Sabir’s eyes fluttered open, the heavy weight of sleep still clinging to him. The world swarm around him in a myriad of shapes and sounds. His disorientation slowly eased and his vision returned. Surrounding him were three familiar faces. Zabo, Warren and Maize leaned over him, watching him full of concern.


    They looked weary, dirt-streaked, and bloodied, yet somehow relieved. Sabir couldn’t remember what happened. They seemed to had gone through a battle, yet all he could remember was that world. A dream.


    Cutting off his thoughts, Zabo’s enthusiastic voice rang through the wasteland. “Sleeping beauty finally woke up from the kiss of his charming prince.” He smirked, putting his hand on his head to mock Sabir’s unconscious state.


    Sabir blinked, still trying to piece together where he was and what had happened. That fact that everything was a dream, or an illusion, was still settling in.


    It hurt so much.


    The pain of knowing he was happier in the comfort of his own mind was unsettling. Sabir could only wish he could go back to the world where his sister was still alive, where he could smile and laugh plentifully. It filled him with a sense of bitterness that everything he ever wanted could never be. Yet Cynthia’s last words kept ringing in his mind. Revenge? How could he ever pursue such a thing with such weakness?


    He was back to reality.


    “What are you talking about? Who you calling a sleeping beauty?” Sabir’s voice came out rough, but he tried to show his usual snark. It was better to just act like nothing happened in the confines of his mind. He didn’t want anyone to think he was crazy.


    “You, of course! Well, calling you a beauty is a kind of crazy, when you look like a bag of bones,” Zabo replied, his teasing tone not matching his trembling eyes.


    If Maize didn’t arrive when she did, Zabo knew deep down Sabir’s blood would be on his hands. He needed to make sure he protected him this time. The guy was already walking a tightrope with his life on the line. Zabo felt responsible for his life. We swore we’d make it out together.


    Sabir got up slowly. His muscles ached with every movement. His lips tasted strange, like sweet flowers, and his tongue pressed curiously against them. He frowned, confused by the sensation, but before he could dwell on it, the low, guttural sounds of gulping and tearing echoed nearby. He turned his head, and his eyes widened.


    Close to where they stood, Maize’s griffin, Violet, was dining. he massive creature’s beak was snapping up what looked like grotesque, half-dead monsters, their bodies limp and grotesque, disappearing whole down the griffin’s throat. Sabir grimaced, instinctively pulling back from the sight, his stomach lurching.


    “What the hell happened?” Sabir asked, glancing at the others. His head still felt foggy, and it didn’t help that Zabo and Warren looked like they’d been through hell. Grime had further torn and smeared Zabo’s clothes, and Warren’s pristine jacket was now frayed and tattered at the edges.


    Warren moved to Sabir’s side, offering his arm to help him stand. “You almost died, that’s what happened,” he answered, his voice flat. “You have a habit of that, y’know.” Warren’s grimace caused Sabir to feel an edge of guilt, that he had only caused issues for his friends.


    A little further back, with her arms crossed, Maize watched them. “I had to use my only vial of ambrosia to save you,” she said, laced with some annoyance. “It was a gift from my mother. One vial, and now it’s gone.”


    He met her eyes, feeling a weight of gratitude settle over him. “Thank you,” he said softly. The time Noah Voltaire performed a similar act came to mind, but this time, gratitude truly overwhelmed him.


    “Here, take your shirt; I can’t stand seeing you without one any longer,” Zabo said, as he bent down and picked up Sabir’s tattered, worn-out shirt off the ground. Zabo extended the shirt toward Sabir.


    Violet, Maize’s griffin, had completed its meal and come over, its eyes glowing with an unsettling intelligence. The griffin nudged Sabir’s bare chest with its beak, curious, then snapped at the shirt Zabo had been holding out for him.


    “Hey!” Zabo shouted, pulling his hand back just in time. Half the shirt was already halfway down the griffin’s throat.


    “Does your damn monster eat everything, for crying out loud,” Zabo muttered, holding out the half eaten shirt towards Maize.


    Maize frowned as she marched toward the griffin, hands firmly on her hips. “Bad, Violet!” She punctuated the reprimand with a sharp tap on the beak of the griffin. “That wasn’t food!”


    Violet cocked its head, pretending to be innocent, and then gave a low, almost purring sound. Sabir could have sworn the creature was laughing at them.


    Warren steeled himself, calling upon his voice to command attention. “Alright, enough about the griffin,” he said, rubbing his temples. “What do we do now?” He turned his gaze to Maize, who seemed to have regained her composure.


    The expression on Maize’s face became fixed as she stared at them. The fire ignited in her eyes. “We need to keep moving,” she said simply. There was no arguing with her tone.


    Zabo frowned before crossing his arms. “Moving? I hope moving means heading back to Havana.” He gestured toward Sabir. “Sabir won’t survive another fight out here.” Sabir was still feeling weak, anyone could tell, and though the black veins that had ravaged his body seemed to have receded, he knew whatever was inside him wasn’t done. Not yet.


