Amid the mountains of a deep valley, the light of dawn slowly filtered through, illuminating the dense forest that surrounded the mighty river flowing down from its peaks.
In the middle of that river, just before an imposing waterfall, stood a small river island, home to a picturesque and densely populated village.
Though more modern than rural, this village, isolated from everything else, harbored a peaceful agrarian community that lived in constant harmony.
Or at least, thatâs how it had been until that morning.
The bells rang loudly throughout the village, pulling its inhabitants from their sleep. But this time, it wasnât the usual call to start the day. It was a warning: an imminent attack.
To the south of the island, farmers ran back and forth, sharing the terrifying discovery they had just made.
Something unprecedented had happened: their large food stores, the ones they guarded zealously for times of scarcity, had been smashed open and ransacked. The marks on the violated silos showed the traces of enormous claws and deep punctures.
The fear of a giant monster gripped the community, plunging it into chaos. Cries and laments rose from every corner of the village, spreading all around.
Even in the sky, the local birds flew in circles, restless, as if they shared the people's anxiety.
But higher up, in the vast firmament, a figure glided silently, observing everything from above.
It was a strange bird in those lands, a colossal creature that seemed an unlikely cross between a turkey and a hawk. Its size, comparable to that of a giant eagle, was as striking as its unusual features: feathers as black as night, with a neck and head covered by bare skin, shiny and red like a ripe tomato. Its bluish circles under the eyes and exaggeratedly pronounced eyebrows gave it an almost comical appearance.
This bird, devoid of any charm, was exactly what it appeared to be: a turkey-hawk.
More precisely, it was Drygut, the turkey-hawk, who now soared carelessly over the village, delighting in the uproar of its inhabitants.
From above, he let out a mocking laugh, a malicious clucking that echoed in the air. The disorder in the village was music to his ears. No one knew the truth better than he did: Drygut knew perfectly well who had attacked the village in the darkness of the early morning.
Drygut had done it. He was the culprit.
With his chest puffed with pride and his stomach satisfied with the stolen food, Drygut vanished into the clouds, leaving behind the chaos he had sown.
Turkey-hawks were opportunistic and predatory birds, known for their long migratory flights between the southern and northern parts of that world. Capable of crossing oceans, they always left behind a trail of desolation similar to that of a locust plague. For farmers, they were a living natural disaster. Although their usual diet consisted of vegetables and grains, they didnât hesitate to hunt live prey when the opportunity arose.
Drygut, the turkey-hawk, was no exception. Not satisfied with the feast he had indulged in hours earlier, he now flew at medium height over the river, searching for some unsuspecting prey.
He didnât take long to find it.
Barely visible through a light mist, in the middle of a dilapidated bridge, a horned creature was writhing.
Turkey-hawks didnât have eyesight as sharp as eagles. The mist made it even harder for Drygut to see clearly what kind of creature lay before him.
It could be a poisonous needle-nosed snake or perhaps a dangerous hydra hatchling. But if it was a juicy bullfrog, the risk would be well worth it.
Without a second thought, Drygut swooped down and caught the creature clinging to the bridge in his enormous claws. In a short flight, he carried it to the riverbank, dropped it on the sand, and prepared to devour it.
But he froze as soon as he saw what it was.
It wasnât a bullfrog... it was something else... something he had never seen before, yet that felt unpleasantly familiar.
âCough, cough, thank heavens, Iâve been saved!â the Kirin exclaimed excitedly, lying on the beach. âBut who saved meâŚ?â
The Kirin turned around, and upon locking eyes with the fierce Drygut, her expression of relief turned to pure terror.
âAhhh, no, please donât eat me! I donât taste good! I havenât bathed in days! I eat fish! I swear!â
Drygut didnât respond, observing her silently.
âPlease, no, nooo!â the Kirin continued begging through tears and desperate movements that seemed more like an exaggerated performance.
Even so, Drygut didnât move.
