Chapter Text
Everything was going wrong.
Scar didn’t know why on earth he’d ever agreed to this insane plan. He was already brainstorming frantic ways to talk his way out of trouble — but with the name of a hunter in his grasp, he’d pretty much killed any chances of that happening.
Ha, killed. Just like they were about to be.
The hunter camp itself had few hunters, but what it lacked in numbers, it made up for in sheer size. Scar could squint with his superior eyesight and still find no end to the number of tents littering the muddy ground. They’d managed to lose the main four hunters through nothing but dumb luck and surprise factor, but it wouldn’t be long until they would be seen and, ultimately, recaptured.
The cart was still rolling around — clearly, two hybrids escaping was nothing compared to the hundred or so still caged and ready to be killed.
Above, the dull sky glittered with icy clouds, rain and snow clearly preparing to fall soon. Whether that was a good thing, Scar wasn’t entirely sure.
“So, about this escape plan of yours…” The human — Mumbo Jumbo — started hesitantly. Scar cocked his head sideways at him, and bolstered, the man continued: “Is there going to be any actual escaping occurring, or is this just some hazing stunt?”
Grian, who was stalking through the mud just a little in front, paused and shot the man with an absolutely scathing look, though his large wings cast most of his face in shadow. “I’d keep my mouth shut if I was you,” he hissed, feathers raising threateningly. “Or else I might just —”
“Ah — ah,” Scar cut in. “No need to scare the poor man. He very kindly told me his name, after all.” He widened his eyes significantly to the irate avian, who only tossed him a grunt of dissatisfaction before continuing to stomp through the mud.
Scar let out a dramatic sigh. “Some people just can’t play nice,” he bemoaned to his unaware servant. “What am I gonna do with him?”
Mumbo nodded along very nicely. “Perhaps he needs some time to… y’know, adjust?”
The vex glanced sidelong at him, humming. “Maybe.”
The group continued to maneuver through the camp in a somewhat uncomfortable silence. The gravel crunched underneath their feet, and Scar had to fight off a grimace as his bare feet made contact with the sharp rocks. He had thick soles; he would be fine. He just wasn’t used to moving so much.
Eventually, Mumbo spoke up again, furrowing his brow. “You alright?”
Scar raised an eyebrow, almost — almost — grateful for the hunter for distracting him. “I’m fine.”
The question seemed to be more of a formality in lieu to make way for further questioning, though, as the hunter slowed down and fidgeted nervously with his hands, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Are you really… escaping?” The word was whispered, as if Mumbo couldn’t grasp the mere concept. “Just the two of you?”
Scar remained silent, staring at him impassively. Both vex and human had stopped walking; though Scar mostly due to the building ache in his legs. His ears twitched, increasingly aware of the noise behind them — shouts, screams, arrows firing, coming closer and closer.
“Oh my goodness,” Mumbo breathed. He shook his head, meeting Scar’s unreadable eyes, growing more alarmed by the lack of response. “You are, aren’t you? You absolute lunatics—”
He was looking around now, mouth opening as if to call for help. As if he’d realized now just what kind of situation he’d ended up in.
Scar pursed his lips, casting a look over his shoulder, noting the hunters that were approaching fast with their crossbows, horses galloping over, foaming at the mouth. He clenched his jaw, before swinging his neck back at Mumbo and narrowing his eyes.
“Move,” he shot, grabbing his arm and tugging the hunter forward with him into a brisk run. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, his mind whispered, traitorously.
Scar’s heart beat faster.
They weren’t going to make it.
Mambo nearly tripped over his own feet as Scar started full-out sprinting, letting out a yelp of surprise before following along.
Good pet, something dark within Scar purred. He shivered, before the feeling was abruptly cut short by the sound of a crossbow firing, the arrow embedding itself deep within the dirt — a warning shot, nearly impaling Scar’s foot.
He flinched, a rush of air leaving his lungs as adrenaline and terror flooded his nerves. The ache in his legs abruptly vanished; his mind sharpened, and he forced his deteriorating thoughts away. Right. Escape in progress. He couldn’t afford to get distracted now, of all moments. Not when he was so close.
“I need directions,” he said sharply, shooting a look over at Mumbo. “Where is the nearest exit, and how do we get there?”
“East gate,” Mumbo said promptly, surprisingly helpful for a hostage. “I believe we’re heading there now.”
Scar nodded harshly and continued to run, his heart rabbiting within his chest. He was exhausted, mentally and physically and possibly spiritually.
They needed to hurry. Scar wasn’t going to make it.
Gravel crunched underneath his feet, and by this point, he was pretty sure his soles were shredded and bleeding, but he didn’t falter. Pain was an afterthought. Escape was the only thing he focused on; desperation driving determination to finally be free.
