Beneath the broken sky

Ashes before dawn

The town had been dead quiet since after dusk. A hollow kind of silence. No wind, no footsteps, only the faint buzz of fireflies lighting up the night dimly.

Hyperion knew before the first scream that something was wrong. He could feel it. The air pressed too tightly against his skin, his senses flickering like candles in fog.

Then came the roar.

The ground tore open near the town square, stone splitting like dry bark. The thing that crawled out of the fissure wasn't a beast, but an abomination; A first-grade chimera, all muscle, bone and madness. Its forelimbs were thick as tree trunks, veins pulsing with dark fluid. Four eyes burned red through the dust, and its breath steamed with a stench that curdled the air with no thought but pure maddened hunger.

The roar had awakened all of us, as we raced out of the tent. "Formation!" barked Orren, the oldest mage on the team. His hands flared yellow as a barrier surged upward, wrapping us in a shimmering dome of fast moving air

"Barrier's thin, it's not keeping that thing at bay!" Mara shouted. It's coming at us fast.

The chimera slammed against the dome, and the barrier was ripped to shreds like silk.

Hyperion didn't speak. He had already drawn light into his palms, threads of white weaving up his arms. Magic surged through his limbs, tightening his muscles, sharpening his focus. He stepped forward just as the barrier shattered.

Orren launched a bolt of compressed air that tore a line through the creature's shoulder, but didn't slow it down. The chimera's counterblow smashed into Mara, flinging her across the square like a doll. She didn't rise.

"Sera, flank it!" Orren yelled through gritted teeth.

Sera sprinted left, using enhancement to boost her speed, but the monster was faster, impossibly fast for its size. It spun, tail snapping like a steel whip. Her density augmented skin wasn't enough. The sound when she hit the wall was final.

Orren cursed, drawing in magical energy till his veins glowed. "Hyperion! Help me pin it!"

Hyperion didn't answer. He was already moving. He dashed forward, light flashing beneath his boots, his blade; a pitch black weapon of onixium, slicing at the chimera's side. The strike landed clean, burning into flesh, but the beast barely flinched. Its hide steamed, the wound pulsing like molten metal before sealing over.

"Regeneration," Hyperion muttered. "Of course."

The chimera roared, a sound that made ears ring and bones buzz. It lunged, claws gouging into the ground. Hyperion leapt back, releasing a pulse to redirect him midair. The ground where he'd stood exploded.

"My fortitude isn't enough to last through this fight" Orren cursed under his breath. Sweat ran down his face; his spells flickered unstable.

"Fall back," Hyperion said to orren, but his voice couldn't get to orren fast enough.

The chimera moved first, blinding speed for something that big. Orren's wind barrier faltered under its force again, but Hyperion darted in, light flaring from his palm. The blast scorched its arm, buying a second as he pushed orren away.

Three steps forward, pivot and a slash. His blade burned a white line across the creature's chest. It screamed, claws tearing through a nearby tree as it struck back. The hit flung Hyperion into a half-fallen wall, his ribs lit with pain.

He pushed up, breath ragged. Light shimmered under his skin as he forced his muscles to obey. Across the square, Orren tried to restrain the beast again.

"Orren, down!" Hyperion snapped. The man ducked.

"Piercer."

A thin beam of light lanced through one of the chimera's eyes. It howled, blood spraying, but more eyes opened, furious and alive.

Before Hyperion could move, its tail impaled Orren clean through. The body hit the ground with a dull sound that stopped everything for a breath.

Hyperion's expression didn't change. The air bent as his aura thickened.

He vanished, then reappeared on its flank, blade cutting a radiant crescent. The chimera roared, slamming into walls, but Hyperion stayed close, driving his sword into the core of it's heart.

The beast collapsed, crushing the street beneath it. Hyperion staggered clear, watching the light fade from his blade.

When the shaking stopped, silence returned. Only the crackle of dying fires and the smell of iron remained.

He looked at Orren's body. "You were a good leader," he muttered. "Fate doesn't seem to favour you, any of you, he said as he looked at all his teammates that lay lifeless"

By morning, the fires had burned out. The square was nothing but ash, cracked stone, and three mounds of earth. Hyperion stood before them in silence, arms crossed, eyes hollow.

