PREFACE: Count Varushka returns—a week later than planned, with my apologies! Here he investigates an odd battlefield and confronts an ancient beast… and possibly comes one step closer to humanity.
Rain does little to conceal the horrors of men. It may wash the blood, but it cannot take the bones or the rotting flesh of the dead. This is not the first battlefield I see—nor shall it be the last—but each one pains me more than the previous. I find joy in this. For what once would have meant nothing to me, now shakes me to my soul.
I pause at the thought.
A soul.
Perhaps that is what I lacked to be human. Do these new feelings mean I now have one? How does one grow a soul? Can a soul even grow?
It is a puzzling question, but one I set aside to focus on the scene before me.
There is something different about this battlefield, though I could not say what.
The air is damp, a slight mist covering the corpses. Flies buzz, vultures feast—as do the crows. A gentle breeze makes jackets sway and daggers rattle. The scent of blood is so faint I can barely sense it. Moonlight glints against...
I frown, eyes fixing on the crows.
They are everywhere.
And wherever they land, the vultures flee.
I step closer to one of the black birds and kneel to study it. It snaps its head up, meeting my gaze. Blinks. Caws.
Flapping its wings, it takes off.
As if it were a signal, a thousand crows take to the sky as one and fly off together toward the east.
That is... unusual.
I squint.
There is something there. A structure concealed within the fog.
Intrigued, I set out to explore.
The rain does not bother me, though soaked clothes are not much to my liking. At least my hat shields my hair.
I swing my cane as I walk, studying the shape as it takes form.
It does not take long to make out its nature.
A castle.
Though I see no guards at its entrance, nor on the parapets.
Instead, there are crows.
Hundreds of crows.
All sitting atop the crenellations, watching me.
The sight stirs a memory in me—ancient and unsettling.
If this is what I suspect, I cannot ignore it.
And so I walk across the drawbridge and through the gate.
***
There is a legend among my people, of a wise ruler who reigned over a plane of winged creatures. Ixhan was so powerful and respected that he was offered a seat at the Council of Beasts.
But then he fell in love with a dragon.
The story claims he gave her his heart and she turned it to ash—as dragons are wont to do.
Centuries of torment followed, sending his realm into chaos.
Ixhan became cold, bitter, cruel. Tensions grew within the Council until they threw him out, and he never was heard from again.
Because of his appearance, the color of his plumage, and the birds he commanded, he was known as the Crow King.
And so I think of him as I walk through the courtyard and enter the castle, hoping it is not he, for this world is not meant for the likes of him.
My steps echo in the empty halls. They lead me through dust and darkness. The place feels empty, dead, and yet there is something here. I can sense it. Waiting. Watching.
I find stairs and make my way up, only to find more of the same.
What is this castle, I wonder? Who once lived here? Humans do not build such places to abandon them. Did something, or someone, drive them out? If so, it must have been long ago, considering the state of these halls. A thought most unsettling.
The next room I find must have been a library, though its shelves are now for the most part empty. A few volumes lay upturned on the ground, their bindings broken, pages stained with watermarks.
Standing in the middle of the room, I glance about.
“Whatever you are, I know you are here, and that you are watching me. I do not care to waste much more of our time exploring this dismal place. Do us both a favor and show yourself now.”
A strange sound resounds—something between a cackle and a caw.
Then silence.
“Do not mistake me for a human,” I hiss. “I lack altogether their capacity for fear.”
“Indeed?”
The voice comes from above—like velvet caressing rock—and I look up, but there is nothing but the ceiling.
It laughs—if you can call it that. “Over here.”
I spin to face the window, and there he is.
A man with the head of a crow—if you can call that a man, for he has black feathers for skin and claws for nails. Still, the creature stands on two legs, with human-like feet and a beak capable of speech.
“You are Ixhan,” I say.
The Crow King tilts his head and blinks as he studies me with what can only be curiosity.
“Few remember that name.”
He does not ask, but I know he wonders, so I decide to provide the information.
