Chapter Text
It's a long fall.
Tommy curled his toes, his talons sinking into the dirt at the island's edge. The forest spread across the valley far below, glints of sun marking the path of the river through the trees. It's a beautiful view, interrupted only by other floating islands in the distance.
A breeze tugged at his hair, playing with the feathers around his ears before slipping away over his shoulder. Tommy closed his eyes, breathing deeply. For just a moment he imagined it. Stepping off the edge of the island. Letting the tender feathers along his arms catch the breeze and send him gliding to the forest floor. He could run, really run, through the trees. Leave the valley, cross the mountains and be home.
Slowly, he lifted his hand, reaching for the horizon.
The barrier flared.
It didn’t hurt, but Tommy hissed, yanking his hand back. Swirls of purple magic pulsed away from his touch, fading away like ripples in a pond. The magic settled, and the breeze traced his face once more, almost an apology.
Behind him, a bird cawed.
"Prime fucking-" Tommy swore, spinning towards the sound.
It's a crow. It watched him from atop one of the pale stone boulders that line the path down the island's edge from the cottage. Its beady eyes are too sharp, too knowing for his taste. Tommy tore his eyes from it, scanning the horizon. If the crows were already here, he had to move.
The island wasn't very big but the edges were steep, forcing him to switch back and forth up the sides. He jumped at the last turn, digging his talons into the earthy wall to climb his way up over the ridge.
Late afternoon light spilled across the island's top, golden and smelling of honeysuckle. The cottage wasn't far. Tommy quickly crossed the gardens at the back of the house, keeping one eye on the horizon as he moved around the side. The window was still ajar from earlier, and he slipped through, careful not to catch the long feathers of his tail. The latch was broken, but Tommy closed it as well as he could, pulling the curtain to cover the small crack.
He could see three more crows through the bubbled glass.
Tommy spun, each beat of his heart sounding like distant wings.
The main room was cozy, but it would draw too much attention if he was found here. Brightly colored rugs softened the floor, and large cushions surrounded a low table in front of a stone fireplace. The fire had gone out, but there was no time to light it. He'd have to say he fell asleep.
The golden light spilling through the window flashed purple.
Tommy swallowed a chirp. With a single bound, he crossed the room, throwing himself through the door into the nest. It was dark in there, except for the light through the door, and he burrowed into the pile of blankets blindly.
The front door opened.
Tommy held his breath, listening. Quiet footsteps crossed the main room accompanied by the faintest whisper of something dragging along the floor. The sliver of light from the door grew wider, and Tommy squeezed his eyes shut.
"Sweetheart?"
You've been asleep, he tells himself. You've been asleep but now you're waking up.
The steps came closer, a weight settling at his side.
"Are you sleeping, darling?" A hand settled on his back, warm and solid through the blankets. "Come on now, it's getting late. Let me see you."
Tommy let himself stir a little.
"There you go, that's it. My sleepy little fledgling." The blankets were peeled away, and Tommy made a show of blinking up at the man.
"Phil?" Tommy roughened his voice.
Philza smiled at him, the crows feet around his eyes deepening. His blonde hair, so like Tommy's own, had been pulled back to show the dark feathers that framed his face. "Good morning, sweetheart."
Tommy swallowed hard. Phil's face was kind, but his eyes were sharp.
"Hi," Tommy whispered. He tried not to shudder as Philza cupped his face, stroking his cheek with his thumb. The man's talons were so long that the tip of it traced the delicate skin of his eye
"Hi," Philza whispered back, like it was a secret. "I brought you something special for dinner. Think you could help me with it?"
Tommy sat up, forcing Philza's hand to drop. "You did?"
"Of course I did. Your feathers have been growing back so well, I thought we should celebrate."
Guilt flared in his stomach. Philza was always so generous to him. Whether it was healing potions or his favorite fruits, Philza never begrudged him anything. Even if Tommy wished he would.
"You didn't have to."
Philza laughed. He swooped to press a kiss to Tommy's temple, the scruff of his beard scratching his skin. "Of course I had to. Why wouldn't I get my little one a gift?"
His stomach churned. Phil was always saying stuff like that. He acted as though he'd personally raised Tommy from the egg, despite them being near strangers. Not to mention completely different species. He knew better than to point that out though.
Tommy forced himself to smile.
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Tommy sat at the low table, peeling vegetables with a small paring knife.
There was a small box sitting on the table, wrapped in brown paper and smelling of sugar. He wondered where Phil got it. Sweets were a luxury that he'd never seen this far from a city.
Philza stood at the fire, humming as he fussed over the pot of broth. His wings were free of the long green robes he wore everywhere, glossy black and so much larger than Tommy's could ever hope to be. He never imagined he'd meet an Elytrian, let alone have one give him a sweet little trill every time Tommy handed him a handful of carrots for the soup.
