Drifting over the peaks writhing throughout the canyon, coarse monolithic sections of plateaued stone that arose out of the earth as little fingers searching towards the heavens above, Daedalus flew. His wings fully outstretched and grabbing at the warm currents of air around him with relative ease and learned grace. This far into the morning sky the warmer pockets of air had begun to drift upwards and made flying far easier to navigate. Granted, he would not have needed the aid, it was refreshing to have all the same.

His rustic skin, red, tough and tanned over countless hours that bled into days all spent flying and gathering for his home, his tribe. Nearly all were spent here within this canyon. His favorite of them all. You could see clear across the lands in all six directions, and the countless ones between them. From the desert to the rotting cliffs of the south, and even to the edges of the world where the main continent began, with all its countless problems that could be seen. His brother had introduced him to this place. They had spent much time learning to fly and hunt, and later on, they would fight here. This place more than any other was his home, and he knew deep in his chest, that it would remain as such for the remainder of his days.

Along to the eastern winds he found himself drifting, towards the rolling lands of green and patched us dusty stones. The hunting would be lean and thin at best here. As such he leaned out of the thermal breezes and flapped his wings until he was more in line with the north, the land of rivers and trees, all of which died and fell to ruin past the dark lines of a kingdom that none no longer knew the name of. Daedalus had asked and found no answer more satisfying than that of his grandfather. The kingdom had expanded and grew, it grew and grew, until such a time that the rulers of this marvel, this testament to the power and might of the Drituk people, challenged the very sky itself, and all of its denizens above even then.

“What of these, people?” Daedalus had asked, leaning closer to the fire burning between them in the night, “What happened of them?”

“Oh?” His grandfather, the oldest of the dragonlings that Daedalus had ever known, turned a sad eye to the north, dark now save for the endless stars above them, “That is, a tale for another time. I am afraid, all that I will say now, however, is that they are all gone. And their lands and works have fallen to how they now lie before us today. Mighty and ruinous they may now be. To gaze upon them in their splendor, that a sight it must have been to behold…”

Daedalus’s grandfather was wise, and had seen much in his years. Though even he refused or did not know enough to tell of this kingdom more so than this. And it was to be enough for him, his elder passed on soon enough after telling him this sliver of a story. And none came closer to telling him of this truth.

Below he spied a grouping of rabbits and elk, each running through patches of trees and wildlands that raced stagnant below him. He had drifted further than he had thought. Daedalus let his weight do the work for him as he lowered his altitude to be closer to the earth below.

Careful to not let himself be heard until it was too late, he tucked in his wings and extended his claws. Closer, closer, closer. The elk stood motionless. A single, simple twitch of the right ear. Daedalus narrowed his form, allowing himself to move faster and with less drag. The elk sensed something. Their body jolted, a moment too late. Contact. He tackled the elk, bringing it to sunder with his now clawed hands. He made the elk’s death quick and brief, with as little pain as he could possibly allow.

He devoured as much as he could without filling his stomach too far to become cumbered. The remainder of the elk he drained of blood, allowing it to spill along the rocks nearby, just between the edge of the glade and the plains beyond them. So that he could find this meat again once it had bled out properly, he marked the largest stone of the clearing with a symbol of his own division. A tip of an arrowhead, pointing ever towards the true way of things.

Wiping himself of the signs of his hunt on the cloth he wore about his legs and waist, he then took to the skies once more. The day had begun to cede itself away from the apex, and was beginning the raiment of the darkness that will later follow after the setting sun.

Daedalus flew to the west this time, away from his hunting grounds. More so towards the fires of his tribe. They would be burning soon enough. He would leave the elk for another time, instead he would bring with him the remains of a hunt he had stored underground along the way. The tribe would have little need for the rabbits, elk, or carapaces he would bring to them, the betterment and feeding of the young took greater precedents over such things. And Konliona would be there waiting for him. As would his younger siblings. All would be awaiting the hunters, and the gifts of nature they bring along with them.

The larger pack of hunters had been away for nearly one moon already. They took flight at the sighting of a great beast that traveled to the north-east. A great winged monstrosity that would make men out of them all. Unable to join the others due to his age, Daedalus had been among the chosen to stay behind and feed the remainder of the tribe in the hunter’s steads. A noble decision, though one he himself would not have chosen. His eldest brother, Valrus, tall, strong, and gentle was chosen to go with the pack of hunters.

