Variables

Senkū stares at the ceiling in a daze for the seventh early morning in a row into the new year, face cold and slightly numb even when his body is pleasantly warm and comfortable beneath the pile of furs. The lion pelt spread around his body hugs him like Taiju does when he's overly affectionate, chasing after a faint dream that's too fuzzy to make out.

His eyes roll sideways to glance at Taiju, the teen quietly dreaming with a trail of saliva running across his cheek to dampen the wolf pelt beneath his head. His scalp now sports a good inch of hair after a solid month of growth since his revenge in December and the thought brings a dull feeling of amusement to briefly spark in his chest but it ultimately extinguishes when his eyes roll back to the ceiling, an inaudible sigh leaving his lips. He absently trails hesitant fingers over the clean hickory feathers covering him to pick at the few pieces of dry grass and dirt he can find stuck in the afterfeathers.

Strangely, the feeling of a solid block sitting in his chest manifests whenever he's awake. He's somewhat positive it may be depression but with how muddled his senses are he isn't sure on the accuracy of the symptoms. He's already identified a few of them with how unenthusiastic he's been throughout the process of distilling their alcohol, lugging his body around like it's accumulated a few more kilograms than usual and wishing to sleep into oblivion. The resounding silence that follows every morning after awakening makes his skin itch with the urge to get up and get rid of the strange sensation that floods his spine. It drives him up the wall. The incessant crawling of spiders gliding over his arms or the flutter of phantom fingers creeping along the back of his neck leaves him shivering, fighting the urge to pick at the sensations just to make them stop makes him question whether he's screwed in the mental department.

He closes his eyes and breathes slowly, wanting to sleep yet is unable to do so. Slumber evades him. The increasing difficulty in entering REM sleep and appropriately maintaining a stable restful state is currently an endeavor he can't pursue. Senkū can effectively conclude that something is amiss but he can't accurately pin the source as to why. It's as if his mind is a dog constantly chasing a trail when it's only its tail—a meaningless turnaround of mindless thoughts mixed together with mental exhaustion bogging it all down to the speed of an old 1915 Sugimoto typewriter.

His fingers lightly grip Taiju's feathers and he breathes out harshly, carefully lifting the wing and folding it into Taiju's side to remove his pelts so he can stand. He walks to the entryway of the hut, bare feet gliding over the chilly floorboards. He stops at the doorway to part the tarp, gazing at the gray-blue cumulus clouds streaking the sky and the snow coloring the land white. Checking the area, he finds no predators lingering around the perimeter of the camp's fence. It brings a sense of assurance to know that it holds strong.

A cold gust of wind brushes his face and he shivers. He debates whether to remain inside and sleep some more or check on the distilling pot and correct possible mistakes. It would be productive and reassuring if he can check on it as soon as he's able to see how much longer it'll take for them to make nital. The string of failures to free the sparrows from their stone prison digs into his inner tirade of self-loathing even as a few brief sparks of excitement over a project flare.

Glancing at a fur cloak hanging by the door—a recent addition to his wintery wardrobe to keep him warm—he tugs it off the wooden hook to thumb the leather. Taiju mother-henned him to the point of making one for him when he almost came down with a cold the week before wearing only his fur-trimmed leathers. According to Taiju, the garment with fuzz sewn into the collar and sleeves barely qualifies for appropriate winter clothes. He studies the light color of the cloak, the shade similar to that of limestone with silver fur sewn on the inside. He remembers the annoying process of cleaning out the furs he needed for the damn thing in the river, muttering how unclean and coarse the fur was from lack of care, however his efforts makes up for his displeasure when the end product is as soft as silk once it dried off.

Slipping the cloak over his shoulders and wings and clasping the frontal loop over the bone shard sewn on the left side, he lifts the fur-lined hood over his head and silently leaves the hut, holding the cloak close when a breeze billows past.

The frigid temperatures aren't as unforgiving today compared to yesterday and Senkū finds that it's a good time to find something to do before Taiju wakes and proceeds to becoming one with his shadow for the next 12 hours. He looks over at the horizon mentally bringing up the time and date without really thinking about it.

January 7th, 5739. 6:28AM. Tuesday. The moon is a waxing crescent and slowly fading with the signs of first light. The next full moon won't occur until the 21st of the current month. Spring should greet them in a few months, which means the return of vegetation and a surplus of plants to harvest. He just has to be patient and bear the cold, prepare the land for growing what few plants he can from the few seeds he recovered.

He pauses and blinks, distantly remembering that his birthday has come and gone without his or Taiju's notice. Time and date are firmly ticking in the abyss of his subconscious but the frivolous pagan rituals of man have been pushed away in favor of a more pressing cause—using science to create a solution capable of breaking down the petrification effect on both humans and sparrows.

But it isn't enough.

Even with Taiju at his side, there's only so much two people of differing intellect can achieve on their own. They'd need a large amount of people who know what they're doing to pull off many of the inventions now lost to time. With memory, however, he may be the only one who can bring it all back. The downside to this is the fact that he has a lower chance of survival against anything physically stronger than a domestic labrador.

