Seven years had passed since the world changed in secret.
The sky above the Sanctuary of Sixteen was deeper now—its hues richer, the sun warmer, the stars nearer. The sanctuary itself had shifted subtly in that time. The stone had grown smoother from bare feet, the pools deeper with Mirelya's tides, and the central arena of the mosaic had been carved wider by paw and claw, hoof and talon.
⸻
For the boy was no longer a baby.
He stood now at the sanctuary's center—barefoot, chest rising and falling, snow-white hair fluttering in the wind. Horns sharper. Tail stronger. Limbs lean and balanced. His mismatched eyes—amethyst and ruby—burned with the calm fury of knowing who he was.
⸻
And above him circled Altairn with his magnificent wings.
"Focus," Altairn's voice echoed from the sky. "Again."
The boy exhaled slowly.
Then leapt with raw instinct.
Wings erupted from his back—pure white at the root, black-gold at the edges, flaring wide like a born apex predator. Wind surged around him as his body lifted into the air. He didn't hover clumsily now.
He soared.
He twisted mid-flight, flipped once, and dove—spinning through the currents before flaring out his wings again in a perfect stop. He hovered, breath steady.
Altairn dipped his wing in silent approval.
⸻
Below, gathered in a loose ring, the Divine Beasts watched.
They no longer marveled.
They witnessed.
Kael'sari lay coiled like a flame beside the hearth, her eyes fixed on him with quiet, glowing pride. Sylvarion stood rooted with blooming antlers, a gentle thrum of green mana pulsing from his hooves. Korr Wildmane pawed at the ground like a beast waiting for a challenge. Mirelya's coils curled around the outer ring of the sanctuary, her massive head resting atop her crossed fins.
He had trained with each of them.
And had grown to view them all as- both great teachers and loving parents.
⸻
He dropped from the sky in a slow descent, his bare feet touching the mosaic with practiced grace. He stood tall—still a child in body, but nothing about him soft.
"You landed better this time," Kael'sari called, her voice like purring embers.
"His turns are tighter," said Mirelya. "Faster by at least a third."
"And he didn't set anything on fire," Durmund grunted.
"That's because the last fire-proofing enchantments worked," Vaerokh said as he stepped from the archway, his wings folding tight. "Credit where it's due."
Nyx'Zari slithered up beside him, her head resting against his shoulder.
Their eyes remained on the boy.
Their son.
He turned to face them all.
Then exhaled once more.
"Now," he whispered, voice laced with subtle reverberation, "try to keep up."
His form shimmered—then split apart in light.
Where once stood a boy now rose a creature of legend:
His hybrid form.
Clad in radiant black and gold scales, tall as a young warrior but lean with divine elegance, his horns curved back like a crowned dragon, wings vast and glittering with elemental sparks. His claws flexed with power, tail lashing behind him in perfect control. He was the perfect hybrid. This humanoid form a perfect fusion between dragon and demon.
Energy thrummed around him—elemental and alive.
His body pulsed with fire, wind, water, earth, lightning, even shadow and light—each responding to his heartbeat, each swaying to his will.
He stepped forward and the air shimmered.
"Come," he said again with a wide smile, "Let's train."
⸻
They came to him in turns.
Korr Wildmane, first—charging at him with a roar that echoed through the mountains. The boy met it with speed, shifting to full dragon form mid-sprint, scales blazing with draconic rage magic. Their clash shook the ground, but neither held back. When they stopped, panting, both smiled the same wild grin.
Kael'sari tested his reaction time, her fiery strikes forming walls of heat around him. He danced through them like wind incarnate.
Sylvarion summoned a forest from the stones. The boy ran through it, leaping tree to tree with light steps, bending vines, communing with nature as if he'd been born of root and sky.
Durmund had built elemental constructs—living stone warriors—and the boy dismantled them with fists of fire and breath of ice.
With Xylara, he meditated. Her swarm carried messages to him from other creatures across the world—each one a puzzle, each one a lesson in empathy and comprehension.
With Mirelya, he swam, deeper and deeper, until his lungs filled with water magic and he could speak in whale-song.
Zarakul did not test him.
Zarakul simply stood.
And the boy stood beside him.
Silently.
Together.
⸻
At night, he slept among them.
No longer in the center, but wherever his instincts pulled him.
One night nestled in Sylvarion's mossy side. Another beneath Kael'sari's paw. Another inside Mirelya's coil, humming ocean lullabies.
⸻
He called them all by name.
"Father Korr."
"Mother Kael."
"Papa Dur."
"Mama Mimi."
"Uncle Altairn."
"Auntie Xyla."
"Shadow Dad." (for Xan'thuul, who chuckled low when no one else did)
"Tree Grandpa." (Sylvarion denied the title but accepted the affection)
To each of the 16, he gave love.
To each, he was theirs.
And though they did not age, and he did… something had changed in the beasts.
Their breaths were softer.
Their instincts dulled—until they saw him raise his claws, then sharpened again.
They taught him well and saw him as their legacy.
⸻
One evening, as stars filled the sky, the boy sat with his parents beneath the moon. He stared upward, wings folded behind him.
"Mom?" he asked softly.
Nyx'Zari turned toward him. "Yes, little
flame?"
"Why was I born?"
She blinked.
Before she could answer, Vaerokh did.
"To live," he said simply. "To grow. To love."
"And to burn what stands against the world," Kael'sari added from behind.
"And to build what rises after," murmured Sylvarion.
"And to protect what can't protect itself," said Korr.
The boy nodded slowly.
He looked at them all.
"Then I'll do all of it," he said. "Because you all gave me everything."
He stood.
Wings wide.
Eyes shining like a sky ready to split.
"And I'll give it back."
End of chapter 7 "Wings of the Godborn"