Icarus couldn’t help the fact that his eyes bugged out of his head when Grover walked into his bar. The griffon king simply swung the door open, tossed a few coins to Icarus, and then promptly sat down at the bar. “So… what’s the special?”

Icarus swallowed and looked around. The bar was still empty, likely because all of the king’s fans were off looking for him. “This place is going to be swarming with your fans any minute now, isn’t it?”

Grover held out a wing, showing a feather with an inked symbol on it. “Iris has been tinkering around with some rather… unique runes. Draw them on feathers, and you can have nearly any function, so long as you avoid straining them. Plus Grace happens to be really good at making it look like whoever she’s walking with has an intimate relationship with her. Your brother-in-law is serving as her little puppet. We’ll be fine, at least for a while.”

“You know,” a voice murmured as Iris materialized in the middle of the room, “it isn’t much of a secret if you go telling the bartender about it.”

Grover glanced at her and gave her a wolfish grin. “I mean, this might spur you into perfecting those a bit faster. Oracles and all things considered.”

“If I wanted to serve as your warmachine, I would have applied as that back when we met on Maelstrom.” Iris turned her crystalline eyes to Icarus. “I assume you’re Icarus, yes?” Icarus managed a slight squeak, which made Iris roll her eyes. “If ever there was a griffon that deserves a medal, it might well be you.”

“Why?”

“Because, according to what Grover tells me, you’ve got Rook as your most common patron. That idiot needs to get back to sailing. Or at least finding a form of sailing that doesn’t involve him coming back here at the end of each voyage.”

“Every type of sailing involves returning home,” Icarus murmured.

“Then he should get a different job,” Iris snapped.

“He’s a cartographer,” Grover pointed out, leaning back in his chair as he watched Iris. “One of our best. I’m not firing him.” He swung his gaze to Icarus. “So, you never did answer me. What’s the special?”

“Um…”

“Here,” Grover said and plucked the rune coated feather from his wing and set it on the table. “Look at that and tell me the special. Less face-to-face that way.”

Iris sighed as the feather disintegrated, sweeping the ashes onto the floor with a wing. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t waste my work.”

Grover nodded, but then turned to Icarus, raising an eyebrow.

Icarus swallowed as he glanced at Iris. “I’m making porridge, seeing as it’s not yet lunch… but why is she so talkative?”

“Equestrians are like addictives,” Iris muttered. “They’re a freaking terrible thing to get used to.”

Grover chuckled softly as Icarus returned his gaze to the king. “I’ll take the special, plus whatever else you might have handy. I need to get something to eat before Grace gets bored of this charade.”

“Frankly,” Iris murmured, “your mate sucks at times.”

“Shush,” Grover hissed back as Icarus began to work. “You’re not still bitter about that, are you? I thought we’ve been over this.” He paused to look at Icarus, who had the air of a griffon bent on not hearing a thing.

Iris frowned slightly, an expression that was only enhanced by her icy features. “Is this really the place to discuss that type of thing?”

“You brought it up.”

There was a moment’s pause, during which Icarus kept his head stuck in a barrel, feigning deafness. Iris looked nervous for a moment, took a second to scratch something on the ground- the runic word for hidden, then vanished in a tiny flash of light, leaving a hazy afterimage of fog. A few seconds later, she reappeared at a table in a far corner of the inn, where the walls blocked a fair portion of the light. Grover sighed, his eyes almost sad. He returned his attention to Icarus, a smile beginning to spread across his face. “So, Icarus, how have you been? It’s been what, six months?”

“Seven and a half,” Icarus murmured as he came out of the barrel, clutching a couple herbs close to his chest as he stood up. He went to work with haste, lighting a fire in the small fireplace behind him and hanging a pot over it.

Grover watched him work, but did not say a word. The monarch quietly tapped a digit against the bar, which was the only sound in the nigh empty tavern. Icarus occasionally glanced over his shoulder, a mildly nervous expression his face, but aside from that there was little activity.

While Icarus was in the final stages of preparing the meal, Grover finally spoke. “Rhea says hello.”

Icarus paused and looked up, a slight smile on his face. “Huh. Is she enjoying it down in Equestria?”

“So-so,” Grover said, taking a bite of his porridge in between sentences. “She’s become the unofficial official diplomat, so there’s that.”

“Like Fairy Flight?”

“First off,” Grover said, one of his eyebrows rising, “you weren’t in that crowd. How did you hear that? Second, no. She’s here on other business.

Icarus smiled slightly, but he didn’t turn around. “Oh, you know. My niece was in the crowd. She makes a wonderful informant. Gabriel’s. She’s a nice fledgling”

“Cetan?”

“Nah,” Icarus said, pausing to take Grover’s dish and carrying it to the pot and refilling it, “Kestrel. You know she’s obsessed with sailing. Evidently, the king sailing into the harbor makes for a wonderful attraction. The inn’s been coming along well, and she makes for a great way to refill on news from the sailors. The harbor, for all of its dangers, is Kestrel’s and Cetan’s element. For different reasons, of course, but that doesn’t really matter.”

