The brisk wind buffeted her spotted brown plumage as she ascended rapidly through the lower sky realms.

She allowed her wings to guide her along Effritt’s many pathways while her mind spat and churned like the furious tempest winds—incensed by the sudden, inexplicable betrayal.

To think that the gale blighted Eliss clan would stoop so low as to ally themselves with the filth begotten earthbound. In all of her three hundred cycles under Effritt’s benign watch, she had never, not once, seen it’s like.

Was their string of meager, if not outright incompetent, hatchlings not shame enough in the eyes of their ancestors? Would they add treachery of the most foul to their growing list of crimes? They would willingly choose to untether themselves from the pact so completely.

And for what?

Transient power and more heavily disputed territory? Did they not realize the kind of precedent this set? The ramifications of going against the accords after all this time? Because it wouldn’t only affect them, but the whole of the clans for many years to come.

She shuddered to think of what kind of world she might be raising her chicks in, all because of the foolhardy decisions of the few.

Tens of thousands of cycles spent dutifully adhering to the shared breath accords. The lasting peace fostered between the clans so complete—and the nest-beds of the clans so hopelessly entangled—that the continued distinction between the fifteen had long since become perfunctory at best.

Years of alliance, community, and tradition tossed aside like so much down in a windstorm. She would have their wings for this atrocity. By her ancestors she would, and let none stand in her way.

She felt the temperature plummet as the cloud layer separating the lower from the higher sky realms loomed large in her vision. A roiling grey cover that seemed to wrap the whole of the sky in dreary darkness.

Without even an ounce of hesitation she plunged beak first into the artificial night.

She was leaving behind her brothers, sisters, and mate to the intense melee below in order to waylay this new incursion. There was no way she would hesitate now of all times. It broke her heart as it was, to be here and not down there, fighting to protect her nest, her family, and clan. The thought of harm befalling them or, ancestors forbid, her eggs, while she was so far away made her clench her talons in impotent rage.

But the fact remained that she was Aerial Noblesse for her clan. And with that title, and its many privileges, came certain responsibilities. To believe anything less would make her no better than the cursed Ellis.

With one final savage beating of her wings, she breached the cloud cover and emerged into the middle heights.

It only took a moment for her to catch sight of the distant enemy. From one end of the curving horizon line to the other, the Eliss clan’s secret vanguard flew unerringly towards the blessed hearts tree—its mountain sized trunk rising from the cloud cover below, proud and as awe inspiring as ever. Its vast canopy reaching well above the highest of sky realms.

It’s root systems spanning almost the entirety of their stretch of forest. A planetary wonder and an unparalleled resource for any daring enough to lay claim to its shade. The great hearts tree, the Astari clan’s ancestral nest. An ancient pilgrimage site and semi-divine natural treasure all rolled into one.

And one which also happened to be her ancestral home.

The Eliss clan warriors flew with their backs to the setting sun—their projected shadows rippling across the cloud cover below like a second army of liquid darkness. Gleaming feathers, backlit by waning sunlight, threw into sharp relief the rest of their otherwise dull grey plumage.

A deceptive trick, she knew from painful experience. Seeing as those unsuspecting feathers were as impressive as they were deadly. Sharp as honed razor claws and as tough as iron bark hide, they weren’t something to take lightly if you valued your life.

In willful defiance of all the accords, she spotted earthbound beasts riding atop their backs.

Hundreds of them, thousands.

Upon final confirmation of their duplicity, her fury became a still, cold thing—her eyes turning sharp and flinty. This had clearly been meant as a surprise attack. Despite the lack of any real cohesion in their formations, their flight was as swift as it was silent. In fact, if it weren’t for the chance sighting of a reckless young hatchling, they might not have known of the threat until it was too late.

Quickly, she scanned their forces—noting, with some relief, that there didn’t seem to be any that could truly give her pause. A few atypical beast lords, although, earthbound as they were, none should prove a major threat.

Her greatest concerns assuaged, she hovered in place for a moment, allowing them to see her. Let them know their own folly, witness the avatar of their demise. Let them choke on their inferiority all the way into the great beyond.

With a flex of her will, a white mist bloomed out from her, looking like a sparkling cloud of powdered frost.

The cloud quickly coalesced into a flurry of snowflakes. Snowflakes which then flit away on energetic currents of wind. By deftly manipulating her aura, it was simplicity itself to affect the space around her. Leveraging her will she was able to shed the irritating layer of frost which had been slowly coating her feathers—like a thousand minuscule talons striking all at once.

That done, she focused more intently on the enemy arrayed before her. As if mere fodder deserved such a distinction. To earn the title of enemy, they’d have to have stood a chance of defeating her in the first place.

Having spotted her at last, the army began showing clear signs of distress. They beat their wings faster, no doubt in hopes of closing to a distance, where their numbers and deadly feathers could be used to greatest effect.

Unfortunately for them, no matter how tempting of a spectacle it might’ve been, she hadn’t the time to play games. With a flex of her will, and a cold wave of contempt, she raised a single talon.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Against such trash, she would not deign to use anything more. In any event, there was honestly little need.

And so, it was with a deceptively casual flick, without fanfare or pretense, that she cut.

‘To cut is my way; my reason is to protect—my conviction is a talon: CUT ONE-HUNDRED THOUSAND-FOLD.’

Immediately the invading army ceased their frantic movements—their bodies drifting forward on momentum alone. Within seconds, millions of fine lines were subtly revealed, spiderwebbing across feathery flesh and fur clad hide alike.

