Aster didn't know how to feel about seeing Calen again. He wasn't one to experience certain emotions—not in the way others did at least.
So, making sense of the uneasy feeling beating in his chest was… unfamiliar.
He felt both a motivation to carry out his upcoming actions, and a reluctance that gnawed at him.
The flight platform was plunged into commotion. Aster struggled to keep his footing as he inched forward, jostled between rugged shoulders and shifting bodies.
Urgent shouts rang out—orders, protests, prayers—blending into the roar of wind and the restless screeches of griffins.
Three of the towering iron-bar cages, each harnessed to a griffin like a carriage, had already been filled to the brim with prisoners.
The air was thick with cold and desperation, and the platform groaned beneath the weight of movement and forthcoming dread.
Jutting from the cliffside like a broken fang, the platform stretched just wide enough to hold several cages—yet narrow enough to make every step feel ominous.
The structure itself wasn't especially large, at least not compared to some Aster had seen.
It formed a circular stage embed into the mountain's face, with most of its body suspended over open air like a coin balanced on the edge of a blade.
The stone beneath his feet was a cold, mottled grey, arranged in concentric rings that spiraled outward from the center.
Between each ring, lustrous metal had been inlaid—dull and cold to the touch, etched with arcane symbols buried beneath frost. Catching only the faintest glint of ambient light, like polished dusk.
Griffins nestled around it's edge in a wide arc, tethered and restless, their wings half-spread.
Only two people remained ahead of him. They walked slowly, holding each other's hands, their steps hesitant and heavy.
Soon, they reached a short flight of stone steps that led up to their cage.
The cages themselves were crafted in a style that felt foreign to this stronghold—twisted iron bars of smooth, dark, lustrous metal, each as thick as a column.
Mysterious oceanic depictions were emblazoned across their slick, inky surfaces—whorls and waves that seemed to shift when caught by the eye.
The gaps between the bars wide enough to stir unease, yet measured just narrowly enough to prevent anyone from slipping through.
Except, perhaps, a malnourished twelve-year-old.
Shaking his head at the lack of consideration, Aster turned right from the gates and grabbed one of the poles after stepping inside.
He chose the space beside the door—directly opposite the pair who had entered before him. Now that he could see their faces, it was clear they were siblings.
He felt a flicker of pity. The way they shivered excessively, their fair sun-touched skin, and rich brown hair.
They were Sumerians. One just a little older than himself, the other younger.
Perhaps, depending on how one looked at it. Both were younger by at least a decade.
Aster did not choose this spot to avoid standing near them. He had no reason to. The cage would be filled soon enough. He chose this place for very good, un-misanthropic reasons.
Finally comfortable enough to speak again after his sudden encounter with Calen, the old man beside him broke the silence with a cough.
"I'm curious," he said with his usual smile. "Why here of all places?"
Aster looked down, caught off guard.
"Falling from the sky is bad, is it not?"
The old man didn't reply—just wrapped one hand tightly around the bar beside him. Of course, the real reason Aster had chosen this spot was because he learnt the hard way how things got once they were airborne.
But this was supposed to be his first time, so he said the first thing that came to mind.
"Thanks for having my back earlier," Aster added, "you know, when that dangerous knight approached."
Now it was the old man's turn to be caught off guard.
"It, uh… it all worked out well in the end, didn't it?"
Aster shook his head and smiled faintly. He didn't hold it against his cellmate. No one was obligated to die for another.
And he knew the seemingly unassuming old man beside him was not ordinary. They had shared things in his past life—when the man had taken care of him.
Wha- what are they doing now?
Aster turned his head reticently, hoping he was wrong.
Ahh…
But of course it was hopeless. The siblings were undoubtedly walking toward him.
Huddled together, the older girl wrapped her arms around her brother's shoulders, her eyes wide yet subdued—like cornered prey.
He wasn't surprised. He and the old man probably looked the least threatening out of everyone here.
And the similarity in age gave the siblings a false sense of safety. Or familiarity.
That's how you get killed.
They stopped in front of Aster, still looking around. Aster held onto the bars, unbothered, not sparing them a glance. The four stood in awkward silence.
Until the old man spoke, his tone warm and smiling.
He made a gesture—drawing a circle over his chest—and bowed slightly.
The shaken siblings seemed to relax, then mirrored the gesture.
Seeing that, a kind smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes.
"What are your names?"
The girl hesitated, then spoke softly.
"Laleah," she said. "And this is my brother, Naram."