"There a reason she isn't here now?"

"Not in particular," Icarus said, dipping his hands in a bucket of cold water. "But I am grateful for her absence."

"Not a fan of her knowing your exploits with me?"

Icarus snorted. "Wasn't my idea. Gabriel requested it when he realized that the Oracles weren't just a passing craze. Far as Kestrel knows, I sailed with Simurgh for a handful of years, and that was the end of my sailing career." He sighed and stirred the porridge pot with a spoon. "Aside from that, she mostly thinks I've been an innkeeper since I left sailing with Simurgh. Not..."

Grover looked up, nodding in understanding. "And none of your patrons catch on?"

Icarus grinned. "You kidding? Only ones who would know are stuck with you. Gabriel and Njord are the only exceptions, and they sure aren't going to tell anyone. Nine years is a long time to remember someone's job, especially when that someone was naught but a cook."

"And a few other things," Grover muttered, giving his friend a sly grin. "Three years gets you a fair bit of authority, especially when you were one of the first to join."

Icarus chuckled softly, smiling when the laugh faded. "You'd be surprised at some of the rumors people have about me. There's plenty regarding me working with you- but there's also plenty about me being the griffon god of cooking, so it tends to get tossed aside."

Grover smiled as he dug back into the porridge. “Wonder what they say about me.”

Icarus paused in the middle of his cooking to look at Grover, a nervous look on his face. “Um…”

“Out with it.”

“You sure?”

"Icarus."

"They're not common," Icarus admitted, removed the spoon from his pot and turning to face his friend. "But there have been a few rumors circulating, about, well..."

Grover cast a sidelong glance at Iris, who was fiddling with some silverware left at her table. "About what, exactly?"

“Regarding the things going on since you left. About the Oracles, the Idol of Boreas’ origin, and what the Oracles want.”

This did get Grover to look up. “What about it?”

Icarus’ throat felt dry as he continued. “Well, some are saying that the Idol, isn’t, well, you know… real.”

Grover’s stare was icy, but the look that Icarus hadn’t expected was the one from Iris. She looked like she was having a seizure, and Icarus half expected her to breathe fire. She charged towards Icarus, towering over him like a monster from a long gone age. “What?” She hissed. “Who’s saying that?”

Icarus let out a nervous squeak. “Just random griffons. I don’t exactly have a list.”

Iris opened her mouth to speak, but Grover silenced her with a wave of his talon. “Nevermind, Iris. Anything else, Icarus?”

“Are some of the other rumors true? Are some of the Oracle’s actually your former crew members? The Viper being captained by your half-brother or something like that?”

Grover snorted, Icarus’ previous question seemingly forgotten. “Trust me. If Drake was my half-brother, I’d not be standing here today. He goes out of his way to eliminate records of his past. Including burning priceless documents when they’re chilling next to his own birth records.”

“Still bitter about Roc Point’s library?”

“There’s no such thing as being bitter about the destruction of centuries of records. Icarus, we were meant to go in there, arrest that loon, and promptly take out one of the deadliest pirates in history.” Grover ran a talon through his feathers, an expression somewhere between a snarl and a grimace on his face. “Well, we lost the records of about half of the previous pirates, so we ended up losing a lot of baselines, but the point still stands.”

Icarus gave Grover a bitter look. “It’s not my fault he had a torch. It was a tree! You’re not supposed to have fires in there in the first place!”

Grover waved a talon towards the ceiling. “He’s a known fire runist. Why would he not be using fire of some kind?” He sighed, rubbing one corner of his eye with a wing. “Suffice to say, yes, I’m still bitter about that library. But we’ve got bigger issues right now. Such as the fact that Gareth is on the up-and-up again.”

Icarus whipped around, knocking the pot over and spilling the remaining porridge onto the ground, as well as some sparks. He swore and doused it with a wave of his wing, grimacing as he turned back to Grover. “You can’t be serious.”

Grover raised an eyebrow as Icarus began mopping up the porridge. “I am dead serious. He was hanging out near Equestria, in fact. There’s a reason I cut my stay short. I think he’s following me. Not sure why, though.”

Icarus frowned, rubbing his chin. “Maybe it’s the fact that you’re the damn king of the griffons. You also happen to claim to have beaten up the Stormlord, had an affair with his eldest daughter, and trounced up whatever lies beyond the fog.”

“You’ve improved your sarcasm.”

“Rook’s been in port for the past three months. It happens.” Icarus sighed as he took Grover’s now empty bowl, this time depositing it in his sink. He turned back to his friend, a sour expression on his face. “You could be a bit more… mystic, is the word I want. You claim to have fulfilled hundreds of prophecies, yet here you are chatting with a barkeep about local news.”

“Can’t help it.”