“I am Count Varushka of the Gleaming.”
In his current form—for I have no doubt he can shift—Ixhan has no wings. But he moves his arms now as if they were that. Not to fly, but in a gesture of annoyance.
“I have heard the name,” he says. “A long time ago. You do not belong here.”
“Nor do you,” I point out.
He caws. Claps his beak a couple of times.
“You are presumptuous to think you know where I belong.”
“As are you.”
We assess each other warily.
“Why do you care?” he finally asks.
It is a good question—one I often ask myself; whenever I witness things that threaten the well-being of humans and feel compelled to intervene. Once was a time when I would have considered such actions below my station. In some ways, they still are. And yet, I cannot ignore the discomfort when these moments arise, the growing sense of wrongness, of unfairness, as does now once again.
“What is your purpose here?”
My question does not sit well with Ixhan, as evidenced by the click of his claws and the rattling of his feathers.
“You question me?”
It occurs to me that we are throwing questions at each other, neither willing to provide answers. And so I take a different approach.
“It is decided, then. You shall leave the realm of men. Now. Never to return.”
The Crow King grows agitated, raucous. Steps closer.
“I would tear the flesh from your bones were you human, but you are not.”
“It is well that you remember this.”
“Leave now and I shall forgive you your offenses.”
It is my turn to laugh.
“You cannot make me leave.”
“Nor can you I.”
He has a point.
Because of his nature, Ixhan is a powerful being—perhaps more powerful than myself. While it would be difficult for him to destroy me, it would be even more so for me to destroy him.
Fighting him would be pointless. We would only waste time and energy, and neither of us would win.
What I need are answers—answers he is not willing to provide.
And so I must find them elsewhere.
Knowledge is power.
Without another word, I turn and walk away.
His coos of victory follow me out of the castle.
***
He thinks I have given up, but I shall prove him wrong.
There are villages nearby—I saw them while traveling. I shall visit them all and inquire about the creature who lives here. Perhaps in this fashion I may perceive the nature of his goal.
The people of Thalimbar grow wary when they glimpse the skull-shaped pommel of my cane, the spectacles on my nose—an unusual sight in the realm of men—, and the blackness of my clothes. I smile and tip my hat at a couple, and try on my most persuasive and friendly voice.
“Good evening, citizens. I was hoping you might help me with some information—or, if not, could point me to one who may be able to illuminate me.”
“What sort of information?” the woman asks, eyes narrowed to slits.
“As to that, I have seen from a distance a most somber castle and was curious as to whom may live there?”
She makes a warding gesture as her husband scowls.
“You are a friend of that beast?” he asks.
“Would I seek such information if I were?” I reply in genuine surprise.
The woman grabs the man’s arm and pulls him away.
“We have nothing to say to you! Come, Ghared, he’s trying to trick us.”
I watch them hurry away, wondering how one might trick another by asking such simple questions. Perhaps I will have better luck at an inn.
It is never hard to find one. Their owners want to be found, after all. Is that not the point of an inn? And so I spot its swaying sign from a distance and make for it.
As expected, the place is crowded, hot, and boisterous. It is discomforting, but I must make do, at least for a little while.
Sitting at the bar, I order a mug of ale. I have no taste for the drinks of men, but one must blend as one can, and it would not do to drink anything other than a human would—not in their presence, that is.
After a quick appraisal, the innkeeper serves me.
I decide to try a different approach.
“On the road,” I say, “I noticed a battlefield. It seemed not so old.”
The man groans. “Aye. Some of the larger towns thought they would send soldiers to intimidate King Crow and drive it away.” He makes a warding gesture, not unlike the woman had earlier. “Instead, purple-skinned creatures poured out of the castle and slaughtered them all. But they didn’t stop there. Oh no! They marched on to the towns that had sent the men, and destroyed them. We’re mighty glad none of them came through our village, or there would not be much of it left standing.”
