Distant trills echo faintly, mixed with the eerie rustle of unseen wings. The light from the burning braziers flickers across the pale, weathered walls, casting shadows that writhe and twist between the pillars like living things.
A heavy stillness settles around me like a silent warning, and I pause before the structure I’ve called home for the last ten years. Its design is an unsettling clash of sharp lines and smooth curves: three rectangular levels stacked heavily atop one another, crowned by three rounded, domed towers that gleam against the darkened sky. The contrast feels deliberate, almost defiant, as if the towers were straining to break free from the weight of the base below. Narrow windows pierce the walls of each level, their shapes reminiscent of unblinking eyes. I suppress the urge to shiver as their gaze weighs heavily on me, stirring a quiet knot of unease deep in my stomach.
I linger for a moment longer, drawing in a steadying breath. My deliberate footsteps echo louder than expected as they lead me toward the main doors. The heavy iron hinges groan as I push the door open, the sound cutting through the quiet like a blade.
And just like that, the silence breaks.
The muffled hum of noise from within swells and pulls me forward, wrapping around me like an entirely different kind of tension. When Istep inside, it’s like entering another world. The charged energy here is tangible, but it’s alive with movement, voices, and misplaced urgency.
I don’t stop right away, weaving mindlessly through clusters of people, their conversations and hurried whispers brushing past me like threads I don’t care to catch. Finally, I reach the back of the entrance hall and pause in the shadow of the grand staircase, letting it all wash over me.
The crowd is thick, a restless sea of shifting figures craning their necks or leaning in for scraps of gossip. It’s clear news of Alpha Flight’s arrival has spread like a storm surge. Although, that’s not surprising when you’re part of the biggest intelligence network in all the four kingdoms.
The entrance hall is the busiest I’ve seen in years. Everyone is eager to glimpse the Aviary’s elite returning or hear a whisper of the latest mission across the sea. Fledglings mill about; some are familiar faces from my cohort, but most are the younger initiates. They hide in shadowed alcoves or pretend to admire the portraits lining the walls with feigned fascination. At first glance, they may have seemed casual, but the way their eyes darted toward me when I entered gave them away.
Not only are their intentions obvious, but they’re foolish to think Alpha Flight wouldn’t plan for this kind of reception. When the most skilled members of the order are together in a unit, you can’t expect them to swoop through the front door.
No doubt the Eagle has already sequestered them in his office to deliver their official mission report.
A brief laugh huffs out of me as I push the hood of my wrap from my forehead and steal up the staircase, weaving my way through the winding halls until I’m pushing the door of my bedroom shut. A sense of peace washes over me as it closes with a comfortingsnick,until a whisper of parchment against the floor draws my gaze down.
I eye the folded note beneath my foot with no small amount of suspicion. The dainty flower scrawled on its ivory surface tells me it’s from Nyssa, but the knowledge only makes me more suspicious.
With a sigh, I stoop and snatch it up, walking farther into the room as I unfold the parchment.
Dear Not-Quite-Royal Pain in My Ass,
I can only assume since I returned to Master Bittern with my items before you that you were too ambitious with your acquisitions. I hope the reason you didn’t come and find me right away is because you’re celebrating with a handsome stranger, and not because you were being corrected for insubordination.
I groan, running a hand down my face.
She’s likely been stressed the entire evening, wondering where I’ve been and whether I passed the last test. I’m surprised she isn’t pounding down my door right now.
If it’s the former, good on you! It’s about time you slipped the silks. If it’s the latter, you need to learn how to live a little. Regardless of which reason is true, the others are going to The Muse tonight to celebrate our last moments as Fledglings. Please come! I don’t want you there; I need you there.
Faithfully,
The Best and Probably Only Friend You’ll Ever Have
“Absolutely not.” Tearing the top off the note, I move across the small room to the desk tucked beneath a circular window. My finger grazes the etched lines of overlapping triangles—thegoiteíafor fire—on the surface of my oil lamp. With a flicker, the flame comes to life, and I hold the fragment of parchment above it. The fire hungrily consumes the paper, its edges curling and blackening before crumbling to ash. Within moments, the damning words are gone.
Nyssa is the only person I’ve trusted with my story. With the truth of who I am. She earned it over the years—not only through her unwavering loyalty and endless patience but also through her remarkable ability to balance it all with a playful, mischievous spark. She has this knack for teasing me in just the right moments, pulling a smirk from me when I think I have nothing left to give. When I finally told her the truth, I half expected her to pull away. But she didn’t leave. She stayed—steady, unwavering, and infuriatingly herself—shining through the darkness Ithought would consume me completely. There’s a profound relief in that, in knowing someone truly sees me for who I am. In the Aviary, where it’s all too easy to lose yourself in the relentless chase of the order’s ambitions, her friendship is my anchor, my lifeline.
I smooth the remaining part of the note and pin it to my wall before stepping back to admire it. Over the past two years of having this room to myself, I’ve transformed its walls into a collage of my world—adorned with maps, sketches, and scattered pages of Nyssa’s abandoned poetry and notes. A growing collection that makes it feel more like a home.
But no matter how much I try to make this space comforting, it will never be that. I’ve always believed home is where the heart is, but the Aviary has none. Its stone walls and echoing chambers are constant reminders of obligations that feel like shackles. Here, the warmth of belonging always feels out of reach, no matter how much of myself I leave behind.
Even this room feels like a cage—a hollow bribe offered to Fledglings in their final years of training. As if having a space to call your own could ever compensate for what they fail to provide—or for what they take away.
My eyes wander across the confined space. One wall holds a small nook with a basin and mirror, flanked by a narrow wardrobe and shelves crammed with books and cherished keepsakes. Opposite, a bed draped in modest linens stretches alongside a single nightstand. Above my bed hangs a framed map of the Empyrieos, its aged parchment studded with a collection of pearl pins, marking all the places my older brother, Kallias, and I dreamed of seeing one day.
In a few quick strides, I’m climbing onto my bed and pulling the map from the wall. My fingers trace the jagged lines of the Sarathros—the passage of water dividing the northern kingdoms.
A scar from the God War no amount of magic in the realm could heal.
History says the war started because of greed and jealousy among the Anemoi—the same thing they left their first world to escape. They fought over which season would have precedence and which bloodline should rule the land. During the ultimate battle, the gods used magic so powerful it tore the kingdom apart.
Afterward, they retreated to their corners of the world and—from the shattered shards of the Empyrieos—created new kingdoms and royal bloodlines in its stead.