Icarus waved a talon dismissively. “Sure you can. You just don’t want to.” He ran a talon through his feathers, making Grover take notice of a few grey feathers in his normally white mess. “According to half the rumors I hear about the Oracles themselves, they want you off the throne. Specifically for that reason. The worst thing you could do, as of right now, is be flippant about your achievements.”

Grover grimaced and stepped out of his seat, setting himself back on the ground. He stood there for a moment, clearly lost in thought. Icarus watched him carefully, and after a moment, Grover spoke. “I’ll think about it. Thanks for the food and the talk, I needed that.” He paused, a questioning look crossing his face. "You coming to the party tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it. "Icarus gave a slight nod, smiling at his friend. “Pleasure chatting with you, as usual.”

Grover grinned slightly and turned to go. But, before he could leave, there was a ringing of a bell and Rook stepped into the building. The cartographer looked up, adjusting his hat slightly, and grinned. He turned his head to the doorway, clearly enjoying himself.

Grover swore under his breath as Icarus pointed with his tail up the stairs. “Use the window,” the innkeeper hissed. “Third floor. Second room.” Grover gave a barely perceptible nod, and then dashed off just as Rook turned back to Icarus as he finished saying ‘he’s here.’ Icarus snorted slightly. “I had no idea I was such a celebrity.”

Rook grinned cheekily and made his way to Icarus as the inn slowly began to fill up with griffons. “What? You think I wouldn’t pass up the chance to get more customers in here?”

“Still not giving you free drinks.”

Rook made a mock-sad face, but it was quickly replaced by his grin once more. “Ah, well, at least you’ve got some business now.”

Icarus raised an eyebrow. “Ruining my chat with a friend? Not sure if I prefer the business over that.”

Rook’s grin widened as he pointed towards the door. “Think of it like this: they’ll keep out of our friend’s way, at least for now. Kestrel headed off to see Gabriel, and your friend is… somewhere. Took off shortly after Grover fled. Not sure where.”

Icarus grimaced. “You didn’t think to follow either of them?”

Rook chuckled slightly as he pulled himself into the chair where Grover had sat not moments before. “For starters, I’m not your servant. That friend of yours is probably twice my age, three times as mean, and happy for me to leave him alone. Kestrel’s with her father. Both of them are fine.”

“They weren’t the ones I was worried about,” Icarus muttered under his breath. But he was soon distracted for orders of food or drink, and his work began anew. But as he worked, he couldn’t help but worry about Grover’s, and Iris’, response to his question.

Kestrel grinned to herself as she made her way through the streets of Griffonstone. Following her uncle’s affirmative to, in his own words, ‘spend some bloody time with him’, she had dashed off, slipping through the crowds towards where she knew her father was headed. The crowd, by the time she was halfway through the mile walk, had moved elsewhere, letting her move with ease.

The smell of wood filled the air, which was in part due to her decision to swing by the shipbuilders. The Bounty was being worked on, with her damaged masts being slowly removed by an intricate pulley system. Cetan waved to her as she passed, only to return to shouting at her underlings a moment later.

Kestrel breathed in the smell of the wood, enjoying every second of it. As she walked, her gaze still locked on The Bounty, she failed to notice the griffon right in front of her. There was a collective ‘oof’ as Kestrel was knocked over, while the other merely winced.

“Watch where you’re-” Kestrel began as she began to brush herself off, realizing a tiny bit too late who she was addressing. “Peregrine!” She gasped, gazing in awe at the captain. His feathers were just as untidy as ever, and he carried a thick book under one wing. He clearly looked like he didn’t want to be there, but that didn’t stop Kestrel was gazing in awestruck wonder.

Peregrine raised an eyebrow. “Kestrel?”

“You know me?” Kestrel gasped, unable to help but drop the various papers she was carrying in surprise.

Peregrine frowned, but bent over to help her gather up her papers. “I work for your father, and your sister is fixing my ship. You’re also sitting there while my ship gets unloaded every single day. Yes. I know your name.”

Kestrel winced slightly as Peregrine picked up one of her papers. “Um, I can take that. You don’t need to-”

Peregrine looked somewhere between befuddled and amused as he read the paper. “‘The benefits of using dark oak for runes and rudders?’ This yours?”

“Cetan’s, actually,” Kestrel muttered. “The other ones are mine, that one was what she wrote to get her license.”

“Hm,” Peregrine murmured. “You’ve got quite a talented family.”

“Yeah,” Kestrel assented, collecting the rest of her papers into a pile, enormously thankful that Peregrine hadn’t read the others. “They’re a talented lot.” She did a brief look through her papers to make sure they were all there. She let out a sigh of relief when she spotted all of them there. “Um, Peregrine, out of curiosity, you expanding your crew?”

Peregrine frowned slightly, but nodded. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Kestrel swallowed, thinking about her options. Eventually, she gave her answer. “No reason.”

Peregrine raised an eyebrow, but nodded all the same. “Alright. Take care of yourself.” He set off, leaving Kestrel to make her way to her father’s.