I had only seen soldiers on that battlefield, no monsters, suggesting none of the latter were killed. A most chilling thought. And where had they come from? There had been no sign of them at the castle. Had Ixhan summoned them for this purpose alone?
“I heard Brinston and Garrow were both razed,” a patron overhearing our conversation says. “So thoroughly, you’d think they’d never existed.”
“Aye,” the innkeeper concedes with a nod. “And those were both much larger than Thalimbar.”
“You called him King Crow,” I say. “Is this what he calls himself?”
“Before the soldiers came, some brave souls tried to go into that cursed castle alone. Few ever returned. Those who have spoke of a fearsome creature that was both like and unlike a man, with the feathers and head of a crow, the rest of its body as a human’s. It gave not its name, but others called it such, and so we all do.”
“Why would you think it a king?”
“It lives in a castle, does it not?” remarks the patron.
I ponder this. “And why is that? What is this castle? How did the creature come to be there?”
Both men shrug, but it is the innkeeper who responds.
“It once belonged to the Haddenghars—a noble family. The Duke was a distant relative of our good king. But then misfortune befell them.”
The patron snorts. “Biggest understatement ever.”
“Perhaps.” The innkeeper grunts as he refills the man’s mug—I still haven’t touched mine. “You know what they say about crows—birds of ill omen, the lot of them. They started showing up. Roosted in crenels and slits. For every one that was shooed away, four others came. Until they were everywhere. That was when people started getting sick—the servants, the guards, the Duke’s children... The sickness took them all.”
Remembering the dust, I frown. “How long ago was this?”
“Twenty years,” he responds somberly.
“And this King Crow has been there all this time?”
The man hesitates.
“No one knows,” says the patron after taking a big swig from his drink. “We first heard about the beast last year, but would I be surprised if it had been there longer? I would not. Perhaps even from the beginning.” He stares into his mug, as if trying to scry some truth in what little liquid remains within. “It is a crow as well, is it not?”
While all this is interesting, it still tells me nothing about the creature’s motives.
Why bother with such a place? Why even come to the realm of men?
When I look up, I notice the innkeeper is squinting at me.
“Why the interest, stranger?”
Thinking back to the couple in the street, I consider my reply.
“I think I can rid you of King Crow.”
***
There must be something in the castle—or perhaps it is the land that has drawn the Crow King. Why else would it be here?
I ask further questions, but the two men know nothing else. My statement has made them excited, however, and now they ask me more questions than I do them.
“How will you do this feat?”
“Who are you?”
“Do you have powers?”
“Why would you help us?”
And so many others, it is difficult to keep track. I could not even say who asked which. Not that it matters much. My answers remain evasive, by necessity—if only to protect them. They grow frustrated, perhaps even dubious.
“You should speak to the king,” the innkeeper finally suggests.
It is a thought I had entertained, though only briefly. It would take days to reach the capital, and I am loath to leave for so long. I sense urgency in this matter, and I learned long ago to follow my instinct.
“Perhaps I shall do this,” I say prudently.
I thank them both for their companionship, pay for the ale—which still sits on the counter untouched—and depart the establishment.
Rather than outstay my welcome in Thalimbar, I decide to explore other nearby villages. I hear similar stories from them, confirming that the creature has been terrorizing the region for slightly over a year—though only those foolhardy enough to approach the castle, as Ixhan never seems to leave the premises. As for the monsters he sent against the soldiers—and who went on to rain retribution upon the bigger towns—they had never been seen before.
“Is there anything special about that castle?” I ask a farmer whose son once dared go in and survived.
The man furrows his brow. “How do you mean?”
“There must be a reason the creature settled there.”
He rubs the back of his head. “Can’t think of nothing, stranger. It’s as much a castle as any other.”
“What of your son? Could I speak to him?”
The farmer shifts, eyes darting toward the farmhouse.
“He’d be with the horses now, I wager. But I don’t know he’d be much help. Poor boy’s not all there in his head. Hasn’t been since that day. Took quite a toll on him, that it did!”
