Lionhearts ||Skephalo||

45

George lifts his head, surveying the landscape around them.

They had taken the portal to the Overworld, but they found themselves in the wreckage of George's village, rather than near the walls of Gotopia like Clay anticipated.

His stomach had dropped to the ground beneath them when he realized that everywhere in the village is deserted. Nobody is there; including his family. He stares vacantly at the door to his home of the past twenty-four years as Clay gently runs his hand through his hair in an attempt to calm him.

"Georgie," he murmurs softly, "we need to get going. We're... losing time."

George knows it's true, but he can't bring himself to tear his gaze away from the blue lettering on the sign of the bakery, half here and half in memories of the fresh scent of bread wafting through the same door as he playfully chased his friends, Bad and Skeppy laughing as he caught them— it was forever ago.

There's something horrific about seeing the place he lived for so long completely abandoned, the area lifeless, flowers and gardens trampled or untended. It's like a ghost; but so much less coherent. He feels hollow.

He turns slowly, and takes a few steps towards the square where Clay had first found him, searching for anything he might have dropped, some remnants of his life before the raid.

Clay notes that there's faint footsteps that must belong to Skeppy; smaller than average, skidding through the dirt towards the square. They're almost entirely washed away by the weathering of the time between now and then, but Clay can remember the frantic look on the poor hunter's face.

George surveys the square, eventually coming to the field of cornflowers that's beginning to wither; and the grave Skeppy had set up.

He kneels near his sword, studying the rust already starting to eat away at the edges of the iron blade, brushing his fingers over his goggles.

Clay watches quietly, painting this picture into his memory; George kneeling near his own grave, surrounded by the dying blue flowers. His elytra spreads out slightly over the ground, and his gaze is solemn and yet despairing.

After a moment, he stands, brushing off his knees, and turns to Clay.

"Let's go." He murmurs in a choked voice, spreading the wings. "These work in the Overworld, you said?"

Clay nods, and hands George a few extra rockets. They're triggered with a small charm that even George can handle using without negative side effects.

"If you keep a firm grip on these, they pull you further into the sky. Your landing might be a little rough, but just don't panic and you'll be fine. I'll hold your hand to lead you." He reassures him as he notices the nervous look entering George's eyes.

They climb a small hill to gain enough altitude for a smooth takeoff, and Clay laces his left hand with George's right, and they plunge off.

Clay lights the first rocket, and George shrieks briefly as they shoot upwards into the sky, quickly breaching the clouds.

"Any higher than this and we risk losing oxygen," George frets breathlessly, already feeling dizzy. Clay laughs, a fearful bark.

"Y-Yeah. Yeah, we do, we do," he stammers nervously, not looking down, actively REFUSING to even so much as glance down.

His fear of heights must be worse in the Overworld, George realizes, and he allows his gaze to slide down to a breathtaking visage below.

Hills and small mountains roll out beneath them, forests laid out like patchwork quilts of dull hues in George's eyes. Bright blue lakes and rivers stand out starkly in the mottled yellow landscape.
Although the height makes his heart stop for a second, he can't help but admire it, the beauty of the sight rolling out before him.

"Clay, it's beautiful!" He exclaims over the wind whipping around them, and glances over to see Clay's eyes are shut.

"I-I, I can't," Clay apologizes, panic clear in his tone, "If I look down, I'll fall, if I fall I won't be able to get back up—"

George squeezes his hand reassuringly, gripping his own rocket tightly as he does so.

"Hey, I'm not going to let you fall," he reassures him in a gentle voice. "I would never let you fall. Open your eyes, Clay. If we fall, I'll save us."

The unintentional order with his name causes Clay to crack open his eyes, and slowly take in the sight below them, his grip on George's hand crushingly tight. The brunet winces, but bears it, knowing that if it makes Clay feel safer, he can bear it.
Clay's face is paler than milk when he opens his eyes fully, the complete image and realization of their height branded into his mind. He's panicking, clearly, but George tugs on his hand, drawing his attention over to him.

Their eyes meet for a moment, and George grins at him.

"We're gonna be fine." A simple reassurance, and yet it settles on Clay's heart.

Until his wings close, and he begins to plummet to the ground, that is.

George becomes aware of this fact after a second, when he feels the sudden yank on his arm, the other's weight steadily pulling both of them out of the sky.
He struggles to stay aloft, lighting the rocket and hauling them a precious few feet upwards.

"Open your wings!" He urges Clay, who dangles precariously from his grip, clearly almost paralyzed from the sheer amount of terror he's feeling.

George lights a second rocket, angling his glide to take them as effectively upwards as he can, and then leveling out.
He feels a bit dizzy, but he can't let it get to him too much.

Clay stutters something inaudible over the wind, and George simply shouts back, "Clay! Open your damn wings!!"

He said he'd keep them aloft if Clay fell, but he didn't anticipate how fucking heavy the prince is.

That order is all it takes for Clay to regain control of his wings, and the next rocket George lights before realizing that the other's wings are open takes them dangerously high, the air thinning a bit too much even for Clay's End-adapted lungs.

(The oxygen level in the End is much lower than the Overworld; and if you go too low or too high, you might even lose all oxygen at a rapid rate.)

George tries to adjust their angle, but they end up quickly dropping, almost nosediving into cloud bank ahead of them.
They burst out, now back beneath the clouds.

And George begins to laugh.

He's positively hysterical, adrenaline coursing through him in a way he's never felt before. He feels so alive, and so close to being dead.

"We're alive Clay!" He shouts, his tone playful as he let go of Clay's hand, the other's green eyes widening as his soulmate loops and swerves joyfully, laughing.

He's having fun, Clay realizes, following the other's trail, though more tamely, no loops. He's enjoying himself. Look at him go...

He's like an angel. The bright grin on his face, the laughter as he spins and dives, snapping upwards almost last second as the hill and plains roll out beneath them. And Clay feels a grin begin to lift his previously tense expression, feeling George's overwhelming joy from the flight. The fear lifts off his shoulders, his chest loosening as the fear fades.
He follows George's lead, and tests out a loop, slowly gaining confidence.

And it's fun. It's only when they punch through the cloud layer again, dusk settling over the Overworld's rich environment, that Clay realizes he's laughing, enjoying himself; he's no longer afraid.

Not with George by his side to remind him what it means to be human, to remind him of how it feels to be small in a world of vast grandeur.