Submission (#534) Approved

“Soft Steps Through Venom”
Word Count Goal: 800+ | Prompt Theme: Power isn't always loud. Strength isn't always destruction. Sometimes, survival means choosing restraint over reaction—and seeing fear for what it really is.

The further Zephyra descended into The Summit Of Storms, the more the air turned against him.

The cavern breathed wet and heavy, thick with steam and the scent of minerals leached from stone. Every surface glistened with condensation—walls, stalagmites, even the threads of web-like moss clinging to overhangs. His paws squelched in mud that sucked at each step like it had a vendetta.

“This place smells like a drowned fungus pit,” he muttered to himself, nose wrinkling as he ducked beneath a low arch. “And I’m pretty sure my dignity is melting.”

Golden flames shimmered faintly along his wings feathers, struggling to stay lit. Every few seconds, a flicker would stutter, hiss, and sputter out against the moisture clinging to his fur.
Above him, the stone ceiling oozed a slow, steady drip. Each droplet hit the floor like a ticking clock, the echo sharp in the too-still air.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He paused near a cluster of collapsed stone, claws tapping idly as he gauged the terrain ahead. The tunnel opened into a large basin, steam coiling in lazy spirals from some unseen vent. It was hard to see past it, but he could sense something—a wrongness in the atmosphere, like a sound you couldn’t quite hear but still felt in your bones.

Zephyra narrowed his eyes.
And then he saw it.

Motion—slow, rippling, and too big to be anything he wanted to deal with right now. A Noxwyrm.

It was half-curled in the basin, its body a grotesque blend of muscle and ooze, striped in harsh cyan and yellow bioluminescence. Thick ropes of venom clung to its body, dripping lazily from jagged spines like syrup. Its back pulsed as it breathed—fast. Nervous.

It hadn’t seen him yet.

Zephyra barely inhaled, pupils narrowing as he melted back against the stone. He clenched his wings tight, cutting off his flame as best he could. Even dimmed, the constellations along his fur still glowed like beacons in the fog. He stared at the creature, watching the way it flinched at the slightest noise. One massive claw scraped the stone absently, and a gurgle slipped from its throat—low, wet, almost mournful.
It was afraid.

"Great,” Zephyra whispered dryly, voice barely audible. “It's a big slimy panic attack with legs."

He took a step back—carefully. The rock beneath him groaned in protest. The Noxwyrm’s head snapped up. Its eyes were lidless and wide, its maw dripping, and it locked onto the faint flicker of light clinging to Zephyra’s fur. Zephyra didn’t blink. For a heartbeat, everything was still. Then the creature hissed—a sound like boiling tar—and rose to its full fifteen-foot height, spines rattling like knives in a sack. "Aw, come on."

Zephyra ducked back, slipping behind a pillar of stone as a lash of ooze hissed across the tunnel—melting through rock where it struck. Acid smoke curled into the air.
He pressed his back to the slick wall, holding in a snarl. “This isn’t a fight I’m gonna win. Not here. Not without setting off a chemical explosion that’ll cook us both.”

He risked a glance. The Noxwyrm hadn’t moved. It loomed, breathing hard, scanning the mist for him. Tense and almost terrified. Like it was waiting to be attacked.
“Alright,” he whispered to himself. “Let’s try not being the threat for once…”

He looked up toward the cracked ceiling, where steam leaked through a pressurized vent. The steam hissed like a warning in his ears. He crouched low behind the jagged outcrop, tail wrapped tight around his hind leg to stop it from glowing. His whole body buzzed with restrained fire magic, flaring just beneath the skin, begging for release. Sparks tickled the edges of his vision like flickers of starlight, but he held it back with gritted teeth.

Just one wrong spark, and this tunnel would go up like a lantern wick soaked in venom. He could hear the Noxwyrm now—its massive form dragging sluggishly across the stone, the ooze sizzling where it touched older trails of venom. It wasn’t charging. It was circling. Watching.

Zephyra exhaled slowly, voice a whisper edged with sarcasm. “Cool. No pressure. Just a giant walking bioweapon one twitch away from turning me into a cautionary tale.”