No blood gushed forth in great arcs, though they were surely dead all the same.

No sign whatsoever that anything was amiss, despite the utter devastation she had clearly wrought.

Her cuts were far too precise for anything so crude; her will far too honed to have achieved anything less.

And just like that, in mere moments, the Eliss clan’s secret vanguard, the one meant to sway the tide of this unnecessary war—a veritable army nearly fifty thousand strong—rained down from the sky in meaty, uneven chunks.

image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]

Jun blinked.

He was once more in the ruined clearing, staring up at a bright and cloudless blue sky. While at the same time, phantom sensations of gliding through the air on majestic wings—of rending blasphemers with her wicked talons—still harried his waking mind.

To the point that it almost felt as if this were the dream, and his long life spent aloft, high up in the clouds, was the reality. Surrounded by loved ones, with chicks on the way, and possessed of a strength so great and indomitable that he knew, intrinsically, very little could stand in his way.

It was so impossibly vivid in his mind, he had a hard time reorienting himself to this new, or now he supposed, old reality.

He had to constantly curb the impulse to curl his toes for instance—expecting that, with each flex, he’d feel the comforting heft of razor-sharp talons. Convince his body each movement of his arms didn’t feel decidedly off—as if the equilibrium were entirely wrong.

In time though, he did manage to recover.

Or, at least, so he first thought. Upon closer inspection however, he realized something was amiss almost immediately. Something just beneath his ribcage, just beneath his birthmark in fact, which throbbed with a sickly warmth bordering on nausea.

He tried shrugging it off at first, as he had all the other sensations—those lingering impressions. But, to his surprise, no matter what he did, he just couldn’t seem to rid himself of this inexplicable, soul aching, debilitating lack. It clung to him like a wasting sickness—sapping away his strength for every second it persisted.

An image of shredding to pieces those that’d sought to do him harm—to take what was his, hurt him, harm his children—flashed through his mind. And as it did, a feeling of untold power flowed through him. A stark recollection of regal, barely restrained dominance. As if the entire world were at the mercy of his talons.

And then the feeling was gone, leaving him feeling hollow, cold, and afraid. Jun slapped himself in frustration, and more than a little concern.

“Easy now. Nothing to get worked up about. It’ll pass. Just need to… focus on other things. Yeah, that should do the trick.”

And so, it was with a frantic kind of desperation that Jun fell into himself.

Tallying sums, counting prime numbers, running through tongue twisters, possible acquisitions, the odd memory exercise or two. Anything and everything that might somehow force composure on his increasingly unraveling mind. And all the while, his panic only grew more and more pronounced as none of his efforts seemed to amount to anything.

Reaching beneath his tunic he ran a hand along his birthmark. It was an unconscious response born primarily from stress. A hangover from early childhood—little more than a silly charm really—as if by tracing the swooping curves, jagged lines, and circles, he might banish all the awful, wicked things in the world.

Normally, it was a comforting ritual. This time, any comfort it might have given him quickly evaporated. His mind registering only belatedly how feverishly hot and raw the skin there was.

And that said nothing of whatever sensation still roiled underneath. It was as if his eyes had been opened to a subtle, yet fundamental truth, only to then have that divine message snatched away oh so prematurely. And suddenly, he found that, more than anything in the world, he wanted that feeling back.

Needed it back.

Otherwise, he honestly wasn’t sure how he would go on.

And so, it was almost in a trance that Jun raised a finger, just as Feathers had done with her talon. Placing it gently against an errant blade of grass, he followed the simple motion he still so vividly remembered.

With a swift horizontal swipe, he cut.

Nothing happened.

Annoyed with himself, he made to pull away, but again, that deep seeded need egged him on. Jun stared daggers at the grass blade, as if this were all its fault.

His brows knit together in concentration, his mind desperately grappling with the problem. Then, suddenly, an idea hit him. He leaned forward once more, took in a deep breath, and made to try again. Fingernail slightly bending the blade of grass, he recalled with complete clarity not just what he’d seen in the vision, but what he’d felt in it as well.

It wasn’t just a desire to cut that she’d displayed, but a cold surety that it would be cut. As if it had already happened, and she were merely going through the motions.

An aloof disinterest.

A frigid disdain.

A negligible distinction by all accounts, logic dictated as much. His gut, however, insisted otherwise.

Jun focused then. Not so much on the motion of his hand, but instead on his intent, on his demeanor, his self. On that confidence bordering on full blown arrogance. That he might cut the world in twain on a whim if he so wished it, with little more than a disdainful flick of his wrist. That it might as well have happened already, and all he really did was cross some t’s and dot some i’s.

With a start he realized that it wasn’t such a hard mindset to slip into.

It felt very reminiscent to the final stages of the deal making process. When you already knew they would sign and were merely waiting for them to realize the same. And so, it was with that strange mindset firmly held in place, a flare of his will, and an unconscious sneer on his lips, that he cut.

Almost lazily, the severed half of the green stalk drifted its way to the forest floor.

A chime sounded in Jun’s head making him yelp in surprise. Several inches from his face, a thin vertical line was drawn in faintly glowing blue light. That line then expanded horizontally in both directions until the light resembled a perfectly cut rectangle.

It looked like a phantasmal piece of parchment—semitransparent and wholly artificial. Jun sat up straight and the strange parchment followed suit, as if it were affixed to his head in some way.

Scrolling text appeared on the rectangle—read in time by a soothing, androgynous voice. Upon registering the insane words being spoken, his mind went utterly blank, and his jaw, slack.