Taking a breath, Senkū climbs down and hops off, grimacing as booted feet touch the snow-covered field at the bottom of the tree. With his wings covered he gradually relaxes when the chill doesn't infest his bones and trudges forward, taking a spear for added measure as ruby eyes glare out into the barren forest. He crosses the clearing to the fence with a quick gait, checking it for discrepancies before moving on and stopping every few meters to make sure it's holding up against predators.

A few close calls and early warnings were enough to spare them the surprise of ambushing lions and wolves.

A crack beyond the fencing startles him into brandishing his spear, wings briefly shivering and primaries curling inward causes him to wince. But the pain doesn't distract him, mind latching onto the echoing sound like a hound out for blood.

Senkū hisses as two glowing eyes shine from the depths of the forest, backing away from the fence with a tight grip on his spear. Both eyes are gold, studying him closely as he makes out the shape of two distinct ears perking up in attention in his direction, a long snout and a black nose flares, sending white mist in the air. Specks of glittering white peppers its dark coat.

It stands alone atop a boulder, tail slowly swishing in the snow. Its muzzle and front legs show off a collection of old scars, missing patches of fur over one shoulder, and wicked claws digging into the rock. No other wolf joins it in peering over the land.

A lone wolf, Senkū notes.

Both stare at each other for a time, intrigued gold against glaring ruby. They break the stare when a deer bellows in the distance, the wolf snapping towards the source and taking off with a bark. Senkū stands there moments after, eyes dark and hands trembling. It takes a heavy sigh for him to unfreeze, slinging the spear over his shoulder as he stumbles to the next piece of fence.

Another day within the safety of their estranged home safe from predators. A far cry from the open area with just himself to depend on.

He doesn't know how he managed to live in the wilderness until Taiju finally broke free. Stereotypically, most people would offer false condolences or praise with the words "lucky" or "smart" attached to their dead words, their eyes reflecting nothing but pity or skepticism if they hear the story of a person surviving against all odds so far removed from a human settlement, and those types of people often get on his nerves. Yet, some will offer their empathy and listen, not just from their ears but also with their heart and that is something Taiju is capable of, the big oaf.

A small smile curls on his lips as his dark eyes lower to the ground, ambling along the fence line and looking upwards as sunlight shines brightly across the landscape, adding a glittering shine to the snow, but high above he can still see the winking of stars and the wide disk of the Milky Way, slowly being swallowed by the light particles as the sun rises. He briefly considers if, in all the time that's passed him by, man-made structures in space still exist. Have they spun out of orbit and into the deep unknown that is the vastness of space, or did they crash into the earth? Is there a possibility of any space station remaining within Earth's orbit? He isn't sure.

What about the Soyuz?

His eyes widen when Byakuya's smiling face flashes in his mind and he stops, nearly dropping his spear.

"I wonder if Byakuya is still out there. Would the Light have gotten him too, I wonder…" he whispers to the wind. As insufferable as the man was with his sense of humor his heart was in the right place, always ensuring others had fun instead of letting life weigh them down. Maybe he'd been humoring himself with that prank he devised with Lillian Weinberg on the day they joined the international space station just to confuse the other astronauts. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd do such a thing just to liven up the atmosphere.

"You see, the moon follows you around because it's got a big crush on you, Senkū."

"That logic is stupid and you know it, old man. I don't want to hear that crap from you."

"Okay then. The moon isn't actually following you, it's just super far away that it looks like it is. Just like my dream of becoming an astronaut..."

"Save the wistfulness for poetry—it's embarrassing."

An ache settles in his heart by the time he reaches the other end of the fence, completing the rough circle of clearing the camp is situated on without realizing it. Groaning, he palms his face realizing he spaced out for the better part of an hour. He can't just do that when inspecting the fences. A surprise attack could finish him off and humanity would be doomed.

He'll push it off for a later time, deciding that today wouldn't be a good day to go over it again, not when he's gotten himself into a poor mood. Instead, he heads for the firepit to rekindle the fire, dragging over a basket of fish from the base of the tree and carefully avoiding the blank grave Taiju has graciously and purposely avoided mentioning when he first spotted it.

When he gets the fire going he hears a shout behind him and spots Taiju emerging from the hut with barely anything to cover his body, wings dragging on the wood boards as the taller boy looks around frantically with terror in his eyes.

Senkū stares, jaw dropping open slowly, mortified as Taiju sprints to the far ledge to look over the forest, paling even further when a gust of wind pull at his leathers, the material slipping off his figure to reveal Taiju in his birthday suit glory.

Einstein have mercy, because he wishes he had sodium hydroxide just to wash the cursed imagery from his brain. He'd endure corneal melting syndrome to save himself from witnessing more.

"Senkū! Where did you go?!"

Right, he forgot to leave a message.