It didn’t take long. Within a couple minutes, she arrived at the tree, her papers still tucked under one wing. She knocked on the door with a burst of energy, quite excited about what might come. After a few seconds waiting outside, the door swung open to reveal Gabriel. Her father’s feathers were disheveled, and she could clearly make out the bags under his eyes, but a smile split his face as soon as he realized who it was.

“Kestrel,” he said cheerfully, widening the opening so she could enter. “Didn’t expect you here today.”

She shrugged, making her way into her father’s study as she did so. “Well, you know, figured you would have some free time, what with Grover finally being back and all.” She frowned to take in the mess that lay around her. Her father’s papers covered his desk, spread out like an artist’s canvas. The smell of paper and wood filled the air, a scent that Kestrel quite liked as a refreshing break from the smell of her uncle’s inn.

A pair of small necklaces sat in the middle of her father’s desk, placed on top of the open pages of a massive, thickly bound book. She made her way towards them, picking one of them up and turning it over. “This mom’s?” She asked as Gabriel made his way over to her.

Gabriel took the necklace from her talons, fingering the cloudy shape on it. “Yes, actually.” He sighed and pulled up a chair, positioning himself across from his daughter. “We had a pair made. Or, more accurately, we each made one. Your mother has the one I made, and I got the lucky part of the deal and ended up with the half-decent one.” He raised an eyebrow. “This has never come up before?”

Kestrel grinned. “Well, you know, always a fun story. Plus, you know, mom’s in town one month every year, you’re busy twenty-four seven, so I figured I’d get a dosage of stories about you two at the same time.”

Gabriel snorted under his breath. “And how is Icarus treating you?”

Kestrel waved a talon dismissively. “Wonderful, as always.” She had begun to finger the other necklace, turning over the blue stone inquisitively. “What’s this?”

“That,” Gabriel muttered, removing it from her talons as she almost dropped it, “is currently the only possession of Raven’s that we have. Touch it again and I’ll have to kick you out.” He watched his daughter for a moment, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his beak as her’s dropped open. “You look like a fish,” he commented. “And before you ask, no, you cannot take it to show your uncle.”

“But-”

Gabriel waved a talon dismissively to her, drawing an irate look from her. “Last thing I want you doing is fiddling with anything the Oracles have gotten their claws on.”

Kestrel frowned. “Well, can you at least look over my application?”

“Application?”

She grinned, taking the papers out from under her wing and setting them on the table. “To join Peregrine’s crew. It’s been ages, but I think it’s finally time to get a job. Besides, it runs in the family. Icarus sailed, you sailed, mom sailed, Cetan works with ships, we’ve got it in our blood. What better occupation for me to take an interest in?”

Gabriel looked through Kestrel’s papers, a frown creasing his features. As he continued to advance through the papers, it only worsened. Kestrel grinned, seemingly oblivious to her father’s expression. “So, what do you think? Am I qualified, or am I qualified?”

Gabriel said a word, then promptly covered his mouth when he realized that Kestrel had heard it. “Am I allowed to mention that comment to Icarus?” Gabriel said another word, then instantly regretted it as well “Wow, thank you so much, dad. You’re expanding my vocabulary so much.” She waved a dismissive talon. “Nevermind, dad. So, you like it? I was sure to include all of the stuff about previous experience, understanding of sails, ranks, and so on, just so that it’d be great. All the stuff I’ve learned from you, it’ll finally pay off.” She beamed at him, her smile radiant. “So, do you think Peregrine’ll take me?

Gabriel sighed and removed his talon from his mouth. “No applications.”

Kestrel frowned. “What?”

Gabriel repeated himself. “No applications to join Peregrine. You’re not going anywhere near the cabins on that ship.”

“Well, I’ll admit that it’s probably a bit risky, considering how often you send them after the Oracles, but I really enjoy the idea.” She made a so-so gesture, watching her father for a hint of a positive reaction. She didn’t get it- he was stone faced, probably more than usual. There were a few seconds of silence between them, where Kestrel could have sworn she heard the creaking of the tree. When she couldn’t take the silence any further she decided to blaze ahead, continuing her upbeat method of pitching her idea. “Well, what about a different crew? Like Brighid’s? She’s a good captain.”

“Brighid goes to the far north on regular occasions. You’re not going anywhere near there.”

Kestrel sighed and leaned back. “Fine. But what about Rook?”

Kestrel promptly learned her third new word that day. “Do you want me to tell your mother that you’re sailing with Rook?”

“Point taken,” Kestrel muttered, wincing slightly. She looked away from her father for a moment, rummaging through her papers, drawing another irritated look from Gabriel. After a sterm ‘ahem’ from her father, following her knocking a rather large book onto the floor, she looked up and grinned. “So, what ships can I join? Any recommendations? I’ll admit, those three were my first pick, but I’m certain you know plenty of great captains. Any favorites you’ve got?”

