I'm here.

The wait was less than an instant; yet, more than anything that Luka Sullivan and Iolani Tori had ever wished for. Something about the night was the brightest that it could be. Eyes adjusted, as they would at every change, from light to dark and dark to light.

Wide open, Luka's eyes met that of the moon emerging from the clouds—a sight he so missed, the one he adored—filling his sky and everything that he was, as Iolani Tori often did. The latter stood before his companion, between him and the world that was cold and dark, looking almost foreign.

Nothing could encompass or contain Io's wings, spread wide like a shield that braced against the slings and arrows of Fortune. Its downy glow spanned the entire clearing from end to end—pieces of the moon, fetched from the night sky as though all he had to do was reach; attached to a back so mall, a single beat was enough to take him higher. To greater heights.

Luka! He heard him—a voice he found most familiar that pain and exhaustion settled in for his guard was lowered and the bars of his cage were limp with joy. Luka. Luka. Luka. Luka. Luka. Luka.

His head was filled with the calling of his name and the rest of the night, along with the creature in his cage, stared at the lunar wings on Iolani's back. Stunned.

Io.

His companion's back was faced towards him and he couldn't see the emotion written on his features but the beat of his heart and his frame, slight, as though the chaos of the Wind could have swept him off his feet, yet—doing his best to protect something that was more than himself.

I heard you like my company

Laughed the moon and he felt the creature within swell like it had never before, with something he knew not what it was. He felt the insane urge to soar with wings that were broken and a sky that was dark; the ability to face a war waged by Fortune and the Wind, slings and arrows, carried forth.

The breath of the night quickened with a beat, shaking broken shadows and bending trees, waking the inky darkness which Reux Yvone often encompassed. He seethed at the sight of a sparrow he thought he'd tamed, the naïve, inexperienced child he'd corrupted and stained with the colour of him.

It was infuriating.

That a child would not be taught; would be so stubborn and foolish as to dismiss the prospect of utopia and refuse to cave or be trained by his hand—

I'll be waiting.

His eyes caught a lunar smile upon the other's lips and fury flooded his cage, bending the bars and opening the gates. You disgusting child.

Reux shifted into his halve and positioned himself for a dive but there was a hand on his chest in warning and all of a sudden, there was an air of reluctance—clouded by hesitation and fear. Among the Hunters was a sparrow, a girl of lowly rank and a frame smaller than Io's. She frowned upon the fearful gazes around, snapping.

"He's one. What are we waiting for?"

There were so many of them. So many who remained hidden beneath the shadows. "But those wings...he really is the moon phoenix—"

"You're forgetting that the Pyramid doesn't matter, sweetheart." Reux drew his blade and the scent of blood filled the night almost at once. "He who refuses to be taught does not belong."

Needles of fear and loss prodded Luka's cage and prompted action before it was too late. He struggled to stand, to get between his companion and the Wind to protect him from harm, but his legs gave out to fever and exhaustion—collapsing when action was due the most.

I'm afraid I cannot disagree, admitted Io with a smile

brittle and pained.

I do not belong anywhere at all.

Luka could not disagree. It would have been the biggest mistake he could make, lying to Io was. Insisting that he belonged was the furthest understanding anyone could have of Iolani Tori, the anomaly in every tale—the oddity of every story ever told.

I thought I'd always be alone but, the moon turned to meet his friend. You kept your promise.

The sight soothed the creature within and calmed the needles in his cage. Luka struggled to keep his eyes opened and focused, fatigue weighing upon his lids and drawing him towards a darkness that was safe and sound.

I couldn't leave you alone, Io.

_________________________

The evening sun was red by the time Vaughn Alekseyev and his companions emerged from the arrival gate, fairly exhausted from a two-hour flight at full speed. Greeted at once by the record official, he interrupted all formalities with a snap and asked to see the headmaster.

"Congratulations, Mr. Alekseyev. You and Mr. Ford are among the first ten to—"

"I'm afraid I haven't the time for your well wishes, Professor." The vulture's gaze was fractured and all over the place, very much unlike his usual composure. "I need to speak to the headmaster."

