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Vector waits patiently by the gatehouse entrance, on alert for any sign of danger. After a few minutes, Phyr returns - Hawkmoth and its scabbard are in one of his hands, the bag of tricks in the other. Then Vector sees Usher in his belt. He gives Phyr a nod, unsmiling but approving.
Phyr hands over the katana and black lacquered scabbard, saying, “You got anything to clean the blood off it?”
“Yeah,” Vector says, “Gimme a second.” He pulls a small washcloth out of his bag, wets it with water from his canteen, and carefully cleans the blade. After wiping off the remaining water with a dry corner, he applies some gun oil with a rag before reuniting blade and scabbard, then gives them back to Phyr. Then they walk back toward the edge of the mesa from whence they came last night. “This place looks so much different in broad daylight,” Vector says, looking around as they walk. “Peaceful, you know? I mean, I could kinda get used to waking up here every day.” Phyr nods, and gives a cursory look at the mesa around them, the mountains behind them, the badlands below them, and the dunes receding to the East in the morning sunlight. Then he takes a deep breath and puts his head back down as he keeps walking.
A long, silent while later, they reach the edge of the mesa. Looking around, they have some difficulty spotting the path back down. Vector approaches the edge to look down the tortuous switchbacks and steep grade, collapsed like a spring from his vantage point. Phyr places a hand on his chest to gently urge him back from the brink, and says, “Yo - concussion, remember? You could have a dizzy spell any second, and that close to the edge, any stumble could send you pitching over.” Vector nods and takes a few more steps away, suddenly much more conscious of the air currents whipping around as they cross paths where the flat top of the mesa meets the sheer vertical face. “Actually,” Phyr says, looking down for himself, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to walk down that way.”
“Was there an elevator we missed on our way up,” Vector asks with mock hope.
“Doubt it, but I got something better. Etherwing!” Two spectral tendrils of green light snake out from his shoulder blades, up and back, before splitting into the vague shape of wings - the leathery kind, not the feathery kind. It looks almost like someone with really shaky hands tried to sketch giant skeletal bat wings in green highlighter. Phyr rises unsteadily into the air, then settles into a smooth bobbing motion as he stretches out his wings. He takes a few minutes to practice climbing, diving, turning, rolling, stopping, and gliding. After he has gotten comfortable with the motions, he touches down on the mesa near Vector. “All right, I think I got the hang of this.” He turns his back to Vector and jerks a thumb over his shoulder, saying, “Hop on.”
“Won’t that fuck with the wings, if I’m on your back?”
“No, the spell has more to do with magic than the actual shape or movement of the wings - that’s just a visual effect that helps me focus the spell.” Vector approaches Phyr’s back and wraps his arms around his shoulders - even with Phyr’s added height, the half-giant is still nearly a foot taller. “Dude, like, you have to wrap your legs around my waist. Otherwise when you slip, you’ll just be hanging on by my neck, which isn’t good for either of us.” Vector grumbles and complies. “OK, better, but you have to actually grip my waist. I know it’s uncomfortable, but so is falling hundreds of feet onto hard ground.” He rolls his eyes and squeezes his legs. “Atta boy. All right, I’m gonna just practice moving around up here for a sec before we do the real thing.”
After getting a feel for flying with a passenger on his back, Phyr pitches them over the edge into a gentle glide aimed in the direction of the cave where Warner is waiting for them. Vector has a moment of vertigo as the ground suddenly falls away beneath them, so he closes his eyes and tries to enjoy the ride. They touch down a few dozen yards from the mouth of the cave, and Phyr’s ethereal wings retract fully back into his shoulders.
“Hey, guys,” Warner says as they approach in the semi-dark. “Sorry again about your - whoa! Phyr?! Did you… get taller?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. So: we gotta get back so we can send out a crew for those kids.”
“Right,” Phyr says. “I was thinking about that. I’m gonna zip back to Salinas and let them know, while you guys drive the buggies and stay with the folks.”
“What do you mean, ‘zip back’?”
“He can fly now,” Vector says nonchalantly.
“OK, then,” Warner says, accepting this new information uncritically. “That sounds like a mighty fine plan.”
As Warner is advising Vector to give every potential obstacle and hazard a wide berth, and to let someone else drive when they catch up to the group, Phyr departs for Salinas. He flies up, up, up, pushing for every bit of speed he can, until the wind makes his eyes water. This isn’t even hard, he thinks, I just can’t keep my eyes open with all the wind in my face. I’ll have to get some goggles or something if I want to go this fast on the regular. Higher and higher, he can soon see the shape of the land dropping away from him, and floats just below the clouds for a moment to get his bearings. Then he turns to a Northeastern heading and punches it. The shock of the sudden speed is largely absorbed by his armor, but he still takes 14 damage from accelerating so quickly. Gotta watch that, he thinks, I don’t want to break my neck by turning too fast.
As he flies through the sky at high speeds, the sun recharges his mana almost as fast as he spends it. Despite the wind whipping against him, the slow crawl of the landscape below him makes him feel as though he’s not going anywhere. But after a few hours, the ocean shines up at him from the horizon. Not long after that, he sees the smoke rising above the Salinas distilling operations, tucked away in the bay where the dunes level out into scrub plain.
As he approaches the city limits, Phyr decelerates and lowers his altitude. He touches down on the dusty earth in a small flurry, and retracts his wings, then sees a handful of guards rushing out to meet him. He strides up to them confidently, but notices as he gets close that they don’t look friendly: their rifles are raised and trained directly on him. He raises his hands, palms open, and hails them.
“State your name and business,” one of the guards shouts back.
“Guys! It’s me! Phyr! Green hair? Black eyes?”
There’s a moment of confusion before the guards accept his identity, but then they lower their weapons and one steps out to greet him as another calls in the new development over a speaking stone. “Apologies, Lord Phyr,” the guard says as he reaches a comfortable speaking distance. “We didn’t recognize you. Are you… taller?”
“Yes,” he says with a sigh. “Long story. Look, can you put me through to Elder Shay? Or whoever’s in charge? Vector and Warner are bringing back a caravan of folks, so we need to send out some buggies to speed up the return trip.”
The guard raises an eyebrow in skepticism and says, “You’re bringing refugees? Here? Now?”
Phyr sighs deeply, and squints hard to maintain his composure.
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