O-O-O

Flight was pain.

Every downthrust of his wings was wrong, every upward pull awkward, every turn agonizing. The joints in his wings throbbed fiercely with every waking moment, and on the rare occasion he could sleep, his dreams were addled by the continued discomfort.

Or maybe his dreams were addled by the stress of fleeing an inescapable, sadistic enemy every waking moment. Nightmares were a constant fact of his life, but they had not been so thoroughly disturbing before-

A lazy strike of lightning crackled in the bright sky to his left, and he tortured himself by dipping to the right. It was an incompetent, failed, slow movement, barely enough to dodge anything at all, and had the shot been aimed at him, he would have been struck.

His body quivered in the air, and he had a hard time convincing himself that the next agonizing flap, the next near miss, was worth it.

As always, during these last few weeks when his motivation began to fade, he remembered how he had reached this point. They were playing with him now, but it had not begun as a sadistic game. It had begun well, and he could still escape.

Even if that meant suffering, fleeing, letting them think they were winning, and seeking a victory he knew was not possible.

He suddenly realized that he had dropped lower while he deliberated, a more effective evasive maneuver than any intentional one he had made in the last few days, and throwing his wings out to resume his flight was torture, but he did it anyway.

There was a dark storm coming up in front of him, a mass of clouds and rain over land of some sort. He drew near to the edge of it all, dark-tinted clouds looming in his vision, and plunged into them without a second thought, though he more than suspected that his pursuers would use this storm to end the chase. It was the first storm they had come across in the long hunt, and they had begun herding him to it the moment they noticed its existence.

This chase was going to end in some way. He could not continue on as he had, not forever, and however much the Skrill might be willing to let him flee, to let him hope, they were not going to give up. They never gave up, it wasn't their nature, and while these particular Skrill were-

A loud blast of thunder in the distance made him jolt. He wasn't used to hearing lightning coming. That was not how Skrill worked, and he had not seen or felt a storm in years. He flapped his imperfect wings harder, flew higher, and forced himself to dive into the depths of the storm, the place where they would have an even more overwhelming advantage.

His only advantage was that he knew his pursuers, knew them well, and he knew what they needed, what they wanted. How those two things did not match up, how that twisted them. The twisting was the only reason he had not been struck dead long, long ago.

He flew into a draft of warm air, and his body convulsed. It had been so long since he felt warm, and being on the run had not given him any reprieve. The world was cold, and he often slept in or near bodies of water, for safety.

The draft of warm air was being forced down by the turbulent winds, and he followed it. Lightning was beginning to flicker without thunder, the Skrill had entered the storm, the chase was almost over…

A scattered web of lightning flashed in the sky far above him, and the constant light illuminated an island below. There were mountains and unnatural structures, devoid of movement aside from the illusions created by constantly moving sources of light.

He recognized the structures, though it had been a long time. Humans lived here, or had once lived here.

He had no hope to spare for them, needing every bit of it for himself, but he would still prefer they not be destroyed by the Skrill. He brought death and destruction with him, but it was all focused on him.

Another scatter of lightning flashed below him, and he was driven up, out of the warm air current. Each strike came leisurely, for all that a bolt of lightning was instant no matter what the mood of the creator. The massive web of interlocking strikes continued above, and he saw the work of both Skrill in that.

Time passed, measured only in his grunts of pain at every new maneuver, and his pounding heart. There was no movement below, even as the storm raged, and he knew there would be no intervention.

There was no way out. Lightning hounded him, and he had flown right into their native element. If these were normal Skrill, untwisted, they would have killed him in an instant, and considered that a victory.

But they were not normal, and he did not fear death. They were perpetually starving for a thrill, ravenous to seek his life, but they needed him alive. Death would be a failure for them, but as tempting as it was to accept it just to spite them, it was still a defeat he could not accept. He was not quite ready for the end.

Flight was pain, but it was still life, and more than he'd had in years. He wasn't going to give it up before he was forced to. His body was flagging, inefficient and pained, and that end would come soon enough no matter what he wanted.

He noticed the moment the flashes from above stopped. His heart fluttered like a weak fledgling, and he whirled in the air in an excruciating maneuver that had him whining to himself-

His eyes caught the telltale flickers of a Skrill falling out of the sky, and the hope in his chest bloomed a little more. It was not possible, but it was happening.

The sight brought strength to his wings, and he flew toward one of the mountains, hoping to hide and shelter somewhere. Maybe the remaining Skrill would be struck down or-

A tiny object bloomed in front of him, appearing from nowhere and unraveling into a mesh, and he was ensnared in an instant, his body tangled with his pained wings stuck in useless positions against his sides.

