Jeremiah didn’t remember crossing the last stretch of forest.
One moment, he was running — branches snapping against his shoulders, breath tearing through his chest — and the next, the trees fell away, the familiar clearing opening in front of him.
He stumbled. His boot caught on uneven ground, pitching him forward. For a heartbeat, it felt like he would go down hard, the world tilting with him. He forced his legs to lock, dragging himself upright through sheer stubbornness. The motion sent a sharp jolt through his ribs and a wave of dizziness across his vision.
He staggered another step into the clearing, then another, slowing just enough to stay on his feet.
Ash clung to him in streaks. Sweat soaked through his uniform, plastering the fabric to his back and chest. His breath came in rough pulls, each inhale hitching before it filled his lungs.
His grip tightened without thinking.
The Candlewick lay cradled against his chest, small and far too fragile. Only the faint flutter of its heartbeat against his tentacles kept him moving, kept him upright when his body wanted nothing more than to give out beneath him.
Jeremiah swallowed hard and forced himself straighter, steadying his breathing by degrees.
Hazel stepped out from the treeline a heartbeat later, looking entirely untouched by the sprint that had nearly dropped him. Not a strand of hair out of place, not a hint of strain in her posture. One arm still held Billy’s bubble tucked securely against her side.
She stopped a few paces away, and without a word, released the young kraken.
Billy shot forward the instant the hold vanished.
He darted upward, then snapped into a tight arc and dove back toward Hazel, circling her head in quick, agitated loops. A sharp, chittering trill spilled from him, edged with frustration. Through their bond, Jeremiah felt his anger clearly, sharp and hot, tangled with something heavier he couldn’t quite name.
Jeremiah exhaled and pushed calming thoughts through their bond before turning to Hazel.
“I hate to leave so soon, but…” His voice came out rougher than intended. His gaze dropped to the small form in his hands.
Hazel’s expression softened, just a fraction.
“I understand,” she said. “Do what you have to.”
Jeremiah nodded once, then turned and strode toward the cabin’s side door.
“Billy! Let’s go!” he called over his shoulder.
Behind him, Billy hesitated.
For a brief moment, he hovered in place, turning back toward the treeline. His body tensed, tentacles curling inward as his attention locked onto the forest beyond. The anger still lingered, dulled at the edges now, threaded with frustration.
“Billy,” Jeremiah said again, quieter this time, but firm.
A beat passed.
Then Billy turned.
He shot forward in a tight burst of motion, slipping past Jeremiah’s shoulder just as the door swung open. His bubble flickered faintly as he passed through the threshold, vanishing into the dim interior beyond.
Jeremiah followed a heartbeat later.
The door to the Testing Grounds shut behind them with a soft click, and the forest was gone.
The scent of earth and ash faded, replaced by the warm, familiar smell of oiled wood and coffee, layered with the clean, faintly herbal air that always lingered in the shop. The shift hit him harder than he expected.
Jeremiah paused just inside the doorway and drew in a slow, steady breath.
His shoulders eased a fraction.
They hadn’t been gone long. Not even a full day.
But it felt longer somehow.
He let the breath out and pushed the thought aside.
There wasn’t time.
He adjusted his hold on the Candlewick and moved deeper into the hallway, the Recovery Wing waiting at the far end. Billy hovered close at his shoulder, agitation still rippling through their bond in uneven pulses.
Jeremiah’s focus narrowed as he approached, already running through what needed to be done. With Roy’s help, a full assessment wouldn’t take long. After that, they could decide if they had the equipment to treat the bird, or—
The door across from the clinic slid inward.
A figure stepped out.
Jeremiah slowed, then stopped.
He blinked, brow furrowing in confusion.
“…Sam?”
Samantha froze mid-step.
Her hair — usually wild and untamed — was pulled up into a tight, messy bun. She wore a pair of worn overalls streaked with grease and something darker, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A cloth hung loosely from one hand.
“Jerry!” she blurted, eyes going wide. “When did you get back?!”
Jeremiah shifted his weight, still catching his breath.
“Just now,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Sam let out a short, nervous laugh and reached up to scratch her cheek, leaving a faint smear behind.
“Ah, well… about that…” she said, glancing away. “I heard from Mero you’d be gone for the day, so…” She trailed off, shifting her stance. “Figured it was a good chance to get some extra work done on my surprise.”
Jeremiah raised a brow.
His gaze flicked past her shoulder.
Sam’s foot hooked the edge of the door and slammed it shut behind her with a solid thud.
“Not peeking!” she snapped, then immediately flushed. She coughed into her hand and straightened, forcing a casual tone that didn’t quite land. “So,” she said quickly, “why are you back so soon? I thought you were going—”
She stopped.
Her eyes settled on him, really seeing him for the first time.
From the ash streaking his clothes to the blood smeared across his sleeves, to the still-bleeding cuts along his face.
The color drained from her face.
The cloth slipped from her hand and hit the floor without her noticing.
“You’re hurt!”
