Take It With You

For the first time in years—perhaps decades—Maria felt light.

No weight pressing against her chest like damp linen. Just wind, and motion, and air that didn’t burn to breathe.

She blinked—eyes that were no longer eyes. The bed was below her now. Her own body, slumped and still beneath the tangled sheets. 

"How... undignified."

She’d left it behind.

She twirled, the movement natural and unfamiliar all at once. A slow, ghostly spin above the place she’d been trapped for too long. Her presence brushed the curtains. Stirred the papers stacked on the nightstand. Fluttered the breath of a nurse passing outside the door.

“...What?”

Down below, Elisa stood before the window, eyes set and shoulders trembling, her fingers curled into trembling fists.

Maria stared. A sound escaped her—half sob, half breath, all memory.

“Oh gods…” she whispered. “You… you grew.”

Elisa lifted a chair.

Maria’s hand shot out on instinct—reflex, mother’s muscle memory—but it passed through the air, useless. Powerless.

“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I couldn’t give you better. I—I wanted to, I swear it.”

The chair crashed through the window.

Glass shattered. Light poured in like judgment. And freedom.

“I… I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect myself. But you…”

Elisa stepped back, wild and breathless. Radiant in her defiance. A child no longer.

“My beautiful girl…” Maria whispered. “You gave me back my wings.”

Below, Elisa’s tears still shimmered faintly on the tiles. A trail of mourning and rebirth. And Maria watched as her daughter flew—feathers trailing, blood forgotten.

So the truth came out, then.

Maria wanted to believe this: that if they used her body for good, maybe she hadn’t been useless after all. Maybe letting go had been right. Maybe the Gods were merciful. She wasn’t in the Pits, chained to brimstone. Not yet.

She didn’t smile, not exactly. But if light could smile, she did.

Then—

A glimmer.

The light bent, not harsh. Gentle. Like dawn, not spotlight.

And then, he arrived.

Wings that spanned the length of the ward, though they didn’t disturb a thing. Talons that didn’t scrape the floor. A beak curved not for violence, but for grace.

A falcon—not just any falcon, but the falcon. Her god. Mazilrit.

His feathers shimmered with starlight.

Maria froze in the air, suspended. “I… I don’t deserve this. I should be down there, in the Pits… I…”

The falcon inclined his head gently. And then, he spoke—not with words, not exactly. But she understood.

“No, Maria. You deserve the world.”

She trembled.

“Highcliff will change forever. But not in ways you think. Not through war. Not through you. Your daughter walks the path now. Let her.”

He extended a wing.

An invitation.

She hesitated… then reached out. Her hand met feathers. The moment she did, the hospital—its crumbling walls, its cries, its chaos—peeled away like paper in the wind.

The world shifted.

Suddenly, they were soaring.

Above mountains larger and taller than anything she had ever imagined. They pierced clouds like the spires of forgotten temples. Valleys gleamed with crystal rivers, forests untouched by war or ash.

She laughed. Or maybe she wept. It didn’t matter.

The falcon’s voice rippled beside her.

“Let us fly for eternity.”

She didn't argue with that.

She buried the worry she had for her sweet Elisa, because something told her that she was going to be okay.

\\

Elisa flew. And for a time, she didn’t think—she just was. It came as naturally as breathing.

But then—

The horizon glowed amber, just like in her dreams. That sun, hanging low. That sky, painted in liquid gold and rosewater.

Elisa blinked through the wind, and it clicked.

This place. This view.

Her breath hitched.

This… this is the dream. The one she always thought was fantasy. Flying toward the setting sun.

A memory unfurled.

Elisa was on a back. A bird’s. Her mother’s.

Maria had given up her soul not to escape. But to save her.

Maria gave everything she had and more—to carry someone while severely wounded. Not just in body, but in spirit.

Maria’d been broken. Cracked in places that never healed right. But still, she carried on.

Not for redemption. Just for her daughter. That night, when the demons attacked, and father ran out the door.

She remembered now: her mother cupping her chin, the sobs, the burning of the wood around them, the roof falling—!

She remembered feathers and sunlight. She remembered a magic ward. One which surrounded her. More accurately, one conjured from her mom's soul.

The bricks flowed around them and dropped harmlessly on the ground. 

Light had seeped out of Maria's soul like a gaping wound as she kept it up. Ancient magick unused for so long was bound to result in something like this. And still—Maria found strength. 

Maria's work wasn't done. Elisa was bleeding, and losing blood—fast.

All those dreams—of flight, of escape, of light—they weren’t hers alone.

They were memories. She wasn't hallucinating them! The last thoughts of her mother weren't just something she conjured out of nothing—they were real.

Tears spilled, caught and flung back by the wind. Her wings trembled. Her whole being shook.

She laughed. Choked on it. Sobbed. Then laughed again.

A doomed soul carried another fledging soul. All the way to the Institute. And it hurt. It must have hurt Maria. But she kept going.

Elisa’s beak spread, jaw aching with the smile forcing its way through.

Thank you. She didn’t have to say it. The sky would carry it. And her mother would know.

But something was wrong. Elisa’s chest still ached, but not from sorrow anymore.

She glanced down as she stared at bare feathers where a necklace should be.

The necklace Kael had given her—the enchanted one that pulsed when she was in danger—it was gone.

Her breath caught.

She hadn’t even noticed it slip. Somewhere along the way, she must’ve dropped it. And there was only one place it could’ve fallen.

The Basin.

Which meant—

Kael would be heading straight for it. Straight into whatever Otto and Daniel had no doubt prepared.

Her wings tensed. 

She would ponder how this was kept from her all this time later. Magick like this should be widespread, not kept under wraps. Was this what the Concordant was suppressing all these years? Was her... father...?

No. He hates the Concordant just as much as the demonkin. It is just one awful coincidence. 

The wind howled louder now.

She spun midair, body pulling hard against the current. The sunlight dimmed as she dove through thickening clouds.