The day had risen without him. Perched by the window, Thalen hadn't moved all night. His talons still gripped the wood, tense, as if letting go would mean falling for good. His plumage, usually smooth and silent, was ruffled, slightly bristled by a tension he could no longer control. The morning light fell into the room like a cold blade. It slipped through the curtains, cutting Thalen's disheveled feathers into white and gold strips. His talons clenched the sill, his wings slightly spread, trembling, each breath seeming to cost him immense effort. His eyes, large and round, were dulled by endless nights, empty, yet burning with silent pain.
Tharion stared at him for a long moment, motionless, his dark eyes shining with a strange intensity. A cross seemed to glimmer in his gaze, sharp, conscious, as if it weighed on Thalen's very soul. Every movement Thalen made, every breath, seemed recorded, judged. Then, in a low, slow, cutting voice:— Listen… it's no use trying. I already told you. Accept your form.
Thalen blinked, unable to understand. His voice trembled, fragile:— …What?
— You've lost your transformation, and we've already discussed it, Tharion continued, his gaze still fixed on him, that invisible cross almost piercing him. No matter how much you struggle, how hard you push… you will never be human again. This isn't a block—it's worse.
The words fell over him like an icy, relentless wind. His wings shivered, his talons tightened on the sill. Every fiber of his body vibrated with visceral frustration, with despair that gnawed from within. His brown eyes drowned in fear and exhaustion, meeting that cross-like gaze that seemed to know his fate better than he did himself.— Never… he whispered, broken, barely audible, as if saying the word tore a piece of his heart.
Silence fell again, heavy and oppressive. Thalen's breathing was short, irregular, each heartbeat echoing in his chest like a cruel reminder: the silent judgment of Tharion, that cross in his eyes, would never disappear.— Yes. Never, said Tharion calmly.— But you know what? It doesn't matter. You're still you. Even in this form. You still have your soul. Your emotions.
Thalen turned his gaze away, eyes lost in the distance. His breath grew uneven, his wings trembled, feathers bristling.— Doesn't matter…? he murmured, throat tight, feathers slightly raised.— Doesn't matter that I'm stuck like this… a… a… owl?— No, it doesn't matter, Tharion repeated, his voice gentle, almost a whisper slipping through the shadows of the room.— Even if your body is no longer human, you are still yourself. And that's enough.
Thalen let his head fall heavily, eyes shining with deep fatigue and quiet frustration. He wanted to scream, cry, fight… but no sound escaped his lips. His wings trembled, his talons loosened, then clenched on the wood again, echoing his internal struggle. A long silence stretched, heavy, and Tharion finally spoke, almost whispering, his words gliding between Thalen's heartbeats:— But tell me… do you know why you were reincarnated as an owl?
A shiver ran through Thalen's body. His feathers bristled, talons gripping the wood even tighter. His large round eyes fixed on a vague point beyond the window, as if seeking answers in the night that weren't there. His breath caught, then resumed unevenly.— …I… I don't know… he whispered, almost inaudible.
Silence grew even denser, almost tangible. Thalen blinked slowly, and a subtle gesture—head slightly tilted, a flicker of defiance in his gaze—betrayed a quiet calculation. He was probing Tharion, testing his limits, as if every tiny reaction could reveal a secret. A faint, imperceptible smile brushed his lips.— …Is that it, said Tharion, lower, mysterious.— Even you don't know. And maybe you never will. But maybe… it's for your freedom. Perhaps some pieces are still missing.
A cold current ran through Thalen. A wave of anxiety, of doubt, made him shiver… but behind his eyes burned a spark, a glint of subtle, almost imperceptible manipulation. He wanted Tharion to feel the weight of his words, to question himself, to doubt.— Why… me? he murmured, voice broken but trembling with calculated control.— Why an owl?
Silence thickened around them, and in the room's shadows, every feather's beat, every breath, every glance carried a secret. And no one knew—perhaps not even Thalen himself—where the answer truly lay.
Tharion didn't respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on Thalen, intense, calm, but almost unbearable. Every silence seemed to weigh a ton.— I can't answer that, Tharion finally admitted.— Maybe no one can. Maybe it's a mystery… one that only you are meant to carry.
Thalen's heart raced, his breath uneven. His wings trembled against his body, feathers quivering under the tension. Fatigue, pain, and fear mingled into a heavy, suffocating mix.— I… I can't answer… he whispered to himself, voice choked with emotion.— And that's okay, said Tharion softly.— You don't need to know now. You don't need to understand everything immediately. You just… have to be. To exist. Even like this.