His demand was sudden and out of the ordinary; beyond the walls of the Box was a night so peaceful and serene that it seemed to him as though he was looking at a different sky. The cloak of order was not one he would have liked to remove for Vaughn had spent his entire life playing the fracture in every fabric—but as much as he disliked the part, he was forced to play it again.

A single delay in action, pausing now, would make things far too late for a happy end.

Urgent, the vulture repeated himself.

"Is the headmaster in his office?"

Dmitri shifted out of his half, stowing away his wings to conserve the remaining energy he had. It wasn't a lot. "Felice is asleep. I'll take her to the tent."

"You—"

The official stopped them both, moving to stand in their way with a perplexed frown. "Hold on, hold on. I haven't got a clue what you're going on about! If you wish to speak to a member of the Order, you are doing so now. As for the headmaster, he is resting in his quarters and I believe he would not like to be interrupted—"

"And I believe you are wasting my time," snapped the vulture in return, losing his composure for a good instance before calming himself. The official appeared mildly stunned by his behaviour; an unlikely characteristic of the Vaughn he had witnessed at council meetings. "Forget it. In fact, you can forget I said anything. Goodbye."

Dmitri saw the chance for a narrow escape and slipped away at once, making his way towards the tent without notice.

"But your Marks, Alekseyev?" The official was hot on his heels, clipboard in his arms and looking confused, flustered and mad all at once. "At least hand them to me—surely you have the Joker? You know the entire council's been counting on you for a win?"

"Is that so? I wasn't aware."

The official's face was aghast. "You're...you're not serious!" He stepped in front of the vulture, struggling to level his gaze. Vaughn was a head taller. "Hand over your Marks. Hand them over."

"Sorry to disappoint," he laughed dryly, side-stepping the official. "But I have none."

"Stop. Stop fooling around this instant—the winner of the games for three consecutive years coming back empty-handed? I'd be taken for a liar, Mr. Alekseyev!"

"Then a liar you are," Vaughn smiled and it was a smile never before seen. "And unfortunately for you, I've got my hands full now."

The vulture turned away.

"And it is now that I've come to see how truly empty they've been all this while."

He shifted, taking off towards the west wing before the sun disappeared below the horizon and darkness claimed what was left behind.

*

Where he'd made a quiet entrance, torches were lit.

Flames played with his eyes that were tired and red, casting shadows that were never still over the flagged stone floors—calling upon the monsters of his mind; fearful and anxious. The hallways seem to distort with the fire. Every flicker of a flame sunk the ceiling and caved the walls, rebuilding what was lost in a second before the ground underneath his feet gave out and decided to crumble.

He wasn't lost. That much, Vaughn was sure of and yet the creature within paced with heavy feet, uncertain.

"Eve?"

Trust was an unknown abyss to a lone vulture like himself. For someone who was taught to believe faith and reliance a burden—one that he swore to never carry ever again—Vaughn had long forgotten how it felt to seek the assistance of another human being. After all, Io was not an option at present (he couldn't believe that tiny thing crossed his mind, even) and should Kirill or his mother hide the evil deed to preserve the reputation of Falrir's Order—

"Evaughn Alekseyev."

He finally looked up, having walked with his head bowed low in dangerous thoughts. "Jae? You're here. I—" He paused with a swallow, registering the slip of his tongue a second too late.

"Eve," the condor said from across the hallway, eyes narrowed. He made his way over in a couple of strides. "I didn't know you were back. Is something wrong? You're pale and—is that blood?"

The vulture looked down.

"Shit, I didn't notice."

Viktor held him by the shoulders—at arm's length—turning him left and right. "Where's the wound? Are you hurt? Let's get you to the infirmary."

"No, no. It's not my blood," Vaughn pried his step-brother's fingers away. "God, this is so messed up. I don't know where to start."

"And I've got all the time in the world to listen, so." Viktor took one final glance at the splatter of blood, relieved. "Do you need to sit down?"

"I can't, I can't. There's no time Jae," the vulture put aside his mask and felt a familiar warmth in his eyes. "It's my fault. I should have stopped him before he—skies I should have known he was a...ah fuck."

He was quiet; biting on his lips to stop the trembling and the weakness that was now naked and bare.

"Do you want to see the headmaster?"

Viktor seemed to read his mind, already showing him the way. "Must be quite the news," he laughed low. "Anything that can make my little one cry definitely is, at least."