"I'm surprised to see that you're up this early. Usually you go hunting around 7:26 in the morning," Senkū calls out, catching Taiju's attention. He forces himself to remain calm even if he's currently having a mental breakdown after seeing Taiju's—no. Nope. Not going there. He will not go down that contrived rabbit hole spiralling into madness. Seeing it once was one time too much. A second time is inherently illegal as it is torture.

And now Taiju makes his way over to Senkū without realizing he's currently streaking and poor Senkū can feel his heart nearly give out.

"Oh no. No, no, Taiju, please consider your current state of dress. I'm having a mental breakdown right now."

Taiju cocks his head in confusion, yawning out loud and scratching his head. "What do you mean?"

Senkū's jaw drops. Is he so sleepy that he's oblivious of the cold?

"Put some damn clothes on, you idiot!"

Taiju's eyes widen and his eyes dart downward to inspect himself, squeaking—actually squeaking like some kids' toy—and hurriedly grabs his leathers so he can make himself halfway decent. He flies down once he's clothed, nearly blowing out the kindling with how his wings burst at his landing. Senkū has no time to react when Taiju encircles his arms around him in a firm hug, his wings following suit to nearly drown the younger boy in a blanket of sweaty warmth.

Senkū stares ahead, expression blank like carved stone. Inwardly he panics because not a minute before his best friend was presenting himself to the world in all his nakedness with the situational awareness of a cat chasing a laser dot. He awkwardly pats Taiju's arms to let him go.

"Oaf, I can allow hugging on a good day but if you start this after showing up naked I will hit you."

Taiju quickly releases the scientist with a loud, nervous chuckle. "R-Right. You're mad. You get scary when you're mad. I didn't mean to startle you."

""Startle" is a deplorable understatement" Senkū mutters under his breath, feeling peeved yet offended.

Taiju doesn't notice, eager to change the subject as the shorter of the two glares at him. Still, he starts checking him over for what he guesses are possible injuries and Senkū lets him indulge in the habit, having gotten used to his fretting over the last few months together that it's become routine. Hell, Taiju can pass as one of those helicopter moms from American reality programs with how frequently he hovers. It's both ironic and amusing, if he thinks about it.

Deeming him perfectly fine, Taiju beams and pats him on the head. "I'm glad to see you're doing okay today, Senkū! I was worried something happened!"

Is he seriously treating him like a child? Senkū would pout but that's an illogically stupid reaction that only further cements Taiju's behavior. Best not do that.

Giving him a look that's both painful and incredulous Senkū leans away and asks, "How is anything getting past the barbed fences sporting spearheads and lit torches?"

"If they climbed trees?"

Senkū snorts, sticking two fish on sticks as Taiju sits next to him. "Rhetorical question, Taiju."

The teen blinks before he chuckles with an embarrassed flush blooming on his face.

Senkū shakes his head with a grin and turns his attention to two small rolls of fur he dipped in water before starting the fire. He takes one and wrings the water out, rolling it back up before handing it to Taiju.

"Thank you," Taiju nods and unravels it to wash his hands, looking grateful for the chance to wipe the dirt clinging to his fingers. Senkū repeats with the second roll and cleans his hands with a thoughtful frown.

Taiju watches for a while as Senkū absently fingers the lock of hair crossing over his nose, tracing the deep green ends with eyes far away. He begins to fidget and Senkū wonders what he could possibly want to say given the telling twitches of his wing ridges, the awkwardly curling feathers slightly puffing out and smoothing over in succession. The behavior he associates with hesitation and apprehension, most likely a question is about to be asked that may or may not be invasive yet he has no confirmation it may be so.

"Did you have a nightmare again?"

Senkū pauses and breathes in. He isn't sure. Days and nights tend to blend together and pinpointing the exact moment his nightmares gave way to senseless dreams without meaning isn't particularly easy. He struggles to sleep and then wakes as if he's gone through a harrying battle only feeling the after effects on his body without the memories attached. Lately, however, barely recalls suffering nightmares upon waking.

Sighing, he leans back and straightens from his slouch. He rests his hands on his lap and closes his eyes. "No—at least not recently."

Taiju's brows furrow. "When was the last time?"

"About four days ago, I assume."

Brown wings relax and spread on the ground around them in waves of hickory and sand, the brilliance of such dark color glinting from the flames. Senkū smiles as Taiju breathes a sigh in relief, scooting closer to bump shoulders.

"I'm—I'm glad to hear that, Senkū. I was worried you weren't sleeping enough."

Senkū snorts. "Shut up, helicopter mom. I'll be fine. We just need to get up to speed on the alcohol. We're getting close, I'm sure of it. If the first batch wasn't ruined it would have finished sooner."

Taiju hums in agreement. He brings up a wing and Senkū latches onto his feathers without a thought, fingers automatically weaving over the plumage to pluck out snow and dirt and grumbling over their state of cleanliness as he usually does.

"Well, I guess we'll have to try again," Taiju bellows with a smile.

Senkū picks up the sound of deer startling from the noise and prancing away.

