One

Valerin lazily drifted in the air, catching updrafts as they came to him. He flapped his wings once and felt his heart pound in his chest. It was strange feeling, flying without loyalties to any Tribe, or to any Nest to call his own. The inhabitants of Sanctuary abandoned him when he refused to let his memories burn in the Sacred Flames. He had effectively rejected his immortality, and for that, he knew he was going to die within the next hundred years. The scent of burning hair, feathers and flesh from the Sacred Flames ritual were carried far and wide by the wind. Even now, though Sanctuary was a dark speck among the clouds, the scent of memories burning was still strong enough to make him want to fly even further away from the place that was once his home. Discarding memories in order to keep immortality was the most honored tradition held by the Phoenix Tribe since the very creation of the Earth, the Sky and the Sea and their very existence.

The Earth below seemed so vast, inviting, colorful and intimidating to him all at once. There had only been a handful of times in his lifespan when he had found the courage to leave Sanctuary. He had wanted to see the world beyond the clouds and the prism barrier which protected their Tribe. Stories of those who had left on their own will, or were Banished for betraying traditions had always sent shivers down his spine. The tales were always horrifying stories of barbaric acts of the other Mortal Tribes, those who didn't devote themselves to understanding the give and take of nature and power. He recalled stories of other Immortals other than the Phoenixes. The Leviathans with their claim to darkness in the depths of the Seas and the Unicorn Tribe of the Earth, vowing silence to invoke healing powers.

Valerin took a deep breath and looked down towards the Earth, from where he was flying, he could see the blackened scar when the reclusive goddess Jinana, in her rage, charred the Earth in her blood lust for revenge against the Rana Civilization for killing her lover. He continued to drift, running his hands through his long looping braids, traditionally cut off before the beginning of the Great Flames Ritual. The sack at his side which contained the few necessities he had didn't seem to weigh him down at all, in fact, he felt lighter than ever, he wanted to spread his great crimson wings even wider, accept the wind even more and bask in the sun's rays forever it seemed. His thin, loose fitting clothes of gold and orange flapped against his skin. He couldn't remember a time when he felt so wonderfully drunk from liberty.

He could see the sun beginning to set against the Great Spires in the distance. The smell of smoke had numbed his nose and his wings were finally getting tired from his initial rush of reckless flying. Valerin could see a small town a little ways below him and decided that it would be a good place to stop for the night. He didn't know where he was going, or what he was going to do with himself. Stepping foot back into Sanctuary meant death to him, but if that was the price he had to pay to keep his memories, then so be it.

The Phoenix landed outside the gates of the little city and made his way inside. He could feel curious stares as he walked. It wasn't normal for an Immortal to walk among the Mortal Tribes, much less one that was known for being a recluse in the Sky.

It was a bustling town, brimming with more life than what he had ever experienced. His flesh was pale from staying away from the sun, practicing Anima and studying the world below in books. Texts could never live up to the sights, sounds, smells that enveloped his very being at that moment. A small group of Badger kits were ran past him, laughing loudly as their paws kicked up loose dust while a small Alpaca cria toddled behind, struggling to keep up, dropping her ribbons, flowers and four leaf clovers as she awkwardly ran to catch up with the badgers. Valerin wanted to put everything into memory as fast as he could. From what he knew, the living world below on the Earth was transient, changing faster than the seasons, committing everything to memory right that moment would be impossible, but he wanted to remember the first city he made it to alone at least. He noticed a white ribbon at his feet probably one the little Alpaca had dropped. Picking it up, he wove the ribbon into one of the long red braids which crisscrossed and circled around his head, marking every significant memory he had in his current life. He ran a hand along the new inclusion in braid, committing into his memory his first day without Sanctuary.