It wasn’t long before they reached the outskirts of their destination. From here, Scar could see that the east gate was a little dirt road veering out from the main camp, hastily cobbled together as if it was there for the sole purpose of existing. It was hardly a gate in the sense, not even a door — simply an outpost, a wooden tower, guarded sparsely by pillagers.
Scar felt his eyes narrow on the crossbows in their hands. Pillagers. The one mob species that never interbred; the one species that was cruel enough to ally itself with the hunters when their reign of terror began.
It wouldn’t be easy to get past them, but it was far better than trying to fight off active hunters. At least the pillagers were able to be incapacitated.
“Grian,” he gasped out, finally catching up to the avian. Grian was crouched behind a tent, white wings folded over his head to keep them off the dirt. “Took you long enough,” he grumbled, but his eyes lightened a touch when they fell on Scar, as if he was relieved. They flicked over Mumbo, unreadable, before he returned to the task at hand.
“I think this is the place,” he muttered. “This is where we get out.” He stood up, only then taking in the sight before him — Scar, panting heavily, and Mumbo, staring at them both with a strange expression on his face.
Grian turned his attention to Scar, ignoring the human entirely. “Can you walk?” He said, not unkindly, but sharp nonetheless. “Or are we flying out?”
“I can walk,” Scar grimaced. “But not for long. We need to hurry. They’ve cottoned on.”
A blaring alarm was wailing somewhere in the distance. The sound of galloping hooves was filling the air faster than ever. Arrows littered the ground before them — and Scar could see by their poisoned tips that the hunters were no longer aiming to recapture them.
They were looking to kill.
Thwack! One of the arrows hit the side of the tent that they were huddling behind, toppling it instantly from the sheer force of the blow.
There was no hesitation. Grian grabbed Scar’s free hand and bolted.
All Scar could see was red, blood rushing to his head; heart thundering; barely daring to hope.
They had to make it. They had to.
Somewhere behind him, he heard the sound of heavy running. He let go of Mumbo, hoping that the hunter’s sudden release would distract the others long enough for them to make their escape.
An arrow zipped past his ear and embedded itself deep within Grian’s wing. The avian cried out, faltering, eyes widening in pain and surprise. Scar yanked him up by his sweater, shaking his head. He couldn’t hear himself in the sheer noise around them, but he was pretty sure he yelled something along the lines of, “No! We’re too close!”
Whatever it was, it was clearly enough for the avian to force himself to keep going, though considerably slower now. Scar could see the end in sight.
They weren’t going to make it.
A hunter swung a sword at his head. Scar ducked just in time, but it was too late. It clipped his shoulder, and though it hurt like nothing else, there was nothing he could do. The hunters had already caught up.
They weren’t going to make it.
His legs were failing. They’d always been useless, a liability that had doubtless aided in his capture in the first place. All those years of disuse in the camp probably didn’t help either.
They weren’t going to make it.
Hopelessness thundered through his entire being, and for a single, crucial moment, he faltered —
And fell.
He crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust, hacking and coughing, his emaciated body unable to keep up with the strenuous exercise. Grian toppled too, letting out a ragged gasp of pain, curling up into a shaking ball.
Horses surrounded the vex and the avian in a circle. The hateful faces of the humans stared down at the hybrids’ beaten bodies, each drawing their crossbows back, ready to administer the final blow.
“An admirable effort,” said Number Five, her blue eyes as unfeeling as stone. “It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the thrill of such a chase.”
She smiled, cruelly.
“It’s just too bad it ends now.” She looked down at them. “Say your goodbyes. Or don’t.” She shrugged, toying with the trigger on her bow. “The outcome is the same.” She aimed the crossbow right at Scar’s face. He shuddered, closing his eyes, accepting the inevitability.
Grian whispered something under his breath. His eyes glinted with rage.
“Pearl…” He said, finally, gritting the word out like it was forced from him.
Number Five stiffened, her grip on the crossbow tightening. “Where did you hear that name?” She snarled, though there was a note of genuine fear in her voice.
Scar cracked open his eyes, still breathing heavily, gaze flicking frantically back and forth from the hunter to the avian. He couldn’t muster up the courage to speak, his voice shut off by sheer panic, but he also couldn’t help but wonder: what in the name of the void was going on?
Grian stayed infuriatingly silent, his face as blank as ever.
“Who told you?” Number Five repeated, her voice louder. At Grian’s non-response, her face contorted in rage, and she fired a warning shot into the ground, right next to his injured wing. “Tell me!” She screamed. “Who told you that name?!”
Grian didn’t even flinch.
