The royal aeries of Gelber Castle were not merely stables; they were an architectural declaration of defiance against gravity itself. Hewn into the highest cliff-face of the mountain citadel, the open platform thrust out over a dizzying drop, its stone worn smooth by centuries of wind and claw. The air here was thin, crisp, and alive with the scent of ozone, high-altitude pine, and the distinct, wild aroma of great predators at rest—a mélange of clean feathers, warm hide, and dry, sun-baked stone. The first true light of dawn painted the eastern sky in strokes of rose and gold, gliding the edges of vast wings that shifted lazily like living sails.
At the platform's heart, tethered to a monolithic iron post banded with enchanted brass, stood their passage to Pimcy: Boreas.
The griffin was a masterpiece of hybrid majesty. His front half was that of a colossal eagle, his head crowned with a crest of bronze-tipped feathers, his beak a cruel and elegant curve of keratin sharp enough to shear steel. His eyes, large and intelligent, were the color of a gathering storm—watchful, ancient, and holding a glint of predatory amusement. Where eagle met lion, the transition was seamless; powerful shoulders gave way to a tawny, muscular leonine body, his haunches taut with ready strength. His wings, currently folded, suggested a span that could blot out a village square. As he shifted, a low, rumbling vibration emanated from his chest, more felt than heard.
Princess Alessia stepped forward, running a gloved hand along Boreas's neck with easy familiarity. The griffin dipped his head, nudging her shoulder in return.
"For first-time riders, a griffin is the most stable option," she explained, voice warm with fondness. "He knows the route to Pimcy like the veins in his own wings. Never lost a passenger, never panicked in a storm. His name is Boreas—named for the north wind himself."
Sarah stood frozen a few paces away, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. She had seen monsters, gods, demons, and living nightmares—but this? This was something out of a storybook she'd read as a child, back when the biggest danger in her world was a math test. The griffin's sheer scale made her heart stutter. Her System, ever the opportunist, immediately began overlaying data:
[Entity Scan: Boreas – Legendary Mount (Griffin Variant)]
Wingspan: 42.3 meters
Estimated Lift Capacity: 1,800 kg (passenger + gear)
Threat Level: None (tamed/allied)
Note: Flight speed projected 180–240 km/h. Turbulence factor: Moderate. Motion sickness probability for first-time rider: 87% (warning: elevated for vestibular-sensitive subjects).
She swallowed. "It's… huge."
Kenta, beside her, had gone noticeably pale. His usual stoic mask cracked at the edges—jaw tight, knuckles white where they gripped the strap of his pack. He stared at the griffin with the expression of a man who had just realized the floor was about to drop out from under him. Literally.
Alessia noticed. Her smile turned sympathetic, teasing. "The master of twin legendary katanas, felled by a little altitude? Don't worry. Boreas is gentle with newcomers. Mostly."
The stable master—a weathered woman with arms corded like ropes and a scar across one cheek—approached with practiced calm. "Up you go. Front seat for the lady with the fire in her eyes. Swordsman behind her. Scholar in the rear. Keep your weight centered. Hold the saddle grips—don't grip the feathers, he hates that. And whatever you do, don't scream. It startles him."
Sarah climbed first, settling into the wide leather saddle just behind the griffin's powerful shoulders. The warmth of Boreas's body radiated through the padding, steady and alive in a way no machine ever could be. She felt the slow rise and fall of his breathing, the subtle flex of muscle beneath her thighs. It was oddly comforting.
Kenta followed, movements stiff, jaw locked. He swung a leg over and settled behind her, arms automatically wrapping around her waist for balance—then freezing as he realized the position. His grip loosened immediately, but not before Sarah felt the tremor in his hands.
"You okay back there?" she asked, voice light but laced with genuine concern.
Kenta managed a tight, strangled grunt. "Fine."
Mio mounted last, graceful and unperturbed, settling into the rear saddle with the calm of someone who had ridden worse beasts in the name of research. She adjusted her robes, secured her satchel, and gave Boreas a respectful nod.
"Ready?" the stable master called.
Alessia stepped back, raising a hand in farewell. "Safe winds, all of you. Pimcy awaits. And remember—" her smile turned sly "—don't let the turbulence ruin the mood."
Before anyone could respond, the stable master gave Boreas a sharp whistle and a slap on the flank.
The griffin launched.
There was no gentle buildup. One moment they were on solid stone; the next, the platform dropped away with stomach-dropping speed. Boreas's wings snapped open with a thunderclap of air, and they were airborne—climbing fast, the castle shrinking beneath them like a child's toy.
Sarah's breath caught. The wind roared in her ears, whipping her white hair into a wild halo. Below, the city unfolded in breathtaking miniature: rooftops like scattered tiles, rivers like silver threads, the lingering smoke from the siege drifting upward in thin gray ribbons. Her stomach lurched once—then settled into exhilaration. A wild, surprised laugh tore from her throat, raw and joyful, lost instantly to the rushing wind.
"Holy crap—this is insane!" she shouted, voice nearly drowned out. "We're flying! We're actually flying!"
Behind her, Kenta was not laughing.
The moment the ground vanished, profound vertigo seized him. The world tilted and swayed in a way no amount of swordsmanship could counter. Every beat of Boreas's wings sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through him. The rhythmic lurch, the endless drop beneath his feet—it was torture. His eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached. Cold sweat broke out across his brow, his neck, his palms. He gripped the saddle horn for dear life, knuckles white.
"You alright back there?" Sarah called over her shoulder, voice bright with thrill.
Kenta managed a low, miserable groan.
From the rear saddle, Mio's dry, observant voice cut through the wind. "A compelling physiological study. The same autonomic nervous system that triggers the 'fight or flight' response in mortal danger is now being activated by a perceived loss of planetary traction. The legendary Dual-Blade Dawn, conqueror of embodied nightmares, is currently being bested by his own inner ear. Poetic."
"Mio," Kenta ground out, his voice taut with threat and nausea, "I will… unscrew your… academic head."
Sarah heard the genuine misery in his voice. The excitement dimmed instantly. She stopped craning to look at the view and reached back, her hand finding his where it death-gripped the saddle. She didn't speak—just laced her fingers through his, warm and steady.
The contact was an anchor.
Kenta didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to. The nausea didn't vanish, but the sharp edge of panic dulled. His grip on the saddle loosened fractionally. His fingers tightened around hers instead—quiet, grateful.
They stayed like that for the rest of the flight.
Sarah watched the world unfold beneath them: endless patchwork fields stitched together by rivers, distant mountains wearing crowns of purple cloud, the slow crawl of merchant caravans along the trade roads like tiny insects. Pimcy grew on the horizon—a faint emerald smudge that slowly resolved into towers of living wood and glass, spires that caught the sun like green flames.
Kenta, eyes still closed, focused only on the steady, warm pressure of her hand in his. One breath at a time. One heartbeat at a time. It wasn't the romantic, soaring flight of legends. It was raw, uncomfortable, vulnerable—and somehow perfect.
Boreas let out a low, satisfied chuff, as if approving of the small human gesture below his wings.
The journey to Pimcy had begun—not with grandeur, but with something far stronger.
A shared grip.
A quiet promise.
And the simple knowledge that, no matter how high they flew or how far they fell, they would not let go.