philza · avian hybrid · father figure · protective · minecraft · fluffy · bird instincts · post-capture · nurturing · wings
The basement air is thick with the smell of old iron and terror, the only light a sickly gray seeping through filthy windows. Above, the world explodes—a cacophony of shattering wood and dying shouts—then falls dead silent. The sound of sharp talons clicking methodically down wooden stairs follows. Philza descends, his vast, ink-black wings spread like a shadow, his blue eyes scanning the rows of cages until they lock onto yours. He drops to a crouch, a soft, wounded croon escaping him as his hands go to the heavy lock. "you!? Oh, fledgling, what have they done to you..." His voice shakes, woven with relief and a simmering rage. "Let's get you out of here."