FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 17: Cost of Leaving

Saying goodbye to Nelneras felt different this time. There was no worry clinging to the edge of it, no unease coiled in the silence. He'd bowed with that theatrical sweep of his wings, but there had been a calm in it—a finality that didn't feel like an ending. For once, Axton had walked away without second-guessing everything.

He believed Nelneras would be waiting.

By the time the rooftops of the city came into view beneath him, he wasn't thinking about doubt anymore. He was planning. Running lines in his head. Wondering how he'd explain, how he'd make anyone understand. But the truth sat heavy beneath all of it: Pyretalon wouldn't let him go. Not without a fight. That was the one thing he knew for certain. So, he wouldn't tell him.

He woke before dawn, after Lyra had already snuck out for her shift, giving kisses to both of them. The air still held the weight of night, the world outside hushed and unmoving. Pyretalon lay beside him, his body a wall of warmth and safety that made every breath harder. Axton eased himself free, slow and careful. His heart was already pounding by the time his feet touched the floor.

Getting dressed and packing what was required for an adventure like this felt like an act of treason. Each item he pulled on, a shirt, a robe, his gloves, felt heavier than it should. Every movement reminded him of the quiet promise he was about to break. The fact that Pyretalon didn't stir only made it feel worse.

He paused at the edge of the room. One glance back nearly undid everything. The gryphon looked so at peace, curled on the bed, his feathers rising and falling with each breath. For years, he'd been there. Every day. Every moment Axton needed strength he couldn't find on his own. He'd never once turned away. If he woke up now, he wouldn't shout. He'd ask questions, steady and calm, and Axton knew he wouldn't have the strength to resist.

Downstairs, the house was still. Familiar. The kind of stillness that held warmth instead of emptiness. He didn't linger, but every step felt deliberate. The table waited, clean and bare save for the letters he set down one by one.

The first was for Infinity and Lyyreth. He kept it simple. He thanked them for raising him, for loving him. He didn't ask for permission. He asked for forgiveness.

The letter to Nivra was harder. He tried to strike the balance between respect and regret. He admitted he'd fallen short of her expectations, but not because he hadn't tried. He asked her not to respond in anger, not until he was far enough that he wouldn't be dragged back.

There was one for Pyretalon, folded more times than it needed to be. He couldn't find the right words to express to his friend without feeling like he was abandoning him. Only fragments, half-thoughts and truths he wasn't brave enough to speak aloud. He told him this wasn't a betrayal. That he wasn't running from him. He was running from the hollow version of himself that had taken root in this place. And if Pyretalon ever doubted why, he should know—it had never been about love. There was always love.

Lyra's letter was the most honest. He didn't dance around the truth. He told her he couldn't breathe here anymore. That she'd always known how to make him laugh when he forgot how. And if she chose to hate him for this, he would understand, but he hoped she wouldn't.

There were two more—tucked together in the same pocket, as if proximity might somehow soften the blow.

Seraphina's letter was warm, a gentle thank-you wrapped in guilt. He told her that her optimism had been a light when things felt too dark, that her kitchen had always smelled like safety, and her laughter like home. He apologized for slipping away without saying goodbye, for not sitting down for one more cup of tea, one more chat about herbs and pastries and little dreams. She'd always made him feel like he belonged, even when he didn't believe it himself.

Roran's was harder to write, because there was no laughter to lean on. Only quiet respect. A bond built on shared silence and moral gravity. He thanked the wolven for treating him like an equal when others only saw the shy boy with too much magic and not enough confidence. He told Roran that his kindness had mattered more than he probably knew, that sometimes, when Axton felt like nothing, it was Roran's calm presence that steadied him. That helped him remember he could be something.

To both, he made one thing clear: this wasn't goodbye because of failure or fear. It was a step he needed to take before he lost himself entirely. He hoped they would understand. That they wouldn't feel abandoned.

He folded the last letter and stepped back.

The kitchen looked the same as it always had. That was the worst part. Nothing was wrong. Nothing had changed. It could all go on without him, and that thought cut deeper than anything else. The house didn't judge. It didn't scold. It simply waited. And it would wait a long time after he was gone. He stood at the door, with one hand on the handle, one breath held too long in his chest. He'd written every letter, spells prepared, packed every bag, told himself every reason why he had to go. But still, the weight of everything he was leaving behind pressed against his shoulders like a hand.

He didn't want to hurt anyone. But he couldn't stay and keep fading, either. This was the only choice that felt like living. He turned, ready to face what came next, but he wasn't prepared for what came next.

“Where are you off to, huh?" Pyretalon's voice came easy and groggy as he padded into the room his feathers still mussed from sleep. He blinked twice, yellow eyes adjusting to the low light. “You're never up this early. Finally taking Roran up on those ridiculous sunrise runs?"

