Chapter 23[Ep. 7]: Aligoula: A Mysterious Encounter

A MYSTERIOUS ENCOUNTER

Amaya hadn’t moved. She lay stretched out over a thick branch, her tiny body lost against the rough bark. Her wiry legs dangled, as if gravity itself had shaped her into this odd, weightless pose. I couldn’t say why she did it—nobody really could.

I’d expected her to be with Yuren. So what was she doing here, alone?

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. She shot upright, head tilted, beak pointed toward the sky.

Then I saw it—dozens of fireballs, big and small, tumbling out of the clouds. They crashed down all over the forest, sending flames leaping wherever they struck.

Beasts of every kind were running now, their voices rising in wild panic.

“What… what’s going on? ”Yuren," she stammered. But there wasn’t time for caution or questions. An Aligoula swooped out of the sky, clutching its hard-earned meal. It moved like it knew exactly what was coming—the air around it split with searing trails of falling fire. One hit would’ve finished it, no question. Pure instinct and speed kept it alive for one more second.

But luck only lasts so long. After that, you’re on your own.

A burning fireball slammed into it. No warning. No mercy. It let out a short cry, fell from the sky, and hit the earth so hard the ground shook. That was it—cruel and sudden.

Amaya saw everything, her eyes sharp and unblinking. She caught each moment—the impact, the fall, the silence that followed. She made a thin, mournful sound, then dove after the fallen creature.

Yuren hadn’t been hit, not yet. Still, every nerve in his body screamed danger. This wasn’t just about him anymore. The whole forest was at risk. He didn’t know what was happening or where the madness had started—all he really felt was terror. Sweat poured down his face. The heat grew with every heartbeat. And then, somehow, Amaya was right there at his side.

The mother Aligoula landed next to her fallen kin. You could see in the way she moved—slow, careful—that she’d lost something that mattered. She nudged the battered body. For a heartbeat, it was still breathing. One more rasping cry, one more look, and then there was nothing left.

She touched beak to beak, almost asking the world to take it back. But death doesn’t bargain. Now it was only grief, heavy and very real.

She spread her wings, threw back her head, and let out a sharp, aching cry.

At the other edge of the fire, a Wargroat arrived. It found a tiny form curled on the burning ground—its own cub, already gone. The Wargroat touched the body with a gentleness that made the loss feel even heavier. Love, right at the end, holding on as long as it could.

But where love leaves, rage marches in right behind it. The Wargroat turned, eyes blazing with hatred, and found the Aligoula standing in the smoke. This was more than rivalry. These two had clashed since time out of mind.

With a snarl, the Wargroat charged. The Aligoula didn’t flinch. She met the attack head-on—fierce, refusing to back away from the grief and anger burning all around her.

This book was originally published on NovelPhoenix. Check it out there for the real experience.

They crashed together, fighting with all the wild fury only the truly desperate can summon.

Yuren watched, frozen, as the two beasts tore into each other. But fear broke through the trance—his own life was in jeopardy now. Everything around him was burning, everything falling apart. He looked for some way out, anything he could use. Nothing.

He needed to run and fast.

He barely finished the thought before a huge, blazing fireball tore through the sky, headed straight for him. It filled his eyes with light. The air crackled. The forest roared. And then—WOOOSH!

Yuren barely made it. He jumped clear just in time—if he hadn’t, he’d be burning with those bodies down below.

Sure, it took guts. But what he did was terrifying, no way around it.

He didn’t get off easy, though. As soon as he started falling, he just barely caught something and managed to hang on. He dangled there, face raw, arms trembling, his whole body scorched. The veins bulged in his arm, and pain shot through him when he gritted his teeth. Each second, his body felt heavier, sweat slipping from his hands.

If he lost his grip, he’d drop from here—one-hundred-seventy meters straight down.

Part of the nest was already on fire. He had no idea what happened to the Aligoula chicks inside.

His fingers shook. His grip felt slick. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

He kept going anyway.

He pulled himself up, hauling his body with whatever strength he had left.

He made it.

All around him, thick flames chewed through the nest, heat biting hard into his skin.

“The chicks! "Yuren shouted. Worry cracked his voice. He rushed in without thinking—the whole place was burning. He didn’t care about himself. Those helpless little things, he had to check if they were alive. He crashed into the flames. Embers swirled past, hot as hell, catching in his hair and clothes. But inside, he found nothing but misery. Six of the chicks were dead already, their little bodies charred, most of them probably choked by the smoke. Only one was left.

One survivor, crying its heart out for its mother.

It looked impossibly tiny and weak, even as it kept calling. If it stayed much longer, it’d die too.

He had to move—saving just this one chick was all he could do. He lunged for it, but the chick kept stumbling away from his outstretched hands, ducking and dodging him, desperate to hide. He didn’t stop. He’d lost too many things already. He couldn’t lose this bit of life now. Yuren tore off his bandana, tossed it down even as it nearly lit up, and got down to crawl after the chick.

“Hey, I’m Yuren,” he muttered, already reaching out. “Come here. I’ll get you out. Don’t be scared.”

The chick pressed itself against the burning edge, shaking—a helpless ball of terror. The fire closed in.

Something huge smacked into the nest. A fireball—thank God, not a direct hit. But it was enough to rock the whole thing and make the flames leap higher.

Right then, Yuren’s foot cracked through a weak patch in the nest.

Still, he wasn’t done yet. He clung to whatever was left.

Heat hammered him, baking his skin. All he could see below was fire, the tree itself turning into a torch.

That’s when he felt a tug—a tiny nibble at his finger. Yuren glanced up, confused. Only one thing it could be: the chick, pecking at him, trying to help in its own innocent, ridiculous way.

Amaya saw it all.

That strange, stubborn little chick was still at it, stumbling around, doing what it could. Then it lost its grip and... plop.

Right onto Yuren’s face. For a second, he thought the chick might squish him. Its head felt almost as big as its body—definitely not light, probably two kilos, Yuren figured.

“What—? "He couldn’t see a thing. His left hand slipped. His right hand shook, losing strength, but he forced every bit of will into holding on. He really felt the chick now—those little claws pricking his skin, feathers tickling. The bird squirmed and climbed all over him.

“This little... ,” Yuren grunted, but there was no anger left. “Are you going to hold still, or are we both jumping? ”

He waited, barely breathing, hoping it would settle down.

Finally, the chick clambered up and perched on top of his head.

Yuren didn’t dare move now. One wrong shift, and the chick would fall.

Somehow, he kept it together—or maybe, the bird did.

It chirped, not stopping once.

It started circling on his head, and the sight—if he could’ve seen it—would have reminded him of Kong in some old movie. Yuren realised he’d just gotten the strangest baptism ever.

“Sit still, we’re going to fall! ” he yelled.

And right then—

The little bird slipped. Of course, at the worst possible moment.