“I’ll be gentle. Thank you for your time, good sir. I’ll leave you to your work.”
He leans on his pitchfork and watches me walk toward the farm.
As I approach, I spot a woman sitting on the porch, studying me as intensely as the man had. I count four other men nearby, all younger looking than the farmer and the woman—likely their children.
When I tell her her husband sent me to speak with her son—the one who went into the castle—she glares at the fields, then motions with her chin toward the stable.
“You’ll find Bethrel in there. But he doesn’t like to talk.”
I incline my head. “Understood. I promise to be considerate and shall not impose upon your kindness.”
Seemingly appeased, she nods, and I head for the stable.
The boy is there. Perhaps twelve. It is difficult for me to assess human ages, but he is the youngest of their sons, that much I can tell.
“Hello Bethrel,” I say softly.
He looks up at me and blinks. At least he is not frightened by my appearance—a brave one, for sure. Though perhaps that should not surprise me, if he went into the castle.
“I was hoping to have a word with you.” Looking around, I spot a bale of hay. I sit upon it and lay my cane across my lap. “My name is Varushka. I come from a kingdom very far away. There are... things there. Scary things. Well, it is a relative thing, is it not? For what is scary for one person may not be for another. They are quite common in my lands, and so they do not frighten me.”
The boy listens quietly. I notice his eyes are fixed on my cane.
“Ah. You wonder about this, don’t you?” I tap on the pommel. “Yes, it is a real skull. From a small creature that can only be found in the Gleaming. A nasty little thing, really. Placing it here was a necessity when...” I pause, realizing there is little point in telling him I once ruled over monsters and fairies. If anything, it may frighten him. “It was necessary,” I resume, “so other such creatures would understand they should not attempt to take what is not theirs.” The boy is now holding my gaze, and I read curiosity in his eyes. “Now, I hear there is a beast that has acted here in a similar fashion, taking possession of a castle that it does not own.”
I watch Bethrel’s reaction carefully. There is the barest of shudders as the meaning of my words sinks in. He nods slowly.
“There are things I can do to punish it,” I continue. “But to succeed, I need your help.”
The boy tilts his head, a slight frown on his face.
“What?” he asks.
“Can you tell me what you saw when you went into the castle?”
“Darkness.” He hesitates. “It eats everything. I follow light down, down, down.”
The statement puzzles me. Then I remember what the farmer said. His son returned changed, as if his mind had been damaged. Still, there must be meaning behind the words.
“You went down? Into the dungeons?”
“The darkness swallows me.” The boy shudders. “It screams, too. Ow! Ow! Ow!” His fingers curl into claws and he gestures in front of him, as if scratching at an invisible wall. “The voice says go, so I go. I run! Fast, fast! Birds everywhere! But light protects, pushes monsters away!”
I ponder this for a long while. There is something in the depths of that castle. When I visited, I went up. Evidently, I should have gone down. Whatever is there was able to protect the boy, to help him escape.
After thanking the child, I leave.
It is clear to me now what I must do. If there are more answers to be had, I will not find them among the humans. They would not know the nature of that place—how could they?
And so, to the castle I must return.
***
There is a challenge here.
How does one explore such a place without drawing the attention of the creature who inhabits said place? It would not do to be interrupted.
Granted, there was little Ixhan could do to hurt me, but he could thwart me, nonetheless. I would rather not give him the opportunity to impede my movements.
The answer is obvious, though it comes at a cost.
I can travel through a different plane, sharing the same space as the castle. And looking through the veil that separates realms, I could see what is here from there. But doing this will deplete my energy, making me weaker if I must confront the Crow King. There is also a chance he may detect me—he, too, after all, is a creature from another reality. My hope is that he will not expect such an approach. Though perhaps my chances would be higher had we not met already. Now he knows who I am and what I am.
Then again, he thinks I have given up.
Either way, there is no other option.