Do not construe this imagined slight as one that would lead Daedalus towards anger and pettiness. He was little of the sort to allow such emotions to rule his heart and mind. His was the ideal life of hunting when he felt the need, travel wherever his need took him, and rest however he was able to do such. To dwell on the petty trivialities of imagined or otherwise slights was not within his nature. It rarely was a trait found amongst the Drituk as it was the normal sentiment of, all things were for the betterment of the tribe, and all of the lives held within.

A whiff of something odd was on the wind. Daedalus sniffed deeply, it was to the southwest now. He began to fly faster. The scents of smoke and blood were among the strands of the wind that rose away from his tribe.

Drawing near Daedalus saw gore, and signs of violence all around. Black puffs of smoke were smoldering away and into the blue of the sky above. The tents of the village, makeshift structures of leather, wood, and stone, were all wrecked asunder and in tattered remains. The ground, the very earth all around, had been drenched in bloodshed and the remains of his people. There was no one who was spared. This much he could tell from the sky without landing. The invaders must have been here a day or so before. Daedalus had been away on his hunting for three days hence.

“Konliona! Spilka! Trarius! Dianea!” He shouted in vain amongst the wreckage. “Are you there? Is anyone yet still here!”

There was no answer. Only remains of the slaughtered replied with concentrated silence. Daedalus found them, those that he had called for in vain. He found them, to his horror he found them all, piece by piece. Little Trarius, young, and small, tiny even, he had yet to achieve his first flight for his wings were not strong enough to support his weight just yet. Dianea and Spilka were huddled in the tent of the medicine woman; their faces and wings had been slashed apart, torn nearly beyond recognition.

Realization found its way to Daedalus while he cradled his fallen love, Konliona. Their wings had all been removed, some by tearing might, or with tempered blades. All of the dead were without their given gifts of flight.

“In death they will never reach the heavens above us all. They, they will never soar with those that left this land…”

In death they are all condemned to walk the earth as the flightless heathens of the north continent, and the islands around it. Only the Drituk were chosen to fly, to hunt with their hands, and to soar together. Without their wings, then, then a Drituk was nothing more than a lowly beast to be preyed upon and extinguished for food. Nothing more, there is no greater insult to those who were born to fly.

Daedalus wept for them all. He wept until he found the tracks and a spear that bore no intent of mystery upon it. A spear wound in the fabric of the Krontu, though the spear itself was of the barbaric tribes to the east. All the other domains of the Drituk were falling to this newer tribe, the Coresh. A tribe filled with violent and evil beings. Daedalus had seen where their tribe had once nested, out beyond the rocky overhanging cliffs some distance away. He knew in his chest he would find them, the ones who had killed all he had known. He would find them soon enough, and with skill, unawares of his comings. Daedalus tasted blood that he could not recognize in his mouth.

The question of waiting for the hunters had entered his mind and he was steady and swift in his choice. And so he took flight. And flew to the east.

It was drifting nigh on darkness when he began to see the embered fires of the Krontu, many miles from his own home. Their structures, crass and hastily constructed, hung along the sides of a river of falling water that cascaded over a steep cliff face. Their huts were rounded in shape and attached with nets mixed with an adhesive that the water would naturally wear out over time. The Krontu would migrate long before then, and as was their tribes nature, leave little to nothing behind them. They were fishermen and harvesters of crafted goods, trinkets, blankets, and stories wound throughout the three.

He knew they had not been complicit in the slaughter, though their nets had been used. And their decorations among the weapons, a rising star beset within a sea of green light. Only they had the craft to accomplish the design.

Two children saw him approaching and quickly disappeared within one of the pod structures. As Daedalus landed on the interconnecting bridges between three of the pods, he was greeted by two faces he hadn’t seen before. Both of the warriors were tall, one had a scar over the right side of his face that stretched from the back of his head, over his ear, and ended just before his eye. The other was marred with the telltale signs of recent bloodshed, his face and arms were littered in scratched, most had begun to heal over.

“Hail! And identify yourself!” One ordered of Daedalus as he approached wielding a spear, one not unlike what Daedalus had seen, draped in a well-designed and made bit of cloth.

“I am Daedalus of the valley tribes! I seek answers!”

The second warrior, the one with the marred visage laughed, his voice mauling with an intent Daedalus knew too well, “And to what questions are you asking, little one? Speak now, for our time and patience are short and nearly run empty.”

