It was the sound of the waves breaking on the cliffs that woke her, the woman lying on the beach. She wore a coat of feathers black as night, covering her from head to toe like a Rook. Speckles of sand covered her cheeks, shining in the sun. Even though the waves continued to howl, the air itself was eerily silent, and she felt not a single gust of wind.

It took Rook a moment to get up, thoughts and memories swirling away until only vague images remained. There was no one else on the beach, no birds in the sky, and even the sun seemed more distant than usual. Although she could not remember things clearly, Rook had never felt so lonely before. That much she knew to be true.

She noticed something flicker in the sand. She bent down and found a bracelet made of ragged gems in all the colours of the sky. With no one else around, someone must have lost it along the way. She stored it in her pockets, hoping to reunite it with its owner one day.

In front of her laid a path leading up into the cliffs. A staircase was etched out from the stones, the steps eroded. At its base, the statue of a gracious fox stood there to welcome you, their paw placed on the first step, inviting you to travel on. However, as Rook got closer, she noticed that the fox had been ripped in two. The cut must have been a clean one once, but now the edges had eroded, leaving only two halves of a broken animal. On the other side of the staircase stood a brazier, but there was no sign of ash or soot. Perhaps the wind had taken it with it when it had laid down to rest.

Rook looked around once more. The beach seemed nice, she thought, but it also made her feel trapped. On the one side cliffs loomed over her, while on the other waves blocked the horizon. With nowhere else to go, she could only go up.

The steps of the staircase were heavy. She lifted up her leg as far as she could with each step, and even then could she barely reach the next one. But Rook managed to press on. She did not know where she was going, but perhaps she didn’t need to.

Rook’s attention was pulled up when a shadow draped over the next step. A small bird-like figure sat atop it, half bird, half human, their face covered by a wooden mask. They didn’t react when Root reached the same step. In their feathered hand they were clutching a scarlet pinwheel.

“You’ve come from far, haven’t you?” they said.

Rook looked at the bird, but her gaze wasn’t returned. Instead, it was locked on the pinwheel hanging motionlessly in their hand, lonely, without purpose.

“The wind used to help you climb up these stairs. The next ones too. You’d be up in a jiffy without breaking any sweat.”

“We’re already halfway there. It’s just a little more, come,” Rook said, extending her hand to the bird. But her gaze was not returned.

“I will stay here for a little longer,” they said. “Be careful of the nestlings’ their thorns.”

“Thorns?”

“Well, the wind used to help…” they murmured, barely audible.

Rook decided to press on. Everyone should travel at their own pace, should they not? Although she did understand why they did not feel like going forward. With each step she pushed further away from the beach below, and with each step she had to put more and more force onto her muscles. When she finally reached the top she sat down, panting.

Beneath her the cliffs stretched out, a hill with a gradual decline reaching as far as her eyes could see. There were forests and rivers, and near the horizon there appeared to be another sea, calm water glistering in the sun. The path went downwards too, leading into the forest and vanishing from view. Beyond the sea a mountain peak laid hidden behind a curtain of clouds, barely visible.

Along the way Rook noticed more braziers and torches, none of them lit. The grasses had grown uncontested, wrapping their long vines around the stone and wood, covering them almost completely.

But something interrupted the path. She walked forward with hurried steps and found what she could only imagine to be the base of a great staircase reaching into the sky. The fourth step was broken in half, while behind it a hundred stone steps laid broken in an irregular line like the supports of a railway that hadn't been used in years.

Rook wasn't alone here in the night. Next to the staircase a small creature sat nestled on a tree stump. They did not wear a mask, and thorny vines grew around their feathered limbs. It was a sad sight, even though the blue flowers that bloomed on their skin were a shade of blue purer than the sky itself.

With care in her step, Rook approached the figure. From up close she could their eyes, soulless, dim.

Rook remembered the bird on the cliff mentioning a hatchling, and even though this bird looked too old to be called such a thing, she also did not dare touch them. They seemed to be in a sorry condition, and even though Rook wished she could do something to help them, she wasn't sure if such a thing was even possible. And right now, she wasn't in a position to challenge her own fear either.