    Maize let out a soft laugh, as if Zabo’s words were amusing. “You’re welcome to go home, but I’m not turning back. Not after everything my family invested.” She met Zabo’s eyes, her own blazing with determination. “If I return empty-handed, my mother will scold me to no end. Our families—” she glanced at Warren “—honor is on the line.”


    Sabir was spinning, trying to fit together the fragments of the last few days. Words of Maize stirred something deep within him—something dark and familiar. Families. Duty. Responsibility. It took him back to thoughts of Cynthia, to a past he’d both left behind and now missed.


    Zabo looked between Maize, Warren, and Sabir, his frown deepening. He glanced at the desolate wasteland stretching out before them—the jagged rocks, the lifeless sands, and the shadows of creatures that could emerge from the dunes at any moment. He knew, deep down, that heading back was suicide if no one came with him. There was safety in numbers. “Fine,” he muttered, throwing up his hands in surrender. “Where are we headed?”


    The smile that formed on Maize’s lips was too wide, almost manic. “The dungeon, like we always intended,” she said. “We take Violet and fly there.”


    Sabir stared at her, believing she had completely lost her mind. “Wait,” he said, rubbing his eyes, still attempting to shake off the residual fog that clung to his thoughts. “You’re telling us to climb atop that thing?” He gestured toward Violet, who was now preening her feathers, completely bored with the humans and their anxiety.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    “Yes,” Maize answered straightforwardly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.


    Sabir passed a hand through his hair and let out a loud breath. He had lived through so many near death encounter; he was losing track. And now, as brave as he was, she wanted him to go flying into a dungeon, riding a monster. He could swear she was insane.


    “You think I’m crazy,” Maize said, her smile never faltering. “But this is our best shot. Right now, we are too far from Havana. If we stay out here much longer, we’ll be a light snack for the next monster that wanders by.”


    Zabo stared at Sabir, who still rubbed his exhausted temples, and then looked back at the wasteland. “She’s got a point,” he said with deliberate slowness, as if forced to concede the obvious. “Better to fly than die out here.”


    The situation was pressing down on Sabir, and he sighed. They had little choice. Every part of him screamed to turn back, to find safety. But where would he go? Back to The Limbo? Back to the ruins of a life he barely recognized? No. He was stuck here, for better or worse, with Maize, Zabo, and Warren.


    “Okay,” he mumbled. “Let’s move.”


    The grin on Maize’s face expanded as she pulled herself effortlessly onto Violet’s back. “Okay, then,” she called down to them. “Climb aboard, princess.” She extended a hand to Sabir, who took it, albeit somewhat reluctantly. With a not-so-mighty heave, Maize pulled him up to where she was sitting, now on the back of a griffin.


    As he held on the Griffin’s back, Sabir could feel Violet’s thick fur as it engulfed his hand. It was warm and comforting. He looked towards the beast’s head and, as if on cue, the Griffin’s bird-like head cocked to face Sabir. Two pairs of eyes met and Sabir understood now that this was no monster. It was a majestic animal, one that shared similar coloured eyes to his own. There was a feeling of kinship that Sabir felt with Violet, that he couldn’t explain.


    The intrigue Sabir felt for the griffin was nothing compared to the excitement Zabo was feeling. He watched Warren as he crawled on top of Violet. But then he realized there was no place on the griffin for him.


    “Hey, where am I going to sit on that damn bird? There’s no space,” Zabo asked, eyes fixed on Violet. He attempted to play it cool when Maize said they’d be riding on the Griffin, but he couldn’t contain his excitement.


    A sadistic smile spread across Maize’s face. “We have a special seat set aside just for you, Zabo.” An eager, metallic sound issued from Violet, as it got ready to take off yet again.


    Zabo had a sneaking suspicion that he was going to get stiffed.


    ***


    “AHHHHHHH,” Zabo let out a guttural scream as he flew into the air. The special seat that Maize had reserved for him was, in fact, Violet’s front legs. The Griffin’s powerful talons held Zabo up in the air, the pain of its long nails digging into Zabo’s back was unbearable.


    “I hate you Maize Gaian, I hate you. I wish Elektra was still here. Even she wouldn’t do something like this to me!”


    As Maize laughed hysterically, Zabo exploded with more curses than anyone could count. He let them know exactly how he felt about this situation, although the swaying sounds of the Violet’s flapping wings made Sabir and Warren deaf to Zabo’s rant. And so they watched in silence and stillness from the comfort of the Violet’s back. Sabir said a silent prayer for Zabo but really did not know how to help him without also getting on Maize’s bad side.


    Warren and Sabir thought it was best that Zabo took the so-called special seat. After all, he was a special guy.


    Amid Zabo’s screaming, Sabir’s curiosity was at its highest. He leaned forward, raising his voice to be heard above the howling wind. “Why are we flying so low?”


