Rabanastre's bazaar was alive with the cries of merchants when Clive's party returned, but the air carried unease. Word had spread of a great bird haunting the Westersand — a beast strong enough to scatter caravans and bold enough to hunt in broad daylight. The people whispered its name with dread.
The Vulturo.
Clive heard the rumors as they made their way through the square. A caravan master had posted the bounty himself, his voice raw as he begged for hunters to take the contract. His wagons had been ruined, guards slain, food stolen, and he spoke with a kind of desperate fury — a man who had nothing left to lose.
"We'll take it," Clive said simply, his tone brooking no argument.
The man clutched his hands together in relief. "Bless you, sir. But beware — the monster is clever. It attacks, then retreats. Always when you think it's finished."
Clive gave a curt nod and turned to his companions.
Lunafreya's serene gaze swept the sky, as though she could already feel the disturbance in the desert winds. Serah adjusted the straps of her attire, pink hair tied back but already plastered with sweat from the heat. Vivi tugged the brim of his oversized hat lower, only glowing eyes peering out. Auron remained silent, arms crossed, his crimson coat stirring faintly in the breeze.
And floating nearby was Mog, his pom-pom bouncing irritably. "Kupo, I don't like this already. Big birds always mean trouble — and nyo one listens to me until it's too late!"
Serah giggled, scratching behind his ears. "Relax, Mog. You're my secret weapon."
"I'm nyot bait!" Mog squeaked, puffing up his chest. "And if that monster even looks at me funny, I'm flying straight back to Rabanastre!"
Clive smirked faintly. "You'll do fine."
They set out into the Westersand.
The desert was merciless. Heat shimmered across the dunes, every step sinking into shifting sand. The wind carried the taste of grit, scratching throats raw. Hours passed before a sound split the horizon — a high-pitched shriek that rattled bones.
"Above!" Luna called, shielding her eyes.
The shadow fell over them.
The Vulturo swooped, wings vast enough to eclipse the sun, feathers black streaked with bronze. Its hooked beak gleamed sharp as a blade, talons carving trenches into the sand as it dove.
Clive charged forward, raising his sword. "Now!"
Vivi stepped into the gale, his staff glowing. "Slow!"
A ripple of aether surged out, wrapping around the monster like chains. Its dive faltered, movements dragging as if the air itself resisted.
"Perfect," Clive growled, swinging upward. His greatsword struck sparks off its talon.
Serah tossed Mog high. In a burst of light, the moogle twisted into bowsword form, caught in her hands. Arrows of radiant energy streaked into the bird's chest, drawing blood.
Lunafreya raised her staff, light blossoming into spears that rained down from the sky, striking its wings. The bird shrieked, staggering.
Auron charged low, his curved blade cleaving into its leg. Blood splashed, staining the sand.
"It's ours!" Serah cried.
But with a violent gale, the Vulturo beat its wings. A storm of grit and dust swallowed them. Clive braced his sword, teeth grinding as the desert itself seemed to explode around them. By the time the wind eased, the sky was empty.
"Coward," Clive spat, slamming his blade into the sand.
Vivi panted, his small frame trembling. "I almost… had it."
Mog popped back into moogle form, fur standing on end. "Almost?! We had it nyipped and plucked! That overgrown feather-duster ran away! Kupo, I'll wring its scrawny neck myself!"
They pressed deeper into the desert, following tracks that vanished as quickly as they appeared. Hours later, the shadow returned.
The Vulturo descended again, shrieking with fury.
Serah steadied Mog in bowsword form. "Round two!"
Vivi's eyes narrowed, staff blazing. "Thundara!"
The sky cracked. A bolt of lightning split across the heavens, slamming into the Vulturo's chest. The monster convulsed, feathers burning, body jerking violently as it crashed into the dunes.
"Finish it!" Clive roared, sprinting across the sand.
Luna unleashed another wave of light, Serah's arrows drove deeper, Auron's blade hacked into its flank. The bird screamed, its cries rattling the dunes, sand spraying into the air.
It staggered. It faltered. They had it.
But with a last furious shriek, the monster kicked up another gale, sand blasting into their faces. Clive dug his boots into the ground, shielding Luna as grit lashed their skin. Serah fired blindly into the storm, coughing. Auron braced against the gale, his blade buried into the sand to anchor him.
When the storm cleared, the beast was gone again — smoking, bloodied, but alive.
"No! Not again!" Serah groaned, dropping to her knees in the sand.
Mog popped back out, coughing, his fur caked in grit. "Twice, kupo! Twice that nyasty bird has mocked us! If I don't get feathers for a pillow out of this, I'm quitting!"
Clive wiped blood from a cut across his cheek, breathing hard. "It's playing with us."
Auron's voice was low, gravelly. "It's learning."
They searched for hours, frustration mounting, but the desert gave nothing back. Just when hope thinned, a new sound carried on the wind — not the shriek of Vulturo, but the clash of men's voices.
"Steady yourselves, men!" a captain's voice bellowed across the sands. "Trust your brothers! Protect the injured! Protect the healer!"
Clive's party crested a dune and froze at the sight below.
Nine figures stood battered and bloodied. Six formed a desperate ring around three wounded men, blades trembling as wolves circled. At the center, a young woman knelt, her staff glowing faintly as she healed. Nearby, a lifeless body lay in the dust.
Thirty wolves prowled around them, their formation precise, movements unnervingly coordinated. At their head towered the Alpha Lindbur Wolf, its black-and-silver fur bristling, amber eyes burning with cruel intelligence.
The sand was already littered with wolf corpses, proof of how long the fighters had endured. But their strength was gone. Fear gnawed at their faces, belief slipping away with every snap of jaws.
Auron's single eye narrowed. "They've been fighting for some time."
Serah clutched Mog tightly, her jaw set. "If we don't help, they won't last another minute."
Clive's grip tightened around his greatsword. He looked once at his companions, each nodding in silent agreement.
"Then we help," he said, voice firm.
The five charged down the dune, sand spraying beneath their boots, shadows cutting across the dying sun.
The battle for the Westersand was about to begin.