With great care she passed the hatchling and set her foot down on the staircase. Something tried to lift her, or perhaps not her, but something inside her. But the strength wasn’t enough. It was merely a soft gust; one you could feel but one that would not move you. She took another step, and another, and another, until she reached the end of the broken staircase. Her eyes traced the imaginary line upwards, hoping to find an answer in the sky, a kingdom in the clouds, a home, perhaps, but the sky was empty.

A great sissling noise brought Rook’s gaze back to the ground. It wasn’t the ground that shook, but something else, something that could not be felt with your muscles but only with your heart. In front of her the sky broke apart, golden flames cutting through and opening a hole from which a golden creature appeared, half human, half crane. He was dressed in an emerald garment, tied together by a scarlet band around its waist. His cloak reached up to the creatures head, where his face was hidden behind a rotten wooden mask.

“It is not often we see birds as strange as you here,” he said with a low voice, restrained, holding back. Rook was at a loss of words, silenced by the creature’s grandiose aura. Even though his face laid hidden behind a mask, Rook could feel the creature beaming his might onto her, a flame so hot it was impossible to ignore. Strangely enough, in this foreign land, the creature’s glow felt like coming home.

The bird moved closer, encircling Rook. She wasn’t sure how he could see through his mask, but she was sure that his gaze was inspecting her. He moved backwards again, dancing through the air, needing only a single flap of his feathered arms to move wherever he wanted to go.

“I hope you fare better than the others,” he says. He turned around, looking up to where the staircase must have led in the past.

“You know where to go, where the wind is strong enough to take you home. But that path isn’t as straightforward as it was once before.”

“The staircase,” Rook said.

“Indeed. I would help you, carry you upwards if I could. But I cannot interfere in one’s journey more than this. I am already struggling to appear to you here and now.”

He moved forwards again, stopping inches in front of Rook, the empty eyes of the mask staring into her soul.

“But if someone were to clear the way, others could follow.”

“Clear the way?”

He nodded again. His blazing heat seemed less, its presence faint, only lingering in the distance.

“I am sorry that we had to meet this way. And I am sorry that your journey will not be as easy as it ought to be. Still, I hope we will speak again, my friend,” he said, before vanishing in a flurry of flames. When they subsided, the mountain popped into view once again. It was clear what Rook had to do, and she didn’t think that she could say no.

The path towards the forest was a long one. The woods laid in the distance, always visible, taunting her. But Rook kept walking. She didn’t meet anyone else on the road, no other souls to keep her company. As she got lower down the valley, the mountain vanished again, choosing to hide itself behind its mist.

Before she knew it, the open plain made way for the forest. The path became uneven, roots doing their best to make her trip. In the distance Rook thought she could finally hear the wind, but as she got closer she realised it was music she was listening to, the sound of an instrument, almost completely absorbed by the forest. She followed the path, hoping to find its source.

She stumbled upon a clearing. Three birds sat in the middle of it, huddling around a campfire. When Rook entered the clearing, one of the birds turned around. They waved, calling out, their voice raspy, worn-down. They stood up, needing a cane to remain upright, their feathers old and weathered too.

“Are you lost, darling? You look lost.”

Rook approached; the warmth of the fire appealing.

“I don’t think so,” Rook said. “I’m trying to reach the mountain.”

“The mountain?” one of the other birds said. “You want to go to the mountain? Have you not heard of the beast that lives there? It’s not safe.”

“And even if you still want to go, you won’t be able to pass through the forest,” the third bird said. “Do you hear the music? You won’t be able to get past its source.”

“Why don’t you stay with us for a while,” the older bird said. “You could get a cup of tea, watch the stars at night. It’s really quite peaceful.”

The older bird’s mask was a kind one, a gentle smile carved into the wood. But Rook shook her head.

“I really have to continue,” Rook said. The news of a beast was new to her, doubt creeping in slowly.

The older bird nodded, getting down on the log again that she was sitting on.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, we will be here, as will your cup of tea. It is important to rest, darling.”

Rook thanked them, walking around them towards the music.

