiden nodded as if it were settled, unaware of how bold he was.

Brexton turned away from Everan’s pouting expression and sneered at the Legacy Families.

"What?" Aiden asked.

"Just look at ’em. Kid just died, and they’re pissed they shamed them. Can you believe that shit?"

Aiden looked and found people in the same robes as the rider. They had red faces, looking down and trembling, furious, embarrassed—ashamed. When the image of their son was shown, they refused to look. They just left as families snickered.

"Are you being serious?" Aiden asked, mouth agape.

Brexton pulled out a strange root and put it into his mouth, chewing on it like a dog gnawing a bully stick. His cheeks flushed with color, and his shoulders relaxed. "Welcome to the Legacies."

He offered the flask to Aiden. Aiden accepted it.

2.

I was surprised when the camera switched to a scrawny man in the legacy crowd—clearing wearing Earthian attire. He was conspicuously out of place, but his expression was remarkably bold for his appearance, and there was disgust plastered on his face as he talked to a sharply dressed teen around nineteen. It was a strange POV.

Then, the camera flipped away as if he were an afterthought, showing the next competitor.

This woman looked far better off. She was wearing green and silver armor and rode a bird that looked far… sturdier than the other. It had an exterior that looked like a jagged wasteland of broken rocks, each sharp as an arrow. Looking at it was uncomfortable.

The crowd was going wild, and the families were all looking at her green-clad family members.

Then, her run began.

My heart thrummed when the bird launched off faster than the other, like a spaceship rocketing to outer space. It crested the gate in seconds but didn’t attack. It stayed in the Third Domain, examining the scene.

To my surprise, the POV switched from the rider to the animal’s eyes, zooming in to see rustling canopies and signs of blood from the tendrils that ate the other flier.

"Wait… is that just the camera? Lithco. Is that just a camera’s POV? Or is she using its eyes?"

"That is a skill," Lithco said. "I cannot tell you more without a beast-taming book or skill."

"Seriously?" I muttered. "So I can—"

The rider suddenly shot past the gate, still borrowing the bird’s eyes. A dark plume of birds engulfed her, like flies separating from a rotting carcass. She weaved, drilling one with its beak and flying forward. A few strays clamped onto the mount but screeched when they touched the steely barbs on its exterior.

A volcanic eruption of poison mist abruptly rocketed in front of her. She veered to the right, hitting a cloud of birds—forced to dip into the trees.

Tendrils shot at her, grabbing the bird, but the exterior cut through the plants like paper, and the gray "feathers" heated like a forged blade, searing off the rest.

It all happened so fast. Crashing limbs. Shooting tendrils. Seering plants. Smoke and birds. It was the most intense chase scene I had ever seen, but the rider didn’t give up, moving between tree trunks, circling around, avoiding ominous fog—kicking up swirls of gas as she moved.

A POV switch showed the crowd going wild, hopping up and down and spilling drinks and hugging. A close-up of the woman’s family, wearing the same green crest, stood stone-faced and unimpressed.

The race continued until I saw something familiar. Brivelets, the werewolf bats that I used Nymbrel on, shot at her at surreal speeds, popping around like a game of pinball.

They were fast. In a second, one slammed into the rider, biting her shoulder.

Her body spasmed, but she didn’t despair. She pulled out a blade and wrapped it in a red aura, and stabbed it into the creature’s eye, dropping it. She survived, but when she looked up, she came face-to-face with a beast that looked like a bear but was the size of an elephant. She cut left, but the beast’s claw moved faster, clipping the bird’s wing and sending it into a spiral.

The POV showed the rider’s arms pulling up on the reins desperately—

—she corrected.

The bird shot up through the canopies, breaking out of the limbs and leaves, leaving nothing but a bright blue sky with slight clouds. For a moment, it seemed like she had succeeded, and the nightmare had ended. Then she turned and saw six dragons that made the one I saw earlier look like a child.

I looked away as the dragons stormed the rider—refusing to watch.

It didn’t take long for the rider’s POV to end and the crowds’ nervous ohs and awkward cheers to begin. Then the camera switched to the family, stone-faced and heartless, as they walked away. That boiled my veins and made me livid, but it wasn’t nearly as much as the other Earthian man. He was now enraged, staring down influential-looking people like a grizzly bear whose cub was threatened.

Something was wrong… with him. Yet the camera focused on him, displaying his face for all to see. It was like it wanted everyone to see the confrontation while the world was watching.

It was eerie.

His POV lasted seconds, but it felt like an eternity—and it never truly ended. The POV switched to the next competitor, a young teen about sixteen years of age in red robes, trembling violently in terror as his bird took the podium. The camera then switched to the family in red robes, who were absolutely furious at their kid’s showing. Then the camera switched back to the man who was now stomping through the crowd with another man wearing a suit from Earth, both led by the sharply dressed teen whose hands were in his pockets as he pushed through the influential individuals whimsically, a joyful grin on his face.

The camera finally landed on a strange building on a distant hillside, dark and chilling as a shed with torture equipment from times long past—foreshadowing what was to come.

I shivered at the ease and speed at which the Oracle created a narrative in real time.

Before I could think too much about it, the POV returned to the new rider as they launched off—

—and the impending string of certain deaths resumed without delay.