âUghhh⌠Huh?â The Kirin, eyes shut tight awaiting her end, paused and cautiously opened one to peek at her would-be executioner.
Drygut was still there, unmoving. But he wasnât looking at her anymore; he seemed to be staring off into some distant point.
âYouâre not going to eat me? I do taste good. You know? Well, thereâs no need to check... Uh, wait, if you donât want to eat me then... Did you actually want to save me?!â the Kirin suddenly exclaimed, surprised and with a beaming smile. âWow, I didnât know your kind cared about doing that sort of thing! This is amazing! My tribe friends wonât believe it, no one will believe it, I still donât believe it, no offense, of courseâŚâ
The Kirin kept talking non-stop, while Drygut, now uninterested, stopped listening to her completely.
Suddenly, the turkey-hawk spread his enormous wings and, with a powerful flap, rose into the air.
âWait, friend, donât go! Iâm a bit lost! Frieeend!â
But Drygut, leaving the talkative Kirin behind, vanished into the mist of the valley.
Hours later, on a high rocky hill, sitting atop a nest made of rotten trees, Drygut gazed out at the cloudy expanse of the valley.
He didnât feel well, and it wasnât because of the intense cold around him.
âPur, pur, purâŚâ he began to hum sadly.
The recent incident with the strange pony-like creature had drained all the good cheer he had managed to gather that morning.
Overeating always helped him forget his problems. But now, that didnât seem to be working.
âPur, pur, purâŚâ Drygut lamented.
Dark clouds moved heavily across the sky. A sudden rain began to fall. Drygutâs red head tucked into his plumage.
He really felt awful.
Someone with enough knowledge of turkey-hawks, upon seeing him, would realize what his problem was.
Drygut was alone.
Birds like the turkey-hawks lived in large and very sociable clans. Of course, there were hierarchies and occasional violent interactions, but generally, there was a good atmosphere among them. Seeing a solitary turkey-hawk was a rarity.
The despondent Drygut knew very well why he was in this situation.
Weeks ago, he had been separated from the clan due to his own negligence. Disoriented, he ended up in a dangerous situation where, for multiple reasons, he was helped by creatures smaller than himself. Although he managed to return to the clan after recovering, he was met with hostility, as rumors had spread that he had accepted help from those creatures and, even worse, that he had befriended them.
For turkey-hawks, that kind of behavior towards other creatures inferior to them was unacceptable. Turkey-hawks were a proud race that didnât need the help of other species. Drygut tried to convince his kin that it was all a misunderstanding. However, the clan leader, the terrible Fathungry, wasnât present, so the punishment he received was decided by others who didnât know him and who disliked him.
His sentence was exile.
Unable to accept it, Drygut caused an uproar. But it was to no avail. The only thing he could receive from his brothers, who didnât hold a grudge against him, was a small supply bag and the merciful opportunity to leave without his wings broken.
With deep pain, Drygut left his kin and the undeserved death sentence if he returned.
Drygut didnât believe in that last part. Since the clan leader hadnât given the sentence, it wasnât final, and he could still contest it. But how could he prove his innocence? How could he regain his pride before his kin?
No matter how much he thought about it, he couldnât find an answer to those questions.
The rain began to pour down heavily on Drygut, hiding the small tears that slipped from his eyes. The small heart of that large bird was aching from the loneliness that surrounded him; even worse, the feeling of abandonment was devouring him from within.
âPur, pur, purâŚâ Drygutâs hum faded into the rain. Overwhelmed by sleep and pain, his mind sank into depressing thoughts and ghostly evocations of the past...
A long time ago, a distant memory, in a forgotten sky...
He flapped his wings with all his might, barely managing to stay aloft.
Ahead of him, a great hawk-turkey soared effortlessly across a clear blue sky.
âMy son, look,â said his fatherâs deep voice.
The young Drygut looked up and saw an object resembling the sun floating on the horizon. Although it resembled the great star he knew, it couldnât be the same one, as that one shone pale behind him.
