The moon hung low over the Forbidden Forest, its pale light filtering through the canopy like ghostly ribbons. In the heart of Kenku territory, a hidden village stirred quietly.
The Kenku, a race of raven-folk, have built their homes low to the ground, fashioned from dark wood and woven reeds, shaped to blend seamlessly into the shadows. Even from a few paces away, a passing forest beast would mistake the village for an untouched part of the wild.
Inside the central hut, a sense of tense anticipation hangs heavy in the air.
Talon, The Kenku chief sat cross-legged on the woven reed mat, the dim firelight glinting off his sharp, obsidian eyes as they traced the worn pages of a scroll.
His attire was plain but purposeful — fitted fish-skin and hardened hide, bound close with sinew cord. No loose edges, no shine, nothing to snag. Every piece was built for silence and speed, the garb of one who could vanish into shadow or marsh without a trace.
The curtain at the door rustled once — then Rook entered...
moving with restless energy that spoke of deep anxiety. A younger Kenku with a worried expression, his feathers dusted with dirt, eyes flicking to every corner before he addressed his father in a low, urgent murmur.
"Father, you should not do this," Rook pleads, his voice filled with concern. "You must reconsider. We can ask the human regions nearby for aid. Surely they would be more willing to help us."
Talon's gaze softens as he looks at his son, but his resolve remains firm. "Stay calm, Rook," his voice a low, steady rasp. "We have no other option here. Our people will not survive otherwise."
Rook's feathers flutter with agitation.
"But, Father, allying with them? The Lamia Queen and the Harpies King? They are... they are Capricious! How can we trust them?"
Talon sighs, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "We don't have the luxury of trust, Rook— only the necessity of survival." A great disaster is approaching, and our people are not strong enough to face it alone. We are desperate."
"There has to be another way," Rook insists, his voice rising slightly. "We've always survived on our own. We've always found a way."
Talon's gaze turns distant, filled with a weariness that belies his years.
"The world is changing, Rook.
The old ways are no longer enough.
The humans... you are not aware of human nature, my son," Talon adds, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness.
"They are not who you see them as. They do not see us as equals, and they will not offer aid without expecting something in return... something we cannot afford to give."
Rook clenches his fists, his frustration evident.
"So, we sell our souls to the Capricious instead? Is that your plan? To trade our freedom for a temporary reprieve?"
Talon rises, his voice firm. "It's not a matter of choice, but of necessity. I will do what is necessary to ensure our survival."
"And what of our honor? Our traditions?" Rook challenges, his voice filled with a desperate plea.
Talon turns away, his face etched with pain. "Honor and tradition mean little to a dying people, Rook. I will carry this burden, so you don't have to."
A heavy silence falls between them,
broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth.
"The Lamia Queen and the Harpy King are on their way," Talon said at last, resignation in his tone. "They will arrive soon. This alliance… is our only path forward."
Rook stormed from the hut. Outside, three Kenku waited in the moonlight — Skree, a keen-eyed female, and Klak and Rapi. They are his trusted subordinates and friends.
But they weren't alone. All around the clearing, other Kenku milled quietly: warriors, scouts, and elders, forming a tense circle near the torchlit paths. Spears were planted in the ground, watchful eyes fixed on the dark treeline, waiting for the arrival of their unusual guests. This wasn't just a meeting — it was a council of survival.
Skree stepped forward, her voice a quiet anchor.
"Rook… don't carry this alone. Whatever your father decides, we stand with you."
Klak nodded sharply. "Skree's right. You are not without allies."
Rapi gave a short, firm click of his beak. "We've survived hardship before. We will find a way through this, together."
Rook's feathers ruffled faintly — not in anger, but as if trying to shake off the weight pressing on him.
As they spoke, a shadow swept over the village — long, shifting shapes cast by the moonlight.
From above, wings cut through the night air. The Harpies King, Aeron, descended at the head of his flock. They landed in a storm of wind and feathers, their upper bodies human in shape but honed and hardened by battle, their lower halves ending in powerful eagle talons. Each movement carried the grace and precision of a predator.
At the same moment, the forest's edge stirred. A second party emerged from the dark undergrowth, gliding with a silence that made the air feel heavier. Leading them was the Lamia Queen, Lethia — their upper bodies resembling those of humans, while their lower bodies were serpentine, long and scaled. Their eyes remained closed, giving them an air of serene mystery.
Talon stepped forward from his hut, expression composed — a carefully worn mask of diplomacy etched across his face. His voice was steady as he addressed the arriving leaders.
"King Aeron, Queen Lethia," he said, his voice respectful. "I thank you for answering our invitation."
Aeron inclined his head in acknowledgment, sharp eyes glinting in the torchlight.
Lethia mirrored the gesture, her expression serene, her lids still lowered beneath a short, fine-net veil.
Talon gestured toward the largest hut, the firelight flickering at its entrance. "Please. Come inside. We have much to discuss."
The Lamia Queen and the Harpies King accepted his invitation with equal, measured politeness. As they stepped inside and took their places, Talon immediately felt it — their presence. It pressed against the air like a heavy fog, an almost physical force that settled across the room. Power, immense and barely contained, throbbed like a second heartbeat beneath the silence.
Aeron, with his imposing stature and sharp gaze, was particularly intimidating. Talon felt a subtle pressure, a deliberate display of dominance.