“Where is Atreus?” Daedalus leaned to look past the first warrior, eying the second. Finding him at first sight to not have a weapon, Daedalus began feeling his claws as they released slowly at his sides. He didn’t fight the feeling of bloodlust that was washing over him.

“Don’t know. We haven’t seen anyone here with that name before. Best if you move along and leave here. If you know what is best.”

“I see,” Daedalus smiled, all fangs and sharp ends. “In that matter, I recommend to you the same.”

“Oh, do you now? And why is that?”, The one holding the spear stepped closer, lowering the end towards Daedalus.

“Because you don’t know who the chief of the Krontu was.” Daedalus sliced the ends supporting the thin bridge on both sides, he out stretched his wings, letting the gust of air catch him. The two warriors fell and flapped their own wings in a frantic flurry, each movement wasted as they fell into the rocks below. Daedalus swooped down low after them. He witnessed in an instant that the one holding the spear had crashed down and his head slammed into the boulders below, cracking his skull asunder with a sickening noise, barely audible above the roar of the falls.

The other one, he could not tell which it was in the torrent of water, survived the crashing fall against the smooth rocks, and was now rising up gasping for breath and water soaked air. Without a word of warning, Daedalus ripped out his throat with a swipe of his claws, and then stood by on the rocks with his wings fully outstretched. He watched as the basin of water pooled red with the warrior’s life blood. The corpses bobbed amidst the waves, drifting then on down the slow flowing river.

Daedalus flew; he went back up to the Krontu pods hanging alongside the cliff. Several members of the tribe were now peeking out of the openings of their dwellings. The two children he saw before were avoiding his gaze as he perched alongside the cliff face.

“Chief Atreus is dead then?” He demanded of the onlookers.

One of them, an older Drituk woman came forward and nodded solemnly. “They came at the break of dawn three days hence, and slew him. As with the others…”

“Yet they left you alive! And you have done nothing! Nothing! No movement towards righting their deaths!” Daedalus couldn’t hear his own voice rising in volume and anger. “You are not warriors until what you have is taken amongst you! They did not only take your mates, your fathers, your brothers. They have taken your futures!”

The old woman looked for, and found Daedalus’s seething gaze. “We were helpless to stop them child. We were-”

Daedalus felt a fire rise itself to his face, he roared out, “I am child no longer! Do not defend yourselves now. Not while two of your suppressers are floating from the mountain river to the plains! Do not lecture me! My own blood has been spilt upon the plains. My people are little to no more. Lecture me not, crone. I know of you.” Daedalus felt his fangs ache against his jaws, “You were the mate of Chief Atreus. You of all here know the cost of drawing breathe when it is threatened! You most of all know what must be done!”

Rolisine, of the Krontu tribe of the mountains asked of him then, “What will you do of now? What will you have us all do?”

“A caged beast must free themselves before asking the sky where they must go next.” Daedalus answered. “I care not which for your actions. I only have my own council to keep, and no other.”

With this, he released the cliff face and flew further east. The Coresh would dwell further out than he had expected. Their campaign of conquest has reached even beyond his tribe given the demeanor of the Krontu tribe. The chief’s mate, suppressed to such an extent as to ask him what they are wont to do next. Albeit for him to pass judgement on their lives.

Daedalus felt his fist constrict and tighten. “No!” They must rise above suppression! None are spared this savagery that has swept over the tribes of the Drituk. To concede control is to submit to a meaningless death. To being bound by things that knew not the soaring freedoms of the sky, and the stars beyond them.

A flock of birds appeared out of the clouds below him, seeing his shadow they gave shouts and noises of shock and fear. Daedalus paid them no mind and drifted on, instead watching the river leading away from his destination. It wouldn’t be long now. A few more miles until he could find those that had killed and maimed his tribe. The thought of the children, doomed to wander the earth after their brief lives were savagely ripped away from them…

A glint of shadow caught him unawares, and unfortunately, without preparation. A shape was upon him, tearing at him without mercy. Daedalus swiped and tore into flesh, as his own was marred with the claws of an enemy. Realizing the futility of struggling he grabbed his foe, and tucked in his wings.

The attacking Drituk cursed as Daedalus stiffened himself, turning his one hundred and fifty pounds into sheer deadweight. Their words were lost in the freefall down, down towards the earth. They fell as if lovers, tumbling and rolling over and below one another for a moment of control, neither gaining nor losing control. Though to the attacker, Daedalus clearly had the advantage. His strikes rang truer and deeper than their own. And furthermore, of the two of them, Daedalus made no sounds of fear. The only noise from his was of rage, and nothing more.

