Crash

Ylfa was enjoying herself immensely.
She decided she loved to fly.

The ground stretched out beneath her like a vast painted canvas, a living mural of forests, rivers, and roads. The wind tugged her hair and whipped her tail into shape, sharp enough to sting but thrilling all the same. This was the infinite world of birds and wyverns, once denied to her - and now, impossibly, hers.

If only the rushing air wasn’t so loud. Then she could tell Jere how much she was loving it.

He banked slightly, following the demon-infested road that cut through the landscape below. Already twelve lay dead by his wings. The city lay two hours away. Her chest still ached with each breath, but she was adapting.

She was just starting to wonder if she’d ever get used to the taste of cold air in her throat when Jere’s head jerked up, suddenly, violently - so close it nearly knocked into hers.

And then it dropped. Limp.

The ion engines cut out. Their steady hum vanished.

The silence that followed was worse than the noise had ever been.

The nose dipped. Slowly at first, then faster, and faster.

“Hey!” Ylfa shouted into his ear, her voice ripped apart by the wind. “Hey! What’s going on?”

No answer.

Her throat tightened. Panic surged.

“HEY! WAKE UP!”

Still nothing.

The ground rushed up at them, swelling larger and larger with terrifying speed. Her eyes darted desperately, looking for some way, any way, to save them. Jere’s wings stayed rigid, frozen, locked in place.

Her arms unclasped from his neck. Cold terror stabbed her chest as she flung them out, clutching at the nearest surface she could reach - the broad, metal span of his wings.

Her palms skimmed the sharpened edges. Pain burst white-hot, cutting deep. She gasped and recoiled, blood smearing across the polished metal. Teeth gritted, she shifted to the joint where the wings connected to his body, grabbing and wrenching with all her strength.

Nothing.

The ground was a blur now, trees resolving into distinct trunks and branches.

She screamed, pouring magic into her hands. The cuts burned, searing agony running up her arms, but she didn’t stop. Inch by inch, the mechanism shifted. One degree. Two. Barely anything. But enough.

The dive softened, ever so slightly.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

The earth raced up to meet them.

Ylfa sobbed, abandoning the wings and flinging her arms back around Jere’s neck, clinging with all the strength she had left.

“JERE!” she screamed into his ear.

And then - he stirred.

A sharp intake of breath. His eyes snapped open, glowing faintly as he processed the situation in a single glance.

The trees were upon them.

His wings flexed, arching up in a desperate twist, turning his body so that he, not Ylfa, would take the brunt of the impact. He flapped - once, a thunderous beat that slowed them drastically.

But it wasn’t enough.

The flat surface of his left wing clipped a tree with a crack like thunder. They spun violently, Ylfa’s body whipping outward, her grip on his neck the only thing keeping her from being flung away.

At the last possible second, Jere adjusted the angle of his right wing, redirecting the airflow. It was just enough.

When they slammed into the ground, it was his body that struck first. His frame absorbed the full force of the impact, shielding Ylfa as they plowed into the dirt with a sickening thud that rattled through her bones.

The world went white, then black, then silence.

Ylfa’s eyes fluttered open.

Above her, the sky stretched wide and deep, a rich blue canvas where a few fat white clouds drifted lazily, untouched by the chaos that had just unfolded. For a moment she lay there, dazed, her body heavy, her mind sluggish.

Then the pain returned. Her palms burned. Her shoulders ached. Every breath seemed to remind her of fresh bruises hidden beneath her clothes. Something tickled at her skin, light and persistent.

Grass.

The clean scent of it mixed with the sharper tang of fresh earth filled her nose. She groaned softly and pushed herself upright. Dirt clung to her skin and clothes. Purple bruises mottled her arms and legs. She blinked, taking in her surroundings. A field. A row of trees nearby. Beyond that, a dirt road.

And then - her eyes landed on it.

A dark shape, jagged and impossible, thrusting upward from the ground like a broken banner. Her stomach turned cold. A wing.

“Jere…” she whispered, dread rushing through her veins.

She stumbled to her feet, ignoring the sharp protests of her body, and ran.

There he was.

Jere lay crumpled in a furrow carved through the soil, like a fallen comet. His left wing jutted up grotesquely, bent at an unnatural angle. The right sprawled flat against the dirt, lifeless. His face, his clothes, his whole body were smeared with mud and dust.

And yet - no blood. No gaping wounds. No broken limbs that she could see.

Relief and terror collided inside her chest.

She dropped to her knees beside him and tried to roll him onto his back. He barely shifted under her weight - his body was far heavier than she could manage. Panic clawed at her throat.

“Come on, come on…”

She poured magic into her arms, and strength surged. With a grunt, she heaved. His body tipped back, settling against the bent wing for support.

He looked so still. Too still.

But when she leaned close, brushing the dirt from his cheek, she found it. The faint rise and fall of his chest. The slow whisper of breath against her ear.

Alive.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“Jere? Jere, are you okay? Jere?”

Her voice cracked. There was no answer.

She sat back, helpless. She had no idea what to do, no healer’s knowledge, no guide for what was supposed to happen when the one who had saved her over and over again suddenly wouldn’t wake.

So she did the only thing she could: she stayed.

She sat cross-legged beside him, ears twitching at every stray sound, scanning the field and the trees for danger. Time trickled by in silence, broken only by the rhythm of his slow breathing. The sun crawled across the sky. Her hands throbbed. Her stomach twisted with hunger. But still she waited.