And so I phase out of the realm of men, into the closest plane—that of spirits and ghosts. It is a strange one, where everything feels unreal, misty, cold. Luckily, I mind none of that.
I wade my way through the murky air, starting far enough to avoid the spying eyes of crows. Keeping a veil open into the realm of men, I watch as the castle looms closer, then disappears above the ground as I angle down. Spirits know no matter, and so it is no trouble. I keep going until I reach dimly lit halls and winding stairs. I follow their path into the depths. And though it has been decades since I’ve seen darkness so stark, my eyes adjust easily enough, for darkness in the Gleaming reigns supreme.
In the distance, far below the surface, something awaits. I feel its pulse before I sense its warmth or glimpse its light. It knows I am coming; it calls to me.
When I reach the bottom and can go no further, I stop and stare.
It glows and glitters and hums.
“Welcome.”
The voice—neutral in tone and gender—rings in my head; warm and friendly.
“Who are you? What are you?”
“I am I.” It sounds puzzled by the question, as if the answer should be obvious to all. “The soil, the earth, the rock.”
“The castle?”
“That too.”
I ponder this a moment. “What does Ixhan want?”
“He would absorb my substance to compound its own.”
Though I had never known of an entity such as this, it is evidently significant, and I can only guess at what such a union would bring.
“You resist the Crow King?”
“It is not in my nature to fly.”
The answer seems so simplistic, almost childish... To think the monster is thwarted only because the earth resists the call of the sky is a humbling revelation.
“How can I stop him?” I ask.
“You cannot.” The voice now carries so much sorrow it shakes me. “Nor can I. Eventually, it will break through my defenses and reap its prize.”
“That I cannot accept.”
“Even so.”
“I shall find a way.”
The earth’s mournful sigh follows me as I make my way to the surface.
***
Before I even burst out of the ground, I sense that something is off.
I phase back into the realm of men, and find a thousand crows waiting, cawing furiously at me. They are everywhere. Sitting on tree branches, fences, rocks, even on the ground.
As if of one mind, they all take to the sky, then suddenly turn downward, aiming for the same spot. Their shapes blur and blend, until there is only one left—human-shaped, black feathers swaying in the wind, angry red eyes fixed on me.
“You dare defy me!”
I rest both hands on the pommel of my cane. Smile.
“Surely, you do not suggest that having a walk is a threat to you?”
The Crow King narrows his eyes.
“You think I could not see you? I know what you did, Count!”
I shrug. “I did nothing.”
“What I do here is none of your business. I warn you, do not stick your nose where it does not belong!”
“Is that not what you are doing by settling in this castle?”
“You play a dangerous game.”
“As do you.”
His beak clicks and clacks. He throws his arms out and a dozen birds spring from them, rushing toward me.
I phase out.
Shadows leap at me, taking the shape of crows.
“You think I cannot follow you here?” Ixhan’s voice roars.
Swinging my cane, I destroy the misty shapes before they can touch me.
“Your power is not so strong in this plane,” I remark.
The creature caws in frustration. “You cannot stay there forever!”
Not only is his statement accurate, but I am significantly weakened by the time spent in the realm of spirits. This I cannot allow him to suspect.
I choose not to respond and drift away.
Only once far enough from the castle do I return to the world.
Exhausted, I sit and reflect.
One thing is painfully clear.
The Crow King is too powerful for me to take down.
And so, I must resolve to my only other option.
I must call upon the Council of Beasts.
***
Because of its nature as a conciliator and, in extreme cases, as an arbiter of justice, the Council is meant to be easily reached, no matter which plane one resides in—and regardless of whether the denizens of said plane are aware of the Council’s existence.
It is then a small matter to open a path and travel to the realm where they officiate. A small one, meant for this sole purpose, made of green streams and purple hills—at least for now. Members have agency over its appearance.
I walk a dark trail through thick trees that ends in a vast clearing.
In its center lies a black dragon—tall as three men, long as a hundred.
Though we have never met, I know his name.