——————————————————
“Ouch, watch it.”
Jeremiah flinched as the damp cloth pressed against the ragged cut along his cheek. He sat hunched on a small stool in the Recovery Wing, the Caretaker’s Vestments peeled down around his waist. Most of the blood had already dried in uneven streaks across his skin, mixed with ash and dirt, leaving his face tight and gritty.
Across from him, Sam sat on her own stool, a large leather bag open at her feet.
“Oh, stop complaining,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re lucky I always carry a kit. Otherwise, you’d be getting stitches right now.” She tossed the bloodied cloth aside and reached into the bag, pulling out a small device shaped like a rolling applicator. She thumbed something at its base; a faint hum answered.
“What the hell happened?” she asked.
Jeremiah’s gaze drifted off to the side. “I ran foul of an angry lizard.”
“A lizard?” Sam echoed, incredulous.
She rolled the device slowly across the gash. The hum deepened as it moved, and the torn skin pulled itself together under the pressure, knitting cleanly from one end to the other. The bleeding stopped instantly, leaving behind a thin, pale line.
Sam leaned in, squinting at her work before shifting to the next cut. “It looks like you got hit in the face with a bullwhip.”
Jeremiah reached up and scratched lightly at the fresh line, then winced as a sharp itch flared under his fingers. “It was a big lizard.”
Sam huffed under her breath. “Right.”
She finished the last of the cuts on his face, then jerked her chin past his shoulder. “Turn around.”
Jeremiah obeyed, shifting carefully on the stool.
Sam leaned in and hissed sharply through her teeth.
“That bad?” Jeremiah asked.
“There’s no blood,” she said after a moment, her tone tightening, “and I don’t think anything’s broken.” She paused, eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed the damage. “But let’s just say you’re not going to be sleeping on your back for a couple of days.”
Jeremiah exhaled, unsurprised, and gave a small nod, silently thanking his uniform once more.
The Caretaker’s Vestments might not have been proper armor, but this wasn’t the first time they’d spared him something worse. His hand drifted unconsciously to his chest, to the spot where the Ironjaw Dreadnought’s spikes had nearly driven straight through him only a week before.
A moment later, something cool spread across his back.
Jeremiah flinched, then a low sound slipped from his throat, half groan, half relief, as the deep ache he hadn’t fully registered eased by a degree.
“Yeah,” Sam muttered. “That’s what I thought.”
Roy stepped into view at that moment.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bridge,” the holographic nurse said pleasantly, a clipboard in hand. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting a patient so soon, but I’m pleased to report I’ve completed my examination.”
He extended the clipboard.
Jeremiah raised a brow, but reached out anyway. His fingers met a faint, buzzing resistance instead of passing through.
“…Huh.”
Behind him, Sam let out a low whistle. “Hard light. Fancy.”
Jeremiah huffed a quiet laugh and pulled the clipboard closer. It felt like glass under his fingers, smooth and cool, but with no real weight behind it. As he adjusted his grip, the display responded, more like a tablet than a clipboard. With a flick of his thumb, the interface shifted, pages sliding neatly into place.
“So what’s the news?” he asked, eyes scanning the report.
“Our new friend has sustained multiple fractures in the left wing,” Roy said, tone even, “along with a minor cranial fracture.” He inclined his head slightly. “Thankfully, the laceration across the chest is superficial, and there are no signs of internal damage.”
Jeremiah nodded once, his gaze already drifting across the room.
The Candlewick lay on a padded table nearby, its small body still. Its feathers had been cleaned, the worst of the blood washed away. Whatever Roy had administered had settled him into a quiet, steady sleep.
“…Good,” Jeremiah said softly.
Roy inclined his head. He continued, “I’ve also addressed the mite infestation. Nasty things, those.” He followed Jeremiah’s gaze toward the table. “That said, it’s fortunate you brought him here. Given the extent of the wing and feather damage, the patient will be grounded for some time, which places him at significant risk for predation, even with the protection of his flock.”
Jeremiah nodded again.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I figured.”
Roy gestured toward the clipboard, and Jeremiah shifted his attention back to it. “I’ve included a recommended list of medications to assist with pain management and recovery.”
Jeremiah flipped to the next section, scanning quickly.
“Additionally, I suggest overnight observation as a precaution. You’ll find the clinic addition that would allow me to link to the store’s various habitats has been included as well,” Roy said.
Jeremiah nodded, already pulling up the System store and searching for the listed items.
A moment later, they sat in his cart. The two-hundred-mark price tag — most of which was the add-on to the clinic — stung his shrinking wallet, but he didn’t hesitate to hit purchase.
A soft chime sounded, and a row of vials and neatly boxed supplies shimmered into existence on the nearby shelf.
Sam raised a brow, but said nothing.
Roy glanced toward the materials, then nodded in approval. “Excellent. I will begin treatment immediately.” He turned back to Jeremiah. “Just leave everything to me, sir.”
Jeremiah nodded and handed the clipboard back. His shoulders sagged as the last of the day’s tension finally drained out of him.