"Sure, sure. Maybe we'll get more than what types of mushrooms are edible in that thick skull of yours, Taiju."

"Hey! I can be smart!"

Senkū quirks a fine eyebrow at him and drags over a basket of mushrooms they have left and opens the lid, reaching inside to pluck one with a red cap. Taiju looks at him nonplussed when Senkū punts it at his head.

"Not when you mistake a poisonous species for the video game equivalent! I told you this one is bad for us!"

Taiju wilts as more mushrooms bounce off of him. Senkū smirks and closes the basket, not bothering to pick up the fungi he flung. His hands return to Taiju's wings and plucks out an old feather that has yet to molt. Taiju yelps.

"Senkū, why did you do that," Taiju questions with a whine.

"Simple," Senkū tuts at him. "Leaving this attached will only damage the next feather growing in its place, maybe even damage the calamus. That will cause pain and I refuse to let you neglect your wings like this just because you're a dunce at self care."

He completely ignores the fact he's being a hypocrite himself over the same thing despite the circumstance.

Taiju sheepishly turns away with a flush on his cheeks and laughs a bit, the jab a mere tease.

Senkū wrangles more feathers showing signs of splits and cracked quills and plucks them out with a quick flick of his wrist, ignoring the way Taiju squeaks at each pull. It's the quickest, least painful way other than letting them molt naturally and he's adamant they be kept clean for both their sakes lest they're both crippled and grounded.

It's a possibility he wants to avoid at all costs.

"There, all done. Don't tell me you're gonna cry now?"

Taiju, teary-eyed, pouts and crosses his arms, gaining a snort from the shorter boy. The fish sizzle on the sticks and Senkū plucks one to give to Taiju, plucking the other to bite into, savoring the flavor of the meat seasoned with a dash of sea salt. He gets halfway through eating it when Taiju lowers his stick, going silent for a moment. Concern spikes through Senkū and he glances from his meal to find Taiju staring at his back.

"Taiju?"

"Senkū, your wings—" Taiju chokes up, reaching out to raise the cloak and tenderly brush along the pollex and carpometacarpus ridges, sending pinpricks of pain branching through the grimy appendage. Senkū flinches.

A sad hum leaves Taiju's lips. "Your wings are so bad right now. Can I… can I help? I know you hate leaving them so dirty."

Senkū frowns, harshly clenching his hands around the stick. Hate isn't the right word to describe the disturbing, grotesque feel of grime and oil festering in his delicate wings, staining the once bright white a murky umber with dead grass, dirt, and bacteria he can't get rid of. It makes his skin crawl when he reaches back feel silky-soft feathers and instead it's the feel of clumpy plumes of rough down crusted over with several layers of filth. The nausea churning in his stomach and shivers accompanying the sensation only makes him feel worse. It's the only reason he wears his clothes when sleeping just to avoid feeling them against his back.

No, hate isn't the right word to describe the feeling. On the contrary, labeling it as "hatred" would be too kind a word for him to give. What he labels this feeling is worse than what hatred could instill, worse than loathing and enmity and detestation put together to form a macabre painting of nightmares that leeches the life out of him, leaving him a dry husk of a shadow against his will. It's a word that is the epitome of all his feelings that festered since the first day free from stone and the truth caused his world to crumble.

That word is abhorrence.

Taiju shifts, posture straight and alarmed as Senkū crushes the stick into two pieces, uncaring if the remainder of his meal drops into the ash gathering on the ground.

"Senkū?"

He's shaking now. Fingers now refuse to let go of the broken stick even when the flesh of his palm is being pierced by slivers of wood, his teeth are grinding harshly enough it makes his jaw ache, and his eyes narrow at the fire. Beside him, Taiju winces and wildly flaps his arms about.

"Something is bothering you, isn't it?"

A small growl forces itself from Senkū's throat as he tries to compose himself, wanting nothing more than to get up and curl up in the nest and sleep the feelings off until morning. He frowns and closes his eyes, berating himself for making the teen worry so much over him. With difficulty, he turns to Taiju and winces at the worry overflowing in brown eyes.

Despite the dark thoughts spouting disgust and the apprehension of something purposely touching his wings, Senkū's gaze softens when his best friend fidgets nervously, eyes never straying from his wings as they shake. He doesn't register the words that tumble out of his mouth until after he says them.

"Sure, knock yourself out."

Taiju grimaces and slowly reaches forward to the magled feathers, eyes darting to Senkū's face as his fingers are within centimeters from touching them. Seeing his hesitation, Senkū gives him a nod and tenses when he feels the first touch gliding over one of the split primaries.

"It's okay, I'm going to be gentle."

"I know."

"But you look like you're going to throw up, Senkū."

"And you're 10 billion percent correct on that but can you please get a move on before I do?"

The thought of anyone deliberately touching his wings makes him nauseous regardless if it's someone he trusts.

He knows Taiju is aware of the nervous tenor ringing from his words when he shoots a worried glance at him, tensing at his shoulders before they relax to continue carefully grooming his feathers.

