(AN: Hey guys, author here I got a question. Do you want me to continue with long chapters like this of at least 3K and over, or make them like near the beginning with 1.5k to 2k? I'd like your guys' opinion on thi,s so leave a comment. Also Enjoy :) )
The nesting grounds didn't feel like a place meant for walking.
Even before Nussudle stepped fully onto the broad shelf of stone, he could feel it in the air: the tension, the raw territorial certainty of creatures that considered this height theirs alone. The rock was slick with mist and stained in places by old claw marks—deep gouges carved into the stone as though the mountain itself had once been soft enough to tear. Above, shadows crossed through drifting cloud as ikran wheeled and called, their cries sharp enough to make his ribs vibrate.
He moved slowly, forcing each breath to stay even, though his heart insisted on sprinting ahead of him. All around, the other hunters in training were doing the same—spreading out, giving one another space, each swallowed by their own private fear. No one spoke. Words felt too small here.
An ikran hissed from a nearby spire, wings half-unfurled. Its talons scraped against stone, sparks of grit scattering. It wasn't simply warning him off; it was telling him, in the most direct language possible, that he did not belong. Another answered from above, landing hard enough to make the ledge tremble. The creature's throat swelled as it gave a low, guttural roar, a sound closer to a threat than any call Nussudle had heard in the forest below.
He kept his eyes forward.
Eytukan's voice echoed in his memory—'Do not try to dominate them. Be honest.' That was the part that unnerved him most. Being honest meant letting them see his fear, his uncertainty, his inexperience, and trusting that it wouldn't make him prey.
The nesting grounds opened into a maze of stone shelves, narrow ridges, and jagged breaks where the mountain fell away into open air. In some places, the rock was warmed by the sun; in others, it was cold enough to sting. Mist rolled through gaps and curled around spires like smoke, making distances deceptive. One step could be solid ground, the next could be nothing at all.
Nussudle kept moving, guided by instinct more than sight, his body aware of the drop beneath him even when he refused to look.
Every few strides, an ikran would snap or hiss, claws clicking, wings flexing to appear larger. Some were enormous already—larger than any direhorse, their heads crowned with ridges and colours that shifted subtly with the light. Yet none of them felt like his. Not yet. He didn't know how he knew that. He simply did.
He passed a cluster of nests woven into a crevice, thick with fibres and feathers. The smell there was sharp and animal, mixed with old blood and the salt of cloud-damp air. A young ikran—smaller, bright with nervous energy—lunged forward, beak snapping. Nussudle halted instantly, hands spread slightly, not as a surrender, but as a statement: I see you. I'm not here to panic.
The creature paused, hissing, then retreated a half step, still watching him with distrust.
"Not you," Nussudle murmured under his breath and moved on.
A shallow passage led him between two stone ribs, the gap narrowing until his shoulders nearly brushed either side. The air here was colder. The mountain's hum—faintly felt earlier—grew stronger, as though the rock carried a living vibration. It made his queue prickle at the base of his spine, not in pain but in recognition. Pandora was full of places that felt old. This felt older than that—like the sky had been touching this stone since before anyone remembered the first story.
He emerged from the passage and stopped.
Ahead was an opening—wide and gaping, carved as if a chunk of the mountain had been bitten clean away. Beyond it, clouds drifted in slow, rolling currents, and below those clouds was nothing but pale emptiness and the memory of distance. The edge was so sheer it didn't look real.
And in the centre of this opening lay an ikran.
At first, Nussudle thought it was a trick of perspective. The creature's body was stretched across the stone like a sleeping storm, wings folded in heavy layers. Then he took another step and realised the scale properly.
It was enormous—easily double the size of Eytukan's ikran, its frame thick and powerful, yet still lean enough to feel built for flight. It was not as large as a hammerhead, but it carried that same impression of mass, of strength that didn't need to prove itself.
Its skin was a deep blend of black and blue, not bright like a night blossom but dense like wet stone. Subtle patterns ran along its flanks, catching the thin light in faint, shifting lines. Even sleeping, it looked alert—like it had chosen to close its eyes, not like it had been forced into rest.
Nussudle's mouth went dry.
This wasn't awe anymore. This was recognition. A sense in his bones that he had found the one creature here that could either end him in seconds or change his life forever.
