Deafened

The night air rushed past them in cold streams, tugging at Ylfa’s hair and prickling her skin. Below, the forest burned, a sprawling furnace that painted the world in ruddy yellow and deep black. Smoke rose in towering plumes, swallowing the stars and spreading in a veil that promised devastation for miles.

Jere’s feathered ion engines howled their piercing tune as he carried them, their sound cutting through the night like a dirge. Eny clung tightly to his chest, small fingers hooked into the fabric of his clothing, her wide eyes brimming with wonder and unease. Ylfa held fast to his neck, pressed close against the cool metal and warm skin beneath.

She couldn’t hear any of it. Not the rushing wind, not the wail of the engines, not the distant roar of burning trees. The world had gone silent, and though she tried not to let it show, fear gnawed at her heart. She hadn’t yet accepted that this silence would be permanent. She thought it was the ringing of shock, that her hearing would return in time. But it wouldn’t. Her ears, once twitching and alert, were now still. Forever.

The collar was gone. The black band of shame and servitude that had sat around her throat for so long now lay in pieces somewhere far behind them. The moment she had tugged at it, desperate and determined, Jere had understood. With a flick of his wingtip - so swift it had frightened her with how close it came - he had cut it clean through. She was free of it now. Yet in the pit of her stomach, guilt lingered, because she knew it was that collar that had drawn the soldiers to them.

Eny noticed none of this. For her, flight was freedom, pure and unbroken. She pressed her face into Jere’s chest and laughed silently to herself, feeling the faint vibration of his engines resonate through his frame. She didn’t understand why everyone was so serious. Why Wolf-girl’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. Why Wing-man’s brow was furrowed, his jaw tight. Something was wrong, but no one would tell her. And though frustration pricked at her, she buried it beneath the simple joy of flying, letting the cool air cradle her into drowsiness.

Jere’s mind, however, was in turmoil. Shame burned like acid in his veins. Twice now, he had hurt Ylfa. And this time, he could not fix it. He had taken something irreplaceable from her. He could still see her lips forming the words I can’t hear anything. His processors catalogued the memory, but his heart rebelled, screaming with a guilt that logic could not diminish. He clenched his jaw, focusing on the sky ahead, refusing to let despair overtake him.

The world beneath stretched endlessly, a sea of rolling dark hills and tangled forests. To Ylfa’s eyes, it was nothing but void, an ocean of shadow broken only by the faint gleam of starlight. But to Jere, it was alive with detail. His enhanced sight painted everything in heat. Trees glowed faintly, animals below flickered like sparks beneath the canopy, their movements brief and fleeting.

And then, far ahead, he saw it - a column of heat, narrow but bright, cutting skyward like a beacon. His chest tightened. It was not natural. It was a sign. Without a word, he shifted course, tilting into the wind. Ylfa felt the change immediately, tightening her hold around his neck. She squinted into the distance, but saw nothing. She wanted to ask him, to demand an explanation - but her ears betrayed her, reminding her again of her silence.

Eny, however, saw it too. Her vision was not like Ylfa’s. The night was day to her, a strange glowing world where no sun shone, yet everything revealed itself. Her tired eyes followed the faint shapes until she caught a glimpse of something impossible - a thatched roof poking above a clearing in the forest. A house. A village.

Sleep tugged at her then, soft and heavy, and as her head dipped against Jere’s chest, that roof was the last thing she saw before her eyes fluttered shut.

Eny’s eyes flickered open again when she felt the sudden pull of rapid deceleration. The ground rushed up beneath them, and for a heartbeat she thought she might fall - until she remembered Jere’s arm held her firm. Her small hands dug into his shoulder as his wings flared, feathers screeching against the air, the faint pulse of ion engines rumbling in her bones.

Below, a quiet village sprawled across the valley floor, its stone houses clustered around a central square. Lamps lit the narrow streets, golden light spilling out of doorways as villagers rushed to see what had disturbed their night.

Jere angled his wings, braked with a heavy beat, and descended. Dust and loose straw lifted into the air as he landed in the square, his boots striking the interlocking bricks. The villagers gathered at the edges, eyes wide as Ylfa slipped from his grasp and moved to his side. His wings folded back, sliding into their panels with a mechanical hiss.

Without thinking, Ylfa reached for his hand. She squeezed it tightly, shoulders brushing his as she stood half a step closer. Eny clung to him on the other side, her small face peeking out from his shoulder. To the villagers, the three looked less like fugitives and more like a family - stern father, nervous wife, and a bright-eyed child.

