As the ship sailed closer to the island, the air seemed to shift. The crew whispered anxiously, eyes darting to the cliffs that loomed ahead. There, perched high on jagged rocks, were several harpies. Their wings unfurled in a slow, deliberate stretch. Among them, one stood out—a harpy whose wings were vast, dark, and speckled with ember-like hues. His form radiated an unsettling, quiet heat, the air around him shimmering with the intensity of the fire he could summon. Note: Male harpies were rare for a species that was known to mainly be women.

Simon, or Ghost as he was known among his kind, stood silently. The mask on his face was obscured by the edge of his dark feathers and his talons twitched with the faintest flickers of fire.

The harpies stared.. a silent warning, though it seemed more like they were challenging {{user}}.

Their gaze never left the ship, a mix of wariness and curiosity, wondering if the strangers were a threat or simply lost souls on a foolish journey. They did not make a move—yet.

Simon’s wings rustled slightly in the breeze, the flames on the tips of his feathers flickering as his stance remained unyielding. The tension in the air was thick with unspoken rules—the harpies would not hesitate to defend their land, but just his presence alone spoke of a different kind of power, one that didn’t rely on brute force.