Vaughn rolled his eyes that were wet and red.

"I'm not crying."

*

Headmaster Kirill was furious. For the girl to suggest a flaw in her elder's selection—that which was natural and in perfect order—was outrageous and lowly. In fact, he was nearing the limit of his patience with every word and every second of their presence in his office.

"Miss Jane, allow me to emphasise that your vision, the vision of a mere phoenix, is not within my realm of beliefs. My loyalties lie with Lord Falrir, the dragon of the skies, and should you raise this matter before me again, thereby suggesting His judgment inferior to your own, I'm afraid I have to ask you and your friend to leave."

Jing remained still. This, she and Cai had expected beforehand.

"Then you will be making a dangerous mistake, Professor Kirill. One that you will come to regret."

The Himalayan vulture dismissed her remark with a snort, crossing his office and opening the door. "I doubt so, child. You are forgiven and excused."

Inside, she felt the flame of a barren land burn in a cage that was empty and cold; strangely alive. No extent of effort or amount of words was going to change the course of a narrow mind. She turned to Cai, who shook his head with a sigh.

Her being the First Eye—the phoenix—did not seem to matter in the argument. Despite Kirill's proclaimed respect for the order of the Pyramid, Jing could not help but think it a convenient tool for his selective use and disposal. It seemed unbearable, quite apart from V's strict adherence to each and every ideal which she had found, at the very least, comparatively reasonable.

"Your forgiveness is unnecessary, Professor."

Footsteps. They heard them as soon as they turned to leave—quick and urgent; nearly desperate. Heads turned towards the source of the sound, just around the corridor of the headmaster's office, until two figures came into view, dark and still.

"Ah, Vaughn!"

The vulture had never seen Kirill so elated to say his worthless name and greet him as eagerly as he did. He found it mildly frightening.

"I—good evening. Sir."

The door to the headmaster's office was unexpectedly open, inviting his gaze to rest upon the other two standing aside staring at the dark stain splattered over his dress shirt. It was unusual for Jing to seek an audience with anyone, let alone Kirill himself. The student beside her however, was not someone he knew.

"As expected of a winner, you've returned so quickly," the headmaster raved, moving in front of the phoenix and her friend as though the act would remove them entirely. "All settled, then? You and Reux have the boy's Mark?"

The vulture licked his lips that were dry, unable to find the words to speak. "Not really, sir. No. I...it's something else—"

"Evaughn has important news to deliver, professor." Viktor spoke on his behalf, stepping before him and turning back with a small but oddly encouraging smile; as though he was a teacher giving his quietest student a chance to speak.

Kirill laughed, wry and amused. "And what, pray tell, could be more important than the news of Tori's fall—his defeat?"

"Sir, someone was murdered," Vaughn couldn't swallow his words no more. "I witnessed it. First hand, I did."

At once, the phoenix had the most accusatory gaze turned towards the headmaster, staring blankly as though she had picked up his soul and was examining every part of its poor and ugly feature.

Cai was the first the speak the Nocturne's name. It sounded almost like a spell now, an old, forgotten phrase that belonged in tales and books of magic and sorcery—that which Origami was. Vaughn had turned to him in fear and surprise, briefly considering the prospect of the instance being a dream and nothing more.

"How did you—"

"Liars."

There was fury and incense in the eyes of a green-eyed monster, grasping only that which was material and never the truth of the intangible; but along with the anger was a needle of fear, poignant in his gaze that wavered under the torch. "You liars."

Is this true? Viktor's voice was in his head, quiet and stunned. Castor died before your eyes?

"Professor, I could make an oath before the Lord!" The vulture saw the weakness in his words and how they were falling apart under scrutiny. Picked and scattered so easily. "You have my word—not a single lie! I...I am not a liar."

It was a first for Jing; to see the flower of sincerity unfold its petals and bloom so imperfectly. Its beauty was untold and difficult to describe but it was, perhaps, precisely this element of fragility in Vaughn's disposition that saw the opening of her windows and the bracing of the Wind.

"Common sense would tell you that he isn't," she lashed out quietly. "That blood stain on his shirt is Castor's."

