Gale couldn't outfly the fire.

The smoke chased him, the flames licked at his feet.

His wings beat a desperate rhythm, singed feathers just barely supporting him.

Worse than the heat, worse than the acrid bite of charred flesh and bile at the back of his throat, though, was the pain.

The pain was everywhere, and all-encompassing.

Gale had never been a stranger to pain, but this— this hurt in body and soul, this ruined the very magic he held.

A hoarse cry was ripped from his throat when the fire leapt up at him — the mice in the underbrush fled, the trees screamed in agony.

Lilith paid them no mind, reached for him again, high, higher, and—

A stupid maneuver, frantic but still a second too late, and the flesh on his left leg sizzled. Gale drew in a breath that was more pain than oxygen; tried, desperately, to see a way that would get him out of this mess, just for a few hours, just long enough to... process, think, to figure out where to go from here.

He didn't want to die just yet, didn't want to follow in his mother's footsteps, not without at least making the most of her sacrifice.

But he didn't know how, not with Lilith still hot on his heels (way too literally), with the fog in his mind and shock and pain, such sheer hopelessness.

He kept moving, though; weaved through the trees, on paths a human couldn't possibly fit through, but Lilith didn't let that slow her down, not when she knew exactly that Gale was getting weaker, with every beat of his wings that didn't lead to freedom.

Then—

His wings clipped a branch, he tumbled, and—

Lilith stumbled on a river-crossing—

Then—

The chase went on.

Night had turned into day when Gale finally broke free of the barrier of the trees, when Lilith was left roaring in frustration, held back by a skeleton hand on her ankle, by bones that refused to turn to ashes, no matter how hot she burned.

Gale's mind was hazy with pain by that time, and his form flickered.

He wouldn't be able to hold out much longer, not with that last burst of death-magic he'd just expended.

He almost didn't care anymore.

Underneath him, the forest gave way to the outskirts of a town, buzzing with life even this early in the morning; unaware of the horrors taking place so close by.

Gale breathed, and he smelled gas and exhaust fumes and the dust of city streets instead of blood-wet dirt and fire and ashes and for once, it almost felt like relief, or home.

It provided a distraction, a momentary reprieve, but only served to remind Gale of how desperately he needed a safe place to hide, to take care of his wounds, assess the worst of the damage, and try to stop his magic from disappearing entirely.

(He refused to think further along that vein, though; refused to be destroyed quite so completely.)

He concentrated, instead, on his memories, the silly nursery rhymes his mother used, to make him remember all their contacts in various cities, but he didn't think that there had ever been a mention of this specific town.

But there had been something else, hadn't there? Something important, or maybe someone.

But Gale's focus was slipping, and his eyes drooped, his leg burned, and his wings felt like lead, now that the adrenaline was fading, now that he was momentarily safe in the anonymity of the city, and he couldn't quite think clearly anymore.

He hated that it came to this, time and time again.

He hated that this time was so different to all the others, that there was no one waiting for him to chew him out for slipping up; there was no one left, no one at all, no one that cared for him, no one to come back to. For the first time in years — the first time in forever — he was all alone, and he was left wondering if it was even worth it anymore.

He couldn't allow himself to think like that. Couldn't afford it, not when he wanted to make it another day, not so close to—

He didn't see the oncoming truck, only heard the shriek of brakes and realized too late that he wasn't flying high over the city anymore; he'd dropped to street level and the oncoming driver's window was almost on a height with Gale's body.

Fuck.

A breath.

The beat of a wing, a try to—

In the last moment, the split-second of a heartbeat, a shattered fragment of time, Gale braced for the impact, prepared for the end after all.

(There was no one to pray to, after all, nothing left to say, nothing and no one he would leave behind.)

In that kaleidoscope of a moment, Gale felt calm, almost free, at last, because he knew where he'd go now, and he knew that Lilith couldn't follow him there.

Then the colors broke open and the end didn't come.

Light shattered.

Gale forgot, sometimes, that magic didn't inherently mean bad things.

That it could be used for good, too, if only the wielder wanted it to.

"Come on," someone called, and it sounded as though it hadn't been the first time. "Get the fuck out of the way!"

Gale cawed, surprised, and found himself able to move. Found the muscles of his wings listening to his commands, although the whole world seemed caught in suspension, arrested in a moment in time.

The light broke away when Gale moved through air and time alike; it swirled around him like a rainbow in physical form, particles of light and air, photons and nitrogen and oxygen. He'd never seen anything like it, and he'd seen a lot.

This kind of magic was rare, he realized, and it was why he was here, the important something and someone that might be able to help him out. That was already helping him out, right now.

"Move!"

Though probably not on their own volition, it seemed like, if the impatient, annoyed tone of voice was anything to go by.

So Gale did.

(To his own surprise, his claws didn't get caught in the fabric of time when he eventually stretched his good leg for balance, and the feathers of his wings didn't get tangled up in it.)

(It was weird, to think of time as something solid.)

Then, the very moment he'd moved enough to not risk getting caught in the turbulence of the fast-driving truck, time resumed its passing, an implosion of all the colors of the light.

It was almost deafening in its silence.

With the resumed passing of time came the pain, with pain came exhaustion, and exhaustion was the reason why his wings gave out on him, suddenly and unforgivingly, until he plunged down to the sidewalk in a more or less controlled tumble.

He landed hard on his knees, caught his fall with his hands, and sucked in a desperate breath.

For the moment, he could breathe.

For the moment, he was something like safe.

And then he looked up.