The cliffs rose like jagged gods.
North of Skullshore's village, beyond the dense jungle and through fields of razor-leaf ferns, the earth tilted upward into high black rock. A wall carved by centuries of crashing waves and lightning storms. From their base, the cliffs seemed to scrape the sky, and nestled atop—somewhere between mist and madness—nested the thunderbirds.
Darion stared upward, his hands on his hips.
"You know," he muttered, "I was kind of hoping it'd be smaller."
Seraphina smirked. "I told you this was stupid."
They stood at the foot of a broken stone path winding up the rock face like a drunk serpent. Each step slick with rain, some entirely gone. The ocean below thrashed against jagged rocks, waiting to swallow any mistake.
Darion adjusted the strap of his blade. "So we climb, steal a death-bird's feather, and walk away without being turned into charred skeletons?"
"Exactly."
He gave her a wry look. "And you say I don't plan ahead."
She laughed—a rare sound, raw and genuine—and for a moment, the weight of curses and marks and whispering artifacts lifted.
Then thunder cracked above them.
The sky darkened.
And the climb began.
The path was merciless. Narrow and crumbling, with sheer drops on either side. Vines helped in some places, betrayed them in others. Rainwater turned the trail into a treacherous mess. Darion slipped twice, catching himself on jutting roots. His arms ached. His legs burned.
Seraphina moved like a dancer—balanced and quiet—but even she grunted with effort as they climbed higher.
"Remind me," Darion gasped between breaths, "why we're not just raiding some cursed grave instead?"
"Because," she said, not turning, "grave spirits don't trade feathers for answers."
"Fair point."
A sudden gust of wind slammed into them, nearly knocking Darion from the ledge. He flattened himself against the rock, heart hammering.
Far above, a cry split the sky.
It wasn't a bird's call.
It was thunder.
Living, screeching thunder.
And it was getting closer.
They reached a narrow shelf halfway up. Seraphina motioned for him to stop. "This is it," she said, pointing upward. "That ridge up there is their nest. We go any higher, they'll see us."
Darion crouched beside her, eyes narrowing.
The nest was enormous. Twisted branches, shattered bones, rusted weapons—all woven into a spiked crown around a hollow dip. Lightning shimmered faintly between the clouds, illuminating the feathers scattered around the area. Most were brown, black, or torn.
Only one shimmered red.
"Feather," he whispered.
"Yeah," Seraphina said. "Problem is, the bird's still home."
They waited. Minutes passed. Rain fell in sheets now, soaking them to the bone. Then—
A flash of light.
The thunderbird descended.
Wings wide enough to blot out the sun. Feathers gleaming like storm-forged steel. Its eyes sparked with blue fire. Lightning danced between its talons, arcing through the air with each step. It landed with a screech, shaking the very stone.
Darion's mouth went dry. "That's a big chicken."
Seraphina unsheathed her twin daggers. "We need to distract it."
"We? You mean me."
"You're the one with a flaming chest tattoo. Figure it out."
She winked, and before he could protest, she was already moving—silent as shadow—skirting the ledge toward the far side of the nest.
Darion stood. Watched. Waited.
The thunderbird tilted its head. Sparks danced down its beak.
Then Seraphina whistled.
The bird shrieked and launched toward her.
Darion moved.
He sprinted up the ridge, heart pounding, feet slipping. Lightning cracked above, too close. He could feel the static crawling on his skin. He dove into the nest, grabbing at feathers—
Brown. Black. Broken.
Where was the red?
A sudden gust knocked him flat. The thunderbird had turned—wings flaring, lightning arcing around its body like a storm given form.
It saw him.
It screamed.
And it struck.
Lightning ripped through the air, tearing the nest apart. Darion flung himself behind a rock, heart jackhammering in his ribs. His ears rang. His skin sizzled.
The orb—tucked in the pouch at his side—glowed.
His chest burned.
The mark.
It pulsed with fire.
He screamed—not in pain, but in something deeper. Something primal. His fingers curled around the orb, and suddenly—
He saw.
The world twisted. For a heartbeat, he stood somewhere else.
A temple of ash. Fire danced in the sky. Birds made of smoke shrieked across burning winds. And in the center—an altar.
A feather.
Bright red.
Glowing like a living ember.
Then it was gone.
He staggered.
Back on the cliff, back in the storm.
The thunderbird dove.
Darion stood his ground.
And the mark answered.
Fire erupted around him—not from the orb, but from within. A shield of flame curled from his arms, roaring upward in defiance.
The thunderbird struck the fire.
It screamed, wings snapping back, body reeling.
Darion collapsed to one knee, panting, eyes wide. The flames faded slowly, like reluctant ghosts.
Seraphina rushed to his side. "What the hell was that?!"
"I… I don't know," he gasped. "But I think I just pissed it off."
She gritted her teeth. "Grab the feather. We've got seconds."
He crawled toward the center of the nest, blood dripping from his temple, fingers trembling. And there it was:
A single red feather. Still crackling softly with heat.
He yanked it free.
The thunderbird shrieked again, but this time it didn't strike. It circled above them—wounded, wary.
Seraphina pulled him to his feet. "Time to go."
They didn't climb.
They jumped.
They leapt from the ledge into a river-fed ravine that sliced through the jungle far below. The fall was chaos—wind, water, and roaring fear. They hit the river with a crash and were pulled into the current.
The world spun.
When Darion surfaced, coughing and sputtering, Seraphina was already paddling toward shore.
They lay there for a long time, soaked, bruised, and breathing hard.
Finally, she looked at him.
"You're changing."
Darion stared at the sky.
"I don't know if it's killing me… or making me into something else."
Her hand brushed his.
"I'll be here either way."