The sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky turned a deep indigo, dotted with faint stars.
He waited silently.
The Misbegotten lingered nearby, their ghostly blue glow faintly lighting the gloom. They stood still, awaiting his command.
Nyra paced close by, her usual calm shaken as she glanced between the restless spirits and the man who controlled them.
"It's almost midnight," he said, breaking the silence. "If there's a Deathbird nearby, it should appear soon."
Nyra stopped pacing, crossing her arms as she watched him. "And what exactly are you planning to do when it does?"
His lips curved into a faint smile. "Study it. See if it's truly the source of this power."
Nyra huffed, shifting her weight. "And if it decides to kill us all before you get your answers?"
"Then I'll do what I always do," he replied coolly, "adapt, try again and again."
A sharp, bone-chilling cry pierced the night, cutting through the stillness like a blade. It came from the direction of the sky—.
"There it is," he said, his voice calm but his eyes narrowing. He motioned to the skeletal Misbegotten, and they began to move as one, their forms gliding soundlessly over the cold earth.
Nyra unsheathed her daggers, her grip tightening as she fell into step beside him. "This had better be worth it."
They approached the outskirts of the castle grounds, where the air grew even colder, biting through their clothing with unnatural intensity.
Another cry echoed through the darkness, louder this time, and closer. The faint outline of a massive, skeletal bird emerged against the sky. The Deathbird landed with a thud, its eyes hollow.
It was a grotesque sight—its fleshless form draped in tattered remnants of feathers. The air around it pulsed with an aura of death, thick and suffocating.
Nyra tensed, her voice low. "That's... bigger than I thought it'd be."
"Good," he replied, his tone almost eager. "The bigger they are, the more they have to teach."
The Deathbird screeched again. The skeletal Misbegotten advanced without hesitation, their forms glowing brighter as they drew nearer to the source of their ghostflame. The Deathbird turned its hollow gaze toward them, a guttural sound escaping its maw as it prepared to strike.
He raised a hand, his voice steady and commanding. "Hold the line."
The Misbegotten stopped, their forms bracing as the Deathbird lunged, its massive talons swiping at the ground with terrifying force.
Nyra moved like a shadow, darting forward to test the creature's defenses with her daggers. But even her swift strikes seemed to pass harmlessly through its skeletal frame, as though it existed only halfway in their world.
"It's resistant to physical attacks," she called.
"I know," he replied, his focus unwavering. He stepped forward, his hand glowing with the same ghostly white black blue light that animated the Misbegotten. "That's why we need this."
He channeled the energy outward, weaving it through the air like threads of light. The Deathbird hesitated, its hollow eyes flickering as the energy connected with it. For a moment, it seemed to falter, its movements growing sluggish.
"What are you doing?"
"Learning," he said simply, his voice calm despite the strain visible in his posture. "if I can bind it, even for a moment, I can understand the power it holds."
The Deathbird thrashed, letting out a piercing cry that shook the very ground beneath their feet. But the glow surrounding it intensified, the lines of energy tightening like chains.
The Misbegotten surged forward again, their spectral claws tearing into the bird's frame. It screeched one last time before collapsing, its massive body crumbling into a pile of faintly glowing ash.
Nyra approached cautiously, her daggers still drawn. "Is it dead?"
He knelt by the ashes, running his fingers through the cold remnants. "No," he said quietly. "Not dead. Not truly. It's just gone... back to where it came from."
"And what did you learn?" she asked, her voice heavy with skepticism.
He stood, his expression unreadable. "That we're barely scratching the surface of what these things can do."
Nyra sighed, shaking her head. "You're insane"
"Maybe," he replied with a faint smirk. "But now we have the tools to face what comes next."
As he dusted his hands of the glowing ash, he rose, his gaze lingering on the remnants of the Deathbird. The skeletal Misbegotten hovered silently behind him, their spectral forms casting faint, eerie light on the ruined castle grounds.
Nyra, still gripping her daggers, watched him warily. "You always have a plan, don't you?" she asked.
He glanced at her, his expression calm but thoughtful. "A plan is only as good as the knowledge behind it," he replied. "And knowledge is what I came for."
She gestured toward the ash. "And did that... thing teach you what you wanted to know?"
He nodded slowly. "It did. But to understand it, you need to know the history of creatures like this—and the power they once held."
Nyra sighed, sliding her daggers back into their sheaths. "Fine. I'm listening. But this had better make sense."
He walked to a nearby rock, sitting on its jagged edge. The skeletal Misbegotten remained motionless, their glowing forms flickering faintly in the dark.
"Before the Erdtree ruled over this land," he began, his voice low and steady, "death wasn't what it is now. It wasn't an endless cycle of rebirth and servitude to the Golden Order. It was final, and it was sacred. The Deathbirds were the ones who ensured it remained so."
Nyra tilted her head, crossing her arms. "Sacred death? Doesn't sound like something these creatures would be involved in."