No, what he did do was significantly more unsettling. He stared, eyes as cold and unfeeling as stone, and smiled, humourlessly; unkindly. “ℸ ̣⍑ᒷ ∴ᔑℸ ̣ᓵ⍑ᒷ∷ᓭ ⟍̅¦⟍̅ 𝙹⎓ ᓵ𝙹⚍∷ᓭᒷ.”
And it was then that Number Five made the same mistake Scar did.
She faltered. Her crossbow dipped; her fingers slipped off the trigger, and like sheep, the other hunters followed suit.
And Grian moved.
Before Scar could even try to process those strangely harsh and unfamiliar words, Grian’s surprisingly strong arms were wrapped around his waist. He felt a dizzying tug in his navel as Grian let out a grunt of effort and leapt into the air, his white wings unfolding in all their brilliant glory, before he was flying.
Arrows shot past them from below; the angry yells of the hunters drowned out by the sound of the wind in Scar’s ears.
“Ah!” He screamed, terrified, but he didn’t dare flail — not when the ground was so far below, and one accidental slip could send him straight down. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments, his stomach dropping, his ears popping, before cautiously opening them again, widening at the sight of his surroundings.
He was inside a cloud.
Fascinated, he reached out a hand, trailing it through the white expanse, feeling the water droplets collect on his hand. He inspected the water, green eyes wide, before a ragged inhale had him freezing in place.
He turned his neck around to see Grian panting, sweat beading on his forehead, clearly in pain. His injured wing dipped dangerously, dropping them several feet in the air several times. But Scar saw a fierceness in his eyes; something that told him that this avian wasn’t giving up anytime soon. He’d fight tooth and nail to be free, and though Scar felt that desperation was borne of more than just his avian instincts, he quite frankly couldn’t care less at this moment. He knew Grian would not rest until they were far away from that horrible, terrible hunter camp.
Scar could hardly voice the words, but…
“We did it,” he breathed.
Before Scar could even begin to understand this concept, he was soaring — albeit erratically — out of the cloud and through the blue, blue sky, the wind in his hair, and he couldn’t help it — he laughed. He whooped, he yelled, he may have cried, tears brimming in his eyes as his eyes latched onto the forest below.
“We did it! Grian, we—”
A whimper from Grian made that joy vanish instantly. He twisted his neck to shoot the avian a concerned look, and found the avian squeezing his eyes shut, face red from effort. “Grian?”
“We need to land,” the avian said in a strained voice. “Sorry. One sec.”
He dipped his uninjured wing, and they circled down, down, down, far enough from the camp to be safe, but not for long. Scar was thrown none-too-gently onto the ground as they made an unsteady landing, but he couldn’t help but cry in joy at feeling the blades of grass under his skin rather than harsh, lifeless dirt and gravel.
Grian tried to push himself to one knee, then yelped and fell to one side, the arrow still lodged deep within his pristine white wing. Blood desecrated the pure colour; a heinous act to remove an avian from their freedom of flight.
“Good,” the avian muttered, panting, sprawled on the grass. “We made it. Nice.” He giggled, slightly insane. “Nice.”
Scar shuffled over to him, wincing as he accidentally jolted his injured shoulder. The two hybrids sat in silence for a few moments, both trying to make sense of the chaos that had just occurred.
“Oh my void,” Scar breathed after a beat, holding his head in his hands. He turned to Grian with shiny green eyes. “Oh my void, G. You did it! You got us out, you brilliant bird—”
“We did it,” Grian corrected tiredly. “And quite frankly I’m rather surprised it worked in the first place.” He grimaced and sat up, adjusting his injured wing, before looking back at Scar and smiling sardonically. “But let’s agree to never do that again.”
Scar nodded empathetically. “Yep, yep, big yep.”
Grian winced suddenly, his face rapidly paling several shades. “Ow,” he hissed, shooting a glare at the arrow in his wing. “What —?”
Scar’s fleeting joy vanished in an instant. He shuffled closer and inspected the wing with a critical gaze, wincing as he saw the inflammation swelling up around the wound, the ugly discolouration that marked the clear signs of an infection waiting to form. “They got you with a poison arrow,” he muttered, recognizing the signs and wishing he didn't. A faint jab of panic settled in his gut and he swallowed, forcing back the unwelcome memories threatening to resurface. Not now. He wasn't going to let Grian die like him. He wasn't losing someone else, not again, never again. He steeled his jaw and nodded once, decisively. “We need to get you to shelter.” Scar looked around to find a good stick, then painfully moved over to it and used it to help him stand. He wobbled, then stabilised, and glanced up at the sky and pursed his lips. Night was falling faster than ever, and not even hybrids were safe from the dangerous mobs that roamed the world when the sun dipped behind the horizon.