Thalen remained silent. His wings slowly fell, talons loosening. His bristled feathers betrayed the deep exhaustion weighing on him… yet his eyes stayed moist, filled with a mixture of fear and despair. He simply allowed himself to exist in that heavy silence, as if breathing alone was already an effort.
The morning light fell into the room, harsh and relentless. The white-and-gold strips on his plumage highlighted every tremor, every sign of weakness. He remained perched on the sill, immobile, body tense but fragile. He turned his gaze toward Tharion, almost pleading.— I… I don't know if I can do it, he murmured, voice trembling, fragile.— I… I'm afraid… of staying stuck… alone… like this…
His feathers shivered slightly, wings instinctively drawing closer to his body, as if to protect himself. His large, bright eyes sought more than just to display pain: they sought an anchor, a point of safety. A silent, fragile, almost heartbreaking question: "Will you stay near me?"
Tharion inhaled slowly, aware of the tension in the room, aware of the fragility of this moment.— You don't have to do this alone, he said, tone firm but full of compassion.— Yes… but… I… I can't… Thalen whispered, voice broken by emotion. Then, after an almost unbearable silence, he added in an almost inaudible breath:— If… if you left… I… I don't know what I'd do.
Silence stretched in the room, heavy and almost tangible. Thalen remained perched, wings fallen against his body, feathers quivering at the slightest breath. His golden eyes followed every movement of Tharion, but not to influence him: just a simple, almost childlike curiosity, to understand and feel the presence of the other.— You don't need to do anything, Tharion murmured softly, voice almost more to himself than to Thalen.— Just… be there.
Thalen tilted his head, eyes fixed on the floor for a moment, as if to cling to something tangible. His feathers ruffled slightly, betraying fatigue and built-up tension, but he let a small sigh of relief pass. There was no test, no calculation in his gesture. Just a silent need to feel that he wasn't alone.
He watched Tharion rise slowly and approach, his steps measured.
The owl felt the faint shift of air, the warm breath of the other, and an almost imperceptible shiver ran through his body. It wasn't fear, nor the urge to play: it was simply the presence of someone who did not reject him, who accepted his form, his fragility, his exhaustion.
— You're… still here, Thalen said, in a voice barely more than a whisper.— Always, replied Tharion, gently placing a hand on the sill near him.— You don't need to say anything for me to be here.
Thalen let his head fall against his chest, a small sigh escaping through his feathers. His wings relaxed further, his body feeling slightly lighter. For the first time in a long while, he felt allowed to simply exist—without pressure, without needing to be someone else.
— Even… even like this… he murmured, almost to himself,— I can… feel… a little alive.
Tharion sat silently beside him, letting calmness envelop them both. No words, no forced gestures. Just the warmth of a presence and the flutter of feathers in the light breeze coming through the open window.
The owl closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, and the tension in his talons and wings slowly eased. His feathers, still slightly bristled from fatigue, seemed almost soothed by Tharion's mere constancy. No calculations, no manipulations. Just a fragile, silent, but real connection.
And in that suspended moment, Thalen felt, for the first time, out of solitude—without needing to ask or do anything. He simply existed.
The city slowly awakened around them. Market stalls were being set up, the smells of warm bread and coffee mingling with the damp scent of earth after the night's rain. Thalen walked beside Tharion, his talons lightly brushing the uneven cobblestones. Each small sound—the clatter of a bucket in the market, the rustling of leaves in the wind—made him shiver, yet he remained calm, anchored by Tharion's presence.
For Tharion, however, something seemed… off. At first, it was subtle. A crack in the sidewalk, where he knew he had walked without issue the day before. Then a normally smooth, straight road showed deep fissures, as if the ground had been poorly repaired or allowed to deteriorate. He frowned slightly, slowing his pace.
— Are you okay? Thalen asked, his voice soft, like a whisper carried on the wind.
Tharion shook his head slightly, not answering immediately. He examined the surroundings with unusual attention. It wasn't just fatigue or the morning light affecting his eyes: these imperfections hadn't been there before. Buildings bore cracks he had never seen, traffic signs were slightly bent, doors that were usually closed appeared ajar… and the silence was punctuated by oddly displaced sounds—a drip here, a crack there—that didn't match the usual rhythm of the city.