According to legend, Emnemogarh was born before time itself—though none, not even I, would dare question him about it. Some claim he was a founding member of the Council, perhaps even the one who suggested the concept, though he spends most of his time sleeping. What is known for certain is that he is temperamental and unpredictable.
There are no others present, and so I have no choice but to deal with him.
I pause and lean on my cane, awaiting his pleasure.
Head resting on his front paws, the dragon stares at me lazily.
“What do you want, human?”
“I am not human.”
“No? Odd.” He lifts his head to examine me more thoroughly. “Ah. We see now what you are.” His head falls with a thump. “What do you want?” he repeats.
Since he asks not for my name, I choose not to provide it—it is not wise in such a place to stray from precise answers to precise questions.
“I would tell you of Ixhan.”
A puff of smoke drifts from his nostrils as the dragon snorts. “The Crow King is long gone. He matters no more to us than the light of a thousand suns.”
“He has found his way to the realm of men.”
His massive head rises once more, a gleam of interest sparkling in his golden eyes.
“Indeed?”
“He has taken residence in an abandoned castle—an abandonment I suspect he provoked, for there is power there, in the ground. A power he craves enough to summon monsters and slaughter humans who try to scare him away.”
“A power, you say?”
“I am uncertain of its nature, though it spoke to me as if it were the earth and stone and the castle itself.”
Emnemogarh nods pensively. “There are few such creatures—ancient beings trapped by the wiles of wizards.”
“I had thought it an elemental.”
“Be that as it may, it is of little concern to us.”
“This power... this being... Ixhan would absorb it. How much more powerful do you think this would make him?”
The dragon remains quiet for a long time. With his eyes closed, I start to wonder if he has fallen asleep.
But then he shifts. Groans.
“Enough to sunder reality and render planes unstable.”
“As I thought. And so it is not only the realm of men that is in peril.” I take a deep breath. “I believe he wants revenge.”
“Upon what?”
“Upon the Council.”
I do not know this for a fact. But I need a reaction to ensure action.
The dragon does not disappoint.
He springs up and roars, belching a stream of fire that singes my skin as it streaks the sky above me.
“We shall sunder his flesh and render his bones brittle instead.”
“Or burn him.”
The beast’s maw opens, fangs glinting in the greenish moonlight in a gruesome grin.
“Or burn him,” he agrees.
***
Council members rarely intervene in person, but Emnemogarh insists.
We travel together to the realm of men, and as we do so, I marvel at his composure. Gone are all traces of boredom, or sleepiness, or even anger. He seems serene now, almost at peace. But one should never judge a beast such as he upon appearances. I know all too well his rage still simmers unseen.
A group of humans—likely merchants—appears on the road ahead of us. They recoil at the sight of the black dragon and scatter to the sides.
I tip my hat as we go past them, my companion unperturbed.
“Why associate with such weaklings?” he asks me later.
Those are the first words he’s spoken since we left the clearing where he rested.
Part of me wonders how much he can read into me. Seeing the amused glint in his eyes, I suspect more than I care.
“They are frail,” I concede, “but their will knows no bounds.”
He is dubious—that much is clear from the puff of smoke he releases at my statement. I shrug.
“Their lives are short, so they endeavor to make them count. It gives them purpose and strength, the likes of which I have never witnessed in other creatures.”
The dragon ponders my words a long while.
“Bugs have even shorter lifespans,” he remarks. “Do they share a similar impulse?”
“They do not. But they lack the capacity for intelligence and wisdom that humans possess.”
“Interesting.”
“What is?”
“You do not claim them to possess intelligence or wisdom, only the capacity for these.”
“Indeed. For what distinguishes one individual of the species from another is how much of each is at their disposal.”
This is, evidently, an oversimplification. Many other factors make a man a man and a woman a woman, but I suspect the dragon would have little patience for such considerations.
“And so, by necessity, they are all the same.”
The statement startles me. I glance at Emnemogarh, but his stare remains fixed on the horizon.