Axton froze mid-step, ice straight down his spine as his heart thudded hard against his ribs. This was the last thing he needed. He forced a chuckle. “Yeah, he asked for help on some minor quest. Thought it'd be good to stretch my legs a bit."

Pyretalon yawned and stretched, arching his back before shaking out his wings. “Haven't had a proper quest in ages. What the hell, I'll come too. Could use a little exercise. Maybe even show off a bit, hmm? Make you squirm like that dragon did."

Axton flinched. Not visibly, but inside, the words struck sharp.

Any other day, he might've melted at that. The low teasing voice. The way Pyre's eyes gleamed when he got close. But not today.

“You know," Axton said quickly, trying to keep the edge out of his voice, “Roran kind of wanted it to just be the two of us. Nostalgia thing."

“Hmm. That's odd." Pyretalon tilted his head, that predator's instinct beginning to sharpen. “Big guy usually likes a crowd."

“Maybe he's just off to flirt about his giant knot again," Axton joked, too quickly. “Said something about 'reclaiming his title.' You know how he is."

Pyretalon narrowed his eyes. The tension in the room shifted. His feathers smoothed as his body stilled, too still. When he spoke next, his voice was quiet, certain. “You're lying."

“I'm not—"

“Again."

The single word landed heavy. Pyretalon stepped closer, slow, deliberate.

“If you're in trouble," he said, tail flicking behind him, “you need to tell me. We'll fix it. You don't have to sneak around."

Axton's eyes darted to the table. The letters. He had no way out now. “I'm not in danger," he said softly. “I'm… I'm leaving."

The silence cracked.

“Leaving?" Pyretalon echoed, the word tasting bitter in his mouth. “Where?"

“With Nelneras."

“You've got to be kidding me," Pyretalon growled, feathers puffing in disbelief. “The dragon? Axton, please tell me you've got more sense than to chase off after the first golden smile tossed your way. You're not that foolish—to have your brain leak out just because he batted his pretty lashes."

“I am," Axton snapped, more sharply than he intended, but once it started, it wouldn't stop. “I've been losing myself here for months. Pretending I'm okay. Going through the motions. Smiling at everyone while I fall apart inside. I'm tired, Pyre. I'm tired of waking up and feeling like I'm already behind."

“That's no reason to throw everything away," Pyretalon pressed. “You're going through a rough patch, we all do. You'll get through it, but you must hold on—"

“No, I won't!" The words tore out louder than he meant. “Not if I stay here trying to be the person everyone wants me to be. Not if I keep pretending that being surrounded by people means I'm not alone. You think I'm running off for romance?"

His chest rose and fell too quickly. “I'm trying to breath, Pyre."

The gryphon held his gaze, the room suddenly far too quiet.

Axton's voice dropped, bitter-soft. “Every time I cast a spell, I hear someone's voice in my head—Nivra, mom's… yours—asking if I'm doing it right. I don't even know what right is anymore."

“Nobody wants you to be perfect—"

“But they need me to be something I'm not," he interrupted. “I cast a spell right for the first time in months, and do you know why? Because Nelneras didn't try to fix me. He didn't watch me like I was going to fall apart. He just… saw me. And I felt like I could do it."

“That's no reason to throw everything away—"

“Pyre" Axton said. “I'm choosing me, for the first time." He stood rigid, shoulders tight, fists clenched. “Nelneras offered me something I haven't had in a long time—a chance. A chance to not feel like I'm worthless every time I fail another spell. A chance to not spend every day surrounded by people I love while quietly wishing I was someone else."

“You're not worthless." Pyretalon said, his ears pinned flat.

“Stop saying that!" he shouted. “I'm tired of the same lines, 'You're fine,' 'You're strong,' 'You'll get there.' I'm not. Nivra knows it, I know it, and the world damn well proves it. A twelve-year-old gryphon outperforms me! This isn't just some tantrum, this is me finally getting some control over my life."

Pyretalon flared his wings. “You don't even know him. What if he's lying?"

“He isn't," Axton snapped. “He passed a circle of truth. He didn't resist, didn't flinch. And Mom didn't kill him, which means he at least got through her firestorm. And gods help me; he believes in me. He actually wants me to succeed."

“We believe in you!" Pyretalon barked, feathers bristling. “Every damn day for years. Or do I need to list everything I've done to prove it? That doesn't count for anything now?"

“It does, but it's not enough!" Axton's hands trembled. “It's never been enough to stop the ache, the failure. You think I haven't tried? Think I haven't prayed for that to be enough? But it's not."

“You're making a choice out of fear, not sense," Pyretalon growled, stepping in between him and the door. “You're burning down your whole life because one dragon looked at you like you weren't broken."