The people stared back in silence. Most were human, yet altered - ears twitched atop heads, tails flicked behind legs, features echoing Ylfa’s animal grace. Not Formys, though. Hybrids. A diluted lineage. Among them also stood demons with horns curving from brows, skin marked by unnatural colors, some so strange they barely resembled humans at all.

They were the Kingdom’s “lesser races,” the ones marked for eradication. Yet here they were, alive, watching in suspicion.

Finally, a tall man pushed forward. His floppy dog ears twitched as his sharp eyes fixed on the strangers. He carried authority in the way the crowd shifted to give him space.

“Who are you?” His voice carried easily across the square. “How did you find us? And why are you here?”

His lip curled into a scowl.

“And with a Formy, of all people.”

He spat at the ground. The crowd growled in agreement. Ylfa’s ears tilted back. She could not hear his words, but she understood enough in their eyes - the narrowed stares, the twisted mouths. Unwelcome.

Her grip on Jere’s hand tightened until her knuckles whitened. She leaned closer until her shoulder pressed against his arm.

Jere straightened. His expression remained unreadable, voice even.
“We are outcasts. We are hunted. We need a refuge.”

The words rippled through the villagers like a stone dropped into water. A Formy - one of the rarest, most respected species - an outcast? Murmurs rose, questions passed in whispers no one could answer.

The tall man snapped. “QUIET!”

The noise died instantly. He glared at them, distrust heavy in his gaze.
“What are your names? And who are you, exactly?”

“I am Jere. This is Ylfa, and this is Eny. Ylfa is a Formy, as you’ve guessed, and we do not yet know what Eny is.”

“I’m me!” Eny piped cheerfully, breaking the tension.

Jere’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.
“And I am known as the Angel of Death.”

Another wave of whispers swept the square. Again, the tall man silenced them with a thunderclap of his hands.
“You call yourself the Angel of Death. We have heard rumours of a winged demon who can strike down armies. Are you that person?”

Jere gave a single nod. Gasps rose, but died quickly at the man’s glare.

“Next question,” he said coldly. “How did you find us?”

Jere pointed skyward. “I saw the village from the air.”

“Was this always your goal, or chance?”

“A safe haven was always our goal. This is the first place we found.”

The man tapped his foot, thinking. “Do you have anything to do with the explosion earlier?”

“Yes.”

Another ripple of fear.

“What were its effects?”

“I destroyed the army pursuing us.”

“I mean the land,” the man snapped. “What of the forest?”

“It burns even now.”

This time, outrage surged from the villagers. The man’s face darkened.
“What? Are you insane? The fire will reach us!”

Jere inclined his head. “I know. Which is why I will correct my mistake. In return, I ask only that you accept us.”

The square went silent. The words hung heavy in the night air. Finally, the tall man folded his arms.
“I do not like this. But we have no choice. We will take you in. But you must obey our laws, follow our customs, and work where you are told.”

“That is acceptable.”

The crowd muttered low, though not enough to draw the man’s anger again.

“You will also leave your wife and daughter here until you return. Is this fair?”

Jere nodded, choosing not to correct their assumption. Better they believe it. His voice rang clear across the square.
“That is fine. I will keep the fire from this village. But know this - my wife has lost her hearing. Please… care for her.”

Gasps. A Formy, deaf? It explained much. A warrior race stripped of its senses had little worth in most eyes. Some would say none at all.

Eny frowned at being called their daughter, but the word warmed her. She pressed closer against Jere, happy with the thought.

Jere did not explain further. Let them believe what they wished. Truth could wait.

The tall man’s frown lingered, but he gave a short nod.
“We will take that into consideration. Now go, before I change my mind.”

Jere gave Ylfa’s hand a small squeeze. She looked at him, still lost, still anxious, ears low. He handed Eny into her arms, his wings spreading wide. She clutched the girl tight, her tail drooping as her heart clenched. What was happening? Where was he going?

He stepped back, gaze fixed on her one last time, then launched into the night. The downdraft of his wings forced her eyes shut as dust whipped around her. Villagers gasped and shielded their faces as he rose higher, his silhouette melting into the dark sky.

A low, haunting wail echoed after him, fading into the stars.

Jere found the fire easily. Even from leagues away, his thermal vision painted the night with stark clarity - the blaze was a molten scar in the forest, a roiling patch of heat that drowned out the stars above it. He angled toward it, already building his plan before he reached the smoke.

The sight was worse than he imagined. What had begun as a lake-sized crater had spilled outward into a ravenous inferno. Flames raced along the treetops in a widening ring of gold, sparks leaping ahead to claim more ground. Smoke churned upward, thick enough to smother the moon.