3.

Aiden stormed into the cursed aviary with Everen and Brexton, the latter magically removing all barriers between them and the vraxle. Aiden was breathing smoke all the while, unable to think rationally.

He had never seen humans treated so cruelly, and it bothered him to his core.

Some of these competitors were children and half weren’t there by choice. He could tell which ones because they were wearing colorful robes that matched their family’s crests. They couldn’t leave—

—because it wasn’t about awards to these people. It was about prestige.

Aiden knew that when the first competitor’s family reacted. They were aghast, faces contorted with rage at their son’s "embarrassing" death, looking aggrieved as if their only regret about their son dying was that they couldn’t beat him for shaming the family.

It was sick—and it got worse.

The indifference with which the next family watched their talented daughter risk her life—and the severe apathy they held toward her death—broke him. It was as though her showing was enough to satisfy their honor and they were satisfied with that.

These people… Extended lifespans had fucked these people up in the head. He wondered how many children these older patriarchs and matriarchs had had—how many had died violent deaths over the centuries. He just wished they would die.

And he figured that the vraxle would feel the same way after the humans chained him up for a century, starving him—unwilling to let him fly.

So Aiden fantasized about flying out on the vraxle as a normal person—not a "Legacy"—and crushing the trial, putting his middle fingers up to all the families after he shamed them.

Those were the thoughts on his mind as he stomped into the chambers and saw the massive wyvern and said, "You hate these people right?"

The wyvern perked up and narrowed its eyes. Well this is a change, he said. He turned his glassy eyes to Brexton and blinked.

Yeah, Aiden said, switching to telepathy. That’s because things have "changed." Last time, I asked you if you wanted to fly just to fly. Now, I’m asking if you want to fly and shame every last one of the fuckers that chained you down—because I do!

The wyvern faced Aiden head-on and sniffed. Then, he looked at Brexton. What’d you give him?

Drugs. Brexton drank from his flask and shook it. Want some?

"Drugs?" Aiden cried, turning to him. A flat hand against his chest told him how fast his heart was beating. It felt like car tires bumping over a storm drain, rumbling instead of pumping. He clenched his hand and barely felt it. It was like he was walking on a cloud of rage. "How? You’ve been drinking that all day!"

"Uh… yeah. Getting rough there at the end. Had to cheat." He stuck out his tongue, and the root he was chewing on popped out.

Everen turned to Brexton with a bewildered gaze. It was clear that he wasn’t in on the plan. To Brexton Claustra, clever businessman Everen was a basic pawn.

The wyvern looked between them. Unbelievable, he said. He turned to Aiden, who was having a panic attack. Leave this place. I refuse to aid you in this foolish endeavor. He turned to Brexton. And drop this waste on the way out.

Brexton clicked his tongue three times, wagging his finger. Wouldn’t get too testy, Halten, he said telepathically. Not to be there bearer of bad news, but this guy’s a bit fucked if you don’t help ’em out. He became pretty famous after people learned about his quest; now, he’s done made a scene in front of the whole legacy assembly. Damn near offended all of ’em on live stream in this… drugged-up frenzy of his. Bad look. If he drops the Claustra… well… he’s pretty defenseless, now ain’t he? And if he doesn’t have any value to us, well, we just might drop him.

Aiden’s heart rattled on, ice water pumping through his veins. So much suddenly made sense, true or false, like clarity mining gold from paranoia. He made connections to things that were unconnected, mind looping in an endless conspiracy theory, unsure where the truth ended, and the lies began. It was almost as if—

Aiden!

A sharp hypnotic call reverberated in Aiden’s mind, and suddenly, he felt a split second of sobriety. He looked up and saw the vraxle—Halten, as Brexton called him—staring at him.

What?

Can you think?

Uh… yeah.

Can you… hold on?

Probably not.

We have special harnesses, Brexton said, smiling brightly.

I refu… Halten looked at Aiden. Once. On the terms we agreed upon. Silver contract based upon intention. Life pact. I want you dead if you haven’t already negotiated this… deal.

Assuming there’s no change in the rules… Deal.

Aiden didn’t know what deal they made earlier, but he could tell they were serious because they created a life pact. It was only once it was over that Aiden realized that he would soon be flying, or at least be bolted onto a wyvern’s back. Everything was moving so fast.

Halten studied the Claustra boy, heart plunged with a sharp blade of hatred. The human Aiden was a fool, but his feeble mind was pure. He spent days simply trying to organize a day where Halten could fly, and Halten had lived long enough to tell when someone was lying—and he wasn’t.

The human Aiden was also honest. He treated Halten like a human, as if it were only natural, speaking to him honestly and spending long periods in silence. He didn’t seem like someone who would ever spend more time with humans than necessary.

Yet here he was, drugged and manipulated—threatened, coerced, and blindsided due to his ignorance of the cruelty of this world—and Halten cared.

He actually cared.

Perhaps it was just because he was angry at the world and its people and his treatment, but being treated well once in the last century had left a deep impression on Halten that he couldn’t forget.

If he could fly again and repay the kindness, he would.

Then, he would return to his prison and wait for death, forever upholding the promise he made to Brindle Grask countless millennia ago.