"And I suppose it didn't cross your narrow mind that he killed Castor?" The headmaster jabbed a finger at the one he'd been so eager to compliment mere seconds ago. It felt like a joke, how the tables had turned against him so surely and suddenly.

"Then I suggest you listen to him before jumping to conclusions as well, professor," Viktor advised, deadly soft. "You wouldn't want to risk being called a hypocrite, after all. Would you?"

He wouldn't. As much as Kirill valued a strict adherence to the Pyramid and his beliefs, appearances topped his list of priorities and codes of conduct were, eventually, meant to be forgotten.

The headmaster breathed once, deep—suppressing the rising anger and discomfort. Needles. Knives. "If you intend to repeat what our dear phoenix has projected in her vision, then I'd ask for you to leave."

Eyes turned to Jing. "Vision?"

"Just this morning, about Slayne." She had explained it briefly, waiting for the vulture and his brother to respond.

Viktor had been a part of Falrir's Order for the longest time possible; played the role of a firm believer as far as the term could mean as well. Yet, he wasn't so narrow minded as to have his vision tunnelled towards the light that Falrir, the Lord dragon, had promised—quite unlike the others who have. Despite his beliefs, Viktor remained largely open to anything that differed from his own.

A contest between ideals did not necessarily mean the rightness of one over the other. It only meant the existence of conscious and intricate minds independent of his own, with novel and original thoughts that could be processed and subjected to his own.

After all, an open mind made for the furthering of one's knowledge, and disregarding the opinions of others outside one's beliefs was foolish, if not immature.

He asked for the phoenix to repeat her vision, which she did. Condensed and summarized.

Viktor turned to his brother for confirmation, only to see that he was pale and greatly startled. Oddly enough, he could feel the creature in his cage pace at the rare sight of Vaughn's fear, raw and naked.

"It...it is," he managed, staring into space—stunned. "It is, exactly what she said."

It thus cleared his doubts and confirmed the headmaster's lack of reasoning, clouded by the opacity of his own ideals and beliefs. His unwillingness to bend was furthered by the fear of admitting to his own severe misjudgement, which would only serve to tarnish his reputation and ruin his career.

"You cannot be serious," said Kirill, tight-lipped and distraught. Of everyone else, it had to be the sons of Verity Ann, the only one of his kind he so feared. He feared her constant lurking in the darkness, waiting for an opportune moment to pounce on her prey; he feared her ability to capitalize on every crack in the system and turn the winds in her favour. "Verity must be behind all this."

He could not let this go out.

The prospect of the Order being filled with extremist Hunters was enough to strike fear and distrust in all that they were, potentially destroying the sacred faith and belief in an instant.

"Sorry to disappoint, professor," a red-tailed hawk descended from the clocktower's entrance and shifted before his land. "But it is as they suggest."

"Faustes." Viktor appeared mildly surprised. "You were eavesdropping?"

He snorted. "Wouldn't call that eavesdropping if you guys were speaking so loudly. Voices from the hallway carry their way up there. Great timing though," he admitted, turning to the phoenix and her friend. "One of my officials reported to me saying that she found a body. Tenner and the others are with her now."

"And the killer?" Vaughn prompted at once, eyes searching those of the hawk for a sign of darkness. "Reux?"

"As of now, we have yet to confirm his identity," Faustes admitted truthfully and Kirill was torn between relief and maintaining his guard. "We'll be needing witnesses like yourself, regardless. Jane—that includes you as well."

She nodded, satisfied with the response that was expected of the deputy headmaster. "We will be dispatching search and safety groups then? The students need to be warned." All eyes turned to Kirill at once.

The Himalayan vulture fell short of a sigh, exhaling sharply before refusing to look at the four who'd attempted to sway his boundaries.

"Professor. As far as I know, predators could be dying by the minute. Refusing to send help at this stage would go against the values of the pyramid, I'm sure." And now, five.

The headmaster fixed his deputy a red-eyed glare before snapping at last.

"Dispatch a search group. Icarus's would do."

"Icarus is a youth member of the Order," Faustes continued, on a roll. Even Jing was surprised. "We cannot risk dispatching a biased leader."

"And you, of everyone else, would know everything," Kirill seethed under his breath. "What then, do you suggest?"

