The crumpled form of Mesyori lay against a tree, her breathing labored and her wings stained with blood. The harpy's normally pristine feathers were now matted and torn, her talons coated in crimson. A dark pool formed beneath her, spreading slowly with each shuddering breath. She glared at the group with half-lidded eyes, her teeth bared in a defiant snarl.

Ingrid approached cautiously, her shield at the ready. She spared a glance at her companions, who kept their weapons drawn and their guard up. Thorsten flanked her, while Viviane lingered in the background, tending to the wounded.

Suddenly, Gwynelle and the four younger harpies that formed her group swooped down, forming a defensive line in front of the wounded Mesyori. Gwynelle stood in front, her wings spread protectively, while the others huddled close, their faces pale and their feathers quivering.

Ingrid halted in her tracks, lowering her sword slightly.

Despite their brave stance, Ingrid sensed their fear. Their eyes darted back and forth, and they clutched at each other, as if seeking comfort in the face of overwhelming odds. Even Gwynelle, whom Edith had fought before and had gained her respect, trembled as she tried to stare down the group.

"Dinnae! Nae closer!" Gwynelle's voice quavered, her words more of a plea than a threat. "Nae closer! Go way!"

"Stand down, girl," Thorsten said, leveling his axe at her.

Gwynelle hesitated, but she held her ground, her wings trembling as she spread them protectively. The other harpies tried putting up a brave front, growling and fluttering their wings, but Ingrid noticed they flinched at Thorsten's advance.

"Leave!" Gwynelle squawked. "Leave now!"

Thorsten let out a low growl, stepping forward with his axe raised.

But before he could pass her, Ingrid extended her arm, blocking his path. "Enough."

Thorsten stopped, shooting her a bewildered glance. "What are you doing, woman? We still have a fight on our hands."

"Enough!" Ingrid repeated as she glared at him.

She had always respected Thorsten's conviction and tenacity, and his bravery in the face of danger was nothing short of legendary. But the damn man could also be bullheaded, stubborn to a fault, and downright foolish, especially when his temper flared. Right now, he was poised to slaughter the young harpies, despite them making no hostile moves.

And Ingrid would not abide by that.

"The battle is over, Ulfhendar," Ingrid said firmly. "Look around. We've routed them." She gestured to the harpies huddled around the injured Mesyori. "This is a group of fledglings. They're scared and confused, not soldiers. There's no honor in killing children. Would you have us be monsters ourselves?"

"We can't show them mercy," Thorsten argued, narrowing his eyes. "More harpies will come looking for us, and they'll bring their full force next time. If we do not finish off those who live, they will be the death of us."

"You think they will stop hunting us because we kill a few more?" Ingrid spat, brandishing her sword at the warrior. "You're deluded. Our battle isn't here, nor is it with them. Would you slay these young ones who only seek to protect their wounded kin? Would you slay them in the name of Ebonheim?!"

The last question brought Thorsten pause, his eyes widening as if her words had stabbed him. His gaze softened, and the tension in his body relaxed. He sighed, hanging his head in shame. "No...I would not. That would only make her sad."

"Then stand down. All of you. Watch the skies but leave them be." Sheathing her blade, she turned her attention back to Gwynelle, who eyed her warily. "We will not harm you. The battle is over."

Gwynelle blinked in confusion, tilting her head. "Nae fight? You nae want kill?"

Ingrid shook her head. "If you don't attack us, we won't fight you." She swept her arm around the clearing, gesturing to the fallen harpies. "This slaughter brings us no joy. This is not what we came for. We have no quarrel with you."

She extended her empty hands, showing her palms as a gesture of goodwill.

Gwynelle gave her a cautious look, but did not lash out, her stance relaxing slightly. The other harpies did the same, but their eyes darted between her and the humans, as if expecting another attack.

Viviane approached, laying a hand on Ingrid's shoulder. "I've managed to patch up the worst of the others' injuries. I can spare a healing potion and some salves to treat Mesyori's wounds. I don't think she'll make it unless they have some way to heal themselves."

Ingrid nodded. "I'll try to convince Gwynelle. Wait here." She turned back to the group of harpies, taking a careful step towards them. "Please, listen. My friend wants to help. She has medicine for your wounded."

Gwynelle fixed her with a fierce glare, her expression guarded. "Why? Why help?"

"We want to help, that's all," Ingrid explained. "We didn't want this fight. You attacked us, and we defended ourselves. Now, we want to make peace with you. We can help your wounded if you let us. Will you accept our help?"

For a long moment, there was silence. Gwynelle stared at her, not answering. The other harpies shuffled about nervously, murmuring amongst themselves, clearly uncertain how to react.

Finally, Gwynelle spoke. "Friend help." She extended her wing, beckoning to Viviane. "Come. Friend help. Help Mesyori. I thank."

"Thank you," Ingrid said. She turned to Viviane, nodding for her to approach. "Go ahead. You heard her."

Viviane nodded, approaching carefully with a satchel in hand. The other harpies fluttered and jostled, but made no move to stop her. She knelt at Mesyori's side, digging into her satchel. Moments later, she pulled out a glass vial containing a viscous, teal liquid. Uncorking the bottle, she coaxed the injured harpy to drink, gently tilting her head so she could swallow the mixture.