Her father took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Kestrel,” her father said, looking almost terrified in the dim light of his study, “you’re not joining any ships.” Kestrel’s jaw dropped in shock. She opened her mouth to speak, but Gabriel cut her off. “The Oracles are killing griffons, whether for sport or for whatever they’ve got planned. You are not applying to join any ship, nor would any ship try to take you at this time, given the dangers that the profession holds.”

Kestrel let out a nervous whimper. “But…”

Gabriel cut her off once more. “Your mother and I, we’ve met the Oracles on occasion. We’ve both almost died. A friend of mine was killed years ago by one of their earliest members. Until Gale swings from a noose, you’re not joining a ship.

“The Oracles, up until this point, have been the direct cause of the deaths of one hundred and eleven various griffons, and have indirectly caused hundreds more. The risk associated with joining a crew, especially at your age, is in no way recommendable or wise.

“I don’t care how much you want to join a ship. You’re not doing it. It isn’t safe. Damn it, I can’t let you. There’s enough going as is.” He focused his gaze above his daughter’s head, too worried about looking down. “If you want to get a job, join Icarus at the inn, or Cetan at the shipbuilders. But I cannot let you leave the city, not right now.”

He swallowed, finally looking down at Kestrel. Kestrel looked at him in turn, tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. “You mean that?” Gabriel nodded, wincing slightly as he did so. Kestrel promptly burst into tears, gathered up her application, and fled from the building, leaving Gabriel in his study.

Gabriel said another word, which would have made it Kestrel’s fourth new one for the day, were if not for the fact that she was far out of earshot by now, nor would she have listened to another word uttered by her father.

Later that day, Rook chuckled slightly as he cornered Peregrine in an alley. He had arranged his hat in such an angle that he looked like what was, in his mind, a dashing rogue, and had managed to accost his friend before he could reach The Bounty. A few shifty looking merchants watched them with interest, but none of them looked like they wanted to speak with Rook.

Peregrine rolled his eyes as he turned around. “What do you want?” His tail lashed back and forth in a jittery motion, and in-between words his gaze would flicker to the direction of the docks.

Rook grinned and put a wing around the larger griffon, a feat that some might deem impossible, and started talking like someone trying to sell you a sham product. “Come on to the party tonight.” He waved a talon in an arc, his tone taking on a wistful quality. “Can’t you imagine it? First feast in Grover’s honor since he took off for negotiations with the rival nations. Njord, Shikra, Gabriel, Grover, Brighid, they will all be there.”

Peregrine frowned and nodded slightly, the fading light making his green feathers look surprisingly dark. “That might be nice.” He turned towards the direction of the Tree, where all ceremonial events tended to take place. All non-ceremonial events were inevitably held at Icarus’ inn, and with too much wine in everyone’s body. But before Peregrine could start walking, Rook’s words came out.

“They’ve even saved you a seat of honor.”

Peregrine turned around to glare at Rook. “What?”

“Like I said, there’s a seat of honor saved for you.” Rook’s grin was wide enough to escape the confines of his hat, which was probably not good for his long-term health.

Peregrine let out a groan of discomfort, his gaze returning to the direction of the docks. “Why?”

“You’re Gabriel’s number one. Of course you’re on the list of honored guests.”

Peregrine, had he possessed them, would have long since ground his teeth to dust. He glanced once more at the docks, then turned back to Rook. “I assume they’re expecting me but don’t want to admit it?”

“Why else would they have sent me?” Rook beamed, displaying a sadistically wide smile. He grabbed the larger griffon by the wing, dragging him in the general direction of the tree, leaving the shady merchants watching them bitterly. “You could just come,” Rook said to them as he dragged Peregrine away.

Walking past the various buildings in the city, the two of them made their way to the tree, where shouts and excited voices could likely be heard all the way to Procella. Griffons crowded the roots and streets surrounding the tree, either having decided not to go in or simply just enjoying the massive party that was going on outside.

Peregrine swallowed. “How many griffons came?”

Rook shrugged as they pushed their way through the crowd. “I don’t know. Probably about half the city, plus visitors, so… hundred fifty, two hundred?”

Peregrine blanched. He whipped around, prepared to run, but Rook’s grip was too tight. The griffon dragged his friend into the building, shutting the door behind them with a slam. “Ta-da,” Rook said cheerfully as Peregrine looked ready to faint.

A mob of griffons filled the tree. Peregrine could spot the majority of his crew mingling with the crowd, as were a few of his old friends, such as Brighid and the now vanished Rook. He muttered a curse under his breath, but made his way to the table where Grover, Gabriel and the rest of the governors sat, doing his best not to throw something at Rook’s mousy black mess of feathers that he spotted by Brighid, who was smirking slightly in his general direction.

Aquila gave him a slight nod as he made his way to the table, her eyes cheerful. “Captain.”