The fall was a familiar one, he had fallen often enough to know the feeling, but the inability to pull himself out of it was new. He barely had time to recognize that this was probably the end he had sought, not even enough to regret everything that had led to this point-

O-O-O

He woke to the rush of waves, a rocking sensation, nausea, and warmth greater than he had felt in years. If it weren't for the nausea, he would have let himself fall back asleep there and then.

But the churning in his stomach could not be denied, and he forced his heavy eyes open long enough to find the lowest point in the cave and heave out the scant contents of his stomach. The spot he had chosen even had a pile of dried plucked grass, a little piece of a forest in this otherwise unnatural place. Something fell off his back as he turned away from that spot, but he didn't have the presence of mind to think about that.

His eyes were blurry, and the warmth all around him, in the air and seeping into his bones, tempted him to sleep. But self-preservation demanded he at least understand why he was not in a Skrill's talons, being carried back to the place he had escaped.

He found himself in a narrow but long cave made of wood, one that rocked rhythmically. It was dark, and the air was still, though there was a chill breeze coming in from somewhere, not enough to make him cold, but enough to renew what would otherwise be a stuffy, uncomfortable atmosphere.

On the ground next to him was a pile of unrecognizable materials, and all around the walls of the wooden cave more strange things were piled, but he was alone, judging by the scent of humans – all males – on every surface. Some of the walls had patches of different textures, and a part of the ceiling had a circular marking on it, but short of using his fire, he had no idea how to leave, or what he would find outside.

He also had absolutely no desire to correct that lack of knowledge. The warmth and lack of danger were far too tempting to spoil, and he had spent long enough in small, confined spaces that he considered this one luxurious.

He crawled away from his bile, lay atop the tangled mess of odd-smelling, soft material, and let himself drift back into slumber, unconcerned with the many, many unanswered questions he had.

O-O-O

A commotion roused him from his sleep, and he opened his eyes to find a small, decidedly human face staring back at him.

The human pulled back, chittering like a squirrel and honking like a goose as his kind often did, and draped one of the materials he had found over him, covering his scales and back. He noticed that the smell of his bile from earlier was gone, replaced with the smell of fish… and with the scent of the sea. There was a hole in the ceiling, and he could see a partly cloudy sky outside.

Not that he was enough of a fool to venture out into the open. He tucked his chin down on top of the edge of the warm, heat-trapping extra skin he had been granted and made no move to stand. His new captors would get no resistance from him; this sort of privilege was enough to keep him here forever of his own will, if only they would not force him back out into the sky to be hunted down once more.

O-O-O

Life with his new captors settled into a pattern that he was hard-pressed to see as captivity, even in his most pessimistic moments. They brought food and water, regularly removed his waste, and always left a hole in the ceiling when it was nice out, leaving him a path out if he wanted it. The world rocked, and he suspected that he was inside a floating chunk of wood like the ones he had seen long ago. He never left the chamber he had woken up in, not even to stand in the open air for a moment.

Most of his time was spent sleeping, causing the days and nights to pass quickly. When not sleeping, he was daydreaming, or panting in fear and trying to forget the nightmares, or fighting off waves of crippling guilt.

It was a slow, boring life, even by comparison to what he had endured before the long chase, but he accepted it with ease. It kept him away from the sky, kept him out of the reach of the Skrill. No Skrill would ever think to check a random human vessel, and he had flown for weeks to get this far away, so the humans would not bring him anywhere near where he had fled.

Then, one day, while some humans were chittering and honking above, he heard a voice of another dragon in his mind. Judging by the timber of the mental voice, it was a young male, and unlike the Skrill, it wasn't dripping with hatred and promising death. He could not help but listen, though the male above in the open was not speaking to him at all, and he could not hear the other half of the conversation.

'What brings you all the way out here?' the male asked. 'Is there trouble in your part of the world?'

There was a pause, then another human chittered back at him.

'You what?' the male asked.

Another pause ensured, this one much longer. He heard humans chattering above, but they were always talking to each other. One of them seemed to consistently interrupt the dragon whose voice he heard in his mind, but that never seemed to interrupt either of them.

'Okay, yeah, about that,' the male said. 'We're not missing any Night Furies. Not a one. Everybody is here. So while it's great that you brought him here, I have no idea who he is. You're telling me he sat in the cargo hold the whole way here without once even setting foot outside?'

One of the humans chittered back louder than before, confusion present in its tone. He didn't know what it was saying, they spoke little around him and he slept most of the time anyway.

