Wraithwood Botanist

B2 - R: Chapter 5 - The Bramble

Aiden expected to wretch after watching the rider die, but he didn’t. Whatever he drank made his mind sharp, bold even—confident as he watched. Everan wasn’t feeling so confident. His face had deep lines as he stared at dead air as if his ambitions and all the requests and money he spent on Aiden (like an idiot, Aiden would add) were going down the drain. It was annoying.

Brexton felt the same way. He looked at the sharply dressed man with a sneer.

"Can you... not... do that? Aiden’s mount was born in that forest. It ruled the Bramble. He doesn’t even needa fly. Once we convince the vraxle, it’ll take care of the rest."

Aiden nodded as if it were settled, unaware of how bold he was.

Brexton turned away from Everan’s pouting expression and sneered at the Legacy Families.

"What?" Aiden asked.

"Just look at ’em. Kid just died, and they’re pissed they shamed them. Can you believe that shit?"

Aiden looked and found people in the same robes as the rider. They had red faces, looking down and trembling, furious, embarrassed—ashamed. When the image of their son was shown, they refused to look. They just left as families snickered.

"Are you being serious?" Aiden asked, mouth agape.

Brexton pulled out a strange root and put it into his mouth, chewing on it like a dog gnawing a bully stick. His cheeks flushed with color, and his shoulders relaxed. "Welcome to the Legacies."

He offered the flask to Aiden. Aiden accepted it.

2.

I was surprised when the camera switched to a scrawny man in the legacy crowd—clearing wearing Earthian attire. He was conspicuously out of place, but his expression was remarkably bold for his appearance, and there was disgust plastered on his face as he talked to a sharply dressed teen around nineteen. It was a strange POV.

Then, the camera flipped away as if he were an afterthought, showing the next competitor.

This woman looked far better off. She was wearing green and silver armor and rode a bird that looked far... sturdier than the other. It had an exterior that looked like a jagged wasteland of broken rocks, each sharp as an arrow. Looking at it was uncomfortable.

The crowd was going wild, and the families were all looking at her green-clad family members.

Then, her run began.

My heart thrummed when the bird launched off faster than the other, like a spaceship rocketing to outer space. It crested the gate in seconds but didn’t attack. It stayed in the Third Domain, examining the scene.

To my surprise, the POV switched from the rider to the animal’s eyes, zooming in to see rustling canopies and signs of blood from the tendrils that ate the other flier.

"Wait... is that just the camera? Lithco. Is that just a camera’s POV? Or is she using its eyes?"

"That is a skill," Lithco said. "I cannot tell you more without a beast-taming book or skill."

"Seriously?" I muttered. "So I can—"

The rider suddenly shot past the gate, still borrowing the bird’s eyes. A dark plume of birds engulfed her, like flies separating from a rotting carcass. She weaved, drilling one with its beak and flying forward. A few strays clamped onto the mount but screeched when they touched the steely barbs on its exterior.

A volcanic eruption of poison mist abruptly rocketed in front of her. She veered to the right, hitting a cloud of birds—forced to dip into the trees.

Tendrils shot at her, grabbing the bird, but the exterior cut through the plants like paper, and the gray "feathers" heated like a forged blade, searing off the rest.

It all happened so fast. Crashing limbs. Shooting tendrils. Seering plants. Smoke and birds. It was the most intense chase scene I had ever seen, but the rider didn’t give up, moving between tree trunks, circling around, avoiding ominous fog—kicking up swirls of gas as she moved.

A POV switch showed the crowd going wild, hopping up and down and spilling drinks and hugging. A close-up of the woman’s family, wearing the same green crest, stood stone-faced and unimpressed.

Yeah, Aiden said, switching to telepathy. That’s because things have "changed." Last time, I asked you if you wanted to fly just to fly. Now, I’m asking if you want to fly and shame every last one of the fuckers that chained you down—because I do!

The wyvern faced Aiden head-on and sniffed. Then, he looked at Brexton. What’d you give him?

Drugs. Brexton drank from his flask and shook it. Want some?

"Drugs?" Aiden cried, turning to him. A flat hand against his chest told him how fast his heart was beating. It felt like car tires bumping over a storm drain, rumbling instead of pumping. He clenched his hand and barely felt it. It was like he was walking on a cloud of rage. "How? You’ve been drinking that all day!"

"Uh... yeah. Getting rough there at the end. Had to cheat." He stuck out his tongue, and the root he was chewing on popped out.

Everen turned to Brexton with a bewildered gaze. It was clear that he wasn’t in on the plan. To Brexton Claustra, clever businessman Everen was a basic pawn.

The wyvern looked between them. Unbelievable, he said. He turned to Aiden, who was having a panic attack. Leave this place. I refuse to aid you in this foolish endeavor. He turned to Brexton. And drop this waste on the way out.

Brexton clicked his tongue three times, wagging his finger. Wouldn’t get too testy, Halten, he said telepathically. Not to be there bearer of bad news, but this guy’s a bit fucked if you don’t help ’em out. He became pretty famous after people learned about his quest; now, he’s done made a scene in front of the whole legacy assembly. Damn near offended all of ’em on live stream in this... drugged-up frenzy of his. Bad look. If he drops the Claustra... well... he’s pretty defenseless, now ain’t he? And if he doesn’t have any value to us, well, we just might drop him.

Aiden’s heart rattled on, ice water pumping through his veins. So much suddenly made sense, true or false, like clarity mining gold from paranoia. He made connections to things that were unconnected, mind looping in an endless conspiracy theory, unsure where the truth ended, and the lies began. It was almost as if—

Aiden!

A sharp hypnotic call reverberated in Aiden’s mind, and suddenly, he felt a split second of sobriety. He looked up and saw the vraxle—Halten, as Brexton called him—staring at him.

What?

Can you think?

Uh... yeah.

Can you... hold on?

Probably not.

We have special harnesses, Brexton said, smiling brightly.

I refu... Halten looked at Aiden. Once. On the terms we agreed upon. Silver contract based upon intention. Life pact. I want you dead if you haven’t already negotiated this... deal.

Assuming there’s no change in the rules... Deal.

Aiden didn’t know what deal they made earlier, but he could tell they were serious because they created a life pact. It was only once it was over that Aiden realized that he would soon be flying, or at least be bolted onto a wyvern’s back. Everything was moving so fast.

Halten studied the Claustra boy, heart plunged with a sharp blade of hatred. The human Aiden was a fool, but his feeble mind was pure. He spent days simply trying to organize a day where Halten could fly, and Halten had lived long enough to tell when someone was lying—and he wasn’t.

The human Aiden was also honest. He treated Halten like a human, as if it were only natural, speaking to him honestly and spending long periods in silence. He didn’t seem like someone who would ever spend more time with humans than necessary.

Yet here he was, drugged and manipulated—threatened, coerced, and blindsided due to his ignorance of the cruelty of this world—and Halten cared.

He actually cared.

Perhaps it was just because he was angry at the world and its people and his treatment, but being treated well once in the last century had left a deep impression on Halten that he couldn’t forget.

If he could fly again and repay the kindness, he would.

Then, he would return to his prison and wait for death, forever upholding the promise he made to Brindle Grask countless millennia ago.