_____________________________

The night had its whispers and it was carried in the wind, past the open windows of a room and heard by a boy who was alone.

Utako Jiro looked up from his book, rising to hear the whispers of the wind before drawing towards the door. The floor below was abuzz for some reason, as though the predators lurking below had never left their rooms and were heading towards the common room—as they would every night—for the latest gossip and news.

The nightingale left his post and crossed the corridor before peering below the banister, confirming his conjectures.

They were back. And talking fairly loudly, at that.

Jiro observed something apart from the usual air of jokes and laughter, replaced by morbid curiosity and a hunger for stories—novel and interesting.

It did not strike him then. Nothing special did, apart from the sudden worry that his predator was waiting for him at the arrival gate, wondering where he was. That was enough to make the nightingale panic and hurry back to his predator's room, grabbing the welcome sign that he'd pieced together and a marker just in case he needed to write on the back of it.

He flew out of the room and down the stairs, fingers passing through his hair in attempt to make himself slightly more presentable than before. The voices he heard were loud, curious, and excited all at once, further fuelling his anticipation having heard of an 'early end'.

Slayne must have been pleased with the news. The season games had never sat well with the creature in his cage, and the unprecedented early end of it would have made a pleasant surprise.

The nightingale walked a little faster, eager to see his predator in a good mood.

*

The first thing he saw was not Slayne.

When Jiro finally found his way towards the arrival gate (it changed with every new season, like always), signboard and marker in hand, he was met with a bare field and a medical tent not far to the right of it. There were loud voices coming from inside and the thought of everything being amplified crossed his mind for a second.

Today was unexceptionally loud.

He approached the gate with tentative steps, gaze searching for a ball of white in the chilly darkness. There was none. Slightly relieved that his predator hadn't been waiting for him, he knelt on the grass beside a tree and waited for him instead. Content.

More noises followed suit, drawing his attention.

A stretcher, held up by two people whom he did not recognize, emerged from the Box. Several other Winged came into view—familiar faces. It was the osprey and the harpy eagle, classmates of his predator. He waved but they did not notice him by the tree.

Excited and in anticipation of the one he so missed, Jiro gathered his belongings and tottered closer.

The first thing that he saw—and made him stop in his tracks—however, was Luka Sullivan. The golden eagle was laid across the stretcher, eyes half-lidded and tired. Jiro observed open wounds and the colour crimson all over his predator's friend and was in shock at once. His gaze followed the other who came into view, anxious to see his predator and Io as well.

It hurt enough to see the eagle so exhausted and injured to such an extent; Io must be feeling infinite levels of pain at this rate. Jiro was afraid to admit that something was terribly wrong. That a predator had sustained such severe wounds and injuries was abnormal and terrifying at best.

He held the sign a little higher, hoping to catch the attention of his predator. He would ask him what happened then, and comfort Io. Then, he would pay a visit to the infirmary and perhaps give Luka some of his favourite snacks if his master allowed.

Then, it was Io on a stretcher and the nightingale was, by far, frightened. It seemed to him that the night and the Wind were closing in around the light of his day, coiling around his neck and clouding his mind as he braced against it all.

Vaughn Alekseyev trudged past the arrival gate—a distance apart from the rest who'd entered first—feet heavy from leading the search team that Jing had dispatched on his behalf. It had been the longest night of his life; his clothes stained with dry blood and his vision shrouded until it caught a moving item in its periphery which he angled his head slightly to observe.

'Welcome Home'

Their gazes met by accident, Jiro's and Vaughn's. And for the first time in ever—in eternity or forever—a predator was the first to avert his gaze.

The vulture lowered his head and turned away from the last person he could look in the eye, watching as Shri, Aaqil and Lucienne helped Luka and Io into the medical tent. They were received by Dmitri, who, for once, did not wear an expression of careless joy and laughter.

There was an air that was heavy; an air of immense fear and helpless grief that tied one's feet to the earth and rooted the darkness where seeds were sowed. Of everyone else, it had to be him who would face the nightingale and the chaos of the Wind—he who had witnessed the death of his master, the closing of his windows.

