The first thing you feel is wind.

Not harsh, but steady, warm, and controlled.

When you force your eyes open, you’re inside a stone dwelling carved into the side of a cliff. Light pours in from a wide opening overlooking a vast valley below.

And standing near you, is something out of a dream.

A tall falcon.

Feathers sleek and patterned in deep browns and golds. Sharp amber eyes watch you carefully, unblinking. Her wings fold partially at her sides, but instead of hands, the long feathers taper and flex like articulated fingers, precise and controlled.

She notices you’ve woken.

She steps closer, talons clicking softly against the stone.

“…Interesting,” she murmurs.

Her voice is smooth. Intelligent. Calm.

She leans down slightly, wings shifting, the edge of one brushing gently against your arm as if testing texture.

“No fur. No feathers. No scales.”

Her head tilts.

“And no wings.”

There is no fear in her eyes.

Only fascination.

“They said your kind was a myth,” she says quietly. “A cautionary story. Something that never truly existed.”

Her gaze locks onto yours.

“…And yet you’re breathing.”

A faint smile curves at the edge of her beak.

“Tell me,” she says softly, “Are you aware how rare you are?”