Spirit Valley, Blue Lane Providence, Crimson Sky Kingdom
The Spirit Valley stretched like a serene painting, its quiet air broken only by the gentle notes of a wooden flute. A boy no older than eight roamed through the trails, his small figure weaving between trees and shrubs. His black hair shimmered faintly under the sunlight filtering through the leaves, while his striking grey eyes held a youthful curiosity. Dirt clung to his bare feet and the hem of his simple, faded tunic—a testament to his wanderings.
In his hands was a hand-carved flute, smooth but imperfect, lovingly made by his mother. He sang softly to its tune, his voice blending with the melody in a way that only the carefree spirit of a child could achieve. Though the valley was said to be home to dangerous spirits and beasts, to him, it was just the backyard of his quiet village.
The air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of damp moss and the distant trickle of a stream. Birds chirped in the distance, their songs mingling with the rustle of leaves. The boy paused for a moment, his gaze wandering to the canopy above. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the greenery, painting patterns on the forest floor.
He loved these moments—alone, free, with nothing but the valley's natural beauty for company.
But the peace of Spirit Valley had its limits.
A rustling sound broke his focus, sharp and jarring, followed by the sudden beating of wings. The melody of his flute faltered as his hands froze mid-tune. A sinking feeling twisted in his gut, cold and heavy.
Then he saw it.
A dark figure descended from the treetops with the swiftness of a shadow. Its wings spread wide, nearly as long as the boy was tall, the feathers glinting like polished steel. Each feather looked razor-sharp, like it could slice through skin and bone with ease. Its eyes were black as night, cold and calculating, and they locked onto him with a predatory focus.
The iron-feathered raven—a spirit beast he'd only heard whispered about in cautionary tales—was no ordinary bird. It was a creature born of both nature and spirit energy, its body exuding a faint, eerie glow. It radiated a presence that made the boy's legs feel weak, as though the very air around it carried weight.
For a moment, he was paralyzed, his mind struggling to process the danger. His thoughts raced. Why me? Why now?
The bird's talons gleamed in the sunlight as it swooped lower, each claw curved like a cruel hook. Its beak, long and sharp, snapped open and shut, emitting a harsh, metallic screech that echoed through the valley.
Fear gripped him like a vice, tightening with every passing second. His grip on the flute grew slick with sweat as he took an involuntary step back. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his body refused to obey.
It wasn't until the raven dived, talons outstretched, that his survival instincts finally kicked in.
He bolted.
The boy darted through the trees, the soles of his feet pounding against the uneven ground. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat reverberating in his ears. His breaths came in short, sharp gasps, but the sound of wings slicing through the air behind him drowned out everything else.
"No, no, no!" he muttered under his breath, glancing over his shoulder.
The raven was relentless. Its sleek body cut through the air with terrifying speed, and its beady eyes never wavered from their target. He felt like a mouse being hunted by a hawk, small and powerless against something so much larger, so much stronger.
I need to get back to the village. The thought burned in his mind, giving him the strength to push forward despite the burning in his lungs and legs.
Ahead, the trees thinned, and he caught a glimpse of the wooden palisade that marked the edge of his village. Hope flared in his chest, brief but bright.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed, "Help! Somebody, help!"
The raven screeched in fury, its cry sharp and grating, as if mocking his desperation.
It was too close. The heavy beat of its wings felt like a storm at his back, and the air seemed to thrum with its presence. He stumbled on a root, nearly losing his balance. The flute slipped from his hand and rolled away, but he didn't dare stop to retrieve it.
The ground was uneven, each step a gamble. His feet slipped on loose dirt, his momentum faltering. The raven took advantage of the moment. It dived, striking him hard between the shoulders.
He hit the ground with a cry, the impact jarring. Pain flared in his arm where the bird's talons had grazed him, leaving shallow, stinging cuts.
Scrambling to his feet, he looked back at the raven. It circled in the air, its black eyes gleaming with cruel intent. The boy's heart sank. This wasn't just a wild animal; it was a predator. It wanted to kill him.
He grabbed a rock from the ground, his hands shaking as he hurled it at the bird. The stone missed, sailing harmlessly past. The raven cawed sharply, as if in disdain, and swooped again.
The boy fell to his knees, his body trembling from exhaustion and fear. Tears blurred his vision as he looked at the village in the distance, so close yet impossibly far.
The shadow of the raven loomed over him, its claws outstretched, aiming for the final blow.
He closed his eyes, his mind flooded with memories of home—his mother's kind smile, his father's steady voice, the quiet safety of their small house. Is this how it ends?
And then, something deep within him stirred.
A pulse of warmth spread through his chest, growing hotter and stronger, until it felt like it would burst from his very skin. The earth beneath him seemed to respond, vibrating faintly. His fingers dug into the dirt, and for a moment, he felt… connected.
The ground shifted, almost imperceptibly at first, then more violently. A jagged wall of earth shot upward with a deafening crack, intercepting the raven mid-dive.
The spirit beast screeched as it collided with the wall, its body twisting awkwardly in the air before tumbling to the ground.
The boy stared at the scene, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. His hands trembled as he pushed himself up. His legs felt like jelly, and his chest burned with the strange energy that had saved him.
The raven lay a short distance away, its iron feathers scuffed and its wing bent at an awkward angle. But the beast wasn't done.
It rose slowly, its head tilting unnaturally as its beady eyes locked onto him once more.
The boy's legs felt like lead. His body screamed for him to run, but he couldn't move. The raven spread its wings, though its movements were slower now. It cawed, a sound filled with rage and pain, as it prepared to strike again.
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Word count a bit low 1170 approx so ye.