His processors worked furiously. Options flashed, weighed, discarded. One remained. He would make a firebreak - a scar of his own, carved into the forest, fast and brutal. Clear enough space ahead of the flames, and the fire would choke itself out.

He rolled inverted, then dropped. The ion engines howled as he pushed toward the edge of sound. Branches blurred up to meet him - then shattered.

Impact after impact rattled against his face and chest, but his skin, hardened by modification, absorbed it without a mark. His wings scythed through trunks as though they were reeds, blades slicing clean and fast. Trees toppled behind him in a widening swath, crashing down in his wake.

He followed the line mapped on his HUD, arcing through the forest in a great curve. His vision stretched only a fraction of a second ahead, yet it was enough. A trunk slammed against his head, then another, but he felt nothing. Only speed mattered. If he faltered - if his pace dropped too low - the forest itself would catch him, roots and branches tangling around his wings until he was pinned.

So he forced the engines harder. Their shriek split the air as he raced around the fire’s edge, turning the world into a blur of splintered wood and glowing embers. Smoke mixed with the smell of burning sap, hot resin searing his lungs. Behind him, a fresh ribbon of devastation stretched across the landscape: a raw, jagged break, trees severed before the fire could reach them.

At last the loop closed. He burst out of the haze, wings shuddering as he pulled up and climbed. The forest below smouldered, a broken ring holding back the advancing blaze.

Now came the waiting. He circled the column of smoke, thermal vision sweeping the ground for hotspots. Any fallen tree that caught would need to be hauled away, perhaps thrown into the crater itself - but there were thousands of them. Efficiency lay in patience, not frantic labour.

So he watched. He circled. And as the long night dragged on, the fire began to lose its hunger. By the time dawn spilled pale light across the horizon, the inferno had dwindled to blackened stumps and steaming ash.

From the village, the people saw only the pillar of smoke rising over the hills, not the battle being fought beyond their valley.

Ylfa had not moved since Jere had left. She stood where he had taken flight, eyes fixed on the stars, ears low, tail limp. A few brave villagers approached her, speaking words she could not hear, gestures meant to reassure or to urge her inside. She ignored them all. She only shook her head and turned her gaze back upward, waiting.

She would wait until he returned - loyal and unmoving, like an obedient hound.

Eny stirred in her arms, tugging gently at her hair. Ylfa lowered her gaze. The girl’s lips moved, questions spilling out, but the words were lost in silence. Ylfa forced a faint smile and stroked her hair, rocking her gently.

“It’ll be alright,” she whispered, voice trembling with conviction she tried to believe. “Jere has a plan. He always has a plan.”

Eny did not understand the weight of her worry, but she understood the comfort of a hand in her hair, the warmth of an embrace. Her small body relaxed, eyelids heavy, and soon she drifted back into sleep.

Ylfa held her close, alone in the silence of her world, eyes fixed still on the sky.

A black shadow appeared high in the sky, and Ylfa’s head snapped upward. Her ears twitched, her tail wagging furiously as excitement coursed through her. The villagers assigned to watch her frowned at the sudden change in her demeanor, then followed her gaze.

They saw it too - Jere, descending like a phantom from the heavens. His vast wings flared, slowing him with dancer’s grace before he touched down upon the valley floor.

Ylfa didn’t wait. She clutched Eny tighter against her chest and ran, feet pounding over the dirt. Eny blinked awake just in time to be squished between them as Ylfa threw her free arm around Jere. His wings had already folded into his back, vanishing seamlessly into the panels, leaving nothing of the predator - only the man.

When she pulled back, her face was radiant. Her wide smile carried such joy that Jere felt something stir in his chest. Against all odds, despite what she had lost, she could still smile like that. He wanted - needed - to tell her how sorry he was. To beg her forgiveness. But she wouldn’t hear the words, no matter how he said them. So he only met her eyes, silently sharing in her joy. For a moment, that was enough.

The tall man approached, the heavy thud of Jere’s landing having called him from his duties. His expression remained severe, but his tone was level.

“I take it the job is complete?”

Jere nodded.

The man folded his arms, considering him. “We’ve made preparations for your accommodation. You and your family may move into a small house, and stay there as long as you adhere to our laws and customs. Please - follow me.”

He turned and began walking. Jere stepped closer to Ylfa, reached out, and took her hand. His heart pounded with the simple touch. She looked at him, smiling again, and together they followed the man through the valley.

Their new home sat on the far side of the settlement, halfway up the valley’s gentle incline. It stood a little apart from the others, separated by both distance and silence - the home of outcasts, in a village of outcasts. Yet it was no hovel. The wooden structure looked sturdy, its small windows glinting with glass panes. It was modest, but welcoming, and most importantly, unused.

