I sat in the carriage alone.
I was also alone when I came into this world.
But somehow, I feel lonelier now.
I started to cry.
And I cried for a long time.
I don't even know how long it took before my emotions finally calmed.
My uncle was actually adopted. Yes Belhart Lewin, my uncle was not related to me with blood.
You see, my grandfather and grandmother married for love. Both of them had red eyes. Their first child was my father — the one I never even met. My grandfather wanted his next child to be a daughter. Maybe that's why daughters are called their father's princesses.
My grandfather's wish became a curse for him. The next child born was indeed a daughter, but she died minutes after birth.
My grandfather knew it would devastate my grandmother, so he adopted a boy — the only boy with red eyes. After that, my grandparents had three more children, all boys.
Then my grandmother died. Grandfather could never bring himself to tell her the truth before her death.
He feared that if he gave my uncle either more or less love than the others, it might cause problems. So he treated him exactly as he would have treated his own son.
Later, Grandfather revealed the truth to everyone, but by then, they were all too close to care.
A few years later, my father fell in love with my mother and married her.
Adrian was born — but his condition was strange.
In the Lewin family, one thing mattered above all else: family.
So, no matter what, everyone did their best to find a cure for me.
Except for my father, none of my uncles found true love, and none wanted arranged marriages. They all stayed single.
Then Grandfather died, and my father became the head of the family.
It wasn't because he was more loved. In truth, no one cared who became head — only that the family remained whole. Since my father was the only one with a child, he became the head by default.
But as I said — family came first. To such an extent that even if my father gave an order, any of my uncles could overturn it independently.
All our resources were poured into finding my cure.
Then the Duke began killing my family, one by one.
And now, only my uncle and I remain.
Though, strictly speaking, only I am truly alive.
Why?
You see, the place where my uncle went — The Temple of Freedom — is a place for people who wish to leave the world. It's a small mountain at the far corner of this continent. When people feel that they no longer wish to live, but believe suicide disrespects life, they go there.
The Temple of Freedom allows beasts to accompany them — not for comfort, but because beasts too are living creatures.
So, I sent my uncle there on Flash.
There, they connect with nature and meditate.
But don't misunderstand — it's not a weak place. Many strong people stay there, even a powerhouses.
Haa…
It's alright. Everyone must move forward in this world.
I too will move on.
The carriage carried only me and the driver. It would take some time before we reached my territory.
---
Just like that, a few days passed.
"Krrrrr—"
Hmm?
I said to the driver,
"Stop the carriage."
The driver pulled the reins, and the carriage halted.
I stepped out and looked around — that's when I saw it.
A Wyvern was fighting another monster.
What was strange, though, was that the Wyvern was alone. As I've said before, Wyverns usually move in groups.
Was it kicked out of its pack?
That's possible.
Though both the monster and the Wyvern seemed to be of similar strength, the monster had a slight edge.
I looked at the Wyvern, then at the carriage, and smirked.
I decided to wait — to let them fight each other to exhaustion.
Who was fighting the Wyvern?
The Roc.
---
The Roc was a living storm of feathers and fury, vast enough to blot out the sun when it spread its wings. Its plumage shimmered with deep oceanic blues and streaks of molten gold, each feather as long as a man's arm and sharp as a blade's edge. When it moved, the air itself rippled — winds churned, and dust rose in trembling waves beneath its passing.
Its eyes gleamed like twin sapphires burning with quiet intensity, and within their depths stirred a terrifying calm — the composure of a predator that had ruled the skies for centuries. Its beak, black and curved like polished obsidian, could crush armor or stone alike. Talons, enormous and iron-gray, gleamed with faint traces of lightning that danced along their edges whenever the Roc flexed them.
---
The Roc and the Wyvern
From where I stood — in a clearing between old oaks — the sky had turned into a battlefield.
It began with a single shadow crossing the treetops, vast and swift, darkening the world below. The Roc. Its wings carved gashes in the clouds as it soared higher, every beat sending ripples through the air. The leaves rustled violently, smaller birds fled in terrified flocks, and even the beasts of the forest fell silent.
Then came the shriek — sharp, metallic, piercing the sky like a blade. It wasn't just sound; it was power. The ground beneath my boots trembled.
A second shadow appeared — sleeker but crueler — the Wyvern. It came from the east, wings beating with rapid, efficient strokes. Its scales shimmered a dull green, patched with scars and burns that told of countless hunts.
The two giants circled one another high above the forest, the distance between them closing like drawn blades.
The air grew heavy. The Roc gave a long, echoing cry, while the Wyvern hissed, spreading its wings wide — a challenge needing no words.
