Fallen Ashwing's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

Fallen walked for three hours before they found the platform. It stood in a clearing, built from rough-cut timber and tall enough that someone could climb it and see over the trees. The wood was weathered but the construction was recent. At the top, symbols had been carved into the railing—star shapes, dozens of them, scratched deep and deliberate. Someone had been watching the sky for a long time. Fallen climbed up and looked north. The forest stretched dark and endless. Somewhere beyond it was the border, and beyond that, their sibling. They heard the sound before they saw movement—something crashing through the brush below, fast and desperate. A figure burst into the clearing and sprinted toward the platform. A man, clutching something wrapped in cloth. He looked up, saw Fallen, and shouted. "Let me up! Please!" Behind him, the trees shuddered. Fallen saw shapes moving between the trunks, pale and wrong, like figures descending through air instead of walking on ground. The man reached the ladder and started climbing. Fallen grabbed his arm and hauled him onto the platform. He collapsed, gasping, and thrust the wrapped bundle at them. "You're one of them," he said. "The ones who fell. I saw it happen." Fallen unwrapped the cloth. Inside was another feather, grey-toned and streaked with faint light. Their breath caught. They knew this one. It was their sibling's. "Where did you get this?" The man looked over the edge of the platform. The pale figures had stopped at the clearing's edge, watching. "The landing site. North of here, past the burnt grove. Your sibling left a trail—feathers, broken branches, marks on the trees. They're alive. But those things are tracking them." He pointed at the figures below. "They've been following me since I took that feather. They don't stop. They don't sleep." Fallen gripped the feather so hard the shaft bent. Their sibling was alive. Was leaving signs. Was being hunted. The man was shaking, waiting for Fallen to decide what came next. Below, one of the pale figures stepped into the clearing. It looked up at the platform, and Fallen saw its face—smooth, empty, like something wearing the shape of what it used to be. It raised one hand, pointing north. Not a threat. A direction. Fallen understood then. The collectors weren't just hunting. They were herding. Driving their sibling toward something. Fallen tucked the feather into their shirt and turned to the man. "Stay here until dawn. They won't climb." The man grabbed their wrist. "You can't go alone." Fallen pulled free and started down the ladder. "I already am."