The farm quickly became a distant memory as I made my way toward Greance, its sprawling heart filled with the relentless bustle of civilisation. The wind beneath my wings carried me over expansive forests and endless fields, where cows chewed lazily on grass and horses frolicked beneath a wide, open sky.
The further I travelled, the more unsettling the air grew. A creeping nausea settled in my gut, a heavy, suffocating sensation that gnawed at my insides. My wings faltered, and I was forced to descend to the ground.
With a harsh, guttural sound, I expelled the contents of my stomach—an unpleasant mixture of colours and smells that seemed to corrupt the very earth beneath me. The stench of it—rancid and sour—permeated the air, mingling with the sweet, earthy scents of the land.
I could feel the weakness clawing at me, the bitter taste of failure lingering on my tongue. Annoyed with myself, I gritted my beak and forced my wings to stretch once more. The air felt oppressive.
As I neared the outskirts of Greance, the air grew even more suffocating—yet the stench wasn't one of nature's decay, but of something far more unnatural. It was the scent of creation... or perhaps, destruction. It was hard to tell.
I glided over the ancient city, my wings cutting through the air with a rhythmic precision. Below, the narrow canals wound through the cobblestone streets like veins, leading me deeper into the heart of human discovery—if discovery could even be called that anymore. As I passed over the city's crumbling buildings, I saw the faded remnants of a once-proud civilization, now slowly sinking into decay.
I perched atop a gnarled tree, my body weary, my wings aching. My eyes scanned the streets below, where the bustling activity of Greance continued unabated.
"Come back here, you scoundrel!" A voice echoed in the distance, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.
Curiosity piqued, I turned my gaze toward the commotion. Below, a shopkeeper—broad, greasy, and breathing far too heavily for his own good— was chasing a frail, bone-thin girl running frantically down the street. The child darted through the winding streets, her bare feet slapping against the cobblestones, a picture of desperation.
I flew higher, trailing the pair, my eyes fixed on the chase. The girl was quick, but the shopkeeper was relentless. The gap between them narrowed as they moved toward the outer edges of the city.
The buildings here were older, their once-grand facades crumbling, windows boarded up or shattered, as though even the city itself was losing the will to maintain its own existence.
Eventually, the chase came to a halt. The girl had run into a dead end, her body slumped against the rough stone wall out of exhaustion. She was cornered. The shopkeeper, panting heavily from the chase, grinned wickedly—a smile that seemed too cruel for someone so bloated with excess.
A sheen of grease covered his stained shirt, the fabric clinging to his flesh, and his pants were streaked with some unknown substance. He stood there for a moment, his grin of satisfaction was wide as he eyed the girl with a look of sickening amusement.
"Please, sir," the girl gasped, her voice cracking. "My brother is dying. He needs food." Her eyes pleading for mercy.
The shopkeeper looked down at her, then burst into a hearty laugh, his belly shaking as he savoured the moment.
"Do you think I care?" he sneered. "You can steal from someone else or beg the passersby for scraps, but if you steal from me again, I'll find your brother. I'll cut out his eyes, gut him like a fish, and stuff his intestines into his naval cavities. Understand?"
The girl's shoulders slumped, and her eyes fell to the uneven pavement beneath her. She nodded slowly, almost defeated, and without raising her eyes, whispered, "Yes, sir. I will do better next time."
The shopkeeper's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, and with a grunt, he turned to leave. But before he did, he looked up at the sky, his face momentarily faltering.
"The sky is ever so grey," he muttered, his voice taking on a melancholy tone.
Then he looked back at the girl, and a deeper sadness crept into his expression. "I feel so… unsatisfied."
The girl's face contorted in disgust at his words, her lips curling in revulsion. The shopkeeper noticed this shift in her expression and chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with a twisted understanding.
"You think I'm perverse, don't you?" he said, a dark amusement lacing his words. "Don't worry. I'm not like the others. I don't get satisfaction from indulging in my desires. But you see, I've learned something about myself. I like to see others hurt. I like to watch them squirm. You probably don't know but I had once had a sister, and she was so … insufferable"
As he spoke, he approached the girl slowly, deliberately, his heavy steps echoing on the cobblestones.