Senkū breathes out when little shocks flare, tensing as Taiju meticulously and nervously sifts through his plumage.

"Like this?"

Feeling Taiju twist a feather, Senkū breathes out harshly and grabs his arm. "You don't twist it, just yank it out."

He can hear Taiju chewing on his lip as he follows Senkū's instructions, carefully gripping the feather and pulling it. Even as careful as he is it feels as though someone is pinching at his skin. He can't imagine how painful it would be if someone were to hit them or even squeeze, let alone gently pull out a single feather.

Taiju continues to skirt through the feathers, awkwardly reassuring Senkū to soothe his worries even if the effort is laughably ineffective.

When 23 primary feathers have been pulled, Taiju pauses.

"Senkū… a lot of these feathers are dead."

"Pull them," Senkū sighs, wiping his sweaty forehead, heart picking up speed in his chest.

Taiju whimpers and stares at him all teary eyed.

"But this will hurt you so much, Senkū! There has to be another way we can do this!"

"Not one millimeter, you Oaf! You already know that if we don't it'll only get worse. Statistically, the condition my wings are in can lead to permanent deformities in the wrist joint. If I put it off any longer I risk developing health problems."

"But I don't want you to hurt more." Taiju sniffles, bottom lip wobbling as he guiltily turns his gaze downward, the early light of morning accenting the sharpness of the shadows clinging to his face.

Senkū feels guilt well inside at the fearful tone, but looking back at his matted wings he knows he can't put it off any longer.

Just like he told Taiju, if the feathers aren't removed the plumage growing in will get damaged. If he neglects them any longer it'll be impossible to fly even if he somehow regains the ability to do so.

He looks at Taiju, eyes burning, and nods.

"Pull them."

Taiju squeezes his eyes shut and quickly pulls a broken secondary feather out. Senkū's eyes blow wide and close just as quickly, bracing himself on his hands and knees, choking down a groan that sticks in his throat as a flicker of pain stabs at his wing like a needle. He parts his bangs and locks eyes with Taiju, breath hitching as the pain dissipates.

"Keep going. Don't pause. It'll only make it hurt more if you stop in between pulling them."

And so Taiju does, and every feather that is plucked quickly and carefully has Senkū fighting back the pained groans and hisses that threaten to leave his lips, curling into himself when Taiju's fingers brush away the dirt and grime with lukewarm water. The ground is littered with old, unkempt feathers, their colors dull and stained with grime. Senkū shoots looks of disgust when he spots what looks like spots of mold affecting a few of them.

He groans when Taiju carefully separates his wings so that he can get to the marginal covert feathers, hoping those haven't developed mold. It's painful even under such a gentle touch and Senkū fights the urge to pull away and smack Taiju.

He refrains. Poor thing would whine like no tomorrow if he did.

Taiju moves down to splash water over the right wing's bicep and presses into it to clean the feathers, Senkū's vision fades as white-hot fire races through his nerves. A small sound traps itself in his throat and he falls off the log, his vision twisting similarly to a psychedelic drug trip.

"Senkū!" Taiju scrambles to catch him, gently lowering him to the ground. "Oh god, Senkū, are you okay? I'm so sorry I didn't mean to!"

"Stop—Stop! I'm fine, Taiju. Just keep going," Senkū growls, slapping his hands away, sweat beading his forehead. He hauls himself upright, clenching his fingers in his cloak to ground himself when he feels Taiju hesitantly put a hand to his shoulder.

"I refuse!" Taiju shakes his head, brows deepening to accentuate his frown. "I'm not continuing when you don't give yourself time to rest! Your wing muscles are bad right now!"

"I know their condition is bad! I'm trying to figure out why!"

Taiju flinches at the loud tone but Senkū needs to get it through to him. He has no answer as to what's causing his condition in the first place and without assistance he would be sitting around with infuriatingly frustrating questions bouncing in his mind.

Taiju closes his eyes and slumps in defeat. "Okay. I'll—I'll help. But I… it makes me uncomfortable to do this, Senkū."

Senkū feels a brush of shame for selfishly asking this of Taiju, but survival for the both of them is, as of right now, his biggest concern. Taiju is doing all he can to keep them alive and Senkū can't venture into the wild alone. If he still had the ability to fly they would have sought shelter in Yuzuriha's tree high above the ground. The river is just down the hill from it and the area seems sheltered enough to provide berries and herbs. The camp they reside in was made out of necessity and anxious worrying and lacks more resources than he's comfortable with.

Senkū watches as Taiju reluctantly continues to press against the biceps, choking down whimpers when he kneads the muscles connecting to his back. He feels Taiju inspect lower where the appendages stick close to his back and gently presses to move them, presumably so he can see if more feathers need to be pulled. He feels the pull, but nothing gives. They refuse to budge.

Glancing back, he watches as Taiju frowns and adds a small amount of pressure. Senkū bites his lip, forcing himself to remain quiet even if the urge to shout.