Before they made contact with the harsh rock filled ground, tall and mighty oak trees that stood betwixt the river bends grew tall between them. Daedalus released his foe from his grasp, and outstretched his wings until he caught a gust of wind beneath them. With a jolt of movement he kicked his foe downwards into the mighty body of one of these large trees.

The enemy crashed into the tree, his wings pierced and mangled amongst the sickening crunching of branches and light bones. Daedalus watched as they collided with the ground before he dived after them. His foe raised his arms to protect himself, though it was not enough to save him. Daedalus ripped out his foe’s chest, pulling stringed sections of organs, meat, and flesh in quick, and horrific movements.

“As hunting squirrels and deer,” he murmured, his eyes remained vigilant at the star filled skies above. “You were not waiting for me, were you?”

His foe, bleeding out could not find the life needed to do more than whimper and choke on their own lifeblood that continued seeping out from their mouth. Daedalus leaned closer to them and examined his prey in their last moments. The foe watched him in horror as he did nothing more than inspect their garb and the pouch at their side.

“You are of the tribe I am after. Coresh.” Daedalus did not smile, or take joy in these last moments. “You were waiting for the hunters to return. I expect there will be more of your brothers lying in wait. No. No need for the look of fear. I am not going to desecrate you as my own people were desecrated. You will die with your wings as you have lived with them.” His words held to false truths, nor hidden lies. Daedalus was true to his words and did not remove the man’s wings. He only had one who he would do such a heinous act against, and it would be for no other.

Walking away from the dead man, Daedalus found his legs weak and at the start of giving out from beneath him. He had killed three warriors and traveled many miles, and as was evident from his body, he would travel little more this night. Daedalus leaned against a tree, someways away from where he had landed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Morning came, unwanted and unheeded in his eyes. Daedalus stretched himself awake and felt himself hungry. He had not eaten since the elk near the forgotten kingdom without a name. Surprised at his lack of appetite and willingness to continue on without food, he decided to heed his hunger. Stretching out his wings he took flight. Mindful of the skies and clouds above him he kept low to the ground. A river peeked out again amidst the foliage, salmon were splashing their way upstream.

Flying near the lip of the water, Daedalus coasted and caught a fish as it rose above the surface of the flowing river and leapt into the air. He devoured this gift of nature with greed, forgetting to thank this bounty for giving life so that he may continue his own. But his mind was elsewhere, and not quite so far away.

A shadow ran along the ground behind him, reflecting off the clear water. Daedalus flew low, following the river as it would around the bend where it branched off from a split of three directions, at the center of which was a small island. Cast with a dozen or so trees along it that grew tall, and grew right, he slowed down to a stop and landed. His feet barely began to sink into the soft wet morning dew that coated the grass of the island when the shadow grew larger and began to come in for a strike.

Daedalus rolled, the shadow dashed over and past him. The shape banked so as to avoid the close grouping of trees, narrowly missing save for the bristles on the end of the branches. Their pause in motion was enough.

“Enough, brother!”

His eldest brother, Valrus, tall, strong, and gentle was glowering as he landed hard upon the soft earth. The look of fire was leaving his eyes and flesh as recognition returned upon him.

“Daedalus?” Valrus looked on in wonder and bewilderment, his eyes a soft blue of the rivers that flow over the mountains. “I took you for a Coresh. You have changed since I last saw of you.”

Daedalus nodded, though did not care to understand the statement. “Much has changed since you have flown off hence with the others. Nearly four days hence our tribe was slaughtered. None were spared in this, none that I could find. Valrus…they…”

“I saw, brother. I saw what was done of them. We returned yesterday, around the falling of the sun, and we found it in ruins.” Valrus watched the skies. “We split off in small packs and traveled east. I followed the rivers from the Krontu until I found your trail here.”

“You may have missed me by mere hours then. I slaughtered the two that controlled the remains of the ever-weaving Krontu, and one hence down river in the night, before resting.” Daedalus stated all of this as a matter of fact.

Valrus noticed the lacking traits his brother now held. “Have you wept for our family? You speak of slaughter as if you were consuming some wild beast. You need rest, my brother.”

“I need nothing!” Daedalus snarled out, exposing his fangs and claws despite himself. “I will find the one who led these beasts to our village. And I will end them myself!”