Thalen sensed the change in the air around Tharion and instinctively drew closer, his wings trembling slightly. He didn't understand what was happening, but he felt the tension in the other's posture, the sharpened, almost anxious attention.
— Tharion? he murmured again.— It's… nothing, Tharion finally replied, though his voice betrayed a slight hesitation.— I… I just feel like… something has changed here. Not much… just details… that I know.
They continued walking. Thalen observed every movement, every breath, but this time with a slight veil of worry. The imperfections multiplied: a half-tipped wooden barrier, displaced cobblestones, a lamppost leaning improbably. Nothing catastrophic, nothing dangerous… but enough for Tharion to frown, eyes scrutinizing each detail.
— This street… Tharion said, voice low, almost to himself.— It shouldn't look like this. I've walked here… so many times.
The owl nodded timidly, understanding this wasn't a mere state of mind. The city, which they both knew so well, was beginning to show imperfections, cracks in what they had thought immutable. Thalen felt a shiver run through his feathers, a mix of curiosity and unease.
Tharion paused for a moment, his eyes tracing the cracked road beneath their feet. He leaned slightly, touching the cobblestones with his fingertips, as if to confirm what he saw.
— This is… strange, he murmured.— Too strange to be normal.
Thalen remained by his side, motionless, feathers slightly bristled, but he said nothing. He understood this wasn't a moment for lightness or distraction. He felt that something in the city had begun to change… and that they might not yet grasp the full extent of it.
They resumed walking, more slowly this time, their steps measured. The cool wind passed through the alleys, and every sound—the rustle of leaves, the clink of a sign, the crack of a cobblestone—seemed sharper, more significant. The city, familiar and safe until now, was revealing its small imperfections, fragile yet telling.
And Thalen, still fragile and weary, realized this walk was no longer merely a moment of calm. It was the beginning of something larger… something that could alter what he thought he knew about the world around him.
The wind swept through the silent streets, lifting fallen leaves and brushing Thalen's feathers. A shiver ran through him, but it was not excitement: just a reminder of his fragility. He spread his wings slowly, hesitating, and rose a few meters above the ground. The world stretched beneath him, vast and familiar, yet everything seemed heavy, as if the city itself carried an invisible fatigue.
Tharion looked up at him, silent, but the weight of his attention was felt. Thalen did not respond. His golden eyes remained fixed on the ground, on the streets and buildings he knew, and he couldn't stop a small shiver of fear and melancholy. Everything seemed slightly… different.
The path they had walked the day before was no longer smooth. Deep cracks gouged the ground, missing cobblestones betrayed sloppy repairs, and some buildings bore subtle distortions. Thalen felt a pang in his chest: he knew this place, had walked it hundreds of times, yet everything seemed to crumble before his eyes.
He lowered his head slowly, letting his wings fall, barely hovering to land on a branch. His feathers remained ruffled, talons clenched. The wind seeped through his plumage, sending a cold shiver through him—but there was no thrill, no warmth. Just the cold sensation of existence.
— Tharion… he murmured, almost to himself.— It's… different…
— Yes… said Tharion softly, face serious.— Everything is a little broken. I see it too.
Thalen said nothing. He remained there, motionless, eyes fixed on the crack stretching across the road below. He felt exhaustion pressing down on him like a tangible weight. Even flying brought no relief. The city, the wind, the morning light… nothing could lighten the emptiness inside him.
He curled up slightly, letting his wings fall against his body. The city's imperfections multiplied: bent lampposts, tilted signs, doors ajar that shouldn't be. Thalen saw them all, but felt only the echo of loss, a memory of what should have been stable and safe.
— I… I see… he murmured, voice trembling, barely audible.— Everything… everything is broken…
Tharion approached quietly, silently, but said nothing. He understood. He felt Thalen's fatigue, sadness, and resignation. And despite the fragility, he stayed there, offering his silent presence.
Thalen blinked slowly, staring at the cracked ground and twisted buildings. He felt every step, every crack in the cobblestones, every breath of wind in his feathers. He was still alive, still aware… but heavy, immobile, crushed by the city, by himself, by everything.
And he let himself remain there, on his branch, fragile and dejected, watching the city as if every crack and imperfection reminded him of his own solitude and weariness.
Thalen frowned slightly, his heart tightening.
"But… this city has always been like this…?" he murmured, troubled.