'It's probably better I find out what's going on from him directly,' the male offered. 'Down here?'

He tensed as he realized that this male was talking about him. He didn't have any time to consider what it all meant in that new context, a presence was already casting a small shadow over the opening in the ceiling-

He shook off the false hides draped over his body and curled up, trembling. This warmth and calm was so nice with his most lenient captors yet. He did not want to be freed. This male was no Skrill, he hadn't heard a single charged growl, but he was someone, and that could mean the hunt would start again.

But the young male dragon did not descend. Instead, a human wearing dark scales on his usual dead hides slowly lowered himself into the wooden cave. The creature seemed unassuming and non-threatening.

The human turned to him, its green eyes reflecting the light from above. As before, its nasal chattering rattled out alongside the dragon's mental voice, and beyond all explanation, it seemed to come from the same position. 'So, what's your story?'

He was not struck dumb by surprise, that was not why he did not answer, though he was immensely surprised and confused. The real reason for him not speaking was simpler, and far more deeply rooted. He shook his head in wordless denial.

'I know you can talk, friend,' the dragon's voice declared from the human's body. The human was also spewing out their usual assortment of noises, as if it was related, connected somehow. 'And I know you hear me. I mean absolutely no harm.' He spread his puny little limbs wide, as if to emphasize his declaration.

Another shake of the head, more vehement, was all the human with a dragon's voice got in return. It was not a question of wanting to speak, though it had been in the beginning. Speaking always hurt, and he did not want to hurt. Speaking had caused all of his worst problems and mistakes in the distant past, and he had learned that it was better to live without it. In fact, it had been so long since he had endured the pain of speaking that he wasn't sure that he could if he wanted to, which he certainly did not.

'Okay,' the young male said kindly, 'You don't have to speak. Just let me know you do hear me.'

That he could do, so he did, nodding his head rapidly. Denying his captors their requests also led to hurt. It was always better to please them.

'Good, we're getting somewhere,' the male said. 'You know you're totally free to leave, right? They were never keeping you in this hold, and they say you can fly.'

He nodded again. He understood that, he just did not want to go anywhere. This was the best he had experienced in a long time, and it kept him from the Skrill, who would never stop hunting.

'Honestly, I have no clue what's going on with you,' the male admitted, seemingly at a loss. 'Do you know where you are, or why they brought you here?'

He shook his head.

'Do you know why they did not treat you like most humans treat all dragons they shoot down?' the young male pressed, now even more confused.

He thought about it for a moment, but his answer ended up being yet another wordless denial.

'So you were shot down, put in a ship, told you could leave but didn't have to, with absolutely no idea what was going on or where you were going, and you chose to stay there and not seek out answers,' the young male summarized. 'And you can't tell me anything.'

He was glad that all of that had been understood. The sooner this strange human understood and left, the sooner he could go back to the boring, safe life he had led in this wooden cave.

'Where do I even start?' the human asked. 'I guess getting Eldurhjarta to check you out would be the first thing. Come on up, we can walk to her if you don't want to fly.'

He replied with a shake of his head and a plaintive whine. He didn't want to go anywhere. It wasn't safe outside.

'Look, you have to at least leave this ship,' the young male reasoned. 'They brought you here because they felt bad for shooting you down and thought you were one of us, but they can't keep you in their ship forever. Nobody is going to hurt you… Or ask too many questions, if you don't want to answer. Just let us get you somewhere you can stay as long as you want.'

He didn't want to go, not at all, but he knew that refusing his captor's instructions always led to more pain than it was worth. If his kind human captors were done with him, there was nothing he could do about it. He rose, shook off the hides that had kept him warmer than necessary, and nodded to the exit.

'Okay, sure,' the young male muttered, turning and climbing out, its two clunky hind paws thumping down on ridges of wood made for the purpose.

The light of the noon sun was blinding, and he kept his eyes partially closed as he followed the human out onto the top of the wooden cave. The human led him to the side, and then down a ramp, and soon he felt sand under his paws.

Being out under the open sky was more than mildly upsetting, and he forced his eyes open to search the blinding skies for signs of a thunderstorm, of his doom coming to him once more now that he had left the safety of his human captors.

Nothing. Aside from a few puffy white clouds, the sky was a clear, bright blue.

'Welcome to the Isle of Night, I guess,' the human said. 'My name is Svarturflugmaður. What do you want to be called?'

He looked away from the skies, back toward the island itself, and was treated to a sight even more terrifying than the open air. Two Night Furies flew above a mountain and a lush, tangled forest, totally out in the open.

