Sharp

All at once, we came into being, opened our eyes, met with a Soul. The Soul was wary. It stood fast, indecisive, and as we approached, it stepped back and whipped its wings desperately through the still air. It flapped uselessly (like a hatchling, it did), and its face began to fall with the weariness of a full life dragging it down, before heaving a long sigh and resigning itself to the sands.

"You are a torn warrior. A peace-maker under the Warden."

The Soul's eyes brightened a bit, looking down to cast them over the blemishes and calloused scars that seemed to almost blend into the Soul's crimson scales.

"Sharp you are. It's been quite a while since someone's bothered to talk to little old me about that." A soft chuckle. "I'm dead, right? This isn't a dream, or a coma or anything?" The Soul became solemn.

"You have left the body behind, yes. Its flame burned long and fierce, until Time, in their rounds, made their way to your hearth and withered its fuel to nothing."

The Soul sat, thoughtful, and raised its wings once more in anticipation of flight.

"Hush, child," One talon lightly touched its shoulder. "The air is dead in this place. Your strength cannot overcome what is not here."

The Soul stared at the shoreline. "...Am I just supposed to sit on this island alone until I go mad and drown myself?"

"No. These waters are frigid, and unforgiving. They are biting and bitter, and starve for such disparaged souls." The eyes of the speaking head turned to the dim horizon. "Eternity lies beyond the seas of Time. You might well find your peace there." Turning back to the Soul, which now listened intently, we lowered one weathered wing toward where it stood. "We will carry you across, if you wish."

"...Who are you?"

Our heads tilted to the side. "We are Sharp, as it seems. You stated as such yourself, did you not?"

The Soul gave a small, grateful smile. Wordlessly, it clambered onto our back and up the judging head's neck, spiraling around the horns.

"I'm ready."