Warm wind blew across Charles’ face, ruffling his plumage gently as he sat in the midst of his siblings. There was no grand plan in this moment, no particular necessity that demanded his attention, just a warm family and the golden glow of the sunlight that filtered through in speckling shafts through the canopy. Dust glinted in the light, something that he realized he could see with shocking clarity as his bird-of-prey eyes developed more fully. Previously, he’d thought that his eyes were as good as they’d been when he was human, but now he could easily say that they were far, far better.
It was one of the perks of reincarnating that he hadn’t expected, to have a whole new slate. What would have become of his body if he was human? Would he have been superhuman in every way? Just above average?
Was that something he would have even wanted?
Charles lightly shook the thoughts from his head, remembering his family - his human family - once more. Eventually, he would find them and get answers, though it wasn’t as though he knew what he wanted to hear. Charles’ had time to think about everything, and to his shame he realized he’d never asked Alterra if she knew where his family was. In retrospect, he believed that his sister and parents were almost guaranteed to have been drawn into this world. But, why? They weren’t near the end of their mortal coil, they were perfectly healthy, and had left behind important things.
Charles’ hoped he was counted amongst those important things, but he couldn’t decide exactly what he thought about everything now. On the one hand, he almost felt guilty that he was living life like this now, a new family with warmth and happiness that he could barely even remember when he was human. Was it wrong to embrace these instincts, to live a new life and make new, happier memories? Was he betraying their memory in doing so? He knew he was thinking too much about it, and in the first place the empty hole that his first family had left would never disappear - only scar - and beyond that, he’d made a deal with Alterra. In return for survival, he would be her killing hand. Charles’ felt mixed feelings on that, too, but couldn’t decide if he begrudged the will of the world for giving him an ultimatum of servitude or oblivion, or to be glad that he had a second chance.
It was a deal that, so far, had not worked out according to what either of them seemed to have planned.
Idly, Charles rested his beak atop Yak’s head, appreciating the extra fluffy bird even more at the moment.
‘These thoughts are too heavy for nap time,’ Charles scoffed to himself, nestling a little deeper into the pile of feathers all around him. Sensing the movement, his siblings shifted and shuffled, even more firmly entrenching him in the middle.
‘Let’s see… It's been two weeks? Give or take?’ Charles’ lips beyond his beak turned downwards into a frown, ‘Time’s much harder to keep now. Sometimes I nap for a long time. Is that normal? We’re growing pretty fast, so maybe that’s it?’
He pondered, feeling the dull ache in his bones and muscles, something that grew as sleepiness grew. It was likely that these were growing pains, but they could get fierce. He’d managed to stay awake for the full day yesterday, but the pain had gradually grown to the point that it felt like someone was beating on him with hundreds of tiny hammers. In spite of the pain he was actually able to fall asleep nearly instantly the moment he stopped resisting. In fact, the effort of staying awake was titanic, and if it weren’t for the fact that he had ample practice with willpower, he doubted he’d have been able to stay awake at all.
It wasn’t normal, it was too fast and already the six of them, himself included, filled up a sizable portion of what had been a huge nest. Downy feathers had already begun molting, the mess of fuzz was packed into the cracks in the nest. Some of it was taken up by the wind and dropped off the edge of the nest down to the forest floor far below. Their wings were fairly developed now, but Charles doubted they could get back up into the nest on their own if they did in fact fall. Perhaps in a few more days, but none of them knew how to fly yet either.
His parents had come back less frequently lately, ranging farther afield for more food, he guessed. The six of them certainly couldn’t have been easy to feed, but it also struck him as incredibly risky. They were left fairly unsupervised in the nest, and that seemed like a recipe for disaster even in his old world. Here, though, Charles couldn’t imagine what might be a predator for these kinds of birds.
It wasn’t necessarily the size that surprised him, but the sharpness of his talons and beak, and the already manifesting strength in his limbs. There were times during play fighting when he felt something in his talons, an itch to scratch, like having another muscle there that he knew he didn’t actually have. When he practiced with it, he found that this not-muscle could be flexed powerfully - though Charles had to warily recategorize it as some kind of feeling, or an aura, because it most definitely defied standard conventions - and used in some fashion. His talons became able to cut easier, deeper, a sensation like they were sharper and somehow more forceful flowing through his senses. And, most definitely, the results shared that feeling, considering the grooves he’d carved in thicker parts of the nest.
What did that mean for Charles? He considered it in a few ways, the most important of which being that this wasn’t a strictly ‘science’ based phenomena. Nothing he could think of could explain why his beak or claws could become more ‘cutty and forcey’ from flexing these mysterious not-muscles.
