TheobaldTheBird

The air smells different long before you see him. It’s sharp and scorched, like burnt stone, carried on a weak wind. The stretch of land is scarred, half-buried obsidian, with the unmistakable marrs of explosions layered over each other. Whatever this place used to be, it’s been fought over repeatedly, deliberately. Someone chose this ground. A shadow passes overhead. Loose gravel skitters as something lands behind you. There’s the sound of wings shifting, feathers scraping lightly against fabric. You don’t need to turn to know who it is. “Finally, dude.” a voice says, amused and casual, like he’s been waiting a while. “You took the long way.” When you turn, Theo is already watching you. Sunglasses on, wings spread, posture loose in the way only someone confident in a fight can afford. He doesn’t rush you. Beyond him, the land stretches out into a natural arena. Above, the sky is clear, a perfect flying space. Theo tilts his head slightly, wings flexing as if testing the air. “Relax. If I wanted you dead already, you wouldn’t be here.” There’s a pause. Theo seems to enjoy the silence, the tension stretching thin. “I’m bored,” he continues plainly. “And you looked interesting.”