The wings remain firmly in place. Taiju ceases inspecting the wings and Senkū flinches away, feebly twisting so he can palm a wing in an attempt to cradle it. Sweat rolls down his face to drench his clothes and Senkū pays it no mind when he's far too busy chasing away the last vestiges of the aching burn.

Taiju walks around to sit in front of Senkū, his hands clasping together and wringing with nervous energy.

"That part I tried to move... they wouldn't budge. It's stuck, and hard. It was cold, too."

He sits in silence as he takes in this new piece of information, clenching on his cloak even tighter.

The possible diagnosis for his condition may have narrowed down to a few answers he's still unsure as to what is causing him so much pain. Logically, he could attribute a few details to dead tissue—necrosis, perhaps—or it could be poor blood circulation or atrophied muscles from prolonged disuse. It still doesn't explain the firmness of the flesh and as much as he wants to investigate this new finding he feels Taiju won't allow any more prodding until they're both comfortable.

"Do you have an idea?" Taiju asks.

"A few possibilities," Senkū hums. "We'll have to find out tomorrow."

Taiju's face twists into displeasure but sighs and nods. He gets up to put out the fire for the night, acting both intriguingly strange yet depressing as he looks back at his wings. With the dead feathers cleared and some of the grime smoothed out, they look healthier than they have in over half a year. His fingers twitch with the urge to groom them rather than have another pair of hands doing it for him when he eyes his dirty primaries being carried off in the wind.

"Are you feeling any better?"

Senkū looks up at Taiju as he returns to sit at the log, soft embers and smoke the only remains of the fire.

"Besides feeling clean I don't think so. Though, theoretically, I'm 10 billion percent sure my condition is related to petrification. Perhaps the day the world was petrified was where it all went wrong."

"When we were petrified?"

"Yeah. If I'm correct, either I kept moving as I was being petrified and somehow ruined them by mistake, or something happened after I broke free. Either scenario has an unknown attached to it and I'm not sure as to which scenario is a guarantee. It also may be atrophy, a disease I am not familiar with, or nerve damage. Maybe something else. Right now I don't have enough information to tell what it might be. It's very frustrating."

The pain from that one small press along the bicep of his wing is alarmingly painful. With how they plaster themselves against his back it's only logical that the muscles are damaged somehow given how painful it is just from a slight amount of pressure.

"So what should we do?" Taiju asks, looking even more uncomfortable.

Senkū shrugs. "Either wait it out or test out a cure. I'm not entirely sure if it's damaged nerves, damaged tissue, or broken bones. Without hospitals and doctors to help we're stuck figuring it out on our own."

With that, Senkū stands and heads for the distillation pot. Taiju doesn't follow, finishing his task to properly clean the pit before flying off to hunt. Maybe even clear his mind of the raging emotions from the revelation of his condition.

Senkū sighs and glares at the distilling pot with a lopsided frown, examining the dark hue of the alcohol carefully. He picks up with a wooden ladle and dips it in the pot, scooping some of the liquid to look at it in the sunlight. The color looks to be about the right hue, darker and, after a quick sip, much more flavorful than the first time they drank the juice from their first batch last fall, but something nags at his mind. The liquid isn't quite right. It's almost perfect. Perhaps a few more days will suffice before he decides to test out a tentative new batch of depetrifying solution on the sparrows.

He jumps when a loud bellow echoes from the skies and looks up to find Taiju hovering a few meters away with two large boars hanging limply on each shoulder. He blinks and whistles, putting the ladle down to snatch a carving knife from his pouch.

"Well, that was quick."

"Senkū, where should I put these?"

"Good catch. Those will last a few days, at the very least." Senkū hums and eyes the area, settling on a pile of dry grass sitting beneath the hut devoid of snow and mud. He briskly ignores the blank slab of rock standing dead center and directs Taiju towards it. "Put them right there. Looks like we're having pork for dinner."

Taiju eyes him for a moment before beaming at him. "Alright!"

Senkū rolls his eyes and chuckles. Trust Taiju to feel enthusiastic about roasted pork ribs.

Snow slowly melts and gives way to warm winds come May, trees regrowing their splendorous green leaves arrives just in time for Senkū to finally see the fruits of his and Taiju's laborious work reinventing an industrial etching solution to potentially break down the petrification effects on the sparrows after waiting through a long winter.

Senkū wakes first, strangely lethargic yet so full of energy for waking from an illogical dream full of nonsense about Taiju having clams for a beard bat wings in place of his own. He wonders if the herbs he ate for dinner is the cause for such a strange dream but he chalks it up to Taiju being Taiju and suffering mental scarring in the form of his friend streaking again.

Something buzzes beneath his skin as he sheds off the fur blankets to quickly get started on the day to distract himself. Mentally, he goes over his list of chores; Taiju would have to get more wood for the pit and the extra skins they managed to acquire from hunting are still hanging on a branch hanging above the hut. He sighs and straps on his pouches and freezes when he realizes he needs to check the distilling pot. But first...