This side of the forest seemed darker, faint black mist erupting from the ground. She could now hear that it was a cello being played, the low sweeping tones vibrating through her heart. Even though it was the same four notes being repeated again and again, it was beautiful, the sound strong enough to tear itself through the mist to reach her. Rook coughed, the clouds getting harder and harder to breathe in, limiting not only her breath, but her sight as well.

She found the source of the music in another clearing, this one much darker. Rook approached the figure shrouded in the middle. It was another bird, clutching a dark brown cello between their legs. A mask laid at its feet, where thorns crawled up around their legs and the cello, ensnaring them both in the forest. Behind them the fog was even darker, a foul smell protruding out, red eyes beaming through it.

But the cellist continued to play, their entire body, their entire leaking spirit unified in the motion of their arm. When Rook was close enough they looked up.

“What a beautiful sound,” Rook said.

The cellist shook their head forcefully.

“No, no, it isn’t good enough. If I practise just a little more…”

They lifted their arm, inspecting their grip on the bowstring. Their fingers were thin and bony, and some feathers had fallen away from their arms, leaving them bare.

“No,” Rook said, shaking her head, taking another step towards the cellist. “It really is a beautiful sound.”

“It’s nice of you to say that,” the cellist said, placing their bow on the strings again. “But you don’t have to lie. It’s okay.”

They began playing again, but after only a few notes they stopped, going back to the same section to play it again, and again, and again.

“You see if it were beautiful, people would come listen, would they not? But they never do.”

Rook looked past the cellist, where black mist blocked her path. A tear streamed down from the beady eyes of the cellist, and when it fell onto the soft moss underneath their talons it turned to mist, quickly becoming one with the rest.

The notes stirred Rook’s heart, a beautiful melancholy, where even in the dark forest a hint of hope lingered where the music touched her heart.

“Please go away. You can come back when I have practised enough, okay?”

Rook tried to find words that would make the cellist see how beautiful their music was but could find none. She bid the cellist farewell and turned around, returning to the campfire in the clearing.

“We told you, you can’t go through that way,” one of the birds there said.

“Did you meet them?” the older bird asked.

“They created such a beautiful sound,” Rook said, still in awe.

“It would be, if they ever actually played a piece in its entirety. But no, they only practise and practise, all while saying it’s not good enough. But enough about that.”

They moved to the side, clearing up some space on the log they were sitting on.

“Come, have a cup of tea.”

Together they share in the warmth of the fire and the tea. The fire crackled on, quiet.

“Well,” Rook said. “Could you maybe come with me? To the cellist?”

“Come with you? Like I said, we can’t pass. There’s just no way,” one of the other birds said.

“I know,” Rook replied. “But I think they may like it if we came to listen.”

“To that same melody they have been practising ever since they got here? I can hear it from here just fine.”

The older bird takes another sip, listening for the faint cries of the cello in the distance.

“Do you really think they would like it?” they asked.

Rook nodded.

“I’m sure of it.”

They finished their cup of tea and placed it on the ground near the fire.

“Well, if it makes them happy,” they said, clutching their walking stick as they got up from the log. “And I would love to hear the entire song.”

When the older bird got up, the other two joined her as well. One of them carried a lantern to lead the way, making sure nobody would trip over the forest’s roots.

When they entered the clearing the cellist looked up, their cheeks black from the tears rolling down.

“What are you doing here?” they asked, the question genuine.

Rook had thought about what she wanted to say, but before she could say those words the older bird began to speak.

“We came to listen to you.”

“I’m still practising,” they replied, bringing their bow across the strings again.

“We would like to hear you play the piece this melody is from.”

The cellist shook their head, more mist forming at their talons.

“I can’t play it yet. Not fully.”

“That doesn’t matter,” the older bird said. She stepped forward, taking the lantern and placing it in front of their cello. “Play it for us, please. We would love to hear it.”

The cellist looked at their new audience, their hand shook, the bow and strings meeting haphazardly.

The group sat down, leaving the cellist with only one thing to do. Illuminated by a single light, a light gifted to them by someone else, they began to play. The first notes were familiar ones. They paused, nails scratching the neck of the cello. The older bird nodded to the cellist, encouraging them to go on, to play.