“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath as he took the seat to the left of her, which sat, conveniently, by Gabriel. He gave a respective nod the governors and the king, who was busy speaking with Njord, head of clan Notus, in hushed tones.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow as Peregrine sat there, eyes cast to the floor. “Something wrong?” he asked quietly, shooting a questioning glance at Aquila when Peregrine didn’t respond.

“He probably wanted to slip into some dark room somewhere,” Aquila said coolly. “That’s what he does.”

Gabriel patted Peregrine on the back, earning him an irate look from the captain. “Peregrine, it’s one day every few months. Stop moping.”

Peregrine refused to speak, still focusing intently on his meal, a mixture of meats and various plants harvested from the surrounding area. He nudged it every so often, mostly as an excuse to not have to talk to an of the griffons who swung by the table.

A few minutes later, he turned to Gabriel nervously. “Sir, I’ve got a question to ask you about your daughter-”

Gabriel sighed. “Which one?”

Peregrine frowned slightly. “Oddly enough, both of them. Long story short, I bumped into Kestrel at the docks, and I noticed she had a pile of pages regarding ships and the like-”

Gabriel let out a quiet moaning, rubbing his eyes with a talon. To Peregrine's surprise, he looked almost on the brink of tears. “Peregrine, tomorrow. Please.”

Peregrine frowned, but nodded and returned to his food, unwilling to aggravate his employer. Peregrine perked up slightly at the smell of salmon that was wafting out from the kitchen. When it was eventually brought out by a group of chefs, among whom he spotted several griffons he knew, Peregrine didn’t hesitate to dive into the delicious meal, finally enjoying himself for the first time that evening. He assumed that Icarus had had a hand in its cooking, given that he tasted a variety of spices only used at that inn, and the simple fact that Icarus handled ninety percent of catering in all of Griffonstone.

Following the meal, he noticed Grover and Gale get up from their seats, mingling with the crowd and listening to a performance on a variety of instruments done by Rook and his crew, singing a ballad about the origins of their kind. Peregrine shot a look at Gabriel, who seemed to be enjoying Rook’s performance. Aquila, meanwhile, was grinning like a schoolgirl when she found out she got a wonderful grade.

Toasts were had shortly afterwards, with many cheers for a squirming Peregrine and a beaming Aquila, the vanquishers of the formerly undefeated Raven. Grover and Grace raised their glasses higher than anyone, joining in the resounding cheers for the heroes.

Following the toast, Peregrine leaned over to Gabriel to whisper, “they do actually know she’s still alive, right?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Certainly. But according to what you said, she’s out of business for the time being. Not only that, but she’s been around for years, undefeated till recently. Your achievement proves something. That, coupled with Grover’s return, means they’ll toast anything tonight.”

As the night wore on, he spotted the majority of his crew drink too much at the bar Icarus had set up, one after another, until only Aquila was the only one left to drink far too much. He was eventually pulled out of his slump by a nudge from Aquila, about an hour after midnight. The majority of the party had cleared out, with about thirty or so griffons remaining.

He finally looked at her, certain his face was in a scowl. Aquila grinned slightly. “High and mighty captain, would you have any interest of getting away from this table?” She nodded towards the door. “The stars are out.”

“Stormlord,” Peregrine swore, pushing himself out of his chair. “Thought you’d never ask.” Gabriel cast Peregrine a dark look, but refrained from commenting. Peregrine and Aquila made their way out of the tree to where a handful of griffons stood, most of them experienced sailors or one kind or another- a side effect of the business was a stronger tolerance for alcohol, leading the experts to have a higher chance of not having to go home drunk.

The stars shone down on Griffonstone, burning bright in the night sky. Peregrine whistled quietly to himself as he watched them burn. Aquila stood next to him, smiling giddily, although whether that was because she was tipsy or because of the mood was anyone’s guess.

Peregrine glanced at Aquila, muttering bad words under his breath to himself. Aquila, catching a few of them in passing, simply widened her grin and nodded towards the stars once more. Peregrine sighed and sat back on the grassy lawn outside the tree, gazing up through the tree’s numerous branches, where he could make out a handful of nests, owned by the griffons who preferred a more birdlike living condition.

The murmur of his fellow sailors quieted down after a few minutes, having headed back into the tree to rejoin Grover and Grace. Peregrine let out a sigh of relief, putting his talons behind his head to help against the hard ground. “Aquila,” he muttered as she approached, “you were studying Gabriel’s notes earlier, correct?”

Aquila nodded, flopping down onto the ground to join him. “Yes.” She turned her gaze upwards as well, attracting an irate look or two from a few other stargazers above them.

“What’s the Oracle furthest from Griffonstone?”

She frowned, turning her neck so that she was looking at him. “Why do you ask?”

Peregrine sighed. “Being back in the city has made me realize how much I want to get out of it.” He traced the constellation of Ganymede, the great griffon warrior, with a talon as he waited for Aquila’s answer.

She didn’t answer for quite some time, choosing instead to continue looking at the constellations. “You know that we have a duty to the city, not just to you.”

