RISE OF EROS

While things were taking a strange turn in Cannes, far away in the realm of the demons, an even stranger situation was taking place. In the mountain forest to the south in the territory of the harpies, an unexpected situation developed.

The night breeze used to be a balm for Ayla, caressing her feathers as she slept in the tallest tree in her home. The canopies of the poplars surrounding her nest formed a natural barrier against the cold and danger.

The chirping of crickets and the hooting of owls were the music of her childhood, and although her mother insisted that she never stray far from the clan, Ayla had always felt that the world down there was calling to her with a seductive whisper.

But that night, the whisper turned to screams. Ayla woke with a start when a rumble split the air. She opened her large amber eyes, still sleepy, only to see flames rippling between the trees. Smoke rose in thick columns, mixing with the smell of burning flesh and incinerated wood.

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"Ayla, wake up!" her older sister Kaelyn shouted, shaking her urgently. The force with which Kaelyn pulled her arm nearly caused Ayla to fall from the nest. "We're under attack. Run!"

Her sister's words didn't have time to settle in as a projectile tore through the air, striking a nearby branch and shattering it into splinters. A piercing roar echoed below.

Ayla turned her head to the base of the tree, where figures cloaked in black cloaks and hoods moved like living shadows. She couldn't see their faces, only the metallic glint of the weapons they carried.

"Who are they?" Ayla asked, her voice shaky and barely above a whisper. "It doesn't matter. "Run!" Kaelyn spread her wings and launched herself into the air, throwing a feather towards Ayla as a signal for her to follow. But fear held Ayla paralyzed, her claws gripped tightly to the tree bark.

Suddenly, one of the figures raised a bow and fired an arrow wreathed in flames. Kaelyn narrowly dodged the projectile, but the movement was clumsy; the arrow grazed her wing, making her cry out in pain as she lost height. Ayla, seeing her sister fall, felt the first hint of despair that would soon consume her.

With her feathers ruffled and her heart pounding, she pushed herself off the branch and into the open air. The night wind whipped at her face, but it was not the usual caress: now it was a cruel whip that reminded her of the urgency of her situation.

"Over here, Ayla!" Kaelyn shouted from the ground, crawling through the bushes as she tried to hide. Ayla swooped down to catch up, but a sharp flash to her left forced her to turn sharply. Another arrow passed close by, and this time she felt the stinging burn of a shallow wound on her left leg.

The pain was minor compared to the terror that enveloped her. Why were they attacking them? Harpies were not known for being aggressive; her clan, in particular, had lived in isolation from the world, subsisting on hunting and foraging.

Ayla had never had direct contact with other sentient beings, but her mother's stories of their greed and hatred for creatures like them were enough to keep her away. As she neared the ground, she realized that the bushes were no longer shelter. The hooded ones were everywhere, moving with terrifying coordination.

Kaelyn lay motionless among the roots of a tree with an arrow stuck in her back. Ayla opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her mind clouded, and her instinct drove her to run.

The tangled roots of the forest were not made for her bare feet. Ayla stumbled several times as she ran, her wings folded tightly behind her to keep them from getting caught in the branches. Each time she stumbled, the weight of her own body reminded her that her small frame was no match for the rough terrain.

The cries of the hooded men rose up behind her, like a pack of dogs chasing their prey. She didn't know how long she had been running, but the forest seemed endless. Her breath was a broken whistle in her throat, and each beat of her heart felt like a death knell ringing in her chest.

A flash of moonlight between the trees illuminated a small stream in front of her. Ayla dove into the water, hoping the current would mask her trail. The cold of the water bit at her skin, and the effort of fighting the current made her stagger, but she continued.

Luck was not on her side, however. One of the hooded figures appeared to her right, raising a curved sword that reflected the pale glow of the moon. Ayla barely had time to turn before the blade sliced ​​through the air next to her face. With a shrill cry, she beat her wings desperately, raising a cloud of water that momentarily blinded her attacker.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Ayla climbed out of the stream and onto higher ground. Her legs shook, her claws bled from wounds caused by the stones, and every muscle in her body cried out for rest. But fear was still a more powerful driver than exhaustion.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Ayla came to a clearing. The full moon illuminated the place, and in the center was an old, twisted, moss-covered tree. The young harpy collapsed at the foot of the trunk, gasping and crying silently. She felt alone, scared, and broken, her wing feathers disheveled and stained with blood.

A pang of pain forced her to look at her leg. The arrow wound, though shallow, was still bleeding. She tore a piece of cloth from her dress and tied it around her leg to stop the flow.

Her hands shook so much she could barely tie the knot, and tears fell silently down her cheeks as she thought of her family. Her mother, her sisters, Kaelyn. Had anyone survived? She wondered.

The sound of crunching leaves interrupted her thoughts. Ayla raised her head, her body frozen in fear. The shadows of the black-hooded figures moved through the trees, slowly approaching.

"I can't die here," she thought, with a mix of terror and determination. Leaning against the tree trunk, she struggled to her feet. Her left wing was bent at an odd angle, rendered useless by a wound she didn't remember receiving. Despite the pain, she unfurled her right wing and beat hard, lifting herself off the ground with monumental effort.

The takeoff was clumsy, and every movement was agony, but Ayla managed to rise above the trees, leaving behind the black figures who screamed in fury at seeing her escape.@@novelbin@@

The horizon began to turn pink and orange as Ayla flew into the unknown. The light of dawn illuminated her dirty, tired face, and though her wounds were still raw, she felt a spark of hope as she saw the mountains in the distance.

She knew she couldn't return home. There was nothing left for her there, but she also knew that as long as she could flap her wings, she still had a chance to survive. The world down there had offered her nothing but pain that night, but now she understood why her mother had always insisted that harpies were stronger than they looked.

Ayla, the young harpy who looked like a child, gritted her teeth and kept flying. Pain and loss would be her companions, but also her driving force to discover who she was, and why the hooded men had destroyed everything she loved.