Slowly, he reached to his belt and drew out the yimkxa—the banshee gag. It was a simple thing in construction, braided fibre and shaped wood, but it carried enormous meaning. The elders had taught them how to use it, how to bind it quickly, how to keep from losing fingers if the ikran thrashed. They had also made sure each hunter understood the quiet truth: the gag wasn't cruelty. It was a necessity. You couldn't bond with a creature while it was biting your head off.
Nussudle stepped forward, careful, measured, each footfall placed as softly as possible. The ikran did not move.
He continued, closing the distance.
He was near enough now to see the faint rise and fall of its ribcage, the twitch of a muscle beneath its wing joint. He could smell it—the wind, old blood, and the sharp, clean scent of altitude. His palms were damp, but his grip remained steady.
Then the ikran shifted.
Not a full movement, not yet. Just a subtle roll of its shoulder, a tightening of claws against the rock. And in that tiny adjustment, Nussudle felt the air change—it felt unmistakably that he was being measured.
The creature's head lifted in one smooth motion, far too fast for something so large.
Its eyes opened.
Red and yellow, burning as embers banked under ash.
They locked onto Nussudle with immediate, focused intelligence.
And the ikran roared.
The sound slammed into him like physical force, echoing off stone and spilling into the clouds beyond. Wings unfurled in a sudden display of dominance, spreading wide enough to fill the entire opening, making the creature seem larger still—less like an animal and more like a storm given shape.
Nussudle didn't step back.
His blood screamed at him to run. His mind shouted to freeze. But his body—his training, his instinct, his stubborn refusal to be small—did something else entirely.
He tightened his grip on the yimkxa.
And he charged.
Nussudle's feet hammered against stone, the sound oddly small beneath the ikran's roar.
The creature surged forward with a suddenness that made its size feel impossible. One moment it had been coiled like a sleeping storm; the next it was pure motion—muscle and wing and teeth—launching from the ground as if gravity had simply decided not to apply to it. Its wings snapped open wider, catching the air with a violent thoomp that sent loose grit skittering across the ledge.
Its maw opened.
Rows of serrated teeth glistened, each one curved slightly, designed not just to bite but to rip. Hot breath rolled over Nussudle's face, stinking of old blood and sharp, animal heat. The ikran's jaws clamped down where his head had been—only Nussudle wasn't there.
He dropped low, sliding beneath the lunge on instinct, shoulder brushing the stone. The wind of the bite rattled his braids. He felt the snap of teeth close so close it was like hearing a blade strike air.
He didn't pause to admire how near death had come.
As he passed under the creature's neck, he reached out, fingers clawing for purchase along the thick ridges of its chest. The ikran twisted, furious, trying to catch him in the sweep of its wing. Nussudle rolled with the movement, letting the wing's edge skim over his back rather than collide, then drove himself forward again.
A second bite came—faster, angrier.
Nussudle threw himself sideways, nearly tumbling toward the gaping edge that dropped into the clouds. Mist surged up around his calves, cold and wet. The open sky was right there, waiting, hungry. His stomach clenched, but he forced his focus back onto the ikran.
You are not falling today.
The creature reared, talons raking stone, wings flaring to make itself huge. Its eyes burned, fixed on him with a predator's certainty. Nussudle could almost feel it thinking, calculating how to end this quickly.
He had one chance, maybe two. He needed to be on its back.
He lunged in again, faster now, committing fully. The ikran snapped at him, jaws clamping down with a sound like cracking wood. Nussudle ducked under, shoulder driving into the creature's chest. He used the moment of imbalance—when its weight shifted, when its head swung wide—to spring upward.
His hands caught the ridge along its neck. Fingers dug into tough hide. He hauled himself up with a burst of strength, legs swinging, and then he was there—half on, half hanging—before he forced his body forward and landed on the creature's back.
The world became blurred and circular.
The ikran exploded into frantic violence, bucking and twisting, wings snapping and claws scraping, doing everything in its power to throw him off. Nussudle flattened himself down, chest pressed to the hot, living surface, arms locked around the thick ridge where neck met shoulder. Its muscles rolled beneath him like waves, each spasm trying to unseat him.
He clenched his legs around the ikran's torso, knees digging in hard. The hide was slick with mist and warmth, and his grip threatened to slide. He adjusted, shifting his weight the way the elders had drilled into him during training—low, centred, refusing to give the animal a lever point.
