Dawn bled across the jungle in a misty gold hue. My wings caught the morning light as I soared above the trees, stronger than ever. Every beat of my wings came with ease now, every shift in the wind answered to my command.
Today felt different.
I was no longer looking for scraps. No more lizards or birds. I wanted real prey—something that would push me, feed me for days, and test what I had become.
I found it near the far side of the river, where the trees grew sparse and wide. A jungle boar—huge, scarred, tusks chipped from fights I could only imagine. It grunted and rooted through the dirt, completely unaware I circled above.
I dove with precision, my claws slicing through the air. The boar squealed, bucked, but my talons dug into its back. It thrashed, tried to shake me off—but I was stronger. I snapped at its neck, dodged its tusks, and finally—finally—I brought it down.
I stood over the fresh kill, smoke rising faintly from my nostrils. Victory buzzed in my blood.
Then I heard it.
The hiss.
The screech.
The ground shook.
The same Skullcrawler. Scarred now, the burn marks I gave it still raw and angry along its face.
It remembered me.
It wanted payback.
I backed away from the boar, fire already building in my chest. The crawler burst from the tree line, jaws open wide—no hesitation.
I fired.
Not just a spark. Not a burst.
A full blast.
Flames roared from my throat, hotter than anything I'd released before. It engulfed the Skullcrawler's face, searing into its skin, pouring across the ground and into the dry underbrush.
The crawler howled and thrashed, and I struck again—fire and claws, wings flared wide.
Then I smelled it.
Smoke.
Not just from my fire. From the trees.
The jungle was burning.
Flames licked up the trunks, leapt from bush to branch. Smoke twisted into the sky. I stumbled back, wings flapping to stay ahead of the blaze.
The Skullcrawler collapsed—dead, charred, its body smoldering.
But I wasn't alone.
Boom.
The sound hit me in the chest.
Boom.
Trees cracked and fell. The earth trembled.
And then—he appeared.
Kong.
He towered above the trees, fur matted with dew and dirt, eyes glowing with ancient fury. He saw the fire. The smoke. The mess.
For a moment, I froze.
Then he moved—fast.
He grabbed an enormous fallen log, slammed it into the flames, stamped out the fire with crushing blows. He broke open a chunk of earth, letting water pour from an underground spring, soaking the fire's edge.
In minutes… it was over.
Smoke still hung in the air. Ash drifted down like snow.
Kong stood still, breathing heavy, towering like a god.
And me?
I stood atop the charred Skullcrawler corpse. Wings stretched wide, head held high.
I didn't cower. I didn't flee.
This kill was mine.
I stared at him. He stared at me.
A beat passed.
He didn't growl. Didn't attack.
Maybe he wasn't hungry.
Maybe I was too small to be worth his time.
Or maybe—just maybe—he saw what I was becoming.
A predator. A survivor. A creature of fire and flight, no longer crawling in the shadows.
Kong turned. Walked away.
And I stayed.
High on the kill.
Alone, but not afraid.