He'd dug the graves himself. No spells, no shortcuts. Just his hands, the dirt, and time.

The village chief approached slowly, hat in hand. "I'm… I'm sorry for your losses. They saved us. The whole town owes them."

"They were good people," Hyperion said flatly, cutting him off. "Didn't deserve to die, but they weren't my friends."

The man hesitated. "Then who..."

"Two people," Hyperion murmured. "And neither of them are here."

He turned away, brushing the soil from his hands. The rising sun glinted off his golden hair, lighting his shadow against the ruins.

"Still," he said, almost to himself, "it's about time I went back."

He slung his sheathed sword over one shoulder, walked into what remained of his tent, took a satchel and walked toward the distant hills.

Up high, at the ridge overlooking the ruined town, a figure watched, clad in black, face hidden beneath a hood. When Hyperion passed below, the figure's lips twisted into a slow, knowing grin.

"Interesting," the stranger whispered.

***

After an hour of alternating between running and walking through the tangled forests and narrow dirt paths, Hyperion finally reached the port of Cyadne. The sun had long since sunk behind the world's curve.

The port itself was modest. A pretty arrangement of dark brown bricks, with black designs etched all over. Behind a counter sat a woman whose posture spoke of long hours and longer patience.

"I want to get to Medes," Hyperion said, his voice low, carrying the fatigue of the road.

"Welcome to this humble facility," she replied with a practiced smile. "I'm Jedidiah. A carriage will cost you one hundred cowries, or two hundred for the Typhoon, at your own risk, of course."

"The Typhoon," he answered simply, already fishing the cowries from his satchel.

The Typhoon was not transport in the usual sense. It was a sphere of crystallized magic. A tool for those whose strength could withstand the brutal speed and sudden stop it entailed. Few people used it.

Jedidiah led him through a narrow corridor and into an open chamber. There was no ceiling, no roof. A group of tired-looking operators worked around an arcane contraption, adjusting levers and stabilizers as the air began to crackle with energy.

"Get in," one of them grunted, a broad man whose arms were thick and vascular.

Without complaint, Hyperion stepped inside as the operators completed their work. The sphere solidified around him in a hum of violet light. The world compressed, then vanished.

In less than three seconds, he was thrown across the sky, a living projectile wrapped in light. He clenched his focus, using magical rotation control to keep himself upright as the world blurred into a stream of distorted color.

Then, impact.

The landing was violent but brief, the noise strangely muted. The local transport agency must have dampened the sound magically to avoid disturbing the nearby settlements. The crystalline shell around him shattered like glass, dispersing harmlessly into the air.

Hyperion straightened, brushing the dust from his cloak, and continued on foot. His destination lay beyond the forest edge, a place he had not visited in years.

The path to Medes was cloaked in mist and lined with great trees whose roots bulged like the backs of ancient beasts. By the time he reached the clearing, his clothes were soaked with dew, his boots heavy with mud.

At the heart of the clearing stood a small stone cottage overrun with vines and white lilies. And before it, as if she had been waiting the whole time, stood a woman in a plain white gown, her expression both bright and mischievous.

"You look good," she said, smiling wide as she hurried toward him. "How long has it been since you came? You've even grown taller than me now!"

Hyperion sidestepped her attempted embrace, placing a light hand on her shoulder instead.

"Still with this?" she sighed dramatically. "You have no friends, no lover, and yet you still refuse to give your own mother a hug. What are you ashamed of?"

"I don't think I need shame as an excuse to outgrow hugs," he replied dryly. "How's life treating you out here?"

"Oh, lonely as ever," she said, folding her arms in mock frustration. "But then again, it might have something to do with the fact that my only child insists on being a nomad."

"I'm not a nomad," he countered. "I just prefer to call it wandering in pursuit of purpose. It sounds nobler that way."

She raised a brow. "I hope you've brought me some good stories this time."

He smirked faintly, for the first time in days. "I have a few worth telling. Let me inside first, then I'll regale you with the tale of my thrilling escapades."