Her tone was light, but her young voice carried a strength beneath—one too deep for her age, even for a Sagiga. Bolstered further by an exotic accent.
The old man nodded, his expression gentle.
"Good. Hold onto one of the thinner bars in front of you. That's why we chose this spot. The others are too thick to grip properly."
He gestured to the narrow bars near the front of the cage—slightly worn, smoothed by years of desperate hands.
"The ride is nothing if not chaotic. And painful. Comfort isn't exactly a priority."
Laleah looked at the bar, then at her brother. She guided his hand to it first, then gripped her own. Her knuckles turned white.
Aster didn't speak. He didn't need to. He'd seen enough on his own, he didn't care to inherit or sympathize in the suffering of strangers too.
The cage jolted suddenly. A warning. The griffins shifted and bellowed, wings spreading wide. Moments later, a gust of wind swept through the platform, scattering snow and dust. When it settled, none of the beasts could be seen.
Aster tightened his grip.
The old man exhaled slowly, his smile fading just a little at the sound of the heavy chains unfurling with terrifying speed.
The passengers' hearts seemed to hang on and follow as the links clinked and ascended with sounds of peeling thunder
Then came the horn—low and deep, echoing across the cliff face.
The chains snapped taut at full length. The cage lurched upwards, their legs rattled. The force of the impact sending waves of tension and sudden vertigo throughout the cage.
Somewhere behind, Aster's eyes caught the motion of another griffin. The white feathered beast diving into the rolling clouds with reckless abandon, he watched as it pulled a cage of terrified wails and screams along like a comet's tail, fading as they got farther.
Meanwhile, his own cage rocked violently. There were fewer screams than in the one behind—this one filled with hardened old-timers.
The entire rear end, including the gate itself, was packed shoulder to shoulder. While some didn't even bother to grip the bars; they just watched in silence.
Aster's feet left the floor. Wind slammed into them like a wave, cold and sharp, the griffin ascended in a steep arc. The metal groaned. The smoothed out embellishments beneath his grip grew uncomfortable as even the pillar sized bars hummed with strain.
Laleah screamed. Naram clung to her, eyes shut with terror. The old man grunted, his body swaying with the motion, but his grip held firm.
They continued to ascend. The griffins didn't exactly fly smoothly—it felt more like being caught in a struggle between two great forces.
One was the griffins themselves, fierce and determined; the other was the very air, gravity, and the invisible weight of natural law, all resisting their rise.
Roars peeled like thunder as the griffins performed their incredible feat. The sound of their mighty wings filled the air, a deafening rhythm that eventually drowned out even the wails. Time stretched—an eternity of wind and motion—yet they showed no sign of slowing.
Soon, the temperature dropped further. Endless fog swallowed their vision, for a moment. A faint ticking began overhead: ice fragments in the clouds, tapping the metal roof like brittle rain.
Clouds rushed past, brushing against the bars like soft cloth. The wind howled through the gaps, biting at exposed skin.
But almost as quickly as it appeared, they broke out of it.
With one final, defiant beat of its wings, the griffin tore through the dome of clouds.
Then—silence. A sudden hush as it pierced the final veil.
Light flooded in from all directions, and they were adrift in it—floating in a beautiful aery glow of gold and silver.
The cage swung like a pendulum, then steadied as the griffin leveled out, wings beating in slow, powerful strokes.
They were high in the open sky.
The stark change from the heart clenching rigor of ascension to the nearly noiseless tranquility of the heavens was jarring, to say the least.
The fortress below was already a memory—lost in mist and distance.
Aster exhaled slowly, his breath stolen by the cold.
The griffin's wings moved with terrifying grace, each beat sending tremors through the cage. The creature wasn't just flying—it was carving through the sky, dragging them below like a burden it barely tolerated.
The prisoners groaned. One vomited—out the bars thankfully. Another sobbed quietly. The cage rattled with every shift of the griffin's body, though not nearly as calamitous as before, the aged enchantments continued to pulse like a heartbeat.
Aster glanced at the siblings. Laleah's eyes were shut tight, her lips moving in silent prayer. Naram stared at the clouds through his sister's constricting embrace, wide-eyed and trembling.
Aster couldn't tell if the boy was afraid or just being crushed. He looked down at his own fingers—pale, fidgeting from the cold. If even he was this cold...
They couldn't be doing well. He might as well be freezing.
Not that he cared.
The old man leaned slightly toward Aster, voice low and steady.
"First time's always the worst."
Aster didn't reply. He was watching the horizon.
The sky was vast. Endless. And somewhere far below it was a field of death.