The ikran slammed sideways into the stone wall of the opening.
The impact rattled Nussudle's teeth, pain flashing through his ribs. For a second, he saw stars, literal and bright. The creature hit again, harder, scraping its own flank against rock as if it meant to crush him between bone and stone.
Nussudle held on.
He felt the edge of the opening behind them, the faint pull of open air. The ikran was aiming for it. Not by accident, but with cold intent. If it could throw him off the ledge, the sky would do the rest.
He forced one hand free, fumbling for the yimkxa. The gag was looped in his grip like a lifeline. He tried to bring it forward, but the ikran snapped its head backwards, jaws opening wide, teeth searching for him.
Nussudle reacted without thinking.
He shoved his legs forward, feet bracing against the sides of the creature's jawline, forcing its mouth open and then—when it tried to clamp down—blocking the bite with sheer leverage. The strain shot through his thighs, but he held, trembling, teeth gritted.
With his free hand, he flung the yimkxa forward, looping it over the upper jaw ridge.
The ikran thrashed.
Nussudle tightened the gag with a violent pull, the braided fibres biting into place. He shifted, using his body weight to keep the jaw pinned while his hands worked with frantic precision. The elders had said it would be messy. They hadn't mentioned how much it would feel like wrestling a living avalanche.
The ikran slammed itself into the stone again, wings beating wildly, trying to throw him sideways and off.
Nussudle leaned into it, anchoring himself. He wrapped the gag tighter, securing it so the creature's maw couldn't fully close. It hissed through clenched teeth, a sound full of fury and disbelief.
For a brief moment—only a heartbeat—the beast's thrashing slowed.
It wasn't calm. It wasn't a submission.
It was a recalculation.
Nussudle used that sliver of time to shift himself forward, straddling the thick ridge behind its skull. His hands found the base of its neural queue, that long, sensitive braid-like extension. It twitched as if alive in its own right, recoiling from his touch.
The ikran felt it too. It surged forward, head snapping toward the open edge.
The creature was going to throw him off anyway.
The world tilted as it charged for the void, wings half unfurled, talons scraping stone. Nussudle's stomach dropped. Mist whipped around them, cold enough to sting his eyes. The drop was right there.
He reached for his own queue with shaking fingers, pulling it forward.
The ikran's neural queue lashed like a whip.
Nussudle grabbed it.
The creature screamed, a raw sound strangled by the gag. It bucked violently, trying to tear free. Nussudle almost lost his grip. His fingers slid, panic flaring. He forced himself to breathe.
Now.
With his heart pounding against his ribs, Nussudle guided his queue toward the ikran's.
The creature jerked, wings flaring, body twisting at the very edge of the opening. Stone crumbled under its talons. For a fraction of a second, Nussudle felt the sickening weightlessness of the void beneath them.
Then—contact.
His queue connected.
And the world cracked open.
The connection struck like lightning.
Nussudle's breath tore from his lungs as sensation flooded him all at once—too much, too fast. The world fractured and reassembled through foreign senses, colours sharpening beyond anything his own eyes had ever known. The wind became texture, pressure, resistance. The mountain's edge wasn't just stone anymore; it was a boundary felt through talons and wing joints, a place of danger and opportunity braided together.
The ikran's fury crashed into him.
It was not mindless rage. It was territorial certainty, ancient and absolute. This place is mine. The thought wasn't spoken, but it was undeniable, a truth etched into muscle memory and instinct. The creature fought the bond viciously, thrashing with renewed violence as it tried to tear free from the unfamiliar presence inside its mind.
Nussudle screamed—not in fear, but in shock—as his awareness stretched across a body that was not his. Wings that weighed more than his entire frame flexed involuntarily, half responding to his panic, half resisting it. The ikran slammed sideways again, stone grinding beneath talons, and Nussudle felt the impact echo through his own bones.
No, he thought desperately, the word echoing uselessly against the storm of instinct.
The ikran surged toward the open edge, intent blazing: Fall. Break him. Be free.
The void yawned beneath them.
Mist swallowed the ledge as the creature launched itself outward, wings half-open, body twisting violently. Gravity seized them both. Nussudle felt the sickening pull in his stomach, the unmistakable sensation of falling—and worse, he felt the ikran's certainty that it would survive the drop even if he did not.
