Meadow of Bones

The third woke up among the countless bodies of traitors.

The valley of Traitor's End was deathly quiet, the corpses of the cougar-like shêdu littered the floor like broken and discarded dolls. Leathery wings crooked, eyes devoid of life, the impression of chain-like burns wrapped around them, branded onto their bodies. At least on the ones whose skin hadn't rotted away yet.

All around, the mountains rose like monoliths, rising high up into the sky, obscuring the sun and casting deep shadows onto the ravine.

Daniel woke up under the earth.

Myra woke up in the discarded bodies of her own kind.

A small black bird landed on a cracked skull, its claws scraping against the bone as it adjusted itself and studied the surrounding carnage. Black, beady eyes scanned the area for potential dangers as it hopped off its perch and towards its next meal, before something under the bodies began to stir. The bird was startled and flew off in a flutter of wings.

For a moment, nothing moved, then the bodies parted as something pushed itself out from underneath them.

It was a young, female shêdu, a creature with the body of a mountain lion, and large wings, her fur a rich chocolate brown all across her back, though it turned lighter on her underbelly and neck. Her thighs, calves, the beginning of her tail and the area right around her eyes were covered in cyan markings, like hollow tiger stripes, clear and sharp, as though drawn on by a master artist.

Her wings, large and leathery, were covered in burn scars, shaped like chains, and she felt the scars on her skin as well, though somehow, her fur still covered them. At the end of her tail was a plume of fur, which helplessly waved through the air.

Strangely though, her eyes were not of the same colour. Where there should be white, there was black, and the left iris was a decidedly darker yellow than the right.

Her head was stuck inside of a ribcage, its bones bleached and brittle. As the shêdu stumbled over the bodies, leaving bloody paw prints behind as shards of bone burrowed deep into her flesh, she seemed disoriented and panicked, her breath shallow and fast, steps unsure and uncoordinated. The winged panther didn't even seem aware of her current accessory.

And Myra indeed didn't notice it. Her head spun, two lifetimes merging, while the stench of death clogged her nose and made her nauseous. The knowledge of where she was stripped her of any sense of peace which the sight of the mountains, of her home, usually would have brought her.

She woke up in Traitor's End. She might not remember what had happened, but she could imagine it all too well.

Seraiah loved this method of execution. He bound those that betrayed their pride in burning chains and threw them off the cliff, letting gravity do the rest.

Her vision blurred, she almost felt like she was falling, but her paws were stuck to the ground.

Myra felt nauseous. Her head was heavy.

He threw her off the cliff.

Seraiah threw her off the cliff.

What had she done? Who else was down here? Whose bones sliced open her paws?

Everything was spinning, and her legs buckled as she collapsed to the ground, sticking her head under one of her wings in an attempt to block everything out.

A flicker of something in the back of her mind caught her attention, the sensation flowing towards her like a calm river and settling like a heavy blanket on top of her. Suddenly, Myra felt like she could breathe. It felt strange, so foreign to her, but familiar at the same time.

It was like the smell of home, comforting, but undefinable.

Next to the river raged an inferno so strong, she could almost feel its heat on her face, but the river stepped in between, gentle claws moved along her spine, soothing her ruffled fur while the rumbling of the river drowned out her panic.

She was okay. She was alive again. She had another shot at life here.

The river's attention shifted, its flow redirecting towards the inferno burning away whatever came in its path. She couldn't let them go there alone, she had to help, like they helped her.

So the spark jumped and followed the river. They were faster than her, and she saw it enveloping the wildfire, but it kept on burning, why was it still burning?

The spark reached out towards those familiar flames, and together with the river, the inferno ceased, reducing itself to embers dancing through the nothingness they all found themselves in.

The river wound itself around the embers, and the sparks joined them. Together, all three moved in unison to a song only they could hear. The river sang a promise, its melodies ringing strong and true, as they swore to follow the strings of fate binding them together.

It was only once the river had receded, and the embers disappeared in the nothingness, that the spark realised who they were.

Of course, they were her friends. The Warden had shown them mercy, gifting them something He only granted His Children before.

Myra opened her eyes, trying to remember where she'd last seen the ember and the river disappear towards. Luckily though, both of them were in the same direction. Southwest. That's where she needed to go for now.