And then, they clashed.
The first collision was almost invisible. One moment they were circling; the next, feathers and scales exploded across the sky. The impact created a thunderous crack, as if lightning had struck the forest itself.
The Roc pushed upward with brute strength, flapping once — just once — and it sent the Wyvern spiraling backward. The Wyvern righted itself with a twist of its long tail, hissing — a streak of emerald against the pale horizon. It dove again, wings slicing through the air, claws extended.
The Roc braced. Its enormous wings folded halfway, reducing drag before countering — a maneuver so sudden it looked as if the wind itself bent around it. The Wyvern's claws scraped along the Roc's feathers, tearing several free, but the Roc caught the beast mid-lunge, its talons slamming into the Wyvern's back.
From where I stood, scales scattered like shattered glass. The Wyvern shrieked in fury, twisting, its tail whipping across the Roc's chest. The impact made the great bird falter for the first time, feathers scattering like sparks in the air.
Both creatures broke apart again, circling in the smoke-gray sky.
I could see blood — faint glints catching the light — and neither would stop.
The Wyvern attacked first this time. The Roc twisted, taking the blow across one wing. The sound it made wasn't pain, but fury. The smell of blood and singed feathers drifted down.
Then, the Roc struck back.
It dove from the clouds, talons drawn, and when it hit, the air cracked again.
The Wyvern screeched, caught in the Roc's grip, and the two tumbled through the sky like falling stars. They crashed into the upper canopy — the explosion of splintering wood echoing for miles. For a heartbeat, everything vanished into dust and sound.
Then the Roc burst upward again, dragging the Wyvern with it. The forest beneath them was a wreck of broken branches and scattered feathers.
The Wyvern struck with its tail again and again, slamming into the Roc's flank. Each hit sent a spray of feathers and a raw cry echoing through the woods. The Roc retaliated, beak snapping down, tearing at the Wyvern's wing joint. I saw blood flash in the light — red, steaming, alive.
The Wyvern jerked back, one wing lagging now, but it still fought. Its claws raked across the Roc's chest, tearing deep furrows through the thick plumage. The Roc's left wing dipped slightly, but the giant bird didn't yield.
Both monsters rose higher — past the clouds, where thunder rumbled faintly. I lost sight of them for a while, hearing only distant cries and dull impacts that made the earth shiver.
When they emerged again, the Wyvern was lower, struggling to stay aloft, one wing bloodied and half-burnt. The Roc's feathers were scorched, patches of skin showing raw, bruised flesh, but its eyes still burned — cold, determined.
The Wyvern dove one last time, aiming for the Roc's belly. But the Roc anticipated it. The giant bird folded its wings completely, dropping like a boulder. The Wyvern, startled, slowed — just a fraction too late.
The Roc unfurled its wings mid-fall. The sudden burst of wind threw the Wyvern off balance. Before it could recover, the Roc slammed into it from below, driving its talons deep into the Wyvern's chest.
The scream that followed defied words — a raw, guttural cry that shook the forest to its roots.
The Roc didn't stop. With wings thrashing, it carried the Wyvern upward again, higher and higher. The Wyvern fought weakly — claws flailing, tail thrashing — but the Roc's grip only tightened.
Then it released.
The Wyvern fell.
The sound of it crashing through the forest canopy was deafening. Trees splintered, the ground quaked, and a shockwave rolled outward, flattening everything nearby. Smoke and dust rose like a stormcloud.
The Roc circled once above the devastation, its massive body swaying slightly. Even from here, I could see it bleeding — one eye half-closed, a wing dragging. Its chest heaved with exhaustion.
But the Wyvern was worse — its wing twisted, scales cracked, blood pooling beneath it. It tried to move, but one talon slipped, then another. The forest floor shook with its labored breaths.
The Roc descended slowly, wings folding halfway as it landed atop a rocky outcrop near the fallen Wyvern. The ground shook beneath its weight. It stood tall, feathers ruffled, chest rising and falling steadily.
Then, with a single powerful flap of its wings, it unleashed a blast of air that pinned the Wyvern flat against the earth.
For a long moment, there was only silence — wind whispering through broken branches, the crackle of small fires in the distance.
Then the Roc raised its head to the sky and let out a cry that rolled through the air like thunder. It wasn't a roar of triumph — it was something older, deeper. A declaration.
Above the forest, the clouds parted, and light spilled through, glinting off feathers streaked with blood and ash.
The Wyvern stirred once more, trembling, but couldn't rise. The Roc stepped closer, eyes narrowing.