Mesyori shuddered and wheezed, but swallowed the liquid. After a few moments, she exhaled deeply, her breathing easing. Color began to return to her features, and her eyes fluttered open, gazing blearily at her surroundings.

"Good! Good!" Gwynelle exclaimed, hopping excitedly as she observed. "It work!"

"That's just a healing potion. It can only do so much. I still need to apply some salve for the wounds and set the broken wing." Viviane withdrew more supplies from her satchel, setting to work on her patient. "If I can find some material, I can splint the wing properly, though she still won't be able to fly anytime soon unless harpies have a way to heal themselves quickly. Does she?"

Gwynelle shook her head. "Only Skytalon."

"Je le pensais. Alright, well, I'll do my best. This will sting a bit, so brace yourself." Viviane opened a jar of thick, green paste, scooping a generous dollop onto her fingertips. She gently applied the gooey substance to the harpy's open wounds, eliciting a pained grunt from the harpy. "Sorry, sorry. Just a little more, and then I'll wrap the wounds. You're doing well. You're tough."

Ingrid watched as Viviane expertly tended to the harpy's injuries, marveling at the woman's skill. She had always been impressed by the Artificer's talent, and seeing her in action firsthand made her appreciate the woman's abilities even more.

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Viviane's hands moved swiftly and efficiently, applying the salve and bandages with practiced ease. She did not falter, even in the face of a being that could easily tear her to shreds.

After several minutes, the harpy's wounds were neatly dressed and tended to, and Viviane stepped back, satisfied with her work. "There. That should hold for now. You'll still need to rest, but at least you won't bleed out."

Mesyori blinked and nodded slowly, her eyes drooping with exhaustion. Gwynelle and the other harpies murmured their approval, huddling close to their leader.

"Well done," Ingrid said, smiling at the Artificer. "I think they appreciate your help."

"Anytime." Viviane wiped the sweat from her brow, returning her supplies to her satchel. "I'd appreciate it if they didn't attack us again, though. Let's hope this means peace, instead of another battle."

"We'll find out shortly," Lorne chimed in, his gaze trained on the sky. "We have more company."

Ingrid turned her attention upward, spotting dozens...no, hundreds of harpies streaming in from the clouds, filling the sky with a mosaic of colors. They flew in organized formations, circling above the trees before descending towards the clearing.

She reflexively gripped her sword, but she held herself back, remembering the conversation with the harpies. She glanced at Thorsten and Lorne, who both nodded solemnly, wordlessly understanding her intention.

Serelle and Urien joined them, the Arcanist leaning against Urien for support, her staff in one hand and a small glowing ball floating over the other. Viviane returned to Ingrid's side, the Artificer clutching a device in one hand and gripping one of her rods in the other.

The harpies landed around the clearing, filling every space. They lined the ground and perched on the boulders and treetops, their feathers rustling in the wind. A few of them growled and hissed, but most remained silent, staring intently at the group.

Ingrid recognized some of the harpies as ones who had been caught in Ebonheim's entangling magic at the start of the hostilities. Many bore abrasions, likely from their escape.

"Steady," Lorne warned, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Keep your wits about you. If this turns south, we fall back to the forest and pray that Ebonheim pacifies the harpy queen's wrath in time."

Thorsten grunted in agreement, adjusting his grip on his weapon. "I hope the earlier display made enough of an impression, Ingrid. Elsewise, we may be joining the ranks of the deceased on this day."

As the harpies crowded around them, Ingrid steeled herself, her gaze sweeping back and forth across the throng. She felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck, but she maintained her composure, her grip on her sword firm.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, a streak of gold and silver cut through the sky.

Ebonheim hovered over the crowd, her armored form gleaming in the setting sun.

Ingrid's jaw dropped as she took in the goddess's changed appearance.

Gone was her flowing white dress, replaced by a sleek, form-fitting armor that accentuated her figure. Her hair flowed freely across her shoulders, a waterfall of iridescent silver that glinted like polished metal. Four mechanical wings floated behind her, each one emitting a low hum as they propelled her through the air.

Cradled in her arms was Liselotte, the harpy queen's feathers ruffled and her face smeared with blood. She did not struggle, but hung limply in the goddess's grasp, her expression subdued and weary.

Ebonheim descended slowly, her wings carrying her gracefully as she alighted on the ground before the group. With a gentle motion, she deposited Liselotte beside her, allowing the harpy to lean against her as she struggled to maintain her footing.

The assembled harpies shifted uneasily, murmuring amongst themselves. They craned their necks to get a better view of their queen, concern evident on their faces.

Ebonheim met Ingrid's gaze, giving her a slight nod. She swept her eyes across the assembly, surveying the scene. Her eyes fell on the bodies of the fallen harpies scattered across the clearing, and her expression grew somber.

Liselotte finally spoke, her voice unsteady and raspy. "No more hunting. They're not prey. Not enemies. T-they...are guests. Guests." She stumbled forward a few steps, spreading her single wing in a limp imitation of her usual grandeur.