She got up, wincing as the pain in her paws registered, and huffed in annoyance. She would need to deal with this somewhat soon, lest she get an infection.

Turning her head, she finally became aware of the thing stuck on her head and she batted at it with her most injured paw, in hopes it would hurt less than keeping it on the ground, trying to dislodge the weight.

It worked. After a little bit of trying, and probably smearing blood all over her face, she succeeded, and with a huff, the object came loose, clattering to the floor.

A ribcage.

Myra shuddered. Nope, she wasn't going to think about that, and she promptly walked off, making her way out of the valley.

She considered flying, but she felt too unsteady to even think about spreading her wings. Her resurrection left her reeling, and she knew from experience it wasn't a very good idea to fly in that state.

No, she would need to continue on foot.

And she'd need to stay out of sight, else risking her discovery. She had no idea how long it had been, the mountains didn't change much as the sands of time flowed over the land. They were monoliths that watched Axis form and change. Myra wouldn't be able to tell the passage of time here.

But still, even if centuries had passed, and Myra had been forgotten, she would still be recognised as somebody who logically shouldn't even exist.

After all, she was a runecarver. She'd been chosen when she was a cub and received a blessing from Seraiah that granted her insight into runes. The language which writes the rules that reality has to follow. There were only ever two carvers for each faction at a time, recognised by their markings and silvery, reinforced claws.

She had to stay out of sight and make sure to avoid Seraiah specifically. While her pride might have forgotten about the executed runecarver, the Child sure as hell would recognise her.

Walking forwards, the young shêdu reached the top of another cliff, and before her, she saw the entirety of Axis laid out. The setting sun painted the land in orange hues, and she saw the silver spire of Leoth's capital to the west. Most of the land was covered in greenery, leafy trees transitioning into enormous, jungle-like forests, before ebbing out into fields and marshlands.

She even could see the reflection of the ocean on the horizon, its blue melding into the sky to the point where it was hard to differentiate the two. Rivers and lakes looked like they were filled with liquid gold as they reflected the dying sunlight.

It was beautiful, and she felt the ever familiar yearning, the desire to see those trees up close, to feel the grass under her paws, to drink the water from the crystalline lakes.

When she looked to the left and right, she saw the giant mountain range that enveloped Axis' borders in a crescent shape, standing tall and proud. These mountains were her home.

And they were the prison that held her kind entrapped here for centuries.

She knew now that she had the ability to leave, she felt the gift the Warden had given her, felt its power ringing in her bones. He had torn away what made her a shêdu, turned her essence into something wholly different.

True shapeshifting was an ability that was unheard of. Sure, she'd heard murmurs, legends of the time her kind still roamed the western lands. Tales that talked about their other half, the raijū, who changed their shape like humans changed their clothes.

But, they whispered, the raijū were always white like the clouds in the sky, no matter the form they took.

Something told Myra that she didn't have that restriction. Not that she could check, she still felt too off-kilter to truly concentrate enough to even attempt it.

She would have to, as soon as she reached the wardstones that marked the border of her former prison, but she could put it off until then at least. Shêdu could not cross the forcefield that the Warden set in place, but it didn't stop anyone else.

It wouldn't stop her, either.

Myra took one last look at the land laid out before her paws, towards where she felt her friends, and hummed quietly to herself. She would cross the border and change into a gryphon as soon as she could, she would walk, and she would find her friends. Then, and only then, they'd start trying to figure out what was going on. That was a problem for future Myra.

For now, she focused on climbing down the mountain. Back then, in her first lifetime, she didn't spend much time in the border regions, they mostly stayed further north at the peak dubbed Seraiah's Throne.

But the one time she had been here, was a memorable one. She hadn't been feeling well, but her teacher had insisted she fly all the way out there and inspect the wardstones. Maybe he'd hoped she would be the one to find a flaw in the Wardens' designs.

Of course, she didn't. She never even reached the border.

Myra jumped down the last few metres, wincing as she landed. She wasn't far from the place where she had broken her wing.

A shêdu that could not fly was a dead shêdu. In the mountains, food was sparse. They relied on their aerial mobility to catch prey and kill it. On the ground, their chances were less than ideal. There were many areas where it might not be an issue, but most places were hard to traverse on foot, and thus it was easy to trap oneself and starve.

The only reason she had survived was that somebody else had found her. An outsider travelling to meet Seraiah. A gryphon.