Peregrine sighed, pushing himself back up onto all fours, frowning at Aquila as he brushed himself off. “I know. But…” He trailed off, his frown only deepening.

Aquila’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Peregrine was about to speak, but he was cut off from the sound of the tree’s main door opening to let out Grover, who was followed by a wide crowd of griffons. Peregrine swore again, but quiet enough so that nobody heard him. He sighed and walked over to Grover, giving him a long bow. “Your majesty.”

Grover chuckled. “Seriously, stop that.” He gave a long bow to both Peregrine and Aquila, his eyes dancing. “And how is the night air?”

“Refreshing,” Aquila commented. “Speaking of which, I needed to ask you about something.”

Grover's eyes twinkled. "Ask away. I've had one too many mugs of Icarus' grog tonight, so I'll answer anything."

Peregrine noticed that Grover had his sword tucked under one wing, an odd decision for the party. Not that Peregrine disputed it. He was a deep believer in never going unarmed. He had begun to try to understand the sword's metal when Aquila's next words jolted him out of his thoughts. "Have you ever seem the stars near Roc Point? They're surprisingly..." Aquila and Grover continued their conversation regarding eastern stars, leaving Peregrine to continue doing actual stargazing.

He continued to gaze up at the stars, pondering his thoughts. It felt like yesterday that he had engaged in combat with Raven. While none of his crew would admit it, Peregrine had been confined to the medical chamber for two days after that battle, his chest bleeding profusely. Even if it had come up, he was certain that Aquila, or anyone on his crew, would have claimed he took it dueling Raven herself. In all truth, it had been an ordinary sailor of Raven's who had managed to give him the concealed scar on his chest.

Peregrine cut short that line of thinking, cursing himself for getting philosophical. That was the job of historians. He leaned himself so that his wings held up his back, and he listened intently to Aquila's words. "So, it interested me that the only constellation native to the east that we have here is Ganymede. Is it possible that that constellation doesn't move at all, and is instead-"

“Quiet,” Grover snapped, his expression suddenly dark.

“What?” Aquila asked. She was joined by the murmuring of the incredulous crowd. Peregrine began to reach for the dagger he always kept concealed under one wing, casting nervous looks around as he did so.

Grover took a step forward, moving his wing so that Peregrine could easily reach the massive sword at his side. “Something’s not right.” It took Peregrine a second to notice, but the sword at Grover’s side was trembling, shaking, like a window about to break in a storm.

The crowd at this point was terrified, huddling behind the king and his advisers who had at this point pushed their way to the front of the crowd. Iris cast a look at Grover, who returned it, his eyes furious. Iris was the first to speak. “Impossible.”

Grover was about to speak, but he cut off by a flash of brilliant light. Flames leapt from the epicenter of the flash, burning away the grass, wood and metals in a five foot radius. A massive pillar of flame, striking down at the epicenter, spun there for a moment, like a tornado of fire. It burst in a flash of light, not unlike a cocoon bursting open. By the time that the aftereffects of the light had worn off, a figure stood in the epicenter.

It was like a griffon in shape, if not in other perspectives. Its wings burned with white fire, forcing the gathered griffons to stand a good thirty or forty feet from the figure as it burned. Its eyes, meanwhile, were a dazzling blue, which burned like coals in the night, gemstones in its bleached form. A crown, composed of dark yellow flames, sat upon its head, flickering every few seconds and licking against the air around it.

It stood there, kingly and regal, like something out of a legend. Every few seconds, the flames on its wings flickered to red or yellow, giving it the appearance of dancing flame, despite its lack of movement. After a few seconds, it turned its gaze toward them, a haughty expression in its burning eyes.

Grover covered his still shaking sword with one wing, his eyes blazing with fury. Meanwhile, Peregrine and Aquila reached for their weapons, while Iris stood there, her crystalline eyes glittering darkly in the night.

“Is this how you greet me?” The figure spoke, its voice rich and melodious at the same time. “Your god, Boreas himself?” It cast its gaze across the gathered griffons, the blue eyes piercing and furious. It watched Peregrine draw his weapon, only to wave a talon. Peregrine’s blade burst into flame for a millisecond, turning the blade to a burning liquid. “Stay thy hand,” the figure hissed as Peregrine shook the scalding liquid from his talons, refusing to scream even as he noticed several nasty looking burns.

Boreas turned its gaze to Grover, its hate-filled gaze, smoldering with fury. When it spoke again, it sounded much like a king addressing his subjects. “Grover. My so-called champion. Is this what my champion has been reduced to?” It waved a talon at the circle of flame surrounding it. “A fool, too scared to even approach me.”

They stood there for some time, the god and the griffons, just watching each other. Finally, one nervous voice piped up from the crowd. “I thought the stories said that Grover swore allegiance to you.”