They needed to get somewhere safe, fast.
“And it’s almost dark,” he muttered sardonically to himself. “Absolutely amazing.”
Not only that, but the sky above was swiftly worsening into the worst weather Scar had ever seen. A thunderstorm, perhaps, judging by the heavy clouds gathering around; the electricity that Scar could feel building up in the air.
“G…” Scar said, slightly worried, a warning in his tone.
“Yeah, I know,” Grian said, a little snappishly. “I —” He clearly struggled with the words for a moment, before saying with gritted teeth, “I need some help getting up.”
He spoke as if he couldn’t possibly fathom a worse sentiment to ask. Scar didn’t question it. Grian had a strangely independent streak to him that the vex wasn’t particularly inclined to poke too harshly at.
Well, not yet, anyway.
Without much fuss, Scar offered him a hand and supported the avian on his uninjured shoulder, and together, they hobbled around until they found a little cave entrance within a barren cliff – one that could’ve once supported a lush cave with glowberries and moss, but instead had nothing but cold, hard stone. Torches littered the inside of the cave — presumably by the hunters, searching for cave hybrids.
Scar’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as he saw the destruction within. Was this all the outside world had to offer? Just more pain and meaningless loss?
Remember Jellie, he consoled himself, but it felt hollow. You still have something left in this world.
Grian’s hand tightened uncomfortably on Scar’s shoulder, his nails nearly breaking skin. But when Scar looked over at him, he saw the avian with his eyes squeezed shut, stiff and guarded.
“You should get some rest,” he said in a quiet voice, gently lowering Grian to the safest place he could find — a well-lit alcove tucked away from the sight of destruction in the cave. “I’ll go —”
“No.” Grian’s bloodshot eyes locked with his, a desperation to them that Scar couldn’t help but wonder the cause of. “You’re not going anywhere. Not now.” His voice was so sharp that the vex instinctively raised his hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay! I was just going to go get —”
“Stay here,” Grian interrupted, tired. He rubbed his eyes and held his head in his hands. “Please,” he added, seeing the look on Scar’s face. "You're just as injured as I am."
Scar couldn't refute that. The soles of his feet throbbed, numerous cuts and bruises decorating them in a frankly surprising number of places. The vex sighed and painfully lowered himself to sit down next to the avian, staring at the stony wall in front. They sat in companionable silence, torchlight flickering around them, the faint warmth still penetrating deep in their shivering, still healing bodies.
It felt... nice, having Grian beside him. Avians ran hotter than most other Overland hybrids, and Scar wasn't going to complain about the free heating. But even as he sighed and reluctantly attempted to get some shut-eye, the anticipation of returning to his village, to his Jellie, coiled uncomfortably in his stomach. He wanted to run out of this stinking cave and start his journey to find his people again — with Grian by his side, of course.
But? A voice in his head nudged, a painful reminder, and Scar sighed.
But he would be no use to anyone if he collapsed out of exhaustion midway. He should heed his own advice and actually get some sleep as well.
That’s right. Goodnight, buddy.
The vex rested his head on his chin, preparing to doze off. Grian settled down, curling up into his sweater, head hidden beneath the torn layers. His wings rested splayed out on both sides, the injured one twitching every now and then.
Watching him, Scar wished he could lay down too; his back was aching. He stared at the surrounding cave with bleary eyes for several long moments before realizing — hey, there was nothing stopping him anymore. He actually had space to stretch out: there was no iron to burn him if he relaxed too much; no cramped cage to inhibit movement.
Slowly, cautiously, Scar lowered himself to the ground, his back flat against the hard, cold stone, head facing Grian. For a few blissful seconds, he felt the perpetual ache in his back alleviate, and let out a content sigh, briefly closing his eyes.
“Hey, Grian?” He asked after a beat of silence. He was met with a single, bleary dark eye.
Scar twitched his lips, a genuine, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
The eye blinked slowly, as if not comprehending the statement. Grian raised his head slightly, though his voice was still muffled with sleep when he muttered, “What for?”
He sounded so utterly confused that Scar had to snicker a little, before turning serious once more. He stared up at the stony ceiling of the cave, eyes tracing the path of the glow lichen growing up its walls. “For getting us out,” he admitted, quietly. “For getting me out. I… I never thought I’d be staring at nature ever again, except from a mass grave.”
Grian went silent. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, stiffly.
Scar supposed that’s about as much as he was gonna get out of him. He hummed and turned over. “G’night, Grian.”
He was fully prepared to hear no answer. Yet still, just as he was beginning to doze off, he heard, quiet and clear:
“See you in the morning, Scar.”