"Where the Broken Still Protects"

Where the World Watches Back series

WTWWB - Mythic 05

Above the cityscape—above wires, rooftops, the restless glow that never fades—the griffin awaits. It has chosen the highest places: fractured stone skyscrapers, rusted girders,and inside the heart of the city. There, where wind moves freely and the air feels almost clean, it settles into stillness. It has adapted a bit to be able to harmonize with It’s environment. It is always watching. Not for the small things that happen below. Not the hurried footsteps or the flicker of passing lives. It watches the way light pools and disappears, the way people move like currents, the way silence gathers and never quite leaves. It understands the city in a way that has been forgotten. And it remembers when the world was different. When stone was carved by hand, when the guardians were made, not abandoned. When balance was valued and community thrived. Time has changed. The city grew louder, faster, people lived closer but grew distant. The griffin did not leave. It does not interfere lightly, not drawn to chaos, not chasing wrongdoing. If it did, it would never rest. Instead, it waits. Because it knows something the city does not: most things pass. Imbalance will correct itself. Most storms burn out. But not all. There are moments—rare, quiet, and unmistakable—when something shifts too far. When the city begins to forget something essential, harm lingers instead of fading. Something fragile, something worth keeping, is about to be lost. That is when the griffin moves. There is no roar, or spectacle, it does not announce itself. Only a shadow crossing where no shadow should be. A sudden stillness in the air, pressure, like the feeling before a storm—but deeper, older. Wings cut through the polluted sky with purpose, each movement is deliberate. And whatever threatened the balance—whatever pushed too far, took too much, or endangered what could not defend itself—finds that it is no longer unobserved. The griffin does not need to linger, its presence is often enough, a reminder. That the city is not as alone as the darkness believes. That something older still measures what happens here. Things can't be taken without consequence. When it is done, it returns to the high places. Back to the ledges, broken towers, and quiet edges above it all. It folds its wings again. And it waits. Because from above—from where time feels slower and truth feels clearer—everything reveals itself eventually. And when it does, the griffin will already be watching.

Painted on a skateboard

31"h by 8"w