“Lies!” The figure screamed, flames spouting from its mouth and burning away another branch of the tree, bringing down a flaming nest that was incinerated before it touched the ground. The terrified owners of the unfortunate nest fled as Boreas continued its rampage. “Grover,” it roared, pointing a blazing talon at Grover, “is a heretic. A liar and a fool. That Idol,” it continued, pointing towards the spot in the Great Tree, where all knew that the Idol of Boreas sat, “is a mockery. A lie.”

The crowd of griffons, at this point backing away from their leader, cast nervous looks to one another. Grover, years ago, had claimed sovereignty from Boreas’ favor. And now their god was telling them that it all was a lie.

Boreas sneered, looking at the retreating griffons. “Cowards,” it spat. It returned its gaze to Grover. “Shall I prove it to you?” Boreas surged forward, scorching the grass beneath its blazing form as it moved. Before any could react, Grover was raised into the air, a flaming talon around his throat. The burning griffon held Grover aloft, turning its sneer to the panicked crowd. “Do you see this? Your king is a weakling, lying to you all with his heresies and silver tongue.”

Grover’s mouth was moving, but no words were heard, although Peregrine was uncertain if that was because of the crackling fire of the figure, or the pressure around the king’s windpipe. Boreas’ tongue ran across its lips, a hideous, flaming, snakelike thing, more serpentine than birdlike. “You have grown weak,” the creature spat, throwing a gasping Grover to the ground. Grover’s still shaking sword clattered and bounced away from him, landing about thirty feet from the burning figure.

Nobody spoke for some time. Flame continued to dance from Boreas, whose tongue continued to run across its beak. Grover, meanwhile, pushed himself back onto his paws and talons, wiping sweat from his brow as he did so. He coughed, but motioned to Iris. She frowned, but retrieved the sword and approached Grover, seemingly unaffected by Boreas’ heat. Grover took his massive sword back, using it to keep himself standing. “Liar,” Grover snarled, only to burst into a rapid succession of painful coughs. Grace tried to push her way through the crowd to her mate, but Gabriel held her back.

Boreas’ flaming eyes darkened, becoming a shade of deepest blue. “Who is to be believed, then?” The figure made a sweeping gesture to the gathered crowd, a cruel sneer spreading across its face. “The king, barely more than a hatchling when it comes to the world’s dealings, or the god, who can do this?” A small, pulsating sphere formed in the griffon’s talon, burning so bright that all had to shield their eyes.

“Shall I demonstrate my strength to you? Shall I level this city to a crater?” The crowd let out a panicked request for that to not pass. The star pulsated for a few more seconds, but finally Boreas snorted and closed its talon, snuffing out the brilliant orb.

Silence followed. None dared speak for fear of drawing the inferno’s ire. No crickets chirped, nor birds sung, leaving the night in an eerie silence, with naught but the crackling of the god’s form to be heard. The smell of ash and charcoal filled the air as well, radiating from the burnt circle that the figure had created.

Nobody spoke for quite some time. Peregrine counted the seconds in his head, reaching far over a hundred before anyone broke the silence. At last, it was Grace, who had managed to make her way to her mate’s side, that spoke. “You’re not Boreas.”

The crowd gasped. A terrified murmur began to spread amongst them, many of them wondering if Grace had long left to live. The burning figure chuckled softly to itself. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve met Boreas,” Grace said, her voice eerily calm as she helped a still coughing Grover to his feet. “And she sure is a lot less arrogant than you are.”

The crowd’s terrified murmur grew into a panic. Several began to back away, doing their best to draw away from the situation, while some straight up screamed at Grace, asking her what in the Stormlord’s name she was thinking.

The god, meanwhile, watched Grace for a moment, then closed its eyes, replacing blue with white. Its form shook, like a building experiencing an earthquake. Soon, Peregrine realized that it was laughing. It reopened its eyes, which now glowed dark purple, nearly black. “Is that so?” Grace nodded. The figure sneered, running its tongue along its mouth once more. “Very well.”

The griffons' panic was hysterical at this point, almost all prepared to flee in pure terror. But the figure's words stopped them. “I come with a message. Perhaps I should have started with it.” It waved a talon at Griffonstone. “You have grown weak, while the Oracles have grown strong. Soon, they will surpass you. Unless you can stop it.”

Peregrine swallowed nervously, certain that he spelled doom for himself, but he had to know the answer. “And how do we do that?”

The figure turned to look at him, smiling maliciously. “Simple. Beat them to the end of the world.” A wave of intense heat began to radiate from the figure, which was soon followed by a flash of bright light as a pillar of flame struck the earth once more, rising into the air, taking the figure with it. Soon, the figure was gone altogether.

Peregrine stood there, the silence deafening. Then, all hell broke loose amongst the gathered griffon.

Author's Note

Before anyone complains about Boreas using fire powers, despite being the Greek god of frigid winds, I know my myths. The decision I made was not an attempt to disservice the myths, nor do I think that it is illogical. I'd give a longer explanation, but it'd kind of overwhelm this little box.