Hours later, Jere’s chest rose sharply. His eyes flickered beneath his lids. His breathing sped up, ragged but alive.

“Jere?”

Ylfa scrambled forward on all fours, her heart hammering. She hovered over him, one arm raised, trembling with hope.

His eyes opened. Clear, sharp, and looking straight at her.

“That’s my name,” he murmured.

Her face broke into light. Joy surged through her so strongly it nearly crushed her chest. With a choked laugh, she threw herself at him, ignoring the pain, burying her face against him as her tail wagged uncontrollably.

“I’m so glad… I thought you might never wake up…”

Jere’s processors blared with input, struggling to categorize the act. The only comparable entry: a domestic dog greeting its owner after a long absence. She was a wolf, so the parallel was stored as acceptable. The appropriate response was clear: return the embrace.

But something stopped him. Something buried deep, an unquantifiable hesitation. Heat flushed across his face, a strange tightness in his chest. He didn’t understand it.

When she finally pulled back, he still hadn’t moved. But his eyes refocused, his systems rebalancing.

Ylfa knelt before him, smiling nervously, her cheeks flushed.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded once.

Her gaze flicked to his left side. “But your wing…”

He followed her eyes. The wing was bent, yes - but only at the joint, nothing outside design tolerances. With a thought, he retracted it. Metal plates shifted, locking back into place. The feathers folded neatly with a final clack.

Ylfa sighed in relief. “Thank goodness.”

Jere tilted his head. “What about you?”

She blinked in surprise, then smiled faintly. “I’m alright. My hands are sore, but otherwise I’m fine.”

His eyes dropped to her palms. Deep gashes split the skin, crimson still seeping from them.

“How did that happen?”

“I grabbed the wrong part of your wings trying to save us.” She shrugged, as if it were nothing.

The words sank deep. His wings. His wings had cut her.

The only person who spoke to him without fear. Who didn’t look at him like a monster.

And he had hurt her.

An unfamiliar emotion coursed through him. Guilt.

Ylfa blinked in surprise as his mouth opened slightly, his normally stoic face betraying the turmoil inside. Despair, remorse, and helplessness all mixed in his eyes.

“I’m… sorry,” he muttered.

She shook her head and smiled gently, trying to ease him. “No, it’s not your fault.”

He nodded, but the feeling didn’t vanish. It swirled inside him like an untamed storm. After a heartbeat, he rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes, attempting to regain composure. But before his face could settle back into its familiar neutral mask, his system check completed - and with it came a flood of information, abrupt and overwhelming.

Every event from the crash to the present was laid bare, all the successes and failures, the minor adjustments, the strain on his reactor. He learned of the program currently attempting to force his reactor into submission, its fuel supply being gradually cut off in favor of magic energy. The reactor’s unwilling cooperation meant it was operating at fifty percent capacity, insufficient to power all systems.

The consequence was immediate. He glanced at Ylfa, expression neutral.

“I can’t fly.”

Her head tilted in shock. “What?”

“I… can’t fly. Not for a day or two.”

The weight of the situation hit her like a punch. They were still roughly eight hundred kilometers from the city. At the speeds they had been moving, that meant she couldn’t rely on him, couldn’t depend on his wings to protect them. Every strategic advantage now rested on her.

She swallowed, forcing panic down, and put her hands on her hips. A plan began forming.

“Turn around,” she commanded.

His face remained neutral. “Why?”

She scowled. “Because I’m going to undress. Turn around. Don’t even think about looking back until I say so.”

Jere’s obedience was automatic. She quickly stripped her clothes off and threw them into a messy pile, then allowed her form to shift. Within moments, she was a towering wolf, fur a rich mahogany, muscles tensed for motion. She lowered her head slightly, presenting herself fully.

“Okay, you can look now.”

He turned, eyes scanning her imposing form.

“What are you doing?” he asked, uncomprehending.

She gave him a blank stare. “I thought you were a smart one. Take a guess.”

His underpowered processors ran hundreds of scenarios, trying to reconcile her intent with his physical limitations. “Hunting?” he ventured.

She shook her head, the movement of her fur rippling like waves. “Want another guess?”

He shook his head; he hated being left in the dark, even as her plan became clearer.

“You’re going to pick up my clothes,” she explained, her voice steady. “Then you’re going to get on my back. Hold on tight. I’m going to run as fast as I can back to the city.”

Jere processed this, finally understanding. He nodded, and without hesitation retrieved her clothes. She watched him, a small flicker of embarrassment and annoyance crossing her face at how calmly he handled it. He carried them over and positioned himself on her back. She lowered herself onto her belly, muscles coiling.

He clutched her fur, settling himself as efficiently as possible, careful to minimize drag, keep close to her body. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded.

Then she launched forward. First slowly, then building speed with terrifying acceleration. The air rushed past them, whipping her fur into shape, shaking Jere against her back. It was nothing like flying with him, but exhilarating all the same. Every stride pressed her muscles to the limit, her paws digging into the dirt, sending up sprays of earth and grass. The sun arced across the sky, their shadows stretching long behind them as the city slowly approached.

Jere stayed tight, silent, his mind processing every motion, every fluctuation in speed and direction. The rhythm of her legs, the wind rushing past his face, the steady pounding of her heart - it was all new, chaotic, and yet… strangely comforting.

They moved as one, racing against distance, against danger, and against time itself.