Panic threatened to overwhelm him.
But beneath it, something else stirred.
Connection.
Not dominance. Not command. Understanding.
Nussudle forced himself to stop fighting the flood of sensation and instead listen. He let the ikran's fear register alongside its anger—the violation of territory, the shock of being challenged, the instinctive need to rid itself of the intrusion. He pushed his own thoughts outward, not as words, but as feelings.
'I am not your end.'
The idea was clumsy, unrefined, but honest.
The ikran's thoughts stuttered.
They were still falling.
Wind howled past them, tearing at wings that weren't fully spread. The creature shrieked, fury cracking into something sharper—uncertainty. It had intended to throw him into the clouds, to watch him vanish, but the bond tangled that intent. Nussudle felt its balance falter, the precise calculations of muscle and air disrupted by the sudden presence of another will.
Fly, he thought—not as an order, but as a plea layered with instinct.
For a heartbeat, the ikran resisted.
Then something shifted.
Its wings snapped fully open.
The impact was violent.
Air caught beneath the vast membranes with a thunderous force, yanking them sideways rather than downward. The sudden change nearly tore Nussudle from its back, his grip slipping as the ikran roared in surprise and pain. He clamped down harder, legs locking, every muscle screaming.
They didn't fall.
They surged.
The ikran beat its wings once—twice—massive strokes that shoved the clouds aside in rolling waves. The falling sensation twisted into acceleration, a powerful upward pull that made Nussudle's vision blur. Cold air tore tears from his eyes. The creature's body shuddered as it fought the bond and the sky simultaneously.
And then—
They were flying.
The realisation hit Nussudle with such force that laughter burst from his chest before he could stop it, raw and disbelieving. The ikran climbed hard, wings pumping, cutting through mist and cloud as the floating mountain fell away beneath them. The sky opened wide, endless and brilliant, and the weight of the world dropped from his shoulders.
The ikran screamed again, but this time the sound was different.
Not rage.
Exhilaration.
Nussudle felt it ripple through the bond, a fierce, almost savage joy in motion itself. This was what the creature had been made for—not the stone ledge, not the nesting ground, but the open sky. The connection stabilised, no longer a battlefield but a taut line between two wills learning how to coexist.
Below them, the ledge shrank rapidly.
Nussudle glanced down and caught a glimpse of Eytukan far below, standing on a distant shelf with his ikran. His brother threw his head back and laughed, the sound lost to distance but unmistakable in posture.
Above, floating mountains drifted like titans at rest, their roots trailing through clouds. Waterfalls spilled endlessly into nothing, dissolving into mist that glittered in the light.
Nussudle's heart hammered, half with adrenaline, half with wonder.
He adjusted his grip instinctively, shifting his weight as the ikran banked. To his astonishment, the creature responded—not perfectly, not yet, but enough. The movement smoothed slightly, the turn widening into something deliberate rather than chaotic.
They weren't fighting anymore.
They were learning.
Wind roared past his ears, the sound filling him until it drowned out everything else—fear, doubt, pain. For the first time since the journey began, Nussudle felt entirely present, his mind and body aligned with the moment rather than the future.
We are not done, the ikran's presence seemed to say, fierce and untamed.
Nussudle grinned into the wind.
"No," he agreed aloud, voice torn away by speed and sky. "We're just beginning."
They climbed higher, threading between the floating mountains, two lives bound together in motion and momentum, leaving stone and uncertainty behind as the clouds closed beneath them.
The sky stopped being something Nussudle moved through and became something he belonged to.
The initial surge of wild flight slowly eased, the ikran's wingbeats settling into a powerful, steady rhythm. Each stroke pushed against the air with practised certainty, and with every moment the frantic edge of the bond softened into something clearer. The creature was still alert, still wary, but the violent resistance had faded, replaced by a sharp, curious awareness that mirrored Nussudle's own.
He adjusted his posture again, easing his weight forward, loosening his death-grip just enough to feel the ikran's movements rather than fight them. The response was immediate. The wings dipped slightly, the turn smoothing out as they banked between two floating mountains. Water vapour rushed past them in cool sheets, and Nussudle laughed again—this time quieter, breathless, overwhelmed.