And so came another note, a fifth note, one their audience had never heard before, sound breaking free from the strings. The fifth note led to the sixth, and then seventh, right up until the end. The melody was heart wrenching, created from the deepest part of the soul, sending shivers through the forest. They moved their bow with such ability, such skill, and such heart, that perfection was the only word Rook could find to describe it.

When the cellist looked up after their performance, it took their audience a moment to compose themselves, after which they clapped and cheered. The older bird shot up from her sitting position and walked over to the cellist, putting their arms on their shoulders, black eyes meeting with those of the wooden mask.

Rook couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she didn’t need to. Another tear dripped down the cellist’s cheek, but this one was clear, pure. The older bird leaned in to hug the cellist, who could only look ahead, stunned. Slowly the mist began to subside, revealing the path that continued behind them. Another bird walked up to them, reaching down to the ground, and picking up their weathered mask.

“Come, take it,” they said, offering it up. The cellist held it between their hands, staring at it. But ultimately they took it up and placed it in front of their face. Slowly, thorny vines let go of their legs, leaving them to go where they pleased, albeit scarred.

Rook walked up to them.

“Thank you,” Rook said. “Thank you for playing for us.”

Excuses formed in the cellist’s mind, but they managed to hold them back for now.

“My pleasure,” they said. “Where will you go now?”

Rook glanced across the forest, where the path would lead to the sea.

“I have to climb the mountain.”

“Be careful, there’s a beast that lives on that mountain, one clad in a dark shadow.”

“I will be careful,” Rook said, assuring herself as much as them.

“I will stay here for a little longer,” the cellist said, looking at their new friends. “I will continue to play my music for those passing by. If you ever pass through this forest again, please come listen.”

Rook took the cellist’s hand in the both of hers, pressing gently.

“I will, if I get the chance.”

Rook left the forest in a hurry, a last glance backwards showing her the older bird sitting down next to the cellist, chatting happily.

As she walked, she felt the crystals lying in her pocket. She pulled them out, staring at them. Holding them made her feel good, even though she wasn’t sure why. She forgot the people she’d met to ask if they had dropped it. She turned around for a moment but decided to carry on. She could return after visiting the mountain.

The plains behind the forest were steep, rocks cutting up the fields. She could see everything now, the way the land rolled down towards the ocean where a few cottages had been built. Interested, Rook sped up. Oh, how she wished her coat would let her fly. She would soar right up into sky. She wouldn’t even need to visit the nasty mountain that had crept into view again. She had been warned twice now, of horrors living on the mountain. But Rook did her best to push those thoughts to the back of her mind, where they could bother her.

The first part of the village she found was a big field. The fences were hand-crafted, sticks held together with awkwardly tied ropes. The soil, however, looked much worse. It was dry, with no crops sprouting despite the good weather. Deeper into the field she found another hatchling. They wore overalls, the thorns around their body piercing through their straw hat, forming a twisted crown. Their beady eyes were lifeless, empty. Rook remembered the cellist, how they were just a little lost, and approached the hatchling.

“Are you okay? Can I help you in any way?”

The hatchling moved their head, almost meeting Rook’s gaze, but not quite. They just didn’t have enough strength to fully raise their head, or perhaps they didn’t want to.

Rook wasn’t sure if she could help the farmer if they wouldn’t let her know what was wrong. She decided to continue on.

The village had three houses, each built with uneven planks and large leaves functioning as roofs. She did not find anyone however, as if everyone here had left for the mountain as well.

Near the coast she found an old dock, a pier reaching into the ocean. A bird sat at its end, wearing the same overalls as the farmer, although a thick coat was worn over it, as well as a woollen hat for when it got cold at sea.

Rook approached them, making sure the angler could hear it as her feet made the planks creak, as to not startle them. They turned around, their mask shaped like a fish, the salt encrusted into it making it sparkle.

“A visitor,” they called out. “It’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to talk with anyone. Please, please, join me.”