âWhat is that, Father? It looks like the sunâŚâ asked Drygut, amazed, staring at the mysterious yellow and white sphere.
âThis is the false sun that the ancient gods placed to govern the worldâŚâ
âOh,â Drygut replied, not fully understanding his fatherâs words.
Father and son continued to fly together in the sky. They werenât alone; around them, more hawk-turkeys flew in formation. All the clans had gathered for an extraordinary migration that only occurred once every 175 moons.
An unprecedented journey to an unprecedented place.
Father and son flew toward that destination.
The gigantic yellow sphere grew larger as they approached. All the hawk-turkeys continued their flight until they reached the sphere and began circling it. Gradually, they formed a massive upward spiral, like a black staircase leading them higher into the sky.
In the midst of that impossible flight, Drygut felt the oxygen escaping from his lungs. The air grew colder, and breathing became more painfulâŚ
âHold on,â his father ordered firmly. Drygut kept flying, exhausted, following his fatherâs trail. He could barely see as they left the great sphere behind and continued to ascend.
The pain grew more intense. Drygut felt himself fading; his vision blurred. He could hear the cries of other young hawk-turkeys around him. Faintly, he saw the shadow of some falling from the spiral and disappearing into the light of the immense false sunâŚ
âFather!â Drygut screeched, now unable to see.
âJust a little more, hold on!â his father ordered again.
Drygut kept flapping his wings desperately, but he no longer felt himself rising. Fear flooded his being, but he still believed his father was ahead of him, that he could still reach him⌠untilâŚ
Drygutâs thoughts stopped.
Suddenly, what had been bright and white before his eyes turned black. Everything felt light; the pain disappeared. He could breathe again.
It was like flying without flapping his wings, like falling into an abyss and feeling everything rushing toward him and suddenly⌠waking up.
âIâm deadâŚâ he said to himself in disbelief, still disoriented.
âNo, son. Youâre aliveâŚâ his father replied proudly, placing his great wing over him.
Drygut tried to respond, but he couldnât. All his attention was caught by the fascinating place that surrounded him. The young hawk-turkey turned his head, marveling at how the world around him had taken on a new form and color.
There, at one end of the heavens, existed a hidden sky above the remote North Pole. Above the false sun, once every equinox, a door would open to a forgotten place.
Drygut found himself on an infinite white ground, under a red sky. Around him, all the adult hawk-turkeys stood like devout worshippers, gazing intently in the same direction. Some clucking prayers, others extending their wings to the sky, but all were attentive, all vigilant...
His father was also looking in that direction.
Intrigued, the young Drygut lifted his gaze and observed what everyone was staring at.
âThis is the god of the skiesâŚâ said his father.
Drygut began to tremble at the presence slowly descending toward them.
A massive black block loomed above everything, like a square celestial body in a red sky, fully visible from that distance, a throne of titanic proportions, made of a single magical stone. Overwhelming was its size and shape, but the most striking thing about that object was who sat upon it.
It was an avian creature never before seen, completely white, with four limbs, four wings, two heads, and atop them rested a crown of fire. In each of its claws, it held a different weapon. Mighty to Drygutâs eyes, but also unsettling. Sinister...
A dark god, no one who saw it could think otherwise.
âDo not fear, son⌠it wonât harm you,â said his father, seeing the fear in Drygut, who hid beneath his wing.
âIt wonât?â the young Drygut replied, his voice trembling.
âThe god of the skies flew away from this world a long time ago. Only this shell remainsâŚâ
âShell?â Drygut repeated, confused. He looked back at the terrible figure sitting on the throne and, after observing it closely, he understood.
That powerful body, whose mere presence radiated immense power, was⌠empty.
The eyes of the bird-like being were black, cracked, hollow. Moreover, several parts of its body had fissures, and some seemed missing or floated around it like fragments.
Golden chains bound its limbs, keeping it tied to its throne, incapacitating it⌠if it were to awaken.