Through the bond, he felt the ikran's perception expand outward. Air currents became visible as pressure and texture. Distance was no longer abstract but measured instinctively, calculated by muscle and wing. The mountains were not obstacles but anchors, shaping the wind in ways that could be used rather than avoided.
This is how you move, the ikran seemed to say, not in words but in sensation.
Nussudle listened.
He shifted his legs slightly, tightening one knee while easing the other. The ikran responded, banking left. Surprise flared through the bond—quick, sharp—but it wasn't anger. It was recognition. Nussudle tried again, guiding rather than forcing, and the turn came cleaner this time, the wind slipping beneath them in a smooth arc.
Below, the floating mountains drifted like islands in a silver sea. Other shapes moved among them now—dark silhouettes cutting through the cloud as newly bonded riders took to the sky. Shouts echoed faintly, a mixture of laughter, disbelief, and triumph. Nussudle caught sight of one ikran spiralling wildly before steadying, its rider clinging on with stubborn determination.
They were all learning together.
The ikran beneath him let out a low, rumbling sound—not a roar, not a hiss, but something closer to satisfaction. Its wings stretched wider, catching a rising thermal, and suddenly they were climbing again with minimal effort. The sensation was intoxicating. Nussudle felt as though his chest might burst from it.
He risked a glance downward.
The world had shrunk into layers—clouds below, stone far beneath them, the forest reduced to a distant memory. Fear tried to resurface at the sight of the height, but it couldn't take hold. Not here. Not now. The bond held him steady, anchoring him to the creature's certainty that this was exactly where they were meant to be.
Trust, the ikran's presence conveyed, firm and instinctive.
"I do," Nussudle whispered, though the wind stole the words almost immediately.
They banked once more, this time threading between two massive rock faces draped in hanging roots. The air funnelled through the gap, faster and more turbulent, and the ikran adjusted without hesitation, wings flexing to compensate. Nussudle felt the correction ripple through the bond and followed it, shifting his balance in time.
For the first time, the movement felt seamless.
They burst back into open sky, clouds peeling away beneath them like torn cloth. Ahead, a broad shelf of stone jutted from one of the floating mountains, already crowded with ikran and riders. Eytukan stood near the edge, his posture relaxed, his expression openly proud as he watched the newcomers approach.
Nussudle guided his ikran downward cautiously, feeling the creature's awareness sharpen as it prepared to land. Wings flared, beating slower now, angling to bleed off speed. Talons extended, scraping stone with a shrill sound before finding purchase. The impact jolted Nussudle forward, but he held, laughing breathlessly as the ikran folded its wings and settled.
They had done it.
His legs trembled as he swung down, knees nearly giving way as his feet hit solid ground. He steadied himself against the ikran's warm flank, one hand pressed to its hide. The bond hummed quietly now, no longer overwhelming but constant, a presence that felt as natural as his own heartbeat.
Other riders landed nearby, some more gracefully than others. One nearly tumbled outright before being caught by a friend. Laughter erupted, breaking the tension that had carried them this far. Even grief from the previous days loosened its grip, replaced by something lighter—earned relief.
Nayat'i landed a short distance away.
Her ikran touched down hard, wings snapping closed as she dismounted with shaking legs. For a moment, she simply stood there, eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Then she laughed—soft at first, then louder—as if she couldn't quite believe herself.
Their eyes met across the stone.
There was no awkwardness this time. No distance. Just shared understanding, raw and unfiltered. Nussudle felt something warm settle in his chest, a quiet certainty that whatever had gone unsaid before had not been lost—only delayed.
Eytukan approached, clapping a hand against Nussudle's shoulder hard enough to stagger him. "That one suits you," he said, nodding toward the massive ikran. "You nearly scared me when you went over the edge."
Nussudle grinned, unable to stop it. "You said I had to do it myself."
Eytukan laughed. "And you did."
The ikran shifted beside him, issuing a low, resonant sound that vibrated through Nussudle's ribs. He reached up instinctively, resting his forehead briefly against its neck. The creature did not pull away.
Below them, the clouds rolled endlessly.
Above them, the sky stretched wide and open.
Nussudle closed his eyes for a moment and breathed, feeling the bond settle fully into place. He had crossed stone and fear, loss and doubt, and come out into something larger than himself.
He had claimed the sky.
And the sky, at last, had answered.