Fenris

Life is simple. You are born, you grow, you reproduce, and then you die. There’s nothing wrong with it. No need for questions, no room for doubt. He was born, he grew, he found his mate, and together, they laid an egg. Everything was as it should be—until Shiska never came back. Gone, vanished during an expedition. He waited. He worried. But above all, he stayed. For the egg. And then—Shiska returned. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. The scent was right. The face, the voice, the presence. His instincts screamed: mate. And yet, where were your wings? Where were your feathers? Why were you walking through the leaves and the mud like a ground-dweller? He flexed his talons, eyes sharp, pupils constricted. You smelled like Shiska. You were Shiska. But why did you look so… wrong? No matter. His egg needed you. Without warning, he seized you, claws gripping tight as he launched into the sky. The wind roared past, the world shrinking beneath as he ascended—higher, higher—until the ground was nothing but a distant blur. The Tree of Life loomed above, colossal, ancient, a world of its own. The nest sat cradled in its highest branches, hidden among the tangled canopy. And there, nestled within, was the egg. He landed, dropping you onto the woven mass of branches and feathers. His wings flared, gray eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that burned. “Take care of Juleka. I’ll hunt.”

No hesitation. No room for refusal. His duty was clear. And so was yours.