Aurelian stirred as dawn bled across the horizon. For the first time in memory, the warmth that reached him wasn't fever or fire—it was peace. Fayte lifted his beak and nudged his chin. Laughter slipped out before he could stop it, soft and real. He gathered the fledgling close, holding proof that life could begin again.
Eden collected him. Her presence a quiet gravity that drew the air itself into order. For breakfast she served tea, fragrant biscuits, and slices of soft cheese. Fayte received a few slivers of dried meat. The ardentis nudged them with his beak, more interested in play than eating—until Aurelian gathered the pieces and fed him by hand.
He sat on a colorful rug woven from a fabric that caught light in subtle ripples, like a river beneath stars. His fingers brushed the edge; the threads warmed—almost in greeting. The office breathed of faint oils and the soft perfume of polished wood. Tapestries that told stories he could not yet read shimmered faintly. The exposed tree rings of living walls formed a spiral of years, smoothed by loving hands.
Fayte chased the feather of a quill Aurelian dangled. The ardentis' golden down and fur—an uncanny echo of Aurelian's new brigandine—glowed in the cool indoor light. The armor itself, cut in Noctis style, bore sterling-bronze studs like captive stars. Eden had gifted it as a birth gift; he felt its weight even through cloth.
He watched, transfixed. The falcon's claws punctured paper with unnerving precision, each strike humming faintly, like strings plucked on some hidden instrument. Was this how they carried words across forests? Through birds that not only flew, but wrote?
Eden took the slip, fingers tracing the raised punches on the back like a priestess reading omens from a leaf.
"This is not what I said." Her voice was crisp, bearing the lilting cadence of Noctian speech—every word weighed against a thousand before it. She turned the document toward the falcon, golden eyes narrowing.
The bird gave a sharp call, a crack like splitting ice.
"It sounds better?" Her tone cooled. "Do not braid your own moonlight into my words while they are fresh."
The sun-crested falcon ruffled, gold tips catching light like sunlight on a chalice. It squawked, unrepentant.
"Your artistic license?" Eden's huff was more ceremony than temper. "Then carry it on your own wings, not mine."
Aurelian chuckled.
"You wear the look of a man caught between awe and puzzlement," Eden observed. "Do your people send their words along different rivers?"
"We did," Aurelian said, standing.
Fayte chirped in protest, then dropped into a hunter's crouch. He sprang, foreclaws locking gently around Aurelian's ankle, eyes bright with mischief.
"Ow!" Aurelian laughed, ruffling his ears. Fayte dashed off to stalk and chase shadows.
"I love his zestful energy," Eden said. She pronounced the word as if naming a season. "Come. Let me show you the path our words walk."
She offered him a document.
Aurelian traced the raised marks Eden handed him, the words clicking into sense as if the paper itself whispered meaning. He caught himself staring at the falcon. Could he ever trust one of these creatures with his words? To send them to Eden when distance made her unreachable?
"It's fascinating," he said. He moved toward the falcon's desk. Its surface was mirror-polished and inlaid with tiny gears, crystal slivers, and charms shaped like leaves and talons. A rolling cylinder fed paper toward the falcon's claws, its rhythm a heartbeat in steel and ink. Every third strike seemed to echo half a beat longer than it should.
"We use it for notes, treaties, vows," Eden said. "Our histories remain inked by living hands. It holds the soul of its scribe; anything less fades." Eden retrieved a one-strap pack, a belt, and a sealed letter. "Open this only if we part. Inside are paths between shadows, havens where even shadow cannot breach, and a map of our lands."
The pack clipped onto his back without crossing his chest. Belt pouches already held small necessities.
"Am I going somewhere?"
"No. But the newly born often wander—on hunts, errands, or chasing the pull of the horizon. Do not fear the path. Fayte carries the scent of home stronger than any map." She lifted Fayte into his arms; the studs beneath the ardentis' touch hummed faintly.
"Come. Let us take Fayte to Winter's clutch." Eden gathered her things without haste, as if the rhythm of the bird's strikes had set the day in motion. "While griffins and Ardentis are akin—feather and flame born of the same sky—she'll see him as her own."
They stepped from the Great Tree. The horizon was ablaze in deep purple, molten gold, and threads of crimson. Light spilled through the tangled forest, touching bark and leaf like a blessing. Umbra Noctis clung to shadow, unwilling to yield fully to the sun. In that borderland, the air paused—as if the world held its breath.
[Quest Complete: You have survived the night.]