âThe god of the skies once ruled the heavens. He was so powerful that he took control of the sun and moon. He even waged war against the third sky. But he was defeated. The ancient eagles and dragons chained him and banished him. Of his empire in the clouds, only his throne and empty body remain.â
Drygut didnât understand any of what his father was saying⌠Gods? Ancient dragons? Eagles? Confused, he moved away from his father and tried to lift off to get a better view of that dead titan. But his wings didnât lift him; he clumsily stumbled and fell to the ground.
âTch,â he snorted in annoyance, but he wasnât the only one. Not far away, another young hawk-turkey, named Fathungry, was jumping around, trying to fly in front of the adults to impress them.
Time passed in the sacred silence that enveloped that mysterious place until the gigantic black throne finally touched the white ground and began to sink into nothingness. No hawk-turkey dared to touch or approach that throne. In fact, no one could, for a powerful magical wind surrounded it, making it impossible to reach.
âWhere is it going, Father?â asked Drygut, watching as that forgotten god disappeared into the horizon.
âItâs heading to the South Pole. It will remain there until the next cycle. And then it will return here. When you are older, you will have to bring your son here too and show him this,â his father replied, turning his gaze back to his son.
âAh, of course⌠sure, Father,â Drygut replied nervously, looking away. The young hawk-turkey was uncomfortable talking about these matters with his father⌠He was still young, but soon he would have to find a mate. He didnât know where to start; he wasnât good at socializing with other hawk-turkeys, and he was convinced that he wouldnât even be able to chat with the females of his species.
Amid a sea of doubts, Drygut continued to watch the horizon.
Time passed, and when the black throne was about to disappear, all the hawk-turkeys began to stretch their wings in unison, preparing to take flight. Drygut immediately understood that it was time to leave.
But then something else caught his attention. Like sparkling snowflakes. From the red sky, feathers began to fall with a whitish glow.
âFather, look! What is this?â asked Drygut excitedly, but his father had already walked away; now he was with other adults conversing.
The special moment for the hawk-turkeys had passed. Being ignored, Drygut lowered his head and moved away.
The feathers of various sizes continued to fall, soft like a summer rain.
âIt must be magicalâŚâ the young Drygut thought, jumping to catch the largest feathers falling from the sky. The young hawk-turkey knew nothing of magic, but he began to suspect. Without asking, he started to pick up the brightest feathers with his beak and store them among his wings.
âHahaha, silly, silly, theyâre useless,â he suddenly heard from behind.
Drygut tensed up. He recognized the voice immediately; it was unmistakable. He turned around. Behind him was another hawk-turkey, young like him, but with a wild look and a smiling expression that distracted from the green snot dripping from his beak.
It was Fathungry.
âNone of your business,â Drygut replied harshly, continuing to collect the feathers.
âYes, it is. âDivine feathersâ are only for the clan leader. That will be me.â
âOh, really? Well, youâre not the leader yet. You wonât be. Draga will be the leader,â Drygut replied, though he had no idea what Fathungry meant by âdivine feathers.â
âDraga? Hahaha, that lame-legged one? Heâs nothing! Iâll kill him and eat his heart. Everyone will see it!â
âThen do it, heâs right over there,â Drygut said, pointing with one of his claws to the other side of the group, where a burly young hawk-turkey stood surrounded by several adults.
âNo, not now, that coward is always with his hens. Iâll wait until heâs aloneâŚâ Fathungry replied, looking in that direction.
âOh, really? But if heâs alone, how will they know it was you?â Drygut said mockingly.
"You'll see. Trust me, everyone will see... hahaha," Fathungry laughed with a sinister cackle.
Drygut didn't like Fathungry; his laugh unsettled him, and he was a meddler. However, that same quality made him well-connected and very cunning. He knew many things that others didn't, and even the adults often consulted him.
"Maybe one day he will become the leader of the clan..." his father had mentioned.
Drygut pondered it.
"Hey, Fathungry..." Drygut began to say, hesitantly. "When you become the clan leader, what will you do with these feathers?"
