"What are beastmen, exactly?" I asked, still half fascinated by what Lucardio had said earlier.
The elf sighed. "I don't feel like explaining that right now. First, I'm helping the boy I just shot in the arm."
His voice was sharp, but there was something... tense beneath it.
I followed his gaze - and then I saw him.
Against a rock, a strange creature was slumped over.
A bird. No... not entirely.
His chest rose and fell heavily, his feathers dull, and in his shoulder still stuck the arrow Lucardio had fired.
When I got closer, he collapsed further, half sitting in the sand.
(What is he? A disguised bird? A man in costume? No... too real. Far too real.)
His legs were long, almost human, ending in claws that dug into the sand.
His wings were thin, frayed, not made for flight.
His torso had a human shape - upright posture, narrow hips, fragile shoulders.
A cross between man and bird.
And strangest of all... he wore clothes.
Lucardio moved forward cautiously.
"Come," he said curtly.
"O-okay..."
We stepped out from behind the rock. The creature looked up, startled, and wrapped his wings protectively around himself.
His eyes - bright yellow and panicked - followed our every step.
"S-stop! Don't come closer! What... what do you want?"
His voice trembled. He grabbed a stone from the ground.
"I said stay back! Don't come closer, you barbarians!"
The stone flew.
Thud!
Lucardio dodged, but pain shot through my arm.
"Ow! Hey!"
The bird froze. His beak dropped open.
"You... you can talk?! Oh, thank the skies. You're civilized!"
(That's... not the reaction I expected. Relieved, but also insulting. 'Thank the skies'? Seriously?)
He tried to stand, but pain forced him back down into the sand. His wings trembled.
"Ow! Is this how you treat everyone you meet? Haven't you any manners?! Or are you just that racist?"
I stared at him. (Did he just call us racist? After calling us barbarians?)
The creature kept rambling, half angry, half desperate:
"Listen, I found a chest with a potion inside - a healing potion! In my bag! Please, give it to me or I'll bleed to death!"
Next to him lay an old, leather shoulder bag.
I knelt down. The smell of metal and herbs rose from it.
The flap was open, as if he'd been about to grab something just before the fight.
(Okay... this could be a trap. But he does seem more scared than hostile.)
I took a deep breath and carefully opened the bag.
Inside were two bottles:
- A long, thin glass vial filled with thick, dirty green liquid.
The label read: snake venom.
- And a round, ornate bottle filled with a softly glowing red elixir.
The cork was sealed with wax, the label reading: potion of healing.
I also found three rings -
one plain iron,
one with a hidden needle,
and one silver with a blue gem.
Two books -
one black and worn,
the other beautiful: brown leather, engraved runes, a blue bird on the back, and a sapphire set in the cover.
And at the bottom - an old, rusted dagger.
(What is this bird? An adventurer? A mage? Or just a walking mystery?)
I picked up the healing potion, but Lucardio grabbed my wrist.
"Wait. His name first. What are you doing here, beastman?"
The creature looked up, beak slightly open, eyes weary but sharp.
"Heal me first," he sighed. "Then I can think clearly."
Lucardio looked at me for a moment, then nodded. "Go on."
I peeled off the wax and pulled the cork loose. A sweet, almost floral scent filled the air.
I handed him the bottle.
"Took you long enough," he grumbled, though his voice cracked from the pain.
"Wait, before I drink - pull out the arrow. Otherwise it'll heal around it."
Lucardio sighed deeply. "Turn around. Noric, hold him still."
I knelt behind him. His feathers were warm, softer than they looked, but trembling with tension.
"Okay, ready?"
"I KNOW THAT!" he yelled. "In the time it took you to say that, you could've-AAAAAH!"
Lucardio yanked the arrow out.
Blood spurted in a short, red arc. The creature screamed, his wings flailing wildly.
Then, trembling, he brought the bottle to his beak, sniffed it once, and took a tiny sip - as if tasting fine wine.
GLOOP.
The wound began to glow immediately.
The blood dried, the skin pulled together, new feathers sprouted from the healed flesh.
He exhaled deeply, relieved - as if a weight had lifted from him.
(Unbelievable... the healing is instant. This elixir surpasses any medical science I know.)
The birdman slowly stood, still a bit unsteady.
"Ahhh, that's better," he said, brushing sand from his clothes.
He looked at us, clearly relieved - and then his tone shifted to confident pride.
"You want to know who I am?"
He puffed out his chest, wings half spread, as if preparing for a grand speech.
"My name is Dr. Jheremey Beacks Scribbledoodle! Researcher, chemist, explorer, biologist, illustrator, cook, and - not to brag - champion axe thrower."
(Excuse me?)
I blinked in disbelief. (What a show-off. And what a name.)
He looked like a blue jay: light blue feathers, black beak, white cheeks, and a small crest that stuck up defiantly.
His clothes were surprisingly neat: a brown-green shirt beneath a long leather coat with metal buttons, three large pockets, and a clay-red scarf tucked in at the collar. On his beak sat a small pair of glasses that glimmered faintly in the sunlight.
He caught my stare and shifted awkwardly, ruffling his wings.
"May I ask what your names are?"
We introduced ourselves. As we told him how we'd woken up here, one thing became painfully clear:
none of us remembered how we got here.
Every time we tried to think back to our past, a stabbing pain shot through our heads -
as if someone had locked our memories away.