They are trying to take our home.

It’s an outcry from the Edge members, but it rings in his ears even while he patrols the borders from high above his brethren. He sees them, in clumps and strings, charging and sneaking into the forests Kaj has called home, has organized and helped rule, seeking out those Kaj has sparred against, trained. Cobalt eyes narrowed dangerously, and rage shook his large frame like a massive earthquake. Below, people he cherished would spill their blood for the misted lands they loved so dearly. In that moment they were no longer souls with individual backgrounds and personalities. The moment the racist bastards had crossed the borders, they were prey. Targets. Nothing. Foul and unworthy, the invaders only saw his beloved brothers and sisters as mobile hurdles that must be leapt in order to sufficiently clear the barrier of ownership of the land. They were going to harm them, tear them asunder out of greed. Kaj could not protect them all, could not fight all those that came swarming towards their borders like a black plague of smoke. Like hell he couldn’t wish he could, though. The golden guardian wished only to have the strength to do so someday. He would be battered and broken, tortured, by every crowned warrior that smelled of steam and snow if it meant his family was safe. He would submit himself to the worst pain imaginable, would go through the underworld and have his flesh crawl with demons and burn alive, only to crawl back ruined if it meant they were safe. They had branded themselves into his heart, his skin, and that was why he bore the title of their WingLeader. They trusted him, looked to him for guidance. He had traded blows with so many of them, had shared laughs and warm touches. They may be mere pawns to the invaders as they arranged their pieces for a showdown upon the chess board, but to Kaj they were his knights, his valiant brothers and sisters in arms, and he knew them intimately; could tell them apart by their breaths, steps. Their blood ran in his as immediately as those who had given him life. They had lifted him upon their shoulders, trustingly placed their inexperienced mindsets into his capable guidance. He was their WingLeader.

Tonight, he would fight for them, and would continue to even if all his legs were broken and his wings shredded, blinded and bleeding. He would protect them, or die trying, with his blood painting the dark earth that had welcomed his traveling figure so long ago, for he would never leave this land even if he were physically removed. For the rest of his life, his heart would pound to the rhythm of the shoreline, his blood would run hot as the fires that kept them warm throughout the winter, his eyes would hold the misty mysticism that gave the eerie woods their fogged quality. Should they lose, should they fall...Kaj would never stop belonging here. This was home, and they weren’t going to rip it from beneath him without receiving the fight of his life.

He spirals lower.

The tiny top branches snap and whip at his legs and underbelly, scratch at his wings whenever he banks, but he ignores it. From above he spots Destrier, facing off with a blood themed unicorn with triple horns. Kaj’s gut jolts with the desire to crash through the still-barren branches to stand at his brother’s side and fight with him, as it should be. They were a dynamic team, and a great one, so the urge was hard to stamp down and destroy. Smoke was there as well, proudly fighting despite being a healer. Azale, too, was a pale blur beneath the spiderweb cracks of shadow beneath the trees. And then, at last, his eyes fell upon a form he had not anticipated to see- one he, in fact, felt his heart drop at upon spotting. Resplendence. Seeing her, he wanted to swoop down and take her far away from such a bloody battleground. But, as he watched, she kicked out towards her opponent's wing, and pride glowed within his muscular chest. She was so brave. His sister would walk out of this, her fight would not be easily extinguished, and though it pained him to do so he sped towards the borders once more.

Dropping quickly through mass and the fold of his wings, earthen pillars connected with the ground, crown pointed towards the north-east where the Basin and Foothills lay, following the mountainous border with his eyes. Remembering Maskan, he keeps moving, jogging slowly, following the border towards the north, eyes narrowed and ears pinned, listening for any giveaways of an opponent.


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Word Count: 800
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