He scanned the tree line that rose in tangled knots near Jabir, searching for danger. A shadow moved from the left.
Mandra’s blood ran cold.
A massive beast lumbered into view: lion-bodied, with thick bronze fur dusted with sand and salt; leathery wings folded tight to its back; and a long, scorpion tail arching lazily behind it. Its eyes glowed a deep forest green, not unkind, but otherworldly. Mandra opened his mouth to shout a warning?—
“JABIR, LOOK OUT!”
—only to choke on the words as the manticore sauntered up beside his son and… rested a heavy paw on Jabir’s shoulder.
Mandra stood frozen, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
He fumbled for the remote. His fingers shook as he aimed and pressed the volume up.
“…I don’t know,” Jabir said softly, kicking at the sand. “It just feels like… like I belong here. For once.”
The words hit Mandra like a fist.
“You didn’t feel like that back home?” the manticore asked in a voice as rough as gravel and surprisingly warm.
Jabir shrugged. “Not really. I mean, everyone’s great, it’s just…” He trailed off, biting his lip. “I’m small—for a Valdier warrior. I’m also slower. Half the girls could whip my butt if they wanted to. I’m-I’m just not like the others. I’m not a warrior.”
Mandra sank onto the couch like the air had been punched from his lungs.
“Back home, I always felt like… like maybe I was a disappointment. My dad’s this big, strong, powerful dragon-shifter. Whereas, I’d rather be up in the mountains with the animals than practicing hand-to-hand or training on a warship. I don’t like hurting other people.”
The manticore chuckled, shaking its mane. “Kid, I know a dozen females in the village who could whip me if they tried.”
Jabir glanced up, surprised, then smiled—a faint, genuine thing.
“Yeah, I think Cory could totally take you. She’s pretty badass,” Jabir chuckled.
“Why do you think I love her? I need to bring in the fishing lines. You wanna help me?” the manticore asked.
Jabir nodded, and the two turned, walking along the shoreline toward a quaint village nestled among the trees. Smoke curled from huts with curved thatched roofs, and fishing nets swayed in the breeze on long poles. Children with furry skin and wide paws chased each other through the shallows. Older villagers waved from beneath colorful awnings.
The screen dimmed as the pair disappeared down the beach. The creature’s laughter mixed with Jabir’s quiet voice, and the sound floated back like wind through leaves.
Mandra stood, one hand lifted as if to hold the image in place, but it faded to black, leaving only his reflection staring back at him from the dark screen.
He stood for a long time, his eyes damp and his throat tight. Jabir was alive. He was safe.
And yet somehow, he had missed something far more dangerous than any monster—his son’s quiet ache to be seen… not as a warrior, but as who he truly was.
Grief filled him as he turned back to the window. Had he been too busy lately to see that Jabir needed him? How many times in recent months had Jabir come up to him, wanting to talk, only for him to turn him away? Mandra had prioritized the upgrading of weapons on his warship rather than his son. Memories of his own father doing that rose in his mind, nearly choking him. He remembered wishing so much that he could just talk to his dad, ask him questions—share his fears.
He stared blindly out at the morning light now fully illuminating the garden. The light picked up the delicate colors he had missed earlier. He remembered not fitting in. As a teenager, others had avoided him, afraid because of his size.
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. I’ve become my father, he thought, bowing his head.
“Ariel,” he whispered. “I need you.”
He needed her gentle, calming touch. Her advice. He lifted his head and swallowed past the lump in his throat.
His son didn’t need a protector right now.
He needed a father who understood.
Isle of the Monsters: A day earlier
