Yes, this is very very long. 😂 read only if you’re bored or have nothing to do lol
I kinda just wanted to post this somewhere, the final version, idk. It may have some typos but that’s it.


I write this, realizing these sentences are to be my last words. Why must we die?! Especially the mayor, the poor soul of a Capra Born. He tried, we all know he tried. He tried to prevent us from the dangers of Konstance.
They are using a battering ram- now attempting to get the village’s gates open. Half of our Tahaka Villagemen strain themselves against the bars as resistance of the battering ram’s force - hoping the gates will grant us the time we need for a nearly nonexistent chance of survival. The rest of the men stand nearby, holding any possible weapon ready, their faces expressionless and their eyes shrouded by the same flame that once engulfed Konstance. I was once his cousin, until he earned himself an erasing from the village’s list of inhabitants. I looked up to him. Now we shall all perish.
Though I am roughly half a mile away, I can still see them surrounding us. There no longer waits a single gap- no survival opportunity for us. With a war cry, they will inevitably shatter the gates to splinters. Then both Capra-born village members and Konstance’s Griffinbloods will race towards each other, both with the severe instinct and intent to kill, battle cries howling deep within.Meanwhile, most of our women and all the children not yet of age have fled together far into the woods, supposedly led by one of our great men, Rauben. I, Sparrow Cardillion, however, have been granted both the curse and the blessing to carry the entire village’s last thoughts, notes, recordings, and grand message to the tree. Once I lay it to rest there, it could lay there for years, decades, or centuries, even.
I suppose I carry our last farewells.
Once I am finished here, I will hurry back so that no one may suspect me as the Farewell-Carrier, or else I would face torture so strong as to reveal the Tree’s whereabouts. So, I must join the men to be killed. After all, that ‘thing’ should remember me, sooner or later, and he knows I would rather face danger than start a new threat. He knows that nothing can keep me from what I want. Even now he likely awaits at the front middle of his army, where he can scan the slaughtering of our dear village without danger in return. Once he realizes the disappearance of all women and all children under 14, he might just remember the older boys that remain and of whom may pose threats- and then sooner or later recall me as well.
I am a mile away from the village- as I said before. I am ordered to rest upon the cliff below the one supporting the Village Tree, to write to anyone in the future who may discover and read this. Behind the Village Tree lies a miniature box formed by the Tree’s roots, so even if they fell the tree as victory- the box will remain with the letters safe inside.
Now I write my last farewell, even as the gate now shatters, broken. If you still live- dear Lilli Akrocan, dearest friend. Why did you disappear? Did Konstance truly kidnap you? So he could get his revenge for your aunt, simply due to you being her namesake? To write his story as my own?
The horrific screams- they start to rise along with the smoke. The dreaded “Man of flame” arrives with the purpose of commanding his army, formed from slaved Griffinbloods. I can no longer wait to catch my breath, for it must soon cease anyway. If you still breath, if you ever read this, then leave this rubble immediately. Never return- not even through your mind’s eye. This once pastoral place shall soon burn to a skeleton of what it was- and what could have been. Flee and forget the remains. Erase it from all maps. Let us be forgotten, lest other rebels gain discouragement. Forget my darkness and I-please.
Farewell.
Here the mind’s pen of Sparrow Cardillion shall cease.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The county of Napakaganda often appeared a beautifully architecture place, providing comfort for its decent population of diverse people. Indeed, it gained that reputation well, until the epidemic. Now, its enormous hospital often ran as a fairly busy place. The outbreak of a once rare disease exploded in the last decade, causing thousands of deaths. Any survivors quickly found themselves with a loss of at least one sense, and although a cure had been found, certain people stingily set the price extremely high- too high for most. Thus, although the price was lowering, friends and family of those diseased secretly started planning a mini rebellion. Sadly, their plan failed, and caused even more shortage of money for these families. These families often changed- reportedly behaving similar to zombies; hushed and hopeless; both physically and mentally broken down. They oftentimes, too weak to stand, would practically live on public benches, both due to the shortage of rooms and as last attempt at protest. Thus, one particular family found themselves, in the autumn of 2059, in such a state.