The man pushed open the front door and led them inside. The air smelled faintly of dust and woodsmoke. He pointed out each room as they passed - three bedrooms, a single bathroom, a combined living and dining space with a hearth in the corner. A narrow doorway led into a small kitchen, neatly stocked. At the back, a door opened onto a garden that bled directly into the forest beyond.

At last, he extended his hand. “By the way, I’m Chav, the village head. Welcome to Woodrow Village.”

Jere clasped his hand firmly. “Thank you.”

“I’ll return tomorrow to explain how this village runs. Until then, you’ll find food in the kitchen. If you need anything else, all you have to do is ask.”

Jere nodded again. “Thank you.”

Chav released his grip, gave a curt nod, and departed, leaving the three of them alone in their new home.

Jere turned toward Ylfa. She stood beside him, still holding Eny - who, impossibly, had managed to fall asleep again, head tucked under her chin. Jere’s lips curved into a small smile. Ylfa met it with one of her own. She had pieced together enough of what was happening. Reluctant as the welcome had been, they were being given a place to stay.

Her eyes, sharp and detail-oriented as ever, noted the little things. The double bed. The arrangement of the rooms. Things that suggested assumptions about them, assumptions that would need untangling later. But for now, with Eny in her arms and Jere smiling faintly beside her, she was content.

Jere opened his mouth as if to speak. Then closed it again. The smile fell away.

The mood shifted in an instant. Ylfa frowned, her ears flattening. She tried to speak, to ask what was wrong.

“Whahhts wronng…”

The words came out slurred, broken. She froze. Her throat closed. She could feel herself saying it wrong, the pitch and rhythm all off - but without hearing, she had no way to correct it. The sound died in her mouth, replaced by trembling silence.

Tears welled in her eyes.

Jere stepped forward, gently lifting his hand to her cheek. His touch was steady, warm. Ylfa’s free hand rose to cover his, holding it in place, while her other arm supported the still-sleeping Eny. Her tears spilled, rolling over his fingers as she leaned into his palm, her world still locked in silence.

Jere laced his fingers with hers and gently led her back inside the house.

The air was warmer here, softer somehow, the wood walls embracing them with a homely quiet that seemed foreign after months of running. The furniture was simple, yet it had a kind of charm. If Ylfa let her imagination wander, she could almost see herself spending her days here - tending a fire, watching Eny run through the garden, sitting beside Jere in evenings of peace.

But the thought was fragile. Beneath it, fear gnawed at her heart.

Without her hearing, what was she now? She was a Formy stripped of her pride. A warrior who could no longer fight, a leader who could no longer command. In her own world, a Formy without strength or presence was nothing but an empty husk, a disgrace to their lineage. Trash to be discarded. She tried to shake the thought, but it clung stubbornly to her.

They sank onto a couch together, its cushions softer than either of them expected. Eny stirred from her perch on Ylfa’s lap, rubbing at her eyes with tiny fists.

“Where are we?” she mumbled sleepily.

Jere answered with calm steadiness. “We’re in our house.”

Her eyes widened. “We have a house now?”

He nodded once.

Her grin broke wide across her face. “Can I go pick a room?”

Another nod.

With a squeal of delight, she scrambled off Ylfa’s lap and scampered down the hallway, her laughter echoing through the wooden walls like a tiny flame pushing back the shadows.

Ylfa watched her go, her ears limp against her head. When she turned back, Jere was already looking at her. His gaze was heavy, weighted with guilt.

He reached out again, taking both of her hands into his. His grip was firm, grounding. He was learning - hand holding wasn’t just comfort, it was language. A way to say I’m here when words failed. A way to express love, to anchor her in this silence. Now that her voice and ears were gone to her, this was all they had left.

Inside, his processors churned. He began making lists. He needed parchment, ink, something - anything - that would let them write. Without it, they were trapped in this half-world of gestures and guesses. For now, all he could do was stay close, keep her safe, and hold her hands like lifelines.

And yet, the war inside him raged on. He longed to apologize, to tell her the truth of how he hated himself for the blast, how every time he looked at her ears his chest burned. But if she couldn’t hear… what good were the words?

He searched her face, and suddenly - her eyes widened. Her lips parted, but no sound came. She just stared into his eyes, something new flickering behind her silence.

Before he could ask, the pitter-patter of bare feet returned. Eny came running back into the room, cheeks flushed with excitement. She stopped at the edge of the couch and looked up at him, her green eyes shining as though lit from within.

Her words struck like lightning.

“Papa,” she said brightly, “Mama says you don’t need to apologize… because she’s already forgiven you.”

For the first time in his life, Jere’s heart truly faltered.