Severed

The pain was the first thing Nyx remembered—not the sharp, immediate agony of torn flesh, but the deeper, more insidious ache of something fundamental being ripped away. His amber-red eyes opened to unfamiliar stone walls, rough-hewn and stained with moisture that spoke of centuries of neglect. The air tasted of despair and something else—magic, but wrong somehow, constrained and bitter.

His left wing was gone.

The knowledge settled in his mind with the weight of absolute certainty, though he couldn’t recall the moment of its taking. Where once the dark violet membrane had stretched between delicate bone structures, now there was only absence—a hollow space that seemed to pull at his very essence with each breath.

Nyx sat up slowly, his movements fluid despite the disorientation. His ankle-length black hair fell around him like a curtain, and as he lifted his remaining wing, the dark violet iridescence caught what little light filtered through the barred window above. The wing was intact, beautiful, and utterly useless for flight in its singular state.

Where am I?

The question formed without panic, his mind already cataloging details with the methodical precision that had once made him a king. The cell was small, perhaps eight feet by ten, with walls of fitted stone that suggested human construction. Iron shackles hung from the walls, though he wore none—an oversight that spoke to his captors’ ignorance of what they had truly captured.

He rose to his feet, testing his balance. The missing wing created a subtle asymmetry, but his magical reserves compensated instinctively, maintaining his equilibrium through force of will rather than physical symmetry. He was still powerful—perhaps more powerful than anything in this realm—but the absence tugged at him like a wound that would never fully heal.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond his cell, accompanied by the jangle of keys. Nyx moved to the far wall, positioning himself in the shadows where his dark clothing would help him blend with the stone. The footsteps belonged to two people—one heavy and confident, the other lighter, more hesitant.

“—told you, he’s been unconscious for three days,” a gruff voice was saying. “Healing magic takes time to work, especially on wing severance.”

“But he’s awake now?” The second voice was younger, female, with the crisp accent of education and privilege.

“Should be. Though I warn you, my lady, this one’s different from the others. Didn’t scream when we took the wing. Didn’t beg. Just... watched.”

The key turned in the lock, and Nyx’s cell door swung open with a protest of rusted hinges. Two humans entered—a thick-set man in leather armor who carried himself like a guard or overseer, and a woman in fine robes whose bearing suggested nobility. Her eyes swept the cell, clearly expecting to find him cowering in a corner.

Instead, she found herself looking directly into amber-red eyes that held no fear, no submission, no recognition of her authority. Nyx stood perfectly still in the shadows, his expression as composed as if he were holding court rather than standing in a prison cell.

“Fascinating,” the woman breathed, taking a step closer. “You’re right, Captain. This one is different.”

The guard’s hand moved to his sword hilt. “Careful, Lady Merideth. Even wingless, they can be dangerous.”

Nyx said nothing, but something in his stillness made the guard’s grip tighten on his weapon. The woman—Lady Merideth—studied him with the calculating gaze of someone appraising valuable property.

“What are you?” she asked, her voice carrying the expectation of an answer.

For a long moment, Nyx simply looked at her. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, measured, carrying no trace of the pain or confusion that should have marked a newly captured fairy.

“I am Nyx.”

Nothing more. No title, no explanation, no pleading. Just his name, spoken with the same calm authority he had once used to address his court.

Lady Merideth’s eyes narrowed. “Your type, I mean. You’re too large for a glintwing, too dark for a thornblade. Are you a duskwalker?”

Again, that measured silence. Then: “If that is what you choose to believe.”

The guard stepped forward, his face flushing with anger. “Show proper respect to Lady Merideth, creature. You’re property now, and—”

He never finished the sentence. Nyx’s gaze shifted to him, and something in those amber-red depths made the man’s words die in his throat. It wasn’t a threat, exactly—more like the sudden understanding that he was in the presence of something far beyond his comprehension.

“Enough,” Lady Merideth said, raising a hand. Her voice carried fascination rather than fear. “He’ll learn his place in time. They all do.” She turned back to Nyx. “You’ll be housed with the others until we determine your best use. Your wing will be preserved, of course—such beautiful coloring will fetch a good price from the right collector.”

She turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Nyx? Resistance is futile here. No longer complete, your power fragmented—you’re as helpless as a crippled rabbit. Accept your fate, and your existence here might even be pleasant.”

The cell door clanged shut behind them, leaving Nyx alone with the echo of her words and his current circumstance. He moved to the small window and gazed out at an alien sky, where unfamiliar constellations wheeled overhead.

Interesting. It seemed that she assumed he was native to this world, trapped here by the same forces that held the others. She had no idea that he had arrived here by means she couldn’t comprehend, or that the power coursing through his veins was older and deeper than anything her people had ever encountered.

A fairy king, she had called him property.

The irony might have been amusing, if not for the hollow ache where his wing should have been and the growing certainty that he was very, very far from home.