The silence in the ritual chamber pressed down. Leon stood motionless, studying the spiral of corrupted sigils and the broken body at its center. Finally, he turned to Marcus.

  "Remain here. Guard the sealed chamber. No one enters without my authorization."

  Marcus's expression shifted from surprise to understanding. He planted his hammer against the stone with a heavy thud.

  "If anything attempts to breach the seal, you send word immediately and fall back. Do not engage alone."

  "Understood."

  Leon clasped the bigger man's shoulder once. "We'll return soon."

  The walk back up felt anticlimactic.

  After everything he'd been through trudging past cleared corridors felt like the world's longest cooldown. John's legs moved on autopilot, his mind still stuck on that spiral of sigils and on Leon's decision to leave it intact.

  Hope was a dangerous thing. He had learned that the hard way, in another life. But it persisted anyway, stubborn and foolish.

  Maybe they could change things. Maybe discovery would be enough.

  Maybe.

  The dungeon entrance appeared ahead, daylight streaming through. John squinted against it, suddenly aware of how long he'd been underground. Hours? A full day? Time had become meaningless in the depths.

  Leon stepped into the sunlight first, and John followed. The sudden warmth on his face felt like heaven.

  And then John saw them.

  "What the hell," he breathed.

  Three griffins lounged in the ravine like they owned it. Massive creatures, each one easily the size of a car, with lion bodies that rippled with muscle and eagle heads that turned with predatory intelligence. Their wings spread wide as they preened, feathers catching the light like polished bronze.

  One of them noticed John and fixed him with a stare that went straight through to his soul. Its beak could probably bite him in half without effort.

  "First time seeing a griffin?" Erin asked, amusement in her voice.

  "Yeah," John managed.

  Lia appeared at his elbow, smiling despite her exhaustion. "They're beautiful, aren't they? Leon's is Stormwind, the gray one. That's Ironwing, Marcus's mount. And the white one is Frostfeather, Erin's." She smiled fondly at them. "Mine isn't here, but she's Stormwind's twin. Same clutch. Dawnsinger."

  "Your griffin is Leon's griffin's twin?" John looked between Lia and Leon, really seeing the resemblance for the first time. Same eyes, same cheekbones, same way of holding themselves. "You two are related?"

  Lia blinked. "I... yes? Leon is my brother. Did you really not know?"

  "How would I know?"

  She tilted her head, genuinely confused. "Why did you think such powerful people came to rescue a backwater village? The adventurers at the inn were all Rank One, maybe Rank Two." She gestured at Leon and Erin. "They're not exactly local militia."

  John opened his mouth, then closed it. "I didn't think?"

  Leon, who had been conferring with Erin, glanced over. A smile tugged at his mouth.

  "I panicked, all right?" John said defensively. "There was a lot going on. Thinking wasn't high on my priority list."

  "Clearly." Leon smirked and turned to Erin. "Frostfeather will carry Hale. He needs transport back to Greyford."

  Erin was already moving toward her griffin, pulling strips of dried meat from a pouch. The massive creature lowered its head, accepting the offering delicately. She fed another strip, fingers scratching under the griffin's chin, then moved to Ironwing and offered the same. Marcus's griffin took the meat with a pleased rumble. "Not a problem. He's light enough."

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  Leon nodded. "The town should be safe enough with Marcus guarding the dungeon and the overflow halted. You both return to Greyford."

  The command in his voice made John's spine straighten. "That's not a request, is it?"

  "No." Leon's expression softened slightly. "You've been underground for hours, fought things that should have killed you, and my sister is exhausted and running on stubbornness alone." He looked at Lia, who opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. "I want you both somewhere I know you're safe while we wait for the scholars. Is that clear?"

  Leon had moved to his own griffin. Stormwind watched him approach, lowering its head for Leon to scratch behind its ear tufts. From a pouch at his belt, Leon produced parchment, ink, and a quill that looked far too nice for field use.

  He wrote quickly, the scratch of quill on paper somehow loud in the quiet ravine. When he finished, he rolled the parchment tight and sealed it with something from his ring, a wax stamp that glowed faintly blue before cooling.

  Then he lifted his hand. Light coalesced in his palm. Not the golden healing magic, but something silver and translucent. A bird formed, delicate and ethereal, made of condensed mana.

  Leon whispered something John couldn't hear, and the bird took flight. It circled once, twice, then shot skyward, vanishing into the blue.

  "Priority summons. They may arrive within hours if they're already in the region," Leon said.

  "And if they're not?" Lia asked.

  "Then we wait. But we don't leave the site unguarded either way." Leon looked at them. "Mount up. We're burning daylight."

  John approached Frostfeather cautiously. The griffin watched him come, head tilting in a distinctly birdlike gesture that would have been cute if the creature hadn't been the size of a truck.

  "Uh," John said. "Hi. Sorry about... this." He gestured at himself, at the blood and ichor coating him. "I know I'm a mess."

  Frostfeather made a sound somewhere between a chirp and a growl. John chose to interpret it as understanding.

  "She's seen worse," Erin said, vaulting into the saddle easily. "She's a war griffin. Bred for battle. Last month she carried a knight who'd been partially digested by a slime. You're practically pristine by comparison."

  "That's... not reassuring."

  "It's not meant to be. Now get up here before Leon decides to leave without us."

  John reached for the saddle, missed, tried again, and finally managed to haul himself up. Frostfeather shifted beneath him, muscles rippling, and he grabbed for the saddle horn.

  "Oh, wait." Erin twisted in the saddle, reaching for something. "We could clean you up first. I've got the kit right—"

  Frostfeather's head whipped around, beak snapping shut an inch from Erin's hand. The sound was like a gunshot.

  Erin jerked back. "All right, all right! No grooming kit. Message received."

  "What just happened?" John asked.

  "She's... particular about her dignity." Erin settled back into position. "The cleaning kit is for after battle, and apparently she doesn’t share."

  "I feel judged by a bird."

  "You should. She has high standards."

  Leon and Lia were already in the air, Stormwind's wings beating with steady, powerful strokes.

  Erin glanced back at John. "Ready?"

  "Absolutely not."

  "Perfect." She leaned forward, and Frostfeather bunched her legs. "Hold on tight!"

  The griffin launched, and John's stomach dropped into his boots. The world fell away in a rush of wind and terror and exhilaration all mixed together. John clutched the saddle with both hands, his whole body rigid with the certainty that he was about to die.

  Then Frostfeather leveled out, and suddenly they were flying.

  Actually flying.

  The sensation was nothing like he'd imagined. Not the smooth glide of a video game character. This was real. The wind battered him, stealing his breath. The griffin's muscles shifted beneath him with every wingbeat, powerful and alive. The air smelled so clean up here, scrubbed of the dungeon's rot, just wind and sun and open sky.

  John had spent years in a basement. Concrete walls, flickering screens. The weight of the world pressing down through cheap drywall and his landlord's aggression.

  This was the opposite of all that.

  "You can breathe!" Erin called back. "It helps!"

  John realized he had been holding his breath and let it out in a shaky laugh. The terror was still there, but underneath it was something else. Wonder.

  He was flying. On a griffin. Because magic was real, and so were monsters, and apparently so was this.

  The wind tore at his clothes and hair, bringing tears to his eyes. The sun warm on his face. The sky spread overhead, impossibly blue.

  For just a moment, John let himself forget about the Black Hymn, about failing wards and hidden rituals and the slow death of humanity.

  For just a moment, he was flying.

  And it was beautiful.