A family, known as the Kronsers, limply leaned against one other as many others of their kind did, utterly hopeless. The elder of the two daughters died only recently inside the Napakaganda hospital, and though receiving no word of it, they simply knew. They breathed the last breaths of hope, even as the air they shared with the remaining, heavily-diseased daughter guaranteed all their deaths. Over the course of an hour the ten-year-old son breathed once more, before slumping, dead. Right after, the stepfather succumbed and joined his son, and alas, the mother and the younger daughter, the last survivors of their family, clutched each other close. Yet, as fate may often happen, a room was marked available for them, just as Mr. Kronser had died. This moment; between the stepfather’s death and the moment from whence his family was told of their room, begins our story.
A man strode confidently through the hospital building’s blinding ivory halls, his wavy auburn hair tightly tied into a bouncy ponytail behind him. His dark grey turtleneck sweater, knitted navy beanie, and dark green jeans gained him the appearance of one of the few rebels that still somehow had managed to have continued on and thrived way past the others. His appearance caused many to stutter as he walked by. He made a point to meet their eyes with the worse of his own, a blinded silver orb. His mission still called him, and however much he hated and disagreed with it, he knew he must finish the job. He hurried himself into a room, the only one still available, and nodded curtly to the cleaning workers who were wrapping up an elderly man’s body. The workers stoically gazed up at him, not pausing from their work but observing him. He motioned to the corner that was labeled “goodbye gifts”. They simply, and quite grimly nodded, granting him access. He watched them leave with the deceased’s body, before hurrying into the room across the hall to which he had mailed a package. He picked it up gently, returning to the patient’s room, and laying it down below the sign. He attempted to force himself to leave- and yet, he could not manage even a step away from the box. He gazed over his shoulder, the image of the box burning into his tormented mind. He closed his eyelids and allowed the tears of relief to flow.
“My mission; nearly accomplished. Within the stars, the captives will soon be freed.” *he mumbled to himself, dazed. He was really going to do it, wasn’t he. He was ready to damn an innocent human. He shuddered at the horror of himself.
Suddenly, he heard their footsteps. He ripped his eyes from the box and stealthily flew out of the room, his brown eye meeting the stares of the Kronser’s. He smiled sadly, slowing himself to walk normally past them. The Kronser mother and daughter then ignored him, heeding him no more mind.
Mrs. Kronser and her violently coughing child, Grace, were led by the nurse and soon settled into the room. The nurse noticed the package and spoke up.
“Excuse me, do you know of any relatives who may have dropped this off?” The nurse asked, puzzled at how the possible relative dropped a box off but didn’t bother to house them, as some did, in order of having prevented the girl’s greatly probable death.
“No, I’m afraid not.” The mother responded breathily, shaking her head and needing some care of her own.
The nurse nodded slowly, setting aside the cardboard package and continuing her work of treating the daughter as best as one could manage. When it came time for the girl to rest, the nurse pulled the mother out of the room. Speaking in shushed mumbles, she carefully attempted her reminder to the excited Mrs. Kronser, of her daughter’s high chance of dying even in the midst of the half-treated state, and how by the hospital program, Mrs. Kronser, if Grace died, could share a temporary home with other grieving women. The mother, recalling how the girl has already lost her sense of smell, nodded and was handed directions to nearby shelter for the night. And, with that, the girl was left to rest, watched only by a security monitor.
Nighttime creeped from day.