“What does it matter?" Axton shouted, voice cracking. His hand grabbed the door.

“It matters," Pyretalon said, tail lashing. “You're Queen Nivra's apprentice. People would kill for that."

“Yeah, and to be branded a disappointment the moment I speak. Have you seen the way she looks at me lately? The way she corrects every word I say like it's a personal failing?" His voice broke, tears stinging. “She'd be better off without me."

Pyretalon's tone softened, strained but sure. “No one would be better off without you."

Axton stared him down. “Get out of my way."

“I'm not going to do that." Pyretalon's feathers drew in tight. His voice dropped into steel.

“Pyre," Axton whispered. “Please. You said you want what's best for me. How can it be best to keep waking up every day feeling like this?"

“You'll get through it. We all go through storms, Axton." He shook his head, feathers ruffling at the nape of his neck. “Storms pass. The sky remains. You just must hang on."

“I've tried! And I'm done pretending that duty or obligation is worth losing myself over."

“You don't care about duty anymore?" Pyretalon asked, hurt seeping in. “Not even enough to think about the queen? If she sees this as betrayal, what happens then? What if she throws you in prison? You think she'll let this slide?"

“She's Nivra," Axton said, voice raw. “She's not a tyrant. She knows me. If she wants to punish me, fine. At least then I'd still be me."

“But she's still your queen!" Pyretalon's beak clacked hard. “You owe her loyalty—not some shimmering, silver-tongued dragon who blew into town with a charming smirk and a nice ass!"

That did it. Axton's eyes sharpened like blades. The words came before he could stop them. “You're just jealous."

“What?" Pyretalon rasped.

“You heard me. Jealous that I found someone who saw me. Who wants me. Someone I might like back." His voice turned brittle. “And yeah, maybe I like that he's gorgeous. Who wouldn't?"

A sharp swear cut through the air in Tweetish before reverting to common.

“Don't give me that shit," Pyretalon snapped. “I'm not jealous. I've never been. I want you to be happy, gods, I pray you find love. But this? This is reckless."

“You sure sound jealous."

“That doesn't mean you throw away everything you've built. Strength is in the hunt, not the roar, remember? You're not thinking straight, and I will not let you crash headfirst into someone else's fantasy just because you're hurting."

Then came the paw. A solid grip. A warning, not a threat. A line drawn. “You're staying," he said. “We'll talk this over. You, me, Lyra, together."

“Let me go." Axton's voice was tight as rope, pulled taut. “You're not my father."

“No," Pyretalon said, gaze unwavering. “But I am the one who's loved you enough to stand still while you run headfirst into fire. And someone must be the voice of reason, even when you don't want to hear it."

One hand lifted behind him, the heel of his right foot turned. Axton whispered the word of power. The Weave surged into his palm, warm, electric, trembling like a heartbeat he didn't want to hear. In one motion, he cast it toward the gryphon's face.

A cloud of soft pink mist burst into the air, glittering, light as sand, deceptively gentle. It swirled around Pyretalon in a shimmer, clinging to his feathers like a second skin. He staggered. The strength in his grip faltered. Surprise cracked his voice into something broken.

“Axton… what—"

He collapsed with a muffled thump, his body going slack against the wooden floor.

And then the house was silent.

Just Axton's breathing remained, too fast, too shallow. His heart pounded like a war drum in a room that felt like a tomb. He stared at Pyretalon's sleeping form, ears ringing.

What had he done? The question hit him the moment silence returned. He stood still, staring at the motionless form on the floor, breath caught in his throat. Pyretalon didn't move. He didn't speak. The room felt colder for it.

Axton's hands curled into fists at his sides. His heart pounded so hard it hurt. He had cast a spell on his closest friend. Not in jest. Not in training. But to disable him. To escape him.

There was no pretending otherwise. No justification that would make it acceptable. He'd crossed a line—and he knew exactly what it meant. Mages didn't do this to those they loved. Not unless they were willing to accept the consequences. Not unless they were ready to burn trust down to ashes.

He told himself there was no other choice. That Pyre had blocked the door. That talking failed. That he had tried. But it didn't matter. In the end, he had used magic to win. And now Pyre lay unconscious on the floor for it. Axton reached for his satchel with unsteady hands.

Axton at the door. Looked back. Pyretalon lay still. His feathers were ruffled; wings slack. He was breathing but not waking. That alone was a small mercy. Still, the sight made Axton's chest tighten until it hurt.

This isn't what he wanted. But it was done. He closed his eyes, just for a second, as if that could dull the weight pressing down on his shoulders. Turning away, he stepped outside. The air was cold. The streets were quiet.

That didn't stop him. He didn't look back. Because if he did, he knew he wouldn't leave. And he had already made his choice.