Rook sat down next to the angler, legs bungling out above the calm sea.

“Have you caught anything yet?” Rook asked.

The angler shook their head, reeling in their fishing pole and revealing that it was a bundle of green seaweed tied neatly into a ball.

“I’m not really an angler, you see. I’m a sailor, just one without a boat.”

Rook looked back at the pier, seeing only now the pieces of driftwood that had ended up on shore, a collection of broken beams painted red, all broken.

“What happened to your boat? Was it a storm?”

“No,” the angler said, lumping back, leaning forward and almost forming a ball.

“There’s a great whale who lives in this ocean. A magnificent beast, beautiful even. We were friends, you see. Every day I would go out with my boat, and she would swim next to me. But one day a big wave pushed me aside, and she crashed into my boat, breaking it completely. She brought me safely to shore, but I got so mad at her. I screamed, and cried, even though it wasn’t her fault. She left, crying so much it raised the sea and the salty water flowed over the coast and onto the farmlands. I’ve sat here since, every day, with her favourite treat at my fishing pole, hoping that she somehow comes back to me, so that I can apologise.”

Rook watched as the bird turned into themself, averting their gaze, ashamed. They lowered their fishing pole into the water again, clutching it with both hands.

“Do you know where she is now? Your friend.”

The angler shook their head.

“I always feel like she is close by, just out of reach. Maybe she doesn’t trust me anymore, thinks my treat for her is a trap.”

“I could try and deliver it to her.”

The angler turned around, the fast movement nearly throwing him off the dock.

“Really? You would do that for me? I’ve been thinking about going out there myself, but I can’t leave my sibling behind. They are a farmer, you see, and the salt has ruined their crops. It hasn’t rained since, so it can’t even be washed away. Come, let’s see if we can make something to get you to deeper water.”

The two walked back to shore, where the angler grabbed a toolbox and got to work. Scraps from the wreckage were nailed together, the holes plugged as well as they could.

“I don’t think it will last for very long, I’m afraid. I could keep working on it, but it will take a while.”

“It’s okay, if I just get to deeper water it should be okay.”

They took the raft and carried it onto the pier where they slowly lowered it into the water. The angler handed her a peddle, as well as the big ball of seaweed.

“She will know I made it, I’m sure of it. Please tell her I’m sorry, that’s all. I’ve really been a fool.”

“I will find her,” Rook said, she had to. She got into the boat and peddled with all her might, and soon the angler was just a blip on the horizon. Out here the sea was rowdy, even though there still was no wind. The waves kept growing and growing, until their shadows hid Rook from the sun. She peddled on more quickly, trying to outrun the waves but it was of no use. They slammed against her boat, throwing it up into the air and causing Rook to fall off. She quickly vanished into the sea, unable to reach for the surface of the water.

The sea did not care if she sank or swam. The currents simply pushed her forwards. She was nothing more a black shadow surging through the waves. She closed her eyes, trying to save her breaths, clutching the crystals in her pocket for good luck. She opened her eyes when the currents relaxed, bubbles floating upwards allowing her to breathe. But fear did not leave her long, for underneath her swam a creature so large she could not even see where it ended.

Rook swam to the surface, finding the ball of seaweed floating just ahead of her. She swam towards it, grabbing it tightly. But the waves returned when the whale burst from the waves.

The angler was right, it truly was a magnificent beast. Her skin was rugged and strong, each scratch telling a story, some from ancient times. Her eyes were a dark blue, but something flickered in them, as if two stars had been handpicked from the sky and given to her. The whale approached gently, making sure to cause no waves.

“I’ve brought you something,” Rook said, doing their very best to stay above water. She held the ball of seaweed above their hand, promptly causing her to sink. The whale opened her mouth, crying out seemingly without a sound.

“It is from your friend,” she said, slowly swimming towards the whale. “They’re very sorry for shouting at you. They said they’ve been sitting at the pier every day, hoping to see you again. Could you give them a second chance?”

