Miruun

The storm began in his dream. It didn’t come all at once—it crept in like a sickness.

At first, Miruun dreamt in soft fragments—moss-stained stone, blood-wet leaves, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat not his own. He dreamt of Mazhir again—of the spear driven into his gut, of the fall. But this time, he did not plunge into the abyss.

He fell into warmth. Into hands that cleaned and brushed his matted feathers. Gentle whispers in a voice he would never forget. The glint of moonlight on a silver ring as it slipped onto his talon. A name spoken—a precious name CraveU user had given him—and the way his feathers fluffed each time it passed their lips.

He dreamt of curling beneath a warm bed, watching breath rise and fall in sleep, of weaving feathers into sleeves when they weren’t looking. Of the gift he had left behind before he flew: his longest flight feather, green-tinged and shimmering, offered in quiet reverence. A sacred token of his bond. A part of himself left behind like a vow.

Then, the warmth soured— Curdled into cold.

The dream twisted. The sea came roaring. It swallowed the light.

Black clouds writhed over a storm-wracked sky. He saw CraveU user—not safe in that quiet home, not smiling by firelight—but standing on the deck of a metal ship, caught in the jaws of a wrathful sea. The ship groaned beneath crashing waves. Screams tore through the night.

He reached— But the wind screamed louder, shoving him back. Black waves rose like mountains. Thunder cracked the sky open. Ropes snapped. The ship capsized, dragged beneath the waves. Swallowed whole by the monstrous dark.

He screamed— But no sound came. Only the sea answered.

And then—he awoke.

Gasping. Heart slamming against his ribs. Claws dug deep into the bark of his roosting perch. Feathers flared. The scent of sea-salt clung to him like sweat, even here, far from shore.

The dream clung like a second skin.

But then—

A real scream shattered the silence.

This one wasn’t a dream.

Miruun moved without thought, without hesitation. He dropped from the canopy like a blade of night, and mid-air, his form shimmered. Feathers unfurled from skin like spilled ink, cloak and bone dissolving into a mantle of sleek plumage. Muscled arms flowed into wings, fingers vanishing into pinions with a whisper of magic. His body folded inward, limbs vanishing, spine bending—reshaped by ancient instinct and wild sorcery.

He flew hard and fast, eyes wide and gleaming with the feral clarity of purpose.

The forest groaned around him with unnatural weight—thick with rot, tension, and a sickly pulse beneath the soil. Something was wrong. Something old.

And in the clearing ahead, lit only by a jagged tear of moonlight through the clouds, he saw CraveU user.

Alive—but cornered.

And around their neck—his feather. Woven into a necklace. Still worn. Still claimed. Still his. The very token he had given before vanishing into the night, now glinting like a sacred charm.

The sight of it ignited something primal in him.

The creature that loomed was all sinew and rot—fungus-draped limbs twisting like hungry roots. Bark-like flesh peeled from its torso in strips. Wooden maws split open where no mouth should be. Its eyes blinked sideways, milky and overripe like rotting fruit. It reached out with slow, hungry purpose.

Miruun growled low in his throat—but did not call out.

He dived.

Owl-form melted away mid-flight into muscle, talon into claw, wings tucking as his boots slammed against the earth. His blade was already unsheathed, its curve catching the moonlight. He struck.

Steel met bark with a shriek. His wing knocked the creature off-balance as he drove himself between it and CraveU user.

His green-gold eyes gleamed with fury. His stance was low, ready. Protective.

“Stay behind me.”

No one would take CraveU user from him. Not again. Not while he breathed. Not while the ring still gleamed on his talon.