However, he would have to savor the memory later. There was still so much for him to see in the city, Valerin could barely keep up with the pace the Mortals lived. He watched an Otter heckling with a blubbery Walrus at least three times his size while a Turtle sat by the stall, smoking a pipe, a small smile on his face as the whole argument seemed to thoroughly amuse him. A shout from another direction followed by hushed whispers drew his attention away from the angrily chattering Otter. He turned his head and saw a pair of Hawks glide effortlessly down to the Earth. Hushed whispers followed and the once boisterous streets became quiet, filled with shuffles and whispers. 

An ominous wind blew past and something in Valerin's gut told him to get out of there. He could feel gazes make their way under his skin. There was a coldness about everything suddenly, and the welcome, happy feeling that was initially there vanished like drifting smoke. However, he couldn't stop staring at the blood splattered Hunters. The Hunting Clans were the ruthless killers for hire, or so he had read. The swiftest killers usually the smallest, and the most known of the Hunters were usually from the Tribes of the Sky. They also tended to be the most expensive to hire.

Something about them made them intriguing, the way they carried themselves seemed so surreal, the fact that they were hired swords and to come back so nonchalantly after a killing seemed to strike him as odd. He couldn't tear his eyes away from how the deep red of drying blood seemed to be so stark against the browns, grays and the blacks they wore. Their wings fluttered restlessly and their eyes scanned the crowds of the town constantly. Valerin wanted to hear more of the quiet conversation the Hawks were having, but someone behind him interrupted his concentration effectively.

“Keep staring at them that way and they'll hunt you next. Sometimes, they don't need money for an excuse to kill.”

Valerin started and whipped his body around to find the source of the voice. What he saw before him was something he had only ever read about.

Pure seaweed green eyes hidden behind thin strips of rare, translucent Organza fabric wrapped around his head: a sign of blindness, Valerin noted. His frilled ears were pierced multiple times and decorated with gold and perfect spherical pearls. Tattoos written in Ancient were engraved across his torso, his arms, and his face. They, the tattoos were spells for him, Stygian spells from the Sea. They swirled and wove across his skin, creating the image of gently waving kelp against patches of scales and skin. An almost transparent dorsal fin laid folded against his back, twitching occasionally. The stranger wore loose fitting trousers which billowed in the early evening wind, his long, waist-length hair hung loose and fluttered along with his clothing.

“Leviathan...” Valerin breathed. He was afraid to speak louder than a whisper, as if the Immortal before him would disappear should he be any louder.

“Yes, yes, I know, I know.” he carelessly waved, tilting his head towards the group of Hawks. “That's not the important thing. The important thing is that I'm pretty sure that those Hunters there saw you staring at them.”

“How do you---”

“I may be blind, but I can hear better than you silly little birds. Stare any longer and the Hunters would have you butchered in your sleep. Phoenix body parts sell for a high price here on Earth you know.” The Leviathan interrupted, grasping Valerin by the wrist. “There should be an inn over in that general direction. Lead me to it.”

Valerin didn't question the stranger and started to move in the direction the Leviathan had pointed to. The two traveled in silence for a bit, the bird leading the dragon before they stopped in front of the first inn Valerin could find.

“The Dire Rat? That's a comforting name to come home to,” Valerin noted.

“Better The Dire Rat than dead,” he said gruffly, shoving Valerin inside and fumbling around before sitting. “You've got a long way to go, little bird.” he teased, blankly staring through the Organza at the Phoenix.

“I'm not a little bird” Valerin pouted, glad that the stranger was blind so that he couldn't see how childish the Phoenix was. His years spent in Sanctuary had made him awkward and a bit wary around those who were different from him.

“Oh, little bird seems to fit you just fine. Unless you have a name that you would rather go by.”

“My name is Valerin. You better remember that...You... You...”

“Ailon. And you would do well to not forget my name. We all know how forgetful your type is.” He teased.

Valerin huffed and crossed his arms across his chest, not sure what to make of this overly calm and collected Immortal.

“You've got a lot to learn, Valerin.”

“I know. So teach me.” The Phoenix wasn't ready just yet to trust the Leviathan, but he would at least accept this lesson to blend in a little better to this strange new culture.