“Quite the contrary, they are all different.”
“How many of them are there, Count?”
This tells me he knows who I am, as I suspected, but I am too intrigued by the turn of our conversation to address the point.
“Thousands, possibly millions.”
“And would you agree that the extreme cases would be least common?”
“Extreme intelligence and extreme wisdom, and their extreme opposites? Certainly.”
“The sheer number of humans is much higher than the possible number of permutations. Thus, would it not stand to reason that most humans would be of a similar level of intelligence and wisdom?”
“I cannot agree with your reasoning, Lord Dragon.”
“No? And why not?”
“Those are only two factors,” I say reluctantly. “There are others that make them unique.”
“Such as?”
I am baffled that he would even care. Is he bored again?
“The same factors that make dragons unique. Or those of my kin. Or even demons.” He huffs at this—though I cannot say if it is from amusement or annoyance. Since he does not comment, I continue. “Personality, Lord Dragon. Hope. Aspirations. Fears. Each individual has his own. They are all as unique as each dragon is, begging your pardon.”
Emnemogarh says nothing.
We journey on in silence.
Though it is not much further, and soon the castle appears in the distance.
The dragon grows restless.
“We feel it,” he says. “It sleeps in the hollow of the earth.” His eyes turn to me. “It, too, knows fear.”
And fear troubles its dreams.
***
The earth is strained. There are cracks in the walls that were not there before.
I walk through the gate and stop in the middle of the courtyard to shout out his name.
“Ixhan!”
Crows caw. Hundreds of them.
The air shimmers from the flapping of so many wings.
“Your time has run out!” I holler.
“It is yours that has,” answers the now familiar voice—one filled with fury.
I grin as his shape forms before me.
“You sealed your fate the moment you stepped back into this castle,” the Crow King hisses.
“The better to lure you out.”
The creature narrows his eyes.
A shadow falls from above, and he snaps his head up just in time to see the dragon dropping down at full speed.
I phase out as fire rains from the sky.
But Ixhan is fast. His body disassembles, crows bursting from where he stood. Many of them are incinerated, but many more escape. A few come within my reach, so I return to the realm of men swinging my cane. I slide out the blade at the tip with a twist of my wrist. It slashes through skin and bones, and blood spurts out, staining black wings. Birds drop like stones.
A swarm of them swirls around me. I phase in and out, each time taking a dozen with me, eviscerating them in a plane where they are diminished. Each is a blow to the Crow King that further impairs him.
The dragon now sits in the courtyard, snapping his fangs at any crow brazen enough to approach him. He tears them apart and swallows them whole.
Soon there are only a handful left, and they hover above us, out of reach, yapping furiously.
The dragon eyes them with amusement.
“Be quiet. This is just punishment for your offenses. You were once one of us, you should have known better. Go, and let this be a lesson to you.”
What little remains of Ixhan does not seem content with the sentence, as the birds continue to protest noisily.
I retract the blade, rest the cane against the ground, and lean upon its pommel.
“You would let him go?”
“It matters no more. There is not enough left for the Crow King to take form again. Ixhan is a threat no longer.”
The crows protest, flapping their wings and cawing loudly.
Losing interest, Emnemogarh looks at me.
“You have changed, Count.” A pause. “We are not sure we like it.”
Without another word, the dragon lunges into the sky and soon is but a dot in the distance—and then, he is gone.
I ponder his words. It is true that I have changed, I have noticed it myself. But I disagree with his assessment that it is a bad thing. If anything, I am slightly more human.
But it is not enough.
I must strive to do better, always.
With the dragon gone, the crows fly away.
And so I, too, must now depart.
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Want to read more Varushka stories? I got you covered!
By the Light of the Weeping Moon (the Count confronts an old foe who once was his lover)
An Endless Day in a Sunless Town (reliving the same day over and over ain’t no fun!)
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Text (c) 2026 by Alex S. Garcia.
Header: royalty-free stock image, edited by me.