‘Mana? Wild Magic? Chi?’ Charles thought through names, before sighing and finally settling on the fact that it didn’t really matter what he called it. It wasn’t as though he could share his discovery with people, nor would it be anything special in this world - his siblings each had demonstrated the same abilities multiple times - and it wasn’t as though he could find out what the official name of this was. Then again, he recalled in his short talk with Alterra that she had mentioned the word ‘essence,’ so he supposed that would be as good as anything else to use.
Finally, Charles let his meandering thoughts sit still and rest, slipping away in the dark, comforting sleep that always waited for him here during this glorious time of peace.
This time, though, he dreamt of strange things. He dreamt of a silver glowing light that blobbed all around him, curling around him soothingly, and he watched as another shape, grey and black, liquid-like and smaller, struck into the midst of that swirl. For a moment the churning color grew more chaotic, as though the larger silver shining light tried to tear the other, duller blot into pieces.
Instead, the dull blot dove into the mass before expanding, dispersing amid the silver and mixing with it. It grew no less dull, but now there were flecks of shining obsidian that churned within the silver, little islands among a silver sea that disappeared and reappeared at random. He watched the turbulent light, thick like liquid now, begin to swirl around a spherical shape in the middle. Color bloomed on the egg, one that he realized looked exactly like the one he’d come out of, and vanished entirely in a few moments.
Charles expected the dream to fade then, but it didn’t, and he sat and stared at the egg. There was no sense of time here, but he knew that he’d been there both for a while, and yet not that long at all. Finally, though, Charles noticed that the egg began to move, shaking and trembling with the life within.
The cracks started to show, and he found himself eagerly waiting to see the rebirth. He was certain that it was his own egg, with that same kind of dream-certainty when your subconscious was keyed into certain subliminal truths that your conscious mind was unaware of.
That was, of course, when everything went wrong. A crack fully opened, a hole in the egg, and all at once a red, blue, and purple light burst forth like a lantern light. It cut through the dull fog that he only now realized clutched at the edges of the whole scene. Startled, he watched as the rest of the egg collapsed inwards, all at once, as though it were being pulled into a singularity.
A tangle of warped limbs was on display all at once, a multi headed beast with long reaching arms, tipped with spikes, suckers, and nails. Broad wings grew and shrank, feathers, skin, cuticle and more morphed endlessly before his eyes. Eyes of every variety searched the world around it with scalding light bursting forth from every direction that cast away the haze.
Charles startled awake before anything else could happen in the dream, a fearful, panicked trill of fear leaking unbidden from his beak. Instantly he cast his gaze about, terrified that there might be some abomination around him. In the darkness, though, the only thing that greeted his eyes was the nest, as well as the familiar and large looming form of one of his parents. The adult redhawk stirred, turning one brilliant eye upon the small chick with concern. Charles’ eyes met those of his father as he seemed to realize what had happened, and let out a deep, low cooing sound. Steadily he hummed, and Charles found himself embracing the noise, being nestled back into calmness.
It had just been a dream. A disquieting, terribly real feeling dream, but just a dream nonetheless. A light nuzzle on his head stirred him from those thoughts, a razor sharp beak carefully combing through the feathers atop his head. Slowly a familial warmth filled his chest, and after a few seconds Charles felt his eyelids grow heavy once more.
Before he knew it, he’d returned once more to the land of sleep, embraced just that more closely by his siblings and father.
Upon the morning, Charles and the other chicks were stirring before Mother and Father had begun rising themselves. Idly, the human-turned-bird reconsidered his parents, having already seen evidence of their intelligence, and realized that he had to make a conscious decision about a certain topic.
That topic was, admittedly, perhaps a moot point to most any other person. But Charles had decided to fully accept his new reality, and embrace it.
‘Alright. You’re not just Father or Mother,’ Charles declaration began, ‘And you fluff-balls aren’t just siblings. You’re my Father, Mother, and siblings.’ He carefully considered each word in his mind, applying the proper gravitas to the situation. Of course, Charles was perfectly aware that this was effectively just an exercise for his own mind, perhaps some subconscious recognition of a fact.
Thus, he wasn’t surprised in the slightest when nothing happened. No deep revelation occurred, and no sparking epiphany crossed his mind as he did so. Even so, Charles couldn’t help but keep a slight smile from his face, as much as he could with an inflexible beak. But, he did in fact have some slight pull from his cheeks, so that would have to do.
He watched with the other chicks as his parents carefully preened themselves and each other, affectionately nuzzling one another as they did so. When their turns came, Charles merely accepted it as part of his new routine.
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As he did with the feeding portion that came shortly after.
Except that part was a total lie, and he would never admit to having been fed in such a manner to any human he’d ever meet, should he recover his humanity.
‘Yeah, not likely. I’m not wagering that I’ll get another shot at life.’ Charles thought to himself, ‘Besides, this whole bird thing isn’t so bad.’