Valrus said nothing for some time. Then, “You have become a man in my absence, brother. For this I am both proud, and, I am sorry. You are young for the fire to consume you. Be that as it will, I will aid you as I only can. We will hunt these beast and tear them apart. We will condemn them to the earth as they have condemned our own to the same. This I vow to you.”

Daedalus outstretched his wings, and then contracted them against his form, “I accept your aid, Valrus. Though, I only wish flightlessness upon their chief, and no others.”

“And why is that? Are they not all guilty of this atrocity? Should they not all be condemned for this act that they have committed?” Valrus could not believe his eyes and ears at the changes that have overcome Daedalus. He had become a whole other being within these few shallow days. A strong willed Drituk, with the ability to put power and will behind his words and actions. A sliver of fear slipped along Valrus’s spine.

Daedalus turned only his eyes towards his brother, “Only their chief is to be held responsible for the actions of his tribe. Any more is needless and wonton death upon our people as a whole. There has been enough death as is. No more needless death. No more!” His eyes flashed red at the question of his words. There had been enough being a child. Now was the time of action. The time to put away childish notions of petty revenge for its own sake.

No more.

They flew then, following the windings of the river. Valrus leading ahead of Daedalus, for he had ventured this far east once, before it had fallen under the sway of the Coresh. Though his venturing was quite some time ago and much had changed since that time, the land remained the same.

“In six leagues we will need to bank to the north and cut due west a half a league after that. The winds from the mountains will overtake us otherwise,” Valrus advised without turning back.

Daedalus flew faster and came up beside his brother with ease. “How went the hunt?” He asked, ever watching the water and skies about them.

“Well enough,” Valrus said. “We cornered our quarry near the end of the continent. Though I regret not being with the tribe as I was needed. You know this as a truth. Why do you as of the hunt, Daedalus?”

“I have been thinking, brother, that the beast you hunted was sent as a ruse for the massacre.” Daedalus spoke slowly and with great thought, his words were barely a whisper over the wind. “Lest the alternative being that the tribe was watched for some time.”

“Both may be true. What reason would they have had to venture out that far west though? Coresh have always kept to the east, trading and taking from the other tribes there. Why now? We have not been at war with any other tribe in the times of three generations before our own.” Valus was troubled, this much was clear from his tone.

“Whatever the reason may be, they will regret it. Be it justified or not within their own minds.” Daedalus’s voice remained cold and distant. “What of the bodies of our kin?”

Valrus spoke after a drawn pause, “They have been burned, and their ashes buried in the homes of our ancestors. I only wish that they would be able to find the ancestors so that they may still reach the heavens above all things.”

Daedalus said nothing. He noticed the rain that had begun to gather around them.

They flew in silence until they turned back to the east again. Their path had followed the series of rivers until it came closer upon the range of mountains that divided the land in a diagonal split, they then turned north along the forest of dark wooded trees until it ran thin and became empty, then west for half a league until the river returned back in sight. Now bearing east the sun was drawing near its highest point in the sky above them both. They landed on the edges of a large section of grassy plains, filled with few small animals, rats, rabbits, and various things of that size and nature.

“I have not seen any markings or trails of the Coresh having come through along this way. Not since the village of the Krontu have I had much to follow. The scout that attempted to overtake me along the river was something that has kept me on edge.” Daedalus said, and crouched low to the earth. “There have been no other Coresh for nearly twenty leagues. And that alone worries me.”

“And what do you surmise, Daedalus?” Valrus eyed the animals with a hunger filled look in his eyes. They would eat soon enough.

“I suspect that the smaller tribes that have been conquered are being used as satellites of the main horde, where the might and leadership of the Coresh lies. The scouts may not need to report more than a few times in a moon’s cycle. Though it is odd all the same that we have not been attacked in so long.”

“Think that we are being followed? I have not seen nor heard anything on the wind with us.” Valrus looked about them as he spoke. The wind had changed in direction and merit since they had landed in the glade.

Though Daedalus sounded troubled, his outward appearance did not allude to it being so. He rose from listening to the earth, and shook his head. “I do not think we will find much in this direction. The Coresh are said to have been east of the rivers. I suspect that is not the case any longer.”

Valrus looked to his brother, “Where would you have us search next?”