Lethia, by contrast, sat in composed stillness.
Her voice was smooth, calm.
"Aeron," she said, eyes still closed. "That is enough. We can feel their strength — and they can feel ours. We did not come here to posture."
Aeron's posture eased, though the razor edge in his gaze lingered. "My apologies," his voice a low rumble. "I was merely… assessing the strength of our potential allies."
To Aeron's right stood his most trusted warrior, a Harpy named Strife, feathers sleek and eyes sharp, the embodiment of vigilance. To Lethia's left stood her daughter and heir, the Lamia Seraphina, poised with quiet authority.
Talon began to outline the terms of the alliance — only to be interrupted by a voice from the doorway.
"We do not need your help," Rook declared, stepping forward.
His voice rang with raw defiance, his gaze locked on the assembled rulers.
"We can fight on our own."
He glanced at his father, then back at Aeron and Lethia, distrust flickering in his eyes.
"We don't know you. We can't trust you. How can we be sure your intentions are... honorable?"
Talon stepped forward, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Forgive my foolish son his impetuousness," he said apologetically.
Aeron, however, raised a hand. no, "He speaks the truth,
voice calm and reasonable.
"We don't truly know each other. Trust is not given lightly—nor should it be. But we no longer have the luxury of choice. We are bound by necessity."
He turned to Rook.
"Child, you are right to be wary. You can choose to trust, or not to trust, but we are all here for the survival of our clans. We cannot face this disaster alone."
Lethia inclined her head.
"Indeed. Tell me—do you know the size of the force arrayed against us?"
Talon spoke, his voice steady.
"From our scouts' reports, we estimated their numbers around five thousand. With a strong alliance, careful strategy, and thorough preparation, we can achieve victory without incurring catastrophic losses."
Lethia's tone darkened.
"Then you are wrong, Kenku Chieftain. Your information is outdated."
She paused, her voice sharpening.
"They were perhaps five thousand before the fall of the Elf village. Their ranks have grown since. We estimate their strength at eighteen thousand—or more."
The color drained from Talon's face. "Eighteen thousand?" His voice rasped, the number almost too large to say aloud.
"How… How can we possibly hope to overcome such a force? Even with an alliance, it… seems impossible."
Rook's feathers ruffled, his voice barely more than a whisper. "So… we're doomed." It wasn't a question.
Aeron stepped forward, eyes hard with resolve.
"If we believed that, young one, we would not have come here."
He gestured to Strife, who stepped forward and presented a narrow, ornate case.
Inside lay six stones — gleaming with soft inner light: two white, two black, and two blue.
Aeron's voice was steady.
"We have hope. This… is our hope."
Talon's eyes widened. "No… It can't be. Is that… the Deca-Core Heartstone?"
Lethia nodded slowly.
"Yes, Kenku Chieftain. And without them… we have no hope at all."
Silence fell.
Talon turned to his son, face firm but gentle.
"Rook… leave us. This discussion is beyond your years."
Rook looked like he wanted to protest, but after a moment of tense silence, he bowed his head slightly and left the hut.
Aeron watched him go, a strange mix of respect and pity in his gaze.
"Your son is brave, Talon," his voice softening.
"You've raised him well. We all cling to hope in these dark times… That is why we're here. But hope—" he paused, gaze heavy, "—sometimes requires sacrifice. We must choose a path… for the sake of our people."
Talon nodded slowly, his face drawn with sorrow.
"Yes, King Aeron. I'm aware of the consequences.
The user's life force… will be drained within minutes."
He exhaled.
"But in return, it can amplify our power—up to twentyfold, you say?"
Lethia spoke next, her voice a low, solemn thread weaving through the tension.
"Twentyfold, at the very least. In the hands of a skilled warrior, a Heartstone turns the tide of war. It's not just strength — it's precision, speed, endurance... sharpened to their limit."
She folded her hands in her lap.
"But the cost—"
"—is absolute," Aeron finished.
"It's a gamble, Talon. A desperate one. But one we must take."
Silence lingered a heartbeat longer before the three leaders leaned forward over the map, their shadows merging in the firelight as they began to speak of strategy.
Aeron spoke first, laying out his forces.
"I can muster nearly six thousand Harpies," he declared, his voice ringing with the confidence of a seasoned commander.
"We will be the vanguard — our speed and aerial superiority unmatched. We'll strike from the sky, a whirlwind of talons and fury."
Lethia followed, her silken whisper that carried the weight of quiet authority.
"The Lamia are fewer in number, but possess a different kind of strength. I can bring four thousand eight hundred. We'll anchor the ground
line — our resilience, our force…
unyielding. We'll hold, and we will break their ranks."
Talon finally added, his voice heavy with the weight of responsibility.
"And I can offer two thousand two hundred Kenku warriors. We are... particularly skilled in night warfare. Let us be your shadows — we strike where they do not look."
Aeron nodded, grim satisfaction in his eyes.
"Then it is decided. We will combine our strengths."
He paused, the moment pressing in.
"The war will be upon us in six months. We must use every moment to prepare — to train, to forge trust, and to stand as one."
Outside the very same hut, on the terrace, Rook sat in shadow, listening to the voices within.
His face was buried in his hands, a single tear tracing down his cheek as the terrible bargain unfolded.
The fate of his people, he knew, was already sealed.
* * *