The whale cried out again in a language Rook couldn’t hear. Then she vanished below the water. Rook was about to dive in too, to go after her, until she felt solid ground underneath her feet. It was the whale’s head, pushing her up, giving her a moment to rest. The whale opened her mouth and extended her tongue, a few metres below to where Rook was now sitting. Rook laughed, realising only now the relief that it brought her, the muscles it helped relax. She held the ball of seaweed out as far as she could, and then dropped it. It rolled over the whale’s forehead and landed on her tongue, where she swallowed it in one go.

She began to jump around in the water, nearly throwing Rook off with the joy the taste brought her.

“They’re at the pier,” Rook said. “I’m sure they would love to see you again.”

Together they swam back to the pier, slowly this time. Rook was content with enjoying the feeling of salt on her cheeks. When the pier came into view, Rook could see the angler jump up. They must not believe what they were seeing, for they kept jumped up and down in pure joy. The whale reached as far as she could, lying her head down on the sand underneath the water, her eyes barely above the sea.

The angler jumped into the water, coat and all, swimming towards one of the whale’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” they said, their voice suddenly soft. “I’ve wasted so much time because of what I did. Both mine and yours. I will never scream at you again. It was not your fault; I see that now.”

The whale cried again, and even though Rook could not hear it, she was sure it was a happy one, this time.

“I have nothing to thank you except my words,” they said.

“Well, I think I can think of something,” Rook said, laying down on the whale’s head, speaking to it.

“Could you take me the other side? I need to climb the mountain.”

“The mountain?” the angler said. “Haven’t you heard? There is a dangerous creature up there. I heard it’s a shadowy figure, whose breaths create dark clouds and whose blade has slain gods. Why would you go up there? It is not safe.”

“I have to,” Rook said. “I don’t know who I am, but someone asked me to go, someone who felt like a friend. I don’t think I can let him down. And maybe they also made a mistake, just like you did with your friend. I have to know.”

The angler sighs, understanding her words, but wishing they were different regardless.

“Well, if you are able to return afterwards, please do. I would love to sit on the pier with you and my friend.”

“I hope your sibling will be okay too,” Rook said.

“I’m sure they will. Be safe, friend,” the angler said.

The whale pushed back, the sudden movement causing Rook to nearly fall off. Rook lied down on the whale’s head, eyes at the sky. It did not take them long to reach the other side where the mountain stood looming over them. She bid the whale farewell, giving her a kiss on her forehead as she watched her retreat into the ocean. Then she retrieved the bracelet of crystals from her pocket. It featured a lot of small hooks, as if the chains were meant to be hooked onto thin narrow sticks. She had carried it all this way, maybe she was meant to carry it to the end.

She glanced back one more time at the village. To her surprise, clouds had formed all over the coast, the whale visible even from here. Moments later it began to rain, washing away all filth that may have been left there.

Rook smiled, hoping that a clean field may help the famer too. With renewed passion she walked up the hill. But as she did so, she could feel the earth pull on her body with more force. The air had become darker, and the mist heavy.

The mountain had become flat here. A small plateau was cut out of the rock, where a sparse forest broke up the landscape. Rook walked towards the place where it was darkest, crouching a little bit, the thin air making her pain for breath. As she got closer she noticed how some trees had been cut down, every tree scarred with cuts and bruises.

At the heart of the forest, she found the beast. It was similar to other birds, although all of its feathers had been plucked, leaving only arms as bony as a skeleton. He sat on his knees; a red cloak nearly burnt to a crisp covering his shoulders. In his hand he was clutching a weapon, a long spear, trying to force it into the ground. He was grinding his teeth, trying with all his might to push the spear deeper, but it wouldn’t go in.

A branch broke underneath Rook’s foot, causing the beast to lay his scarlet eyes on her. She could feel his anger, his fire within. But Rook still stepped forward, one step following the next. She called out to the beast, but it did not call back. When she got closer she reached for his shoulder, offering her support.

Visions flooded her mind. She saw the beast when he was still a man, filled with anger. He carried a great deal of sorrow in his heart, blinding him, making him raise his weapon against a marbled fox.