“To the north, where the plateaus on this side of the dividing plains lay tall and proud amongst the deserts at their backs, in the canyons that are buried there. If I were to lead a campaign against the world, that is where I would consider things from. A place of control and vantage, with little chance of surprise to keep my mind awake at the sight of darkness during the night.” Daedalus cast his mind far away from where he was looking. His words had sense amongst them. They rang with the truth and forethought of a military tactician, one such as from the main continent. The continent of the Drituk however, had seen no such tactician in over five thousand years. Not since the ages of fire, blood, and unending night, when all was lost to the unknown. Though this is something lost to history, and irrelevant to the current story.

“Then I suggest,” Valrus said, “We make our way to the west mountains. Three of the other hunters of our tribe are to meet there in two days’ time. We plead with them, and-”

“We plead nothing!” Daedalus interrupted, his eyes burning even in the midday sun. They flashed red with authority. “We do not plead with anyone, ever again. The time for submission has passed and died with our tribe. The time for vengeance, swift and brutal, is now. Go to the mountains and find the other hunters. Tell them of what we know. And do little else. There is safety in having numbers on your side. I am traveling to the canyons.

“If I find them. Then they will also find me. Of their tactics I am not afraid nor do I much care. Go, Valrus. And make haste, for I may have need of the aid of hunters soon enough!” At this Daedalus flew off into the sky.

Valrus could do little but to stare in awe of his younger brother, a child no longer.

“Fly safe, little brother. May your enemies find you in a more merciful mood than you will find of them.” Then Valrus took flight and flew to the western mountains that hugged onto the edge of the horizon, away from the now descending sunlight.

Daedalus slew some small game or other on his way north, where the air grew warm and thin with each fading league that was passed. It was several hours into the night when he took a rest beneath the star filled night.

His grandfather’s words crept into his mind as he began to slip into the arms of sleep.

“Daedalus.”

“Yes, grandfather?” Daedalus replied.

“Have I told you the tale of the three eagles?” His voice breaking in places, and his breathing in others.

Daedalus shook his head. “No, grandfather.” He lied. “I do not know that story. For you have not told it. Is it written within the stars above us?”

“Yes.” His grandfather grinned, nodding his approval he continued, “It is over there. Just to the north, beyond the rain of falling arrows that chase the endless child.” He then pointed to where Daedalus was not looking. A series of stars were there, formed into a cluster that told countless stories. Most of which, as he would tell his grandfather at times, must be buried within a form of truth. “There lie the three eagles, flying high over the heads of the raining arrows. Theirs are the lives of those that guide us all. Soaros, the one there, guides the souls of those destined to die in battle. No one, not even I, knows where he guides them onwards. Besides him,” His grandfather coughed, his crippled wings fluttered at each gasp for breath. He had grown worse over the last few years.

Daedalus waited patiently for the story to continue.

It was several minutes before his grandfather, once strong and proud, could continue, “Triflas, the middle of the three, and the cunning of them, he is the collector of those lives spent in the service of others. Be it children or, of the elderly.” Daedalus’s grandfather smiled sadly at his grandson. “I do not wish his guidance on anyone. It is told that he takes them to a land of fire and pain. So that they may guide the suffering of those condemned there till it may become less painful over time.”

Here he paused. Thinking hard on something that Daedalus knew not off, and could not see in the tent with them. His grandfather had thrice done this before, stopped talking mid thought, and stare at a shadow of something that could not be seen by others.

Once he continued it startled Daedalus a little.

“Last is Valrus. Who your brother has as his namesake. Valrus is the protector of those who either conquer, or lead themselves into the pathways of purest vengeance. Much bloodshed and death haunts those Valrus watched over. His keep eyes can see the signs of it, dwelling as fish beneath a river’s surface, waiting to leap out and complete their task. Be mindful, Daedalus, of which eagle you find in your future. I fear as to guess as to which eagle may find you. Just, please be careful, Daedalus. Please.”

“I will, grandfather. I will.” Daedalus said, waking up from the memory.

Morning was some time away judging from the dim light seeping out of the overcast sky overhead. Daedalus rose to his feet and watched the stars. The eagles were leaving his sight, Soaros was bleeding into the rim of a series of clouds that moved lazily to the west, his brother Triflas watched over the lands, keeping a keen eye over those of his own interest, Daedalus was sure he himself was not of this cloth. Last Valrus, whose stars burned the brightest and longest of the night seemed to be judging the world as a whole, and all those that dwelt upon it, searching for something that was surely not to be found. Daedalus watched these shapes built of stars for some time, before taking flight, and continuing on towards the north. And the bloodshed that would lie in wait for him there.

Chapter Two – The Rising before the Falls

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