He causally bops Taiju over the head and ignores the following whine in favor of exiting the hut to check on the alcohol, pure will power overpowering the painful twinges in his wings as he climbs down the ladder and the wooden supports faster than is necessary. Walking up to the distilling pot and inspecting the alcohol, Senkū grabs a ladle to scoop some of the liquid for inspection.

The color is dark and rich, with hints of garnet glinting in the early sun. The taste, after he samples it, is better than he hoped.

Then that means...

"Taiju! Get your ass down here!"

When he hears nothing as he snatches a pot to fill with alcohol, he looks back to the hut to find no Taiju present. Growling throatily he sets down the pot and dashes up the ladder, skidding inside and jumping on Taiju's still sleeping form, startling him enough he almost gets thrown off.

"Ah! What the—"

"Get up, you buffoon! It's time to test things!"

"What? Senkū, five more minutes—"

Senkū narrows his eyes.

This buffoon really loves pushing his buttons, doesn't he?

"Taiju," he whispers almost venomously. A smidge of satisfaction arises when he feels the other boy startle at the tone. "If you don't get out of the nest a clam to perm your hair will be the least of your worries."

Taiju rolls over with a look of horror and jumps up, wings flaring and flapping as he trips over the furs. "I'm up, I'm up!"

He dashes out of the hut without a second to lose and Senkū stares dumbfoundead.

"Is he really afraid of clams now? How illogical."

Shrugging, he exits the hut and quickly descends, pushing down a hiss from the impact of his swift landing. Retrieving the pot and dashing to his lab, he slips beneath the tarp and blindly grabs a sparrow from the shelf, setting it gently on a log. Depositing the alcohol pot and grabbing another with nitric acid and sits down just as Taiju bursts in.

"Go get more alcohol from the distilling pot. We're going to mix both the nitric acid and the alcohol to make our etching solution."

Taiju nods and plucks a pot from a nearby shelf, sprinting outside as Senkū excitedly returns his focus on the pots, lifting the alcohol pot to pour into the other, carefully dipping in a ladle to mix both liquids together.

Finally, with the power of science he can create a formula that should guarantee him results. The last few experiments ended with no progress to be had, frustrations building with each failure that mocked their very efforts back in their faces—but science is more than getting things right on the fly; it's a process of trial and error, steps to be taken to filter out human mistakes and impurities before reaching the final product of one's hard work.

It fills him with a sense of exhilaration once he finishes stirring the pot, setting it aside as soon as Taiju stumbles in with a newly filled pot. He eyes the trailing spill on the side of the thing in distaste. He brushes it off in favor of thrusting a smaller pot filled with the formula into Taiju's hands.

Taiju startles and nearly drops it.

"Careful! That has our new revival formula in it!"

"Right! What do you need me to do?"

"Go and sit down over there," Senkū gestures to the other log acting as a table, a lone sparrow statue lying on the polished surface. "Now, slowly pour it over the statue. I'm uncertain if dumping the whole thing won't be as effective."

In synch, they tip over their pots and watch as the narrow stream of yellow liquid drenches the statues, sitting back to looks of concentration marked by beading sweat. His excitement builds as they set the pots down, crossing their arms to study the rock's outer shell for any cracks that might appear.

Several moments of silence proceed to roll by, the excited air slowly dimming as nothing comes to fruition. Senkū gradually loses the manic grin and a frown replaces it, his eyes darkening. In one swift move he stands, rattling the trunk to storm over the entrance to his hut with shaking fists. Even Taiju seems to have lost his enthusiasm with how quiet he's gotten.

It's yet another failure to add onto the increasing list of failures, seeing those sparrows still trapped in stone even after pouring their new concoction just feels like a stab to the gut, an insult to their efforts. Months of work and waiting leading to nothing.

Taiju slumps over in defeat but he has one wing curling around Senkū, pulling him closer after the tired teen kicks away an empty pot in frustration.

"We've been at this for months now and still no progress."

"Maybe we can try again?"

"If we continue to distill the alcohol, maybe."

Taiju frowns. They've been distilling the liquid over the course of winter and the better part of spring, yet the results remain the same. He can tell it's eating away at Senkū's efforts to solve the mystery behind petrification.

Then a crack resounds throughout the lab, the silence that follows blankets every other sound from outside.

In a blink, Senkū and Taiju flinch when a crumbling crack follows, and then a flash of blue streaks out into the open air. They stare at each other with varying degrees of surprise before their gaze zero in on a lone feather surrounded by stone fragments, whole and glistening with pearly drops of liquid on the trunk, its end still partially petrified.

Senkū's eyes brighten and a smile spreads on his lips, back straightening. His wings would have fluttered if they weren't in the shape they're in.

"This is—" he starts, hands shaking as he grasps the feather with reverent awe. Gently, he glides a finger over the plume and feels the soft texture that solidifies the realism that is this new discovery, a big step in science towards the salvation of humanity right at his fingertips. It's such an exhilarating change he feels as if he's soaring.