Casually he stretched out his wings, growing faster every day it seemed. He and the other chicks might well be capable of flight now, if not soon, especially considering how many feathers were rapidly sprouting and growing. Idly, he began to clean himself, pressing and scratching itchy places where feathers were coming up.
Mother surprised him by giving a satisfied chirp in his direction, and he could almost feel she’d said something like, “See, that’s how you clean yourselves! Do that.”
Charles clucked as his siblings all began studying him closely, quickly making him feel embarrassed. He shot a glance up to his Mother, seeing a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she shuffled towards the edge of the nest.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Good luck Mom, Dad.” Charles chirped aloud, both Red Hawk adults casting prideful and warm glances upon their clutch.
In one leap they cleared the edge of the nest, and with silent wings they soared up through the canopy, dodging between branches as they went. Charles paused as he watched them, feeling a yearning in his heart for that level of freedom.
‘I might not have been intended for a bird body… but I may as well make the most of it, right?’ He smiled, before peering over the edge of the nest to the ground far below. Curiously, he turned his gaze to his body, and to the bodies of his siblings. They seemed fairly developed now, perhaps not quite at the level where they could fly, but at the very least he figured that they weren’t far at all from it either. Some fluffier feathers still adorned his and his siblings' wings, steadily pecked out day by day by their parents, or each other.
‘Now… hopefully this flying thing is… uh… mostly automatic.’ Charles considered the drop once more, this time with a more critical eye, ‘I think I could glide down decently enough, but I’m not a fan of how high up this is…’
Amidst his concentration, he didn’t notice as the shortest and most talkative of his siblings, Gabby, came up beside him. For a second, Charles started in surprise, half expecting her to ambush him. Instead, he found himself even more surprised to see that Gabby was actively looking out over the area alongside him.
“Ah, I’m just looking at things,” Charles chirped as a way of explanation, noticing the rest of the nestling chicks carefully waddling beside them, especially wary of the edge and shooting glances to Charles. Considering the scolding he’d given them prior, he supposed it was fair that they were so wary.
“We’re gonna learn to fly soon,” noises warbled from Charles, “Probably once our wings are a bit more developed. But it’ll be really soon at this rate.”
The other chicks shifted foot to foot, now staring intently at Charles.
“Can you say that? Fly?” The human-turned bird asked and immediately felt a slight twinge reproach at his own question. Even so, it wasn’t as though anyone else was around.
“Fly. Can you say that? Fly?” Charles repeated the sound, trying to get the feeling attached to his noises across to the others.
They stared at him blankly in return, up until the largest of the siblings, Pecky, let out a warble in return. Followed by another after that, along with some low screeches. The rest of the siblings joined in, shortly thereafter, making more noises, before Charles shrugged mentally to himself. It was a long shot anyways to see if they could speak his language, but it was worth a try every now and then.
He paused then, feeling a strangeness in his brain. Speak his language? Wasn’t he a bird now? Was he doing this backwa- ‘Okay, no, that’s impossible. They’re just… animals… right?’
Then he realized that, no, they weren’t just animals, he’d already seen signs of intelligence from them. They seemed to understand his intent, if not words. That clearly meant they were more intelligent than he gave them credit for.
So, unless he was truly going off the deep end and craving some verbal interaction and attributing nonsensical ideas to circumstantial evidence, they may actually be capable of speech in a greater sense.
Deciding he had nothing to lose, Charles began to focus on his siblings as they warbled, trying to somehow wrap his mind around the sounds as a language, rather than random bird sounds. It felt ridiculous to him, and as they trotted around the nest, playing - and leaving their clearly pensive eldest sibling to his own devices - he began to lose heart in the possibility. Sighing, he turned his gaze from the nest once more, idly checking in on the sound, letting it roll through his subconscious mind.
Perhaps he wasn’t going to be speaking with anyone for the rest of his life, pending magic. That perked him up somewhat, up until he also then realized that he would need someone to cast magic on him. Back on Earth, he figured there’d be plenty of people who would go nuts over a hawk being friendly with them. But for all he knew, hawks were a delicacy in this world. Perhaps he’d make an excellent addition to a stew. ‘Magic missile! And zap, fried chicken!’ Charles thought with some chagrined amusement.
“Li-iiir-ange-urp-ight?” The noise clattered around like a bowling ball dropped on the floor in Charles' brain. Instantaneous nausea crashed into him, and for a moment Charles almost fell forward, dangerously close to the edge. He sat himself down heavily, talons hooking into the branches. He moaned as the world spun, steadying only after he forced himself to stare at his feet.
‘The hell was that?’ He thought, before realizing that there were almost word-like noises coming from his siblings. Immediately he turned his attention back to his siblings, eyes wide, who also seemed to have noticed his outburst and were now eyeing him with what seemed to be marked concern.