Tharion walked through the narrow streets of the city, his footsteps echoing on the wet cobblestones. The lamplight cast trembling shadows that danced along the crumbling walls. In the distance, he noticed a man walking in the same direction, back straight, silent, like a silhouette cut from the darkness. Nothing particularly distinguished him, yet there was something in his gait that felt strangely familiar.
Tharion continued on, trying not to think about it, but around the next corner, the man appeared again. This time, Tharion noted the almost imperceptible detail of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes, and the way his jacket fluttered slightly in the wind. His heart beat a little faster, but he shook his head, convincing himself it was only a coincidence.
A few streets later, he saw the same figure again. The man walked exactly the same way, unperturbed, as if following a secret rhythm only he could hear. Tharion felt a shiver run up his neck. The city seemed suddenly quieter, the usual sounds muffled, as if the world were holding its breath.
Then, once more, at an intersection, Tharion saw him for the fourth time. The same man, in exactly the same relative position, continuing his path without ever slowing, without ever noticing him. And every time their gazes seemed to meet in the darkness of the night, there was only absolute indifference, as if Tharion did not exist.
Finally, the man vanished into the mist at the end of the street, walking straight ahead, unperturbed, as if nothing had happened. Tharion remained frozen, heart heavy and mind alert, unable to tell whether he had merely crossed paths with a passerby… or something else, unsettling, that he could not name.
Tharion wondered, are they brothers… or something else?
He walked calmly, the sun brushing his skin and the light warmth of an almost-perfect day on his shoulders. Everything seemed normal after the experience he had lived, almost peaceful, and he told himself this walk would be simple, uneventful.
Yet, around a corner lined with old buildings, a subtle shiver ran up his spine. Above him, Thalen hovered in the sky, wings slicing through the air. He observed the city from above, and suddenly, a dense, icy mist rose as if by magic, seeping between the streets, enveloping the cobblestones and facades in a grayish veil.
The contrast was striking: on one side, the sun continued to shine timidly; on the other, this mist imposed a nearly oppressive silence, muffling the sounds of the world.
At that moment, Tharion saw yet another figure… exactly the same one he had encountered in the library. The man walked slowly, as if floating above the cobblestones, indifferent to the sun and warmth. His features seemed strangely familiar, yet blurred, as if the memory of the encounter merged with a dream. Each step of the man seemed to echo in the air, like the resonance of a place he should never have seen again.
Tharion stopped abruptly, heart racing, while the sunlight and mist contested the space around him. The man continued on, impassive, gradually disappearing into the mysterious veil. Tharion remained there, torn between the wonder of a beautiful day and the unease of encountering again someone he thought he had left behind in the past.
— But… what is happening? Is this normal? Tharion thought, as the man walked away. His heart beat faster, and a wave of confusion washed over him.
Thalen descended slowly onto Tharion's shoulder.
As he landed, a memory struck him like lightning. He saw himself standing before a colorful poster on the wall of the main square: a knight in gleaming armor, raising a sword to the sky, with the words written in golden letters: Join the ranks of the Knights of the Crown! Courage, loyalty, and honor await you.
Thalen remembered the mix of admiration and fear he had felt at that moment. He recalled how his eyes had lingered on the knight's helmet, the polished details of the armor, the engraved symbols, and the small emblem that shone in the sun. This memory gave him a strange sensation, as if the city and this mission as a knight were part of his destiny.
His feathers trembled slightly, and he shifted his attention back to Tharion, wondering if he too felt the mix of nostalgia and curiosity. The light wind rustled his wings as he perched on Tharion's shoulder, ready to follow a path that, despite the confusion, seemed full of promise.
Thalen shook his feathers lightly to dispel the strange feeling from the memory, then turned his gaze to Tharion. His eyes shone with determination, but also a need for distraction.
— Say… he began, his voice revealing a mix of hope and uncertainty.— Could we… join the Knights? Just… to take my mind off things a little.
He looked around, making sure the city seemed calm and welcoming.
— I mean… I've been wanting to move, to do something tangible for a long time. And… he paused briefly, beak slightly open, thoughtful.— …maybe it could help me forget the memories that keep circling in my head.
His talons brushed lightly against Tharion's shoulder, an almost instinctive gesture seeking support.
— Do you think… we could do it? Go register… and see if it makes us feel better?
He smiled faintly, trying to mask his nervousness behind a facade of curiosity and courage. The wind played with his feathers, highlighting the contrast between his excitement for adventure and the tension lingering from the haunting memory.