He didn’t dare light a flame to see clearly, but the mist was thinning near a small vent on the wall—an outflow pipe, fissured and hissing with compressed steam. It wasn’t much, but it might be just enough to mask his scent, his movement, his glow. If he could heat it gently—just enough—he could make it erupt. Redirect the creature’s attention. He glanced down at his paw. Held it over the vent. Let the heat crawl slowly down from his core. A tiny ember hovered at his claws.

It flared—once—too hot.
TSSSHHHHHH!

The vent erupted. Steam screamed into the tunnel, billowing outward in a blinding rush. The pressure knocked Zephyra back, skidding across the stone and slamming his shoulder into the wall.

The Noxwyrm shrieked. He heard the wet, thunderous slam of it throwing itself sideways in panic. Spines clattered. Ooze hit the floor and instantly began sizzling from its own panicked discharge. The tunnel flooded with thick mist, vision going completely white.

For a heartbeat, Zephyra couldn’t tell if he was alive or soup. Then—movement. Not toward him, but away.

The Noxwyrm barreled down the wrong corridor, crashing into rock and venting its fear in furious hisses.

He didn’t hesitate. Zephyra bolted—low to the ground, wings tight, flame barely flickering along them as he slid past the half-melted stalagmites and vaulted up onto a ridge above the basin.
He didn’t stop until the only sound left was his own heartbeat and the drip, drip, drip of cooling stone.

Panting, he slumped against the wall and let the fire flow back into his limbs like blood returning to numb fingers. It flared along his tail, curling around his shoulders like a shawl of golden stars. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “That… was so much smarter than setting it on fire. Ugh. I hate being responsible.”

A distant echo rose—low, uncertain. The Noxwyrm’s confused growl, far down the tunnel now. He didn’t answer it. He just closed his eyes and let the heat roll off him, soft and slow. The ledge he’d claimed wasn’t much—just a jut of stone above a curtain of mist, barely wide enough for a Tatsukoi his size. But it was dry, and after the swampy hellscape he’d just wriggled through, that was good enough.

Zephyra sat with his legs loosely folded, tail curled over one paw, firelight licking lazily up his shoulders like a shawl of golden silk. Not bright. Not bold. Just… warm. Steady. Beneath him, the fog-shrouded basin churned, soft hissing sounds drifting upward like distant whispers. He could still see it in his mind—the Noxwyrm’s gleaming spines, the twitchy, fear-filled way it moved. How it didn’t chase him when it could’ve. How it didn’t roar. Didn’t hunt.

It just panicked.
Like everything and everyone always expected it to be a monster… and so it was.

Zephyra stared into the little fire pit he’d coaxed to life, flames crackling with constellation-shaped embers that drifted upward like stars trying to escape gravity. He muttered aloud, voice low and dry. “Fifteen feet tall. Built like a walking plague. Venom dripping from every orifice. And still not the worst company I’ve had this week.”

The fire popped in agreement.

His wings shifted, stretching slightly before tucking again. He could still feel the tension in them, a hum beneath the skin where his magic had wanted—begged—to ignite.
But he hadn’t. And that sat… strange in his chest. He usually fought. Not because it was smart—but because it felt better. Easier. But this time? He’d thought. Moved smart. Fought with silence.

He picked up a bit of charcoal from the edge of the fire and rolled it between his claws, watching the soot smear gold against his fur.

Why had that creature hit so hard? Why had he seen something in its eyes? And why, even now, did he feel like he’d left something behind in that fog? Like the Noxwyrm was still watching?
Not out of threat. But recognition. “…Great. Now I’m empathizing with acid monsters. What’s next, journaling?”

He leaned back, gaze rising to the rocky ceiling, where no stars shone. So instead, he made his own. The fire flared just enough to sketch constellations against the cave walls. Familiar ones. Ones that reminded him of home… whatever that even meant anymore.

Then he let the flames settle again. Quiet. Controlled. Fierce only when needed.

Just like the beast that could’ve killed him.
Just like him.

Reward	Amount
Storm Chest	1
Gold	7