The speaker of broken wings

The Hero Party hasn’t moved yet. They stand in half-crouch, assessing their surroundings as Drok groans softly in pain. Behind them, the unconscious Krow they fell with scrambles upright, wings trembling, eyes rolling. It doesn’t seem to fear or hate them, but are more worried about something else.

The lab is a dome-like chamber dug directly into the inner rock of the mountain. Twisted coils of copper line the walls, tangled through rusted rods, gears, and broken jars with faded labels. Vats once meant for alchemical compounds lie shattered, green stains blooming beneath them like mold. In the center lies a cracked platform mounted with curved rails, clearly an unfinished launch pad.

The krow’s wings twitch with agitation, black feathers ruffled and soaked. Unlike the soldiers that attacked them, he wears no armor, just a toolbelt overflowing with instruments and pouches. He mutters to himself as he glances from Drok to the ceiling, back to the entrance, and then to the Hero Party.

“No, no, no,” his voice is tough and strong like a thirty-year-old human.

He backs toward a corner. “They’ll come. They’ll come here. They’ll see everything.”

Then, a sudden flash movement appears above.

Three winged shadows dive through the rain clouds, falling like arrows.

They are the true krow soldiers.

The Krow stumbles. “Oh my thunders and rains!”

Before anyone can respond, a bolt of metal spears down. Arthur throws himself forward, parrying it with the flat of his dagger. His legs shake from the impact.

“They’re after him!” Arthur shouts, pointing to the terrified Krow behind them. “Not us!”

The Krow soldiers land hard. Their posture is rigid, cloaks soaked, their silver eye-masks gleaming. One of them points at the Hero Party.

“You harbor a criminal. Surrender or be subdued!”

Arthur clenches his fists. “We’re not his friends,” he says, stepping forward. “But you’re still bullying someone weaker than you. That’s not justice, that’s cruelty!”

The soldiers don’t hesitate. They draw their curved metal claws and lunge.

Arthur ducks under the first swing, kicking up a chunk of debris as distraction.

Spidaract is faster. He shoots forward like a blur of black chitin, catching one soldier mid-air. The other two roll across the lab floor, crashing into a rusted machine.

Another krow descends toward Asa, until her fingers slice the air, transforming the moisture around them into thick, clinging fog. With a second gesture, the air hardens into sticky web-like strings, halting the soldier mid-flap.

Vellithar steps forward, then vanishes and reappears behind the third soldier. Her tentacles wrap around their neck like several whips, dragging them to the ground.

“No one is taking anyone,” she hisses.

The fight is short and almost no injuries are left. The Hero Party restrains the attackers, but it’s clear that there is something about this krow that they are saving.

The original krow stumbles toward a broken table, pulling a small flask from under a false drawer. He uncorks it with a single swipe and throws the liquid into the air, it evaporates instantly.

The captured krow soldiers stiff the chemical, wobble, then collapse unconscious.

He breathes out, finally calm. “They won’t wake up for hours. We need to move them.”

“You’re…not with them?” Arthur asks, trying not to sniff the mixture.

The krow straightens. “No, and you’ve just proven you’re not either. Thank you and chemical V just applies to krows.”

He bows low.

“My name is Crunket and you have just saved the only krow on this island willing to help you.”

Spidaract twitches. “You’re welcome. I think.”

Arthur watches as Crunket kneels beside Drok and begins to inspect the dragon’s torn wing. His swift beak, combined with his flexible feet, retrieves stitching thread from a container he keeps inside his tattered belt.

“You’ll need to hide,” Crunket says. “They’ll be back, more of them.”

Asa and Vellithar wordlessly grab the unconscious soldiers by their limbs. Spidaract walks to the lab entrance, staring up through the broken ceiling. He shoots a dense stream of web fluid across the opening, forming a sticky seal over the damaged rock face.

Arthur crouches and places his palm against the web. His magic flickers and quickly, the membrane changes from pale white to the same earthy green as the mossy stone, blending perfectly into the mountain’s surface.

Inside the lab, the air finally settles.

Drok winces as the final stitch is pulled tight.

Crunket gives the thread a gentle tug and says softly, “Rest now, the comrades from places beyond the rain. I’ll explain everything soon.”