Tharion barely frowned, a cold shiver running down his spine. Inside, his heart tightened as if an ancient weight had been placed upon it. He breathed slowly, keeping his face impassive, but every word from Thalen reverberated painfully through his memory. Blurred images, battles, failures, lost faces, cries in the night… everything came rushing back in an instant.
Tharion felt a shiver run down his spine.
— Knights, huh… His voice was low, controlled, yet each word vibrated with contained tension. He glanced away, studying the circular city below, clinging to something tangible to avoid being swallowed by his memories.
His hands clenched slightly on his knees, imperceptibly, and his jaw tightened for a moment. He inhaled deeply, stomach knotting, but his voice remained calm:
— Thalen… you know… it's not just a title or an adventure. It demands courage… and… sometimes… choices you can't take back. Choices… that…
He left the sentence hanging, unable to finish, his dark eyes blinking under the weight of memory.
Thalen blinked, wide brown eyes attentive, catching the shadow of tension in Tharion's body, interpreting it as natural caution. He tilted his head again, an instinctive owl gesture, silent and curious.
Tharion remained silent for a moment, breathing slowly to shake off the vertigo of the past. His fingers loosened slightly, but a faint tremor betrayed his inner discomfort. The city continued to shimmer below, majestic and alive, but for Tharion, it seemed distant, almost alien.
He knew he couldn't prevent Thalen from following his desires, and that idea… that reminder of lost freedom and youth… pained him as much as it worried him. He inhaled again, eyes fixed on an indistinct point in the sky, his face closed and impassive… but behind that mask, pain and disagreement boiled silently yet intensely.
Tharion revealed nothing. His face remained impassive, eyes calm, almost distant. Not a twitch, not a sign of the turmoil he felt inside.
— "Yes… that's fine," he replied in a cold, sharp, almost distant tone.
Thalen, absorbed in his own emotions and the weight of his memories, noticed nothing. He took Tharion's words as simple approval, unaware of the intensity contained behind the calm exterior.
Tharion and Thalen began walking through the city streets. The circular cobblestones echoed under their steps, the stone houses glowing softly in the morning sun. Each alley seemed to tell a story, and Thalen, slightly distracted but curious, marveled at every detail.
— "Look! Have you seen the fine ironwork? And these stained glass windows… they're almost perfect!" he exclaimed, eyes shining with fascination.
Tharion nodded, his gaze calm but attentive. He showed nothing, but his eyes scrutinized more sharply than Thalen's. Beneath the flawless facade, he noticed tiny cracks in some walls, a slightly sunken cobblestone in a side alley, even a stained glass window leaning imperceptibly. Details insignificant to Thalen, but for Tharion, signs that the city was not as perfect as it seemed.
He cast a discreet glance at a small square they had just passed, frowning slightly.
— "I came here yesterday… and this wasn't here, right?" he murmured, more to himself than to Thalen.
They passed shops where artisans worked metal and wood, and gardens hanging from balconies, perfuming the air with unfamiliar flowers.
In the late afternoon, as shadows lengthened over the cobblestones, paced by footsteps, light chatter, and Thalen's little bursts of wonder, Tharion continued observing silently, alert to the smallest imperfection.
Everything seemed peaceful, almost hypnotic, but that tranquility was deceptive.
Then, a sharp sound, heavy with anger, split the air… The murmur of fountains, rustling leaves, and distant laughter of passersby had formed a calm, almost hypnotic atmosphere after hours of wandering. Thalen savored every moment, gradually forgetting the weight of his memories, when suddenly, a piercing cry cut through the air, charged with anger and urgency.
The sound made him jump, and his gaze instinctively turned toward its origin.
Tharion froze immediately. His heart tightened as he saw the figure screaming—the same one he had encountered in the library. The abrupt gestures and enraged voice felt strangely familiar. His eye lingered on the person, analyzing every movement, but he betrayed nothing.
The cry echoed across the square, and Thalen, still behind him, frowned, torn between fear and curiosity:
— "What's happening…?" he murmured, almost trembling.
Tharion made a slight gesture for Thalen to stay on his shoulder, eyes fixed on the scene. The person was shouting at someone else, a confrontation that seemed both personal and violent. For Tharion, the situation triggered a mix of alertness and recognition: he knew he had to quickly understand what was happening before it escalated.
The calm of the afternoon had just been shattered. The city, so perfect and silent just hours before, was now the stage for unexpected tension, and Tharion felt that their peaceful visit had taken a dangerous turn.