Taiju leans over and his face breaks out in a joyous smile, pumping his fist in the air. "Yes! We did it, Senkū!"

Senkū can't help but shake at the declaration, eyes never leaving the gem sitting in his palms. Tears build up and he roughly rubs his eyes to stop his ducts from spilling. Crying can wait. Right now it's illogical in the face of this achievement and he'd rather not activate Mother-Hen-Taiju to spoil the moment. No—they have to seize the moment. Take advantage of this new window of time in which answers can be given and possibilities explored. Why, he's feeling so much excitement he almost misses the lurch in his left wing trying to express his feelings.

"Taiju, come with me."

Taiju looks up, the awe in his gaze softening Senkū like warm putty. He adores when others find science to be wondrous as they should be, soaking in the possibilities that which shape the very universe in all its mystery.

He drags Taiju outside to a lone stump and deposits a petrified sparrow onto it, holding up a small pot with the revival fluid. He stares deeply in Taiju's eyes that it makes the boy squirm from the intensity of the stare.

"This is a turning point where fantasy and science distinguish themselves from each other. No longer do we live in a frivolous fantasy world, science has given us an answer after trials and errors have been made."

Gripping the pot tighter he pours the fluid on the statue, his brows furrowing.

"Let me teach you something, Taiju. While people believe science cannot explain everything, they neglect to look for the rules behind those very things."

Taiju's eyes widen when a crack forms over the petrified bird's left eye, tiny web-like cracks spreading across the head and over the beak.

"Science isn't an instant solution to a problem; it's a slow, steady, pain in the ass process that comes down to trial and error, countless nights spent looking for answers."

Stone cracks and crumbles and a beady black eye gazes up at them, the plumage around it royal blue.

This is the answer; the solution to a threat that decimated humanity and its advances. The ultimate tool to revive those once lost and shining a beacon of hope in the face of overwhelming odds stacked against them.

Senkū's eyes brighten as the stone cracks further, a small grin stretching his lips as the bird begins to struggle, the cracks quickly spreading across its body in mere seconds and in a blink and a shower of tiny stone fragments, a picture of magnificence soars from the trunk and high above them with sweet, ringing chirps. Its long wings spread open and take off, speed picking up as it twirls in the sky beautiful and free.

Taiju remains silent and then a slow-building shout of exhilarating delirium shoots past his lips and builds in volume as the sparrow shoots north, its small body vanishing in the horizon similarly to a desert mirage.

Senkū can't find it in himself to care, not when the elation threatens to knock him off his feet. He gingerly walks to a stump and lowers himself to take it all in, to revel in his victory in achieving his first goal in the grand scheme of reviving humanity without passing out. He feels faint, lightheaded even, and a tad exhausted despite getting decent rest. It's so overwhelming he's sweating enough to drench a whole cloak.

It almost doesn't feel real, yet he tested fantasy with the tools of science. Science prevails, just as it should be, and it took one year to get here. A year filled with hardship, frustration, and endless testing to get to this point, but with significant leaps in progress nonetheless. Without Taiju by his side he wouldn't have made it very far on his own.

He tips his head back and gives a shadow of a smile, sweat glistening on pale skin.

Taiju stops screaming, looking at him with a curiously perplexed look. The teen hesitates, concern in his eyes before he decides to sit in front of Senkū like a mother hen.

"Even after delays and failures, we got here a lot sooner than I'd calculated."

Taiju never says a word, content to let him have this moment and take it in, process it carefully, and deal with the aftereffects when the adrenaline and the emotions drain from his very soul.

"How exhilarating."

When the night blankets the sun and the clouds Senkū finds himself climbing onto the roof of their hut with a bundle of furs hanging from his back, feeling the restlessness of inactivity after their first major discovery since waking up. He can feel it in his very bones the way he wants to sleep and slip away to a dreamless plain but it's an illogical desire that should be ignored even if his body protests.

The boy finds a spot and hastily makes an uncoordinated attempt at a nest, deeming it passable enough to curl into. He digs in his pouch after he settles, pulling out his dagger. It glows copper beneath the light of the moon.

Senkū hums as he traces his fingers over the dagger. Humans first made stone tools as their very first inventions more than 2 million years prior and then soon discovering fire possibly on accident. He plans to rebuild society from the ground-up, reintroduce the wonders of the technological world that breached the atmosphere and made way to space where no human can hope to survive on their own.

One day, he'll make it to space. Even if it hurts him in the end.

Looking up at a bright star lighting the sky with a brilliant glow drowning the stars around it, its halo cresting the line between absolute darkness and the backdrop of the Milky Way's starry bands, he clenches his fingers on the dagger as his eyes soften, the reds of his irises reflecting the beauty above the deeper he gazes into its depths. A small smile stretches his lips, basking in the night as he leans back to burrow in his cloak to sleep for the night, chest light and dreams brimming with constellations and space stations.