If Charles' cheeks could flush, they would. Instead, his feathers puffed up around his neck as he withdrew his head, hearing what he imagined was laughter in the sudden chirping of his siblings.
They went back to what they were doing, and Charles found himself steading his hammering heartbeat. ‘Okay, if I didn’t imagine that, then I’m on the right track here… What was I doing? Recreate it, step by step…’
Steadily he tried to focus on their noises, listening for minutes. He didn’t relent, trying to eek out every ounce of attention he could manage. Tension mounted as he did, his every measure devoted towards trying to hear them, the words hidden in the bird-song.
He also tried not to be discouraged when the only thing it earned him after nearly an hour was a brain-splitting headache.
‘Ugh… okay, so not that.’ Charles shook his head, turning around and letting his ears rest as he gazed out upon the forest floor below. This time, he attempted to let the voices passively enter his subconsciousness, just as before. Perhaps that was the key, to not force it, but instead to let it settle in of its own volition.
Easier said than done, of course, given that Charles found himself focusing on sounds from time to time. Annoyed, he forced himself to turn his attention fully upon the forest floor, exercising his eyes as much as he could. With this at least, even if he couldn’t decipher the language, he’d at least be able to practice using his eyes. If there was anything he knew now, it was that what one did while they were young had a significant impact on what they could do when they were older. He stretched his wings back as far as they would go, rotated his legs and went through a course of general flexibility exercises that he hoped would be helpful. Later he’d play with the others, if they didn’t wear themselves out before then, and help take care of the cardio aspect.
The eyes, though, that was what concerned him the most. If he was going to become a predator of the skies, his eyes needed to be superb. Maybe he’d find some woodland hunter and help them scout, they’d hunt him food and pamper - err, be a partner - to him.
Charles did not focus on the fact that he might be killing in order to feed himself soon. And he most decidedly did not focus on the fact that as part of the life cycle of animals, he might have to deal with some very uncomfortable hormonal demands from his new body in the future.
“Wonder-” a voice cut through his thoughts, “-down there?”
This time he managed to brace for the world-spinning, and tried to let the sensation flow through him, rather than fight it. Instantly he could feel a difference, like a cold rush of electricity running deep into his grey matter. The nausea picked up considerably, and he wobbled even in spite of how tightly he gripped the crackling twigs beneath his feet.
The headache, too, came back, this time like a jackhammer pounding and chiseling away at everything that had ever made sense in his life. ‘Uhhoooooo no more, oh, Alterra, why does this suck sooooo bad?’
Predictably, no response came beyond the stunning headache that faded rapidly with the waves of cold electricity. Through it all, Charles did everything he could to let it run its course and to not show signs of pain to his siblings. The last thing he needed was for them to be concerned over him. After what seemed like minutes, Charles pried his eyes and beak open, letting out a long breath.
‘I don’t think I can do this…’ He admitted to himself privately, realizing that tears were streaming down from his face. Clucking silently to himself, he wiped at his eyes with his wings, sweeping away the moisture but not the puffy feeling it left behind. Behind him, Charles listened once more, in spite of it all, and realized that he was catching a third of what they were all saying.
Elation mixed with trepidation, the realization that it was both working, and not anywhere near complete.
Charles shook his body, tears scattering off the side of the nest as he took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Get a hold of yourself, Charles. You fought through cancer, you’ve dealt with plenty of horrible crap, you can do this.’
The logic made perfect sense to him. The need was there, and he knew that this wasn’t something that would merely be an elective skill to have, it was an absolute necessity.
When he took the next big breath and tried to sink into that half-attentive silence, though, he felt his heart rate spike and shuddered, breaking the tried-and-true state he’d had previously. ‘Okay, again… calm down.’
After a few minutes, he calmed down, and then he tried again. This time the shuddering was so violent that he thought he might be having a seizure.
The third time he didn’t even get to begin, his heart-rate hammered so hard in his chest he wouldn’t have been surprised if the others were able to hear him.
‘Nope. That’s it. That’s enough for now.’ Charles felt an anxiety surge before he finally admitted to himself that he was done with the process for the day. Feeling halfway successful was enough, and as he looked up he realized he must have been at it for hours. Behind him, the chicks were just going through another rousing match of ‘Catch the Fluff’ and seemed to be having a good time.
Charles smiled before turning fully towards them and running full tilt towards the chickling with the fluffball, completely blindsided by his advance, and joining the game to the excited warble-cheering of his siblings. He could make out words, at times, but avoided speaking to them just yet, uncertain how they would feel about it.
During all of this, Charles completely missed the form that hugged the forest floor and the way it paused in the clearing far below.