"I didn't come all this way just to walk away empty-handed. In fact, the journey over here was tedious and tiring. I could just leave and return to my store," he murmured, as if was in contemplation about what to do next. "No... I want to see something... something contributory… something exciting."
The man was close now—too close. He loomed over the girl, his tall frame towering above her fragile form. His muscles, hidden beneath the layers of fat, rippled as he reached down, a sadistic grin stretching across his face. The girl, her back pressed against the wall, began to claw desperately at the cobblestones, trying in vain to find some escape.
People who looked on from the sidelines—those who lived in the same desperation as the girl—watched the scene unfold, but as quickly as they had looked, they averted their gaze, lowering their heads to avoid involvement.
I hovered, watching helplessly. What could I do? As a crow, I had no power to stop the cruelty unfolding below me. I was powerless, just a silent observer to the depths of human darkness.
I began to understand: humanity's consciousness was vast, an endless sea of potential for both good and evil. A single act of cruelty, a fleeting moment of malice, didn't define a person.
But at the same time, these acts of cruelty couldn't simply be erased. And, perhaps most disturbing of all, they seemed to reappear in different forms, over and over again.
The merchant's hand was on the girl now, shoving her roughly to the ground. He twisted her limbs with ease, bashing her knees and elbows against the stone, all while wearing that sickening grin. The girl's screams came under deaf ears or ears that simply didn't want to hear in that moment.
I still longed to help, but what could I do? What good would my intervention be? Perhaps this would simply be one more moment of suffering in an endless cycle, an unending dance of cruelty and despair. Even if I could stop this instance, would it truly change anything in the grand scheme of things?
The merchant finally stepped back, leaving the girl crumpled on the ground, her body bruised and broken. He wiped his hands on his stained pants and turned away, a satisfied smirk still playing at the corners of his lips, as he strolled casually away.
The girl crumpled to the ground, unable to resist, her body wracked with pain, curled into herself, her sobs quiet against the harsh reality of the world.
I descended, my wings spread wide, casting a dark shadow over her as I landed beside her. I stretched a wing out, almost as though to comfort her. But as I drew nearer, she suddenly thrashed her hand at me, her eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, unrelenting fire.
Her gaze pierced me, and for a moment, I faltered. There was something in her eyes—an intensity, a raw, untamed rage—that made my very being recoil.
"I will not die yet," she whispered, her voice hoarse but determined. "Not like this."
I stared at her, a knot forming in my chest. What was it that I was seeing? The pain, the defiance, the sheer will to survive—was it admirable, or simply misguided?
My wings fluttered as I instinctively backed away, feeling an unfamiliar discomfort. I couldn't help but feel as though I had been a voyeur to something far deeper than I had anticipated and something that I was left helpless to face.
I couldn't help but pity her, for it was clear that she had lost her way long ago. She was caught in a vicious cycle of suffering, her life shaped by forces far beyond her control.
I stretched my wings wide, the darkness of my form stark against the girl's fiery red hair. The sight of me seemed to terrify her, and her eyes shifted from rage to fear.
I froze, momentarily unsure.
Why was she afraid of me?
I glanced behind me, but there was nothing around that would explain her fear. A strange realization struck me: perhaps she feared me, not because of anything I had done, but because of what I represented. Death.
Or maybe it was just the shadow that I casted on the wall.
I turned, flying away, but as I glanced back one final time, I saw her collapse to the ground. The image of her pain lingered in my mind, but I couldn't—wouldn't—help her. Not now.
There was nothing I could do.
I flew higher, the city below me growing smaller as I spread my wings wide, rising above the great stone structures.
My wings cut through the air with purpose, and for a moment, I felt a strange sense of clarity. The city, for all its noise and commotion, was but a collection of fleeting moments—struggles, desires, and illusions playing out in real-time beneath me.
Humanity, in all its complexity—its capacity for good and evil—remained a mystery to me, one that I feared I would never fully unravel nor would I fully understand.