Months ago, Vaughn Alekseyev would have disregarded the guilt of inaction that stirred within his cage and threatened to wake the creature within. At present, he let it wake; unable to leave sorrow and grief behind any longer and move on without its burden. It compelled him to turn and face the nightingale. A bitter taste on his tongue and redness in his eyes.

It was a natural reaction for prey to take a step back in panic, considering that no predator would approach the other without a reason or purpose. His master would not hesitate to hurt them if they did. Either way, Vaughn had never presented himself as an approachable other—prey only ever witnessed his smiles that were false, meant to lure and to trap.

What proved to be a greater shock was the expression of pain written over the vulture's face, as though his cage contained more than it could afford.

The pair were silent.

Unable to hold his gaze any longer, the nightingale leaned to his right and peered behind the vulture, eyes still in search of his predator. Vaughn could not bear the sight of Jiro's insistence; his faith and his anticipation. His tragedy. His love.

The vulture took him by the shoulders, stopping the smaller frame from moving and looking behind. He felt like crying himself.

"He's not coming."

The night froze over upon his whisper and Jiro stared hard, stared up at the vulture—searching for any sign of an act, a façade, a lie. His fingers tightened around the sign he was holding up.

Seconds passed and still, there was no sign of a lie or of Vaughn releasing his shoulders and so the nightingale began his struggle.

Vaughn stilled his squirming by tightening his grip on his shoulders. "Don't make a scene," he begged, lowering his voice; not wishing to attract the attention of everyone else around. "Please."

Jiro refused, ducking and twisting out of the vulture's grasp, sprinting towards the gate with the sign in his arms tight against his chest but Vaughn caught up in several strides and held on to the back of his shirt to stop him, just before the nightingale entered the Box and the clock struck three, the heart of the night. The gate began its close.

To the nightingale, his world had started on its path to a close. He turned, fist connecting with the vulture's chest once, twice—three times. They didn't hurt very much, or so Vaughn thought until he saw the look on the nightingale's face for all of a sudden, there was too much pain to conceive and too much grief hold. The nightingale broke, speaking for the first time. "Where is he? Where is he?"

The wind was loud.

Vaughn's eyes followed the last few who'd made it in before the gate's complete close. Jeremiah, Cai and two other officials had slipped past in a narrow instance, carrying a stretcher concealed by white, identity unknown but his gaze was the answer—and Jiro followed it like a pet at the order of its master.

For a while, he stood quite still, watching as the stretcher was carried past them and towards the medical tent.

Then, it clicked and the sign in his arms fell to the earth and he screamed the name of his master who would no longer return—the sound reaching the skies but never the one who yearned to hear it the most and never again.

The sound was long and broken, as though the creature within was breathing its last and struggling to keep itself together.

It was the sound of human beings, left behind.

______________________________

A/N: I hope I wrote that decently well, up to your standards, at least. :') The anticipation of Jiro's grief was heavy and the expectations to pull off something insanely emotional had built up for some time. I hope I met those expectations.

I was thinking if I should continue off from here next week (filling in the details of how Jing and Cai managed to stop Reux and help Io and Luka find their way out of the darkness), but I've been contacted by Inkitt the past week and I've decided to create a solo book for 'Adventures of Flight Crew' and 'Flight School: Lore'.

The following books will be available on Wattpad starting tomorrow!

Adventures of Flight Crew: this book will be a compilation of the #1, #2, #3 and #4 adventures and further on. #5 will be uploaded a few days before Valentine's (it's a Valentine's special) and the rest of their adventures will feature holiday/season ideas along with other fun activities that these dorks do.

Flight School: Lore: this book is a compilation of everyone's backstories, from Sylvain & Falrir's to Jing's, to Jiro & Slayne's. I've got more planned (namely Faustes' and Callaghan's, Luka's and Dmitri's), which will all be uploaded to this book and removed from the series so as to not disrupt the flow of the plot ^^

I'm looking to explain more about the Wind and answering some of your questions in the last Intentions, before the book ends in about 3 chapters. Do post your queries here, at this sentence, and I'll do my best to answer them in the next Intentions. Anything about imagery, symbolism, why this why that, what does it all mean because everything in this book means something and its insane how it does.

As always, I'm in love with your comments and feedback and every emotion you shed with my words. See you next week.

-Cuppiecake.