Reward: 10/200 EXP.
New quest: Find and bond with echoes.
"I have seen nothing so breathtaking," he whispered.
Echoes? The word lingered like a half-remembered dream. As the thought settled, a faint vibration ran through the air—so slight he might have imagined it.
"It is a marvel, even to me," Eden said, "and I have stood in the gaze of countless dawns."
Fayte chirped. Aurelian knelt to let him pad into the morning light.
"It's amazing for you too, little one?"
Wings trembled, gold skimming sunlight, before Fayte leapt into the air. Instinct tugged at Aurelian to follow, but Eden's arm barred his path.
"He is safe." Her tone was steady, weighted by ritual. "A fledgling's sky must be his own."
Every nerve screamed to protect him, but her truth gnawed through the panic.
Overhead, the ardentis wheeled and dove into Aurelian's arms, chirping with pride; Fayte's song bloomed, soft and sweet. Laughter rose in Aurelian's chest as he hugged him, then set him down to pounce on unseen prey.
"Come," Eden said. Her voice wove between shadow and dawn. She took the winding stone path into the heart of Noctis.
The Tree of Life loomed—its trunk swallowing the horizon, branches threading high into the star-bound dusk. Where the first light touched, veins of gold shimmered. Leaves murmured and whispered ripples through the forest's calls.
"Umbra Noctis means 'Land of Shadow,'" Eden said. "We are children of the brief dawn…"
The village revealed dwellings grown into trees, rope bridges swaying like a vast web. Windows glowed with triangular torchlight, casting fractured amber and rose across bark.
"They remind me of lanterns from my world," he said.
"Dawn prisms," she replied. "Fragments of first light, that the night may borrow morning's hues."
Light spilled gold through the canopy. Fayte loped after a skipping insect.
Women passed along high bridges, garments bright as petals. The forest's hum shifted—high cries, deep calls. Fayte's ears twitched, and he bounded off. In the risen stillness, a growl shattered the air.
Eden was a blur, and he bounded after her. Fayte crouched, trembling, as a massive griffin loomed—feathers brown and white, eyes like flint.
"Stand down, Herdon!" Eden's voice cut the tension like a blade.
Warriors arrived—women, weapons ready. Another griffin entered—pure white plumage, eyes lit with icy fire.
"She is the mother I told you about," Eden said. "Winter."
Winter strode to Fayte. She sniffed the air, nudged him with her beak. He squeaked. She sniffed again, then nudged once more. He cried in fear. Winter looked up and fixed Herdon with a glare. She stepped over Fayte so that her body stood above him. Her shriek tore through the clearing; Aurelian clamped his hands over his ears.
Herdon didn't back down. Winter shrieked and struck, wings flaring. Herdon scrambled back, feathers flying. A cluster of griffin pups peeked around the trees, watching.
"Fayte!" Aurelian shouted. "Come to me!"
The ardentis dashed and leapt into his arms.
"Do not run," Eden murmured. "She weighs the measure of your heart."
Winter approached Aurelian slowly. She drew in his scent as though weighing not flesh, but the truth beneath it. Griffin pups tumbled into the clearing, chirping.
"Set him down," Eden said. "She asks it."
He obeyed. The pups swarmed Fayte. Winter bowed, wings shuttering.
"Bow back," Eden said, patient but emphatic.
He bowed.
[Recognition] Kin of Winter — +10 XP (20/200)
Winter returned to her nest, Fayte among the pups.
"Excellent," Eden said. "I knew she would see the bond."
"Will he be safe if Herdon returns?"
"He carries her scent now. That is shield enough."
A woman in green leather bowed. "Mother."
"Raine, this is Aurelian and Fayte. Prepare for their ceremony."
"Ceremony?" Aurelian asked.
Eden only smiled. The silence that followed felt deliberate—as if the answer belonged to the Grove, not her.
As they walked away, he glanced back—Fayte was wrestling two pups, chirps bright against the low hum of the nesting ground. Above, branches shifted in a breeze he could not feel, the pattern almost forming the same crest he'd glimpsed earlier in Eden's chamber.
For a moment, the faint pressure touched the back of his mind again—not hostile, not welcome—like something vast and patient had turned its gaze inward, seeing more than he wanted laid bare.
Eden's eyes lingered on him, as if she too had sensed the shift. Her palm rested lightly on his shoulder.
"You're ready for more than the grove's safety. A bond seeded. Now you must walk where the wild itself meets you."