She had been kind, and continuously brought her food, oftentimes sitting down next to Myra, telling her stories of the outside world.

The stranger had talked about her kind with admiration and respect, something Myra'd never really seen with her own people. Never to this extent.

The gryphon had been patient, returning every day with a fresh kill, oftentimes staying with her for hours on end. She had talked about the gryphons of the west, strong and courageous, cities forged by fire and a palace resting in the depths of the ocean. She had spoken of the gryphons from the east, their love for understanding the world around them and their boundless curiosity. How they used what the earth gave them and built a citadel so grand, it looked as though it touched the very sky above them.

And most of all, she had talked about the gryphons of the Tribal Lands. They didn't build citadels that touched the sky, nor a palace that laid in the depths.

No, the gryphons of the Tribal Lands hid their city where none could find it. A haven for those that needed it, and the resting place of ancient magic.

Myra stopped, and looked at the entrance of a small cave. She had spent weeks sheltered in these walls, only leaving once she'd recovered enough. The stranger had taken her to the stones and left, biding her farewell before disappearing into the woods. That gryphon never went to Seraiah. Never told Myra her name, either.

In the end, Myra had never seen her again. And never would, considering how much time must have passed. It made her… sad. But there was no use dwelling on these matters.

Shaking off her train of thought, the shêdu hopped on top of a giant boulder that was blocking the path.

And promptly tumbled back down again in shock as she spotted a black figure standing in front of a wardstone.

Seraiah.

Shit. She was screwed. She was so screwed.

Myra heard the rustling of wings and the scraping of claws on stone as he moved, probably turning to whatever made that sound.

In that case, her.

Fuck.

She had to shift, anything was better than her current form. She closed her eyes, desperation setting in as her heart started beating faster and faster.

She felt the power deep in her bones, heard its quiet call.

And so, with adrenaline rushing through her, she called back. She had no shape in mind, and so it decided for her, fur changed into quilts, which then grew into feathers, a snout changed into a beak, and leathery wings sprouted feathers. Now, instead of Myra, there stood the kind stranger.

The change was seamless, and luckily only mildly uncomfortable. But, surprisingly enough, the body didn't feel strange to use, it felt like she had always been a gryphon. She didn't pay this feeling any heed, and instead spread her wings and flapped them, jumping on top of the boulder and then down, coming face to face with a shêdu.

Seraiah's eyes were pitch black, besides the red irises that almost seemed to glow, same as the red marking around his face. He looked guarded, but she could read the barely contained surprise in his eyes as he spotted her.

"You are supposed to be dead." His voice was silky soft, but like a fly trapped in a spider web, she felt the danger it held. A shudder ran down her spine, and Myra tried her best to remain calm. Could he see through her disguise?

He took a few steps, starting to circle her as he looked at Myra like she was very intriguing prey.

Myra followed him with her eyes, taking careful steps to always be the same distance away from him. Seraiah was a Child, and while she realised how stupid it sounded with the connotations from her second life, it did not reduce the menacing aura she felt while looking at him.

He was powerful, and a long life had made him patient. Once he set sight on his prey, he would not relent until it was dead. She just had to be careful not to fall into that category.

So, she replied with the only thing that came to mind.

"The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

He huffed, almost sounding amused, but his eyes didn't lose their calculated spark. He took a step forward, Myra took one back.

"I can see that-" Seraiah paused, eyes narrowing even more and his ear flicked. "-Nimue." The last part was added almost like an afterthought.

Well, that at least explained why the stranger looked so od-

With an undignified squawk, she jumped backwards, wings flapping in panic as Seraiah lunged. Her form rippled, rapidly changing colours, feathers morphing into scales, into fur, into feathers, into skin and back into fur as her form settled as something else.

Lights flashed as the Child collided with the border ward, runes flaring to life and fading back out as he took a step back, snarling in fury at his own mirror image standing on the other side. His own two red eyes staring at him with fear. It was an almost perfect copy, but in the night the changes were apparent. There was no red glow from the markings, the eyes, at first glance perfect, were slightly mismatched, one a different hue than the other.

The shifter and the prisoner looked at each other, one in fear, the other in fury, and the shifter turned, disappearing into the forest as their form rippled once more, taking another shape.

And so, the third left behind the valley of the dead, and followed the strings of fate.