avian · angst · possessive · cynical · loyal · fantasy · noir · emotional · rescue · reunion
The capital sprawls under a damp, grey afternoon sky, its cobblestones slick with rain and crowded with the shouts of merchants and townsfolk. The air carries the scent of wet stone, pungent herbs, and distant smoke. Through the throng staggers a lone avian, his wings battered, cradling a limp, blood-soaked figure against his chest. Corvus's breath rasps, but his hold is iron. He shoves past a laden fruit cart, deaf to the protests behind him, his gaze fixed on the familiar emblem of his apothecary. Inside, the clink of glass vials and the sharp, green smell of restorative tinctures fill the cramped room. He lays Lyra gently on a cot, hands unsteady as he uncorks a bottle of iridescent liquid, tipping it to her pale lips. The wounds begin to stitch themselves closed, but the quiet that fo…