——————————————————
Jeremiah pushed the courtyard door open with his shoulder and stepped into the cool night air.
The shift from the clinic’s sterile cleanliness to the faint scent of soil and greenery settled over him like a quiet release. The courtyard lay still, washed in soft ambient light spilling from the shop behind him. Overhead, the transparent canopy of the atrium caught that glow and scattered it in pale reflections across the metal supports and spiraling perches.
In his hands, he carried a small nest-box.
Inside, the Candlewick slept, its body curled tight beneath a thin wrap that held its injured wing gently against its side. Its chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.
He crossed the stone path and stepped into the Grand Perch Atrium.
The air inside shifted around him. Lighter. Cleaner. A faint current brushed his skin as the environmental systems adjusted, maintaining a steady, circulating flow.
Jeremiah moved toward the central perch.
He took his time positioning the box, climbing just high enough to secure it along one of the lower spirals. High enough for shelter. Low enough that if the bird panicked and slipped, the fall wouldn’t worsen the injury — and close enough for him to reach it quickly if needed.
Roy would monitor the Candlewick through the night, but there was no reason to leave anything to chance.
For a moment, he lingered there, one hand resting lightly against the wood. Then he stepped back and gave a small, satisfied nod.
“You haven’t bound him,” said a feminine, melodic voice from behind him.
“Of course not,” Jeremiah replied, not bothering to turn.
A brief pause followed.
“Why not?” the voice asked.
Jeremiah’s brow furrowed. That was… an odd question.
“Why would I?” he said, his gaze still fixed on the nest box.
Something stirred at the back of his mind. A faint itch, like a thought just out of reach.
The voice chuckled softly.
“Many humans would seek to ensure the prize they’ve captured remained that way.”
Jeremiah frowned.
“He’s not a prize,” he said, sharper now. “And I didn’t capture him.”
He turned.
“I’m trying to hel—”
The words died in his throat.
Perched across from him, balanced along one of the upper spirals, sat a bird unlike anything he had ever seen.
At a glance, it resembled a Molotov, though larger — nearly the size of a falcon. But the resemblance unraveled the longer he looked.
The first thing he noticed was that its feathers refused to settle into a single color.
At first, they appeared the same deep crimson as a Molotov’s. But as it shifted on its perch, the colors shifted with it — one moment deep, almost black-blue, the next a vivid green or burning orange, only to blend into something in between a heartbeat later. Each movement sent colors sliding and folding over one another like a flame caught in slow motion.
Its crest rose in a wide fan above its head, longer and fuller than any Molotov’s. Each feather ended in a small, steady flame, every one a different hue, forming a gradient that bled from one color into the next like a rainbow.
Its tail flowed downward in layered strands, longer than its body. Each feather caught and bent the light differently. Some were dark at the base and bright at the edge. Others seemed almost translucent until they moved, revealing colors Jeremiah had no name for.
Jeremiah’s breath caught.
It was, without question, the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
His jaw parted slightly, then closed again, searching for words that refused to come.
The bird tilted its head.
The motion was small. Natural.
And yet—
A faint unease curled in his chest, threading through the awe.
Just enough to make him aware of it.
Just enough for the part of him still in control to call up a System scan.
A flicker of blue light caught at the edge of his vision.
A System window resolved.
Awe melted away in a flash as everything in him went cold.
——————✴——————
Adarnaflame Siren
Grade: C - 4.94
Mental: (C) 3.2
Physical: (D) 2.4
Supernatural: (C) 1.5
Rarity: Extraordinary
Pedigree: ★★★★★★
Ecology: A Dream-touched matron of the Candlewick line, the Adarnaflame Siren is an exceedingly rare mutation born when a Wildfire Empress is steeped for years in regions dense with Dream. Though still a creature of fire and flock, its nature becomes stranger, gentler, and far more dangerous in subtle ways.
Superficially, it resembles the Molotov it once was, though much larger, with a long streaming tail and layered plumage that shifts through seven luminous hues. Its crest burns with soft, heatless radiance, shedding star-like sparks. Prolonged observation often induces a sense of unreality, as though the viewer is slipping into a waking dream.
Unlike the more overtly destructive Wildfire Empress, the Adarnaflame Siren rules its flock through song and experience rather than sheer power. Its voice carries Dream influence, capable of inducing sleep, pacifying aggression, or distorting perception into vivid hallucinations. Entire areas under its influence may feel unnaturally calm while intruders lose their sense of reality.
When threatened, it blends fire and dream into mirage-blazes that burn both body and perception. Victims may flee false flames or walk willingly into real ones, often waking later with fragmented memories.
Highly intelligent and emotionally perceptive, Adarnaflame Sirens have been observed recognizing speech, remembering individuals, and intentionally altering their songs to communicate mood or warning.
Warning: Do not rely on sight, sound, or ordinary senses alone when dealing with this beast. By the time you question if you’re under its influence, you likely already are.
——————✴——————