'Yeah, there are a lot of us around here,' Svarturflugmaður said, following his gaze but not understanding or even noticing his silent horror. 'We've got four entire families. This is a safe place, whatever else has happened to you.'

He wanted to cry out in fear, to urge them to disperse, to fly out and drive those two fellow Night Furies down into the forest, at the very least… But it would do nothing. He himself had not understood the true danger until it was far too late, despite being warned. And maybe he was wrong.

Torn between hoping for peace and dreading destruction, he turned to the easier question. His name.

He had one, it was not even a complex one, and he could maybe convey it if he was clever. His new captor, Svarturflugmaður, wanted it, which was confusing because speaking was punished, but his captor wanted him to speak, and denying his captor's wishes was punished… And he didn't think he could speak if he wanted to.

Instead of answering, he walked to the treeline, only a short distance away, and huddled in the shade.

'That can wait,' Svarturflugmaður said, sounding concerned. 'Let's get you to Eldurhjarta.'

He felt like screeching in horror, now seeing that name for what it was, probably yet another Fury. Four families, probably young ones, children, mates, friends… All here, all in the open, all oblivious.

He quaked with fear as he slinked after the human deeper into the forest, for once fearing for someone besides himself or his son. These people had no idea just how horribly wrong their lives could go at any instant, with the arrival of the next storm or with random bad luck.

So wrong, so very, very wrong… he thought of his name and how it was just as wrong, had been proven wrong by the Skrill and their master and all that had happened.

Sterkureinn knew his name meant 'Strong one,' but he had not felt strong in a very, very long time. That same lack of strength led him now to doubt, to hope, to follow meekly and keep the silence he no longer knew how to break.

Maybe he was wrong. He was weak, but this group, these families, this pack might be strong. Maybe he would be safe. But it certainly did not feel like it, and if he was indeed safe, he would only feel worse about it.

After all, he had left his son behind and did not intend to go back for him, no matter how many allies or powers he had arrayed on his side. He was weak, not strong, and he knew it all too well. Too weak to go back, too weak to speak up and let these people know how wrong they were to fly openly, too weak to stand in the open without fear.

Too weak to flee and never look back on this miraculous place, even though he knew he was hunted and would inevitably bring destruction upon these people too if he stayed.

Maybe.

O-O-O

Author's Note: Thus begins the third book in this series, in a manner parallel to the last (yes, that's intentional, and no, the stories are not going to follow anywhere near the same paths past this surprisingly similar opening). I feel it may be prudent to note a few things:

This story will update once every two weeks for the time being, as I didn't manage to build up quite enough of a backlog to feel comfortable with a weekly schedule. That may change in the future, or it might not. No promises there, except for the same promise I always give; come what may, this story will be finished.

On another note, as everyone has undoubtedly noticed by now, I've swapped to a different kind of scene break. I'm not going to make this a retroactive change (unless I get bored and want a half-dozen mindless hours of combing through and updating every single chapter 3 times), but it's a necessary one going forward; the normal line breaks used in the past two books don't play well with… well, anything really. I've learned the hard way that using text line breaks just works better from the technical side of things, as well as allowing for a little more customization on my part.

Also, as an aside to a few particular readers. I really rewrote this whole thing, plot included, so any guarantees I might have made about it in the past, or any cryptic hints (again, you know who you are) may no longer apply. It doesn't cover the same time span, main characters have been shuffled, a pairing has been removed from existence, the fates of several characters were entirely reworked, some deaths were added and some were averted, a couple of maimings were avoided… Obviously, none of that means anything, because nobody has seen the first draft, but I'm making a point. Everything changed, aside from me using the same general themes and ideas, the things that made this a story worth telling in the first place.

Following from a few of the things I just mentioned above, I feel it might be prudent to say here that this story is a little darker than the last one (as if this prologue wasn't enough to indicate that, though I'd caution you against immediately believing Sterkureinn's opinions on anything over what we've seen previously, given he's the furthest thing from an impartial source of information). Not exceeding a T rating, certainly not going into the graphic or soul-crushing detail of Usurpation of the Darkness or probably even When Nothing Remains, but a noted increase. The premise kind of requires it in order to not feel irreverently lighthearted and unrealistic, and I've said too much…

Anyway, here it goes. Living Freely has begun. As always, predictions as to what comes next are entirely welcome, and I'm sure some of you will make leaps of intuition and guess far too much from this chapter alone. I welcome that, and it's theoretically possible to predict multiple major new elements of this story from this chapter alone.