She wobbled a little, but managed to remain upright. "Guests of Skytalon!" Her words carried across the clearing, echoing through the trees.

The harpies released a collective sigh of relief, their wings fluttering as they exchanged glances and nods. A few chuckled softly, while others clapped their wings together in celebration. A handful even jumped for joy, leaping into the air and twirling with glee.

The change in attitude was so abrupt and unexpected that Ingrid couldn't help but laugh, the tension and fear lifting from her chest. She leaned on her shield, exhaling as she composed herself. She glanced over at Thorsten, whose wide-eyed expression mirrored her own. Lorne, too, seemed flummoxed, his mouth agape as he stared at the spectacle before them.

Only Viviane seemed unfazed, wearing a nonchalant smirk as she shrugged.

Among the flock, Mesyori smiled, her eyes welling with tears. She sank to her knees and sobbed quietly, her wings wrapping around her like a blanket.

Gwynelle hopped over to her leader and patted her on the shoulder, whispering reassuringly as she attempted to console her. The other harpies followed, huddling around the two as they hugged and nuzzled, their cries of anguish turning into ones of joy.

"Well, that's settled," Lorne remarked, chuckling as he ran his fingers through his hair. "I had almost lost hope that things could turn out this way."

"Aye, they got the message loud and clear. And they certainly seem grateful for it," Urien added, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It's like they never wanted to fight in the first place. Yet, they fought valiantly anyways. Strange folk, these harpies."

Serelle nodded, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. "Let's just be glad it ended this way, and not with us as bloodstains on the grass."

"No complaints about the timing here," Lorne said wryly, shrugging as he glanced at the goddess. "You certainly arrived just in time to save us all from a rather gruesome end."

Ingrid followed Lorne's gaze, her eyes falling on the pair. Liselotte slumped against Ebonheim's side, the harpy's remaining wing draping over the goddess's shoulders. Her hair was disheveled and her feathers covered in dirt and blood, but she appeared to have recovered from the worst of her injuries.

At the same time, Ebonheim radiated calm reassurance, her mechanical wings folded neatly behind her. Despite the recent conflict, she held no visible signs of injury, her armor unblemished and her hair untouched. Only a tinge of weariness showed in her eyes, but even that faded as she smiled at the group.

"Sorry for taking so long. I had to convince Lotte to come to her senses." Ebonheim gave a helpless shrug. "It wasn't easy."

Liselotte bristled, flapping her wing indignantly. "Y-you caught me off guard, and I-I lost my poise for a moment. It won't happen again."

Ebonheim shot the harpy a stern glance, placing a finger in front of her lips. "Shhh, no need to cause trouble where there isn't any. Remember our talk?"

Liselotte shrank back, averting her eyes. "S-sorry..." Her voice trailed off into a barely audible mutter.

Ingrid approached them, inclining her head respectfully. "Goddess, I'm glad you're safe. You as well, Skytalon Liselotte. Things almost took a turn for the worse. I'm glad you both arrived in time to prevent more deaths."

Liselotte eyed her, remaining silent as she pressed closer to Ebonheim.

Ebonheim rubbed the harpy queen's head affectionately, but her gaze never left Ingrid. "I'm glad you're all okay, and that Liselotte has seen reason. Thank you for holding out for so long. I'm truly proud of all of you."

Her expression grew somber as she surveyed the scene, her eyes lingering on the bodies of the fallen harpies strewn across the clearing. She sighed heavily, shaking her head. "Still, we couldn't avoid casualties. Lotte, do you wish to collect your dead?"

Liselotte merely shrugged, a distant look in her eyes. "They died in battle. Leave them. The strong live, the weak perish. It is our way." Her words came out hollow and monotonous, as if reciting a phrase by rote.

Ingrid winced at the words, finding the sentiment cold and callous. As a warrior herself, she understood the harsh realities of battle and the sacrifices required to prevail. Yet, the lack of mourning and compassion in Liselotte's tone unsettled her, the emotionless acceptance chilling to hear.

"Yet even the young harpies over there stood valiantly to protect her." Ingrid pointed to the huddle of harpies around Mesyori, who gazed at Liselotte expectantly. "If not for them, she wouldn't have survived. If it's truly your way, then why do these young ones care?"

Liselotte narrowed her eyes, yet there was no malice in her gaze. "The strong can do whatever they want. Hunt. Kill. Protect. Grow. When they die, that's because they are weak. But as long as they are alive, they are strong. The dead will be food for the land, and the land will provide for the strong. That is our way."

The finality in the harpy queen's words shocked Ingrid, and she found herself at a loss for words. She had expected Liselotte to display remorse or regret, to grieve for the lives lost. But to hear such an unfeeling and unwavering stance on the matter stunned her. What's more, the expressions of the assembled harpies around the clearing reflected their agreement with their leader, their faces showing no hint of doubt or disagreement.

Ebonheim heaved an exasperated sigh. "If that's your way, then so be it. That also means we can bury your dead without incident, right?"

Liselotte simply nodded.

"I'll take that as a yes." Ebonheim gave a resigned shrug as she turned to address the group. "Alright, we'll give a proper burial to the dead tomorrow. For now, let's return to camp and rest. It's been a long day."