So much of Philza was a mystery to Tommy.
It had been just a few weeks since the wildfire had ripped through the forest he called home. He'd tried to run, to ride the updrafts with his wings, but the flames had cut him off at every turn, choking him with smoke and the scent of his own burning feathers. He'd never been so sure he was going to die.
Then Philza came.
The humming stopped.
Tommy looked up from the carrot he was peeling. Philza's eyes were narrowed across the room. From the corner of his eye, Tommy could see what had caught his attention.
The curtain was moving, billowing softly in an unseen breeze.
Shit.
"Phil?" Phil's head snapped to him. His eyes were slits, and Tommy swallowed back a warble. "Were the fires better today?"
It had taken a few weeks for the smoke to finally leave Tommy's lungs. Once he'd convinced Philza he wasn't going to keel over the second he left Tommy's side, he'd started going out. Just for a few hours at a time, usually while Tommy slept, to check the path of the fire.
Philza turned back to the soup, the curtain forgotten. Tommy breathed a sigh of relief.
"No, darling." The long wooden spoon scraped gently along the sides of the pot. "It'll be a long time before the flames die out."
Tommy frowned at his pile of vegetable peels. He shouldn't argue. He should keep his mouth shut.
"There hasn't been any smoke."
The spoon stilled.
"What?"
Philza's voice was calm, light, but it made Tommy's mouth go dry.
"It's just that- well, the smoke's gone." He stumbled over his words. "It's been a few days since it cleared out, so I thought-"
"Winds change, Tommy. Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it's not there."
Tommy ducked his head, his cheeks burning. He knew that. He may not be able to fly like Philza, but he still knew about wind currents. He wasn't stupid.
"And why have you been looking?" Phil's voice sharpened. "You need to be resting when I'm away, sweetheart. Those fires almost killed you. Do you need me to stay in the nest with you again?"
"No!" Tommy's head flew up. He didn't like it when Philza made him stay in the nest. At first Tommy thought they shared it because Philza needed to keep an eye on his injuries, but as the days passed, he was less sure. "No, no, you don't need to stay with me. I'm sure you've got plenty of big man stuff to do."
"Oh, Toms." Philza sighed. Tommy watched apprehensively as he turned, coming to kneel on the cushion at his side. "I only leave so I can get things for you." He lifted his hand, tracing the line of Tommy's neck with the backs of his fingers. "If you need me here, then I'll stay."
Tommy swallowed hard, hyper aware of the talons so near his throat.
It felt wrong to be so afraid.
Philza saved him. Philza healed him. Philza flew for hours every day just to check on Tommy's home and bring him foods he could actually eat. He tried to remember that, no matter how much Philza's attention felt like a hawk circling a mouse.
"Maybe I can go with you instead?"
Tommy bit his lip, surprised at his own daring. Ever since Philza had rescued him, he'd hardly let Tommy step foot out of the cottage, let alone the protection of the island.
Philza looked at him, his mouth pressed in a thin line.
"Tommy, why would you ask that?"
Tommy hesitated.
The doors had been locked.
The first time he'd woken up alone, he'd tried to go outside. Philza was nowhere to be found, and he'd tried to search for him but every door had been locked. It didn't make sense. The floating island, the barrier wards, the isolated valley, all these were protections he could understand, but it was the doors that scared him.
Looking into Philza's eyes, all he can see is a door with no keyhole.
"I know it's far," Tommy hedged. Philza's wings started to mantle, surrounding them both with a wall of black feathers and Tommy felt the golden feathers along his arms bristle in response. "But once I can glide again, I could-"
"No, Tommy."
"Why not?" Tommy scowled, irritation edging out his caution. "You said it yourself, my feathers are coming back."
Philza stood abruptly.
"Are you unhappy here, Tommy?"
Tommy flinched. "What?"
"Am I not doing enough to make you comfortable? To help you heal? Your wings may never be as strong as they were. Is it so selfish that I ask you to wait?"
The worst part was that Philza didn't even sound mad.
Tommy looked at his hands, clasping them to stop the shaking. The feathers up his arms had never looked so patchy, so ugly. The budding feathers should have been a relief. Instead, all he could see was the shiny burns along his forearms, swollen and irritated from the new growths.
Was Philza telling the truth? Would he really never fly again? He didn't know.
"Oh, fledgling." He didn't realize he was crying until Philza's thumb swept across his cheek, smoothing away the tears. "Don't cry, sweetheart." Tommy leaned into Philza's hand, desperate for comfort.
"There you are," Philza murmured, cradling his face. "My sweet boy."
Tommy squeezed his eyes shut.
Guilt and worry and doubt warred within him. Even when he was rude and ungrateful, Philza was kind. There was a rustle of paper and something soft pressed to his mouth. He opened it without thinking, and Philza fed him little bites of cake, crooning something soft.
Sugar had never tasted more like ash.