Fathungry looked at him in silence for a moment with those sharp eyes. Just as Drygut was about to ask why he was staring so much, Fathungry burst out laughing.
"What's so funny?" Drygut demanded, offended.
"You don't know anything, you're a fool. Hahaha, for a moment I thought your father had told you something interesting, but no, hahaha."
"Enough!" Drygut was getting annoyed, and he spread his wings, his feathers ruffling.
"Alright, alright, don't get like that. These feathers are useless, they only exist in this sky. Once we leave here, they'll disappear."
"Really?" Drygut responded, surprised and somewhat disappointed.
"Yesss... Hey... I like you, Drygut. I'll tell you a secret. You saw that dead monster everyone worships?"
"Uhm yeah... that's why we came here, isn't it?"
"Yes, yes, yes. These are its feathers," Fathungry abruptly replied with a smile.
"What!" Drygut's eyes widened as he looked at the feathers he had collected.
"Yessss, and if you manage to set one of those feathers on fire and spread the ashes over your body, you'll become the most powerful bird in the world!" Fathungry exclaimed excitedly, stretching his wings and releasing some green snot from his nose.
Drygut took a step back. It was unpleasant to see Fathungry when he got like this, but he didn't protest. He just noted those words deep in his mind.
"Wait... But how? There doesn't seem to be any air here..." Drygut responded, intrigued, flapping his wings in that dead atmosphere. He might not know anything about magic, but the innate instincts of his species told him that this place didn't have a trace of oxygen.
"Ah, yes... that's the mystery," Fathungry replied mockingly. "It's said that the great ancestor of the turkey-hawks managed it somehow. Did he capture a dragon? Who knows... I've heard many stories about it..."
Fathungry murmured, pausing his speech as if he was contemplating something.
A silence fell between the two thoughtful turkey-hawks.
"Ayyyyyyyyyyyh," a screech echoed. The clan leader was announcing their departure from that place.
"It's time to..." Drygut began to say, but when he turned, Fathungry was no longer there. In the distance, he was moving away with his characteristic fake limp.
His father called him, and he quickly joined him.
The god of the skies had already disappeared into the ground. In the place where it had fallen, the white ground was beginning to disintegrate, revealing the true world beneath.
Still amazed by all these visions, Drygut watched his father gaze into the distance. He seemed thoughtful.
"What did you think, son?" he asked suddenly.
"Father, this journey has been amazing, but... why must we do it?"
"It's tradition... it has been, and it will be," his father responded solemnly.
"Oh... Will we eat when we get back?"
"Yes... we'll eat plenty," his father replied cheerfully.
His father was a very wise one among the turkey-hawks. Many sought his counsel. It pained Drygut not to be as wise as his father.
It was very painful, but he always forgot it after dinner with him.
And so, one by one, the turkey-hawks began to descend into the real world, leaving behind that mysterious sky.
Father and son also departed, falling into the arms of the cold Arctic winds. However, this time Drygut handled it with ease. The descent flight was effortless.
During the calm journey, Drygut didn't lose sight of his father for a moment.
They continued descending until... he noticed it.
On one of his father's wings, stuck despite the wind, was an unmistakable 'divine feather.'
It hadn't disappeared.
"Father!" Drygut suddenly exclaimed.
"What is it?"
"A divine feather!"
"Oh, that," his father replied, noticing the feather on his right wing. "It's a sign of good luck. It will disappear soon. Didn't you take some?"
"Yes, but... they're gone," Drygut looked under his chest. Despite his efforts to protect them from the wind, all the feathers he had collected had disappeared.
"It always happens, but not all of them do..."
"Not all of them?" Drygut replied, confused.
"No... it's complicated. I'll explain it to you at dinner," his father responded in good spirits.
"Yes, Father!" Drygut exclaimed, excited about the possible secret he might learn.
And so, under the golden glow of a false sun and a real one rising on the horizon, father and son disappeared into the bright clouds of the northern skies.
