Rudra was falling from the sky.
The ground was now as dark as the sky, swallowing whatever edge should have separated one from the other, making it feel like Rudra was falling through an endless void- no horizon, no up, no down, just the sensation of speed and the growing certainty that it would end badly.
Wind screamed past him, tearing at the ridges of his scales, forcing his eyes into slits against the pressure of it- it rushed past his ears so fast that it had a weight to it now, a physical thing shoving against his skull.
He knew he should be alarmed — probably only a few seconds were left before he crashed into the ground. His wings, although spread, didn't help much to slow his fall.
His wings, although spread, didn't help much to slow his fall.
The creature on top of him made sure of that.
It had its talons dug into the flesh of his chest. It hadn't wasted the rare second Rudra had spent shocked and frozen after noticing its eyes — eyes that looked brown and soft, like his mother's had been.
And for a moment, Rudra hadn't minded dying at the hands of a creature whose eyes were warm like his mother's had been.
Then he heard the scream.
It was Nayan.
She had been on Rudra's back all this time. He felt her scrambling against his scales, fingers grasping for a ridge to hold — anything to grip tighter, to keep from sliding off the sloped plane of his back as the world spun and the wind tried to peel her away. And now that Rudra was falling, she was beneath him — fated to be crushed to a splat if Rudra hit the ground.
Rudra started fighting again. Not for himself, but for Nayan. His draconic form moved by itself — the instinct of a predator who had never lost a fight taking over. He twisted mid-air, letting the creature tear out a chunk of his flesh, because it didn't matter — he would heal anyway.
What mattered was that he was free.
He didn't follow any tactic, any cunning method of strangling an avian creature as big as a dragon mid-air. Because there was none. He slammed his whole weight against the creature, sending it tumbling away quarter a mile before he did what he was best at doing.
Raining down fire.
The only "tactic" he cared about was whatever involved not having Nayan burn from the sheer heat of his fire while he roasted the overgrown chicken before it could bite his head off.
The birdlike creature screeched — sounding less like it was hurt and more like it was annoyed, as if getting showered by dragon-fire — fire hot enough to melt iron walls — was a mere inconvenience it didn't feel like dealing with every weekend. It twisted its body, wings covering its face, and started closing the distance, giving Rudra the opening he needed. Because now, the creature was more focused on saving its head from Rudra's fire than protecting its sight.
Abruptly, Rudra stopped breathing fire, creating a miniscule gap of disorientation — the kind one feels when suddenly plunged into darkness after staring at something too bright. He beat his wings hard, once, climbing several hundred feet above the creature, and then slammed his entire weight down onto its back.
No matter how strong a monster you were, having a 400 ft dragon weighing thousands of tons crash down on you was bound to make you lose your balance — and in this particular situation, plummet to the ground at a considerably alarming speed.
The creature screamed — still not scared, never scared, but more offended. Insulted, even. It twisted its neck, snapping at Rudra's talons with an impossibly sharp beak, one Rudra had no doubt could snap off one or two of his fingers.
He should burn its face. He should.
But those damn brown eyes...
And then he heard a roar. Not his. Not the creature's. But Nayan's. He felt her feet slapping against his scales as she ran the length of his neck and head, and lunged forward.
Then she vaulted and dropped, sinking her sword clean into the creature's eye.
The creature screeched, feeling real pain for the first time.
But so did Rudra. "Wraaahh!"
The fountain of blood rising from the creature's eye hit Nayan's face, then Rudra's talons. The creature abandoned all sorts of fighting tactics and surrendered to gravity. Rudra barely managed to enclose his talon securely around Nayan before beating his wings to slow their fall. But it wasn't enough. As the ground closed in, Rudra pulled Nayan closer and turned onto his belly, his wings spreading — not to fly, but as a protective barrier.
The sheer impact sent a cloud of dust over the entire forest of Perma.
For a few seconds, it was absolutely quiet. Then Rudra felt movement. Then they heard the awful screeches.
That thing. Was still alive.
Rudra told his body to move. Carefully, he opened his talon, letting Nayan roll off before he tried to take his stand. There were no wounds on his back, but there were on his wings. He stretched them, testing their strength, and found it wanting.
He looked up to see the creature high above, beating its wings and looking down at Rudra and Nayan — probably calculating risk. Nayan's sword was still lodged in one of its eyes.
Rudra didn't roar. He just made a sound at the back of his throat that vibrated his chest and made the dirt and rubble around them dance, like they'd been hit by a mini earthquake. A warning.
For a second, Rudra thought it would attack.
But then it turned its beak and beat its wing hard — making Rudra feel it like a gust of wind from the ground beneath — as it journeyed toward the east sky.
Rudra knew he should keep an eye on it as long as he could, making sure it didn't suddenly turn, changing its mind about the unspoken draw.
But he needed to check on Nayan.
She was fine. By fine, he meant alive. Mostly. Her clothes were in tatters. Blood marred her forehead and hair. There were long gashes on her arms.
"Wraaghooh ooorraah?" Rudra asked her. Are you okay?
She didn't answer. Not at least for a long time. And then she whispered, "Ma. You called it Ma."
Her tone wasn't accusing, or even curious, which made it so much worse. It gave him no window for an excuse as she looked up at him with eyes that looked like they could see right into his soul — at the five-year-old boy standing by the opening at the end of the corridor in his private quarters in Ashkavar Castle, not looking up, but looking down at the floor, as his mother insisted she was going to the moon before she leaped off the edge.
It made him feel exposed, more than even that time he had been pinned to the examination bed by the Royal Healer Saroth and treated as a mere specimen.
It made him feel exposed in a way he had thought was never possible.
"Why did you call it your mother, Rudra?"