Rook tried to take some of his grief, to reach for it and carry it for him, but the darkness was overwhelming, bringing Rook to the ground as it filled her heart. The beast cried out, a cry in which the sorrow overshadowed any hope that may still be left in him, using it all to push Rook away. She fell back, rolling through the ground and ended up right at the foot of the mountain.

She laid in the grass, dirt on her face. The clouds above her still hung motionless, as if someone had hung a painting across the sky.

“Did you meet him?” a voice called out from behind her. It was the crane’s voice, frail, distant, travelling through worlds to reach her.

Rook managed to sit, finding the crane sitting on a tree stump ahead of her.

“I tried to listen to him,” she said, explaining it as much to herself as to the crane. “But he shoved me away with such force. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You do know what to do,” the crane said, “as you have done it before.”

“I have?”

Rook’s mind wandered for a moment. Her memories of before were gone, that much she knew, but whatever happened before did turn her into the person she was now, even if she does not remember. Her fingers touched the bracelet of gemstones.

“These are mine, aren’t they?”

The crane did not reply. He did not need to.

“You have helped many spirits find peace in the previous realm. But I had so hoped you did not have to do so in this one.”

“But I cannot help him if he will not listen.”

“No, but know that he does not want to hold onto his sorrow either. He is simply unable to let go of it himself.”

“I was able to do this then, before?”

“And you will still be able to do so now, even if you do not remember how.”

The crane’s voice became faint, his figure flickering in golden flames.

“Farewell,” the crane said, extending his hand as he vanished.

Rook felt a part of her own heart vanish as the crane did.

“Farewell,” she muttered, a piece of her soul imbued in her words. She looked up at the mountain, where dark clouds had begun to form. She could help him, maybe.

Her trek up the mountain was a swift one, energised by the crane’s words. The beast heard her approach, walking up to Rook to meet her. She clutched her gems, and before the beast could push her away again she placed her hand against his chest. His sorrow flowed into her, but she did not intend to hold it for him. With grinding teeth she let it burst from her body, black clouds breaking free from her shoulder blades, casting large black wings into the sky. The cold of it all bit into her body, but she could not give up. Even though the beasts face was still one filled with anger, frowns cutting into her, his eyes grew hollow, turning dark before returning to a natural brown.

She could see it now. She saw the man before he turned into a beast. He was happy, surrounded by friends who had all lived a long time. But slowly, suddenly, his friend had begun to die, as if nature had decided the cycle had gone on for too long. Outraged, afraid, the man saw no other option but to turn his blade onto the spirit that collected those souls.

Rook pushed harder, the images causing a black tear of her own to drip down. When her wings vanished, the man fell to the ground, letting the weapon fall out of his hand.

He stared at the grass with foggy eyes. Rook wasn’t sure if he would even notice if she were to leave right now.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he said. He pulled his cloak over his body, hiding himself. “My friends. My friend whom I had known for hundreds of years. I didn’t know what I would do without them. I didn’t know why they were leaving me so soon. All I knew is that that fox was there to claim their souls. So, I killed it.”

Rook sat down in the grass in front of him, meeting his downcast gaze.

“It didn’t work, did it?” he said softly. ”I went through so much. I caused so much pain. But in the end, it only made things worse.”

“I don’t know,” Rook said. “I don’t know what happened to your friends. But you are here now, and even though you are close to the end of it all, you won’t have to do it alone. We can go meet your friends, together.”

The man wasn’t sure what to say. His arms rested on his knees, his back arched, slouching forward.

“You won’t be able to fix what you did. But that doesn’t mean you have to suffer alone.”

The man nodded. There was still grief in his heart, Rook could feel it, grief so deep it would probably never leave. But the man did allow Rook to take his hand, to get up, to walk.”

“How about you?” he asked. “How do you sound so ready to accept an end when there are so many things left undone?”

“I am not ready,” Rook said. She meant it. She would like to speak to the crane again, or even linger for a moment longer. But if the end is inevitable, it is better to walk towards it with a new friend.

The two left the plateau behind, leaving the man’s cursed blade hidden between leaves of grass. As they climbed the wind began to pick up slowly. Their steps got easier, a helping hand until they were high enough for the wind to take them and carry them home.