    They were hardly flying over 50 feet in the air. Sabir found it strange how low they were flying, when Violet could probably soar well above the clouds.


    Looking back at him, Maize’s expression was momentarily unreadable. Then, with what could almost be called an air of merriment, she let a slow smile emerge on her lips. “Oh,” she said, her voice lilting. “So you don’t know?”


    Sabir knitted his brow, puzzled by her tone. “Know what?”


    “You don’t, of course,” she said thoughtfully, looking back to the horizon. “You’ve spent your entire existence in The Limbo. You’ve likely never had to consider what governs the heavens, have you?”


    Her words hung in the air, setting off a vague sense of unease in Sabir. He shifted his grip on the griffin’s feathers, glancing at Warren, but he seemed more focused on the flight than the conversation. “What are you talking about?” Sabir asked, growing more curious by the second.


    “We humans were once weak, you know,” began Maize, as if telling an old tale. “When the rifts tore the world apart, and those monsters began crawling out of the earth, we were on the brink of extinction. But then Esper powers developed, and for the first time, we could fight back. We could hold our ground. That’s how we built Havana—how we reclaimed part of this world for ourselves.” She paused, and for the first time since he’d met her, Maize looked unsure. She cast a glance at him over her shoulder and then peered above. “But that’s just the land,” she continued after the brief pause.


    Sabir raised an eyebrow. “The land?”


    Maize nodded, and this time her smile had vanished. She lifted her hand and pointed up above. “Up there,” she said, her voice turning serious, “there’s only one ruler.”


    Sabir directed his gaze to where hers was, up into the endless stretch of sky. It was a perfect, cloudless blue, not a single thing to mar its perfection. “Who?” he asked, and a little shiver of foreboding slipped down his back. “Who rules the skies?”


    Maize faced him, and something glinted in her eyes that made Sabir uneasy. “Not who,” she said, lowering her voice. “What.”


    Sabir felt his throat tighten, and his mind raced. “What do you mean? What is up there?”


    With slightly forward propulsion of her body, Maize spoke with a heft of sound that carried it into the air. “Have you ever heard of a dragon?”


    The term struck Sabir with the force of a hammer. A dragon. Hearing the word made him think of the old, battered picture books that Mrs. Norris used to read to him. They were creatures of legend, something out of old stories—tales of fire and wings that darkened the sky.


    “Yeah,” Sabir replied, his voice quieter now. “I know what they are.”


    Maize chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. “Well, let me tell you something, Sabir. The dragon—it’s real. And up there, it’s the king of everything. We humans… we might hope to one day rule the land, but we don’t dare touch the sky for too long. If we get caught up there, in its territory…” Her words trailed off, but the message was clear.


    Sabir’s skin prickled as the truth of her words sank in. “It hunts anything that enters its territory,” Maize went on. “No one knows what it wants. It just hovers aimlessly across the sky. Honestly, I envy its freedom.”


    Until now, Warren had been quiet, but he at last spoke up, and his voice was grim. “The dragon is a five star rated threat.”


    Sabir looked over at him, confused. “What does that mean? Five stars?”


    Warren explained in a serious tone, “What it means is that it could wipe out the entire human race if it wanted to. Not just Havana, but the rest of the world, too. We’re just lucky that it doesn’t seem interested in doing that.”


    Sabir felt a shiver go up his spine and looked up at the clear sky, as though something enormous and awful were about to drop and tear them apart. A creature that could destroy everything. It didn’t seem likely; yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He gained a dangerous sense of curiosity. He wondered what it looked like.


    Before Sabir could ask more, a sudden scream pierced the air. “AHHH” Zabo’s voice cut through the tension, startling them all.


    Maize jolted, twisting. “Zabo, are you a scaredy cat? Violet hasn’t dropped you yet, has she?” she snapped, her neck straining her neck to see Zabo dangling in the air helplessly.


    Zabo was indicating towards the ground, his complexion ashen. “No, it’s not that, there!” he yelled, his voice nearly spiraling into a pitch of genuine panic. “Look down there!”


    Sabir, Maize, and Warren trailed his pointing finger, their eyes going wide at what lay below. Lying in the dust and debris of the wasteland was the wreckage of a Humvee—a vehicle torn apart, its metallic frame twisted and charred, as though it had been through the worst kind of battle. Smoke still rose from it in thin trails, like ghostly fingers reaching into the sky.


    And it wasn’t merely the wreckage that captured their attention. Strewed about it were four bodies—no, not bodies. Sabir felt his heart stutter. They were people. People that were still very much alive; just about.


    Zabo was leaning forward and appeared to be in shock. “Fuck—are they...?”


    Sabir squinted, trying to make out any details. And then his breath caught in his throat. Among the injured figures on the ground was a face he recognized—wild, bloodied, but unmistakable.


    “Elektra.” Sabir’s voice had dwindled to a whisper.


    Elektra was alive.