The man from earlier returned. Yet, his form, now different, striked some fear into nearby doctors. Now, elegant, ram-like horns wound out of his tight braid of hair, (only a curled tuft emerged, bouncing against his forehead with each step), and goat like ears, both the size of his hands, protruded from the braid as well. He now wore a crimson vest set atop a loosely fitting undershirt, tucked into pure ebony canvas trousers. His pupils appeared horizontal and rectangular shapes now, much like an animal’s would. He gazed around the room, before shattering the security camera with a single blow and proceeding forwards. A light fixture was nearly knocked away by his horns, yet as the man descended from a race that which concepts such as time and space adored; the fixture flickered into nonexistence for a quick moment. The man resumed and strode forward, cutting the package in the blink of an eye. He examined the three items inside; an intricate necklace, a piece of paper, and an ebony pen. In another flashing fraction of a second, he laid the piece of paper, and the pen, both in the sleeping girl’s hands. In one more, the necklace slipped upon her neck. He paused, gazing upon the human he cursed. He held a hand to his mouth, coughing up his own blood. He sighed, seeing a ray of light shine into the room. He touched the girl’s hand with his pinky finger, hating himself for what he had done for his sister - missing her, but ready to sacrifice an innocent stranger for her. He sighed once more, tears in his eyes as he stepped into the window’s light. As he felt himself fading away, he whispered.
Farewell, bring her- and I- back home.
Then, just like that, he vanished-and the girl so as well.
When she awoke, Grace Kronser felt a strange, fluttering sensation upon her nose. She slowly opened her eyes to see what appeared to be a butterfly on her nose. The creature startled and took once more to the wind, allowing Grace to observe the wings, one totally black, one blindingly white. A respectively matching hue arose from each of the wings, leaving a vibrant trail of both shade and purity behind it. Confused, she sat up, and realized how different her body felt. She rose to the sight of a seemingly eternal valley. Green grass flowed in a gentle breeze alongside tulips, roses, and orchids. Birds, goats, and cattle made noises from off in the distance. She listened to all their calls, before returning her attention to the butterfly. The winged insect flying into the distance, seemed to beckon her with the trail of ebony and pure white. With no other option, she stumbled after it, leg muscles still quite weak and unexercised. She thought up of all the times her younger brother had disappeared, only to return shortly, tightly holding onto a butterfly wing and wailing about accidently killing on the delicate creature.
She continued attempting to catch the butterfly, her emotions both giddy and lost. Both insect and its stalking admirer turned a sharp corner behind a hill- and Grace found herself staring into the yellow eyes of a man-like creature. The tawny-skinned man, stepping back, outstretched two pairs of gold and green-blue wings. Dark sienna hair hung in a long, tightly coiled poof around his angularly square face. Gold, crimson, and indigo marks were painted in a single three-layered ‘x’ atop his wide chin. The girl gasped and slowly backed away, but the man’s hand seized her own.
“Peonia? Sister, is that you? Have you finally returned to save us?” The man gasped out, relief shining upon his face. Joyful tears blurred his vision as he released a deep laugh, resounding a deeply driven insanity. Grace’s confusion grew, and the man noticed her awkward position, ceased his laughter, and glaring down in shock, wiping away his tears.
“Intruder!” Suddenly, a spear’s sharp point was held threatingly at her, the man bursting into broken sobs once more. He chucked it at the girl, who ducked and covered her head, fearing for her life. The man continued screaming and throwing the spear at her, even as she sprinted off. Everything became a blur until a whicker echoed from the distance, and suddenly the man was kicked in the gut by an elegantly tall, strawberry roan stallion, ridden by an older figure who pointed a sword each at the two. The rider possessed a long ponytailed bob of coarse hair, out of which stuck out two devil-like horns. He himself bore only a single wing- which grew increasingly sparsely feathered along the edge. Noticing the fierce trembling of the girl, the newly arrived, calmer man turned to the younger, scoffing down at him.
“I commanded you not to leave your position. Your sister abandoned us, alright? Quit sneaking away to find her, for all we know she could be dead! I demand your explanation for throwing a valuable weapon at an innocent passerby.” He spoke coolly.
The younger man shook his head, visibly annoyed but defeated. He strode past Grace, pausing to glare at her, before pouting off into the distance, where Grace could see the outline of some form of shelter, perhaps a tent. The horseman, meanwhile leapt off his steed and limped over to the girl.
“My name is General Fachidiot, and you have trespassed upon grounds of a war encampment. Your name, and purpose, is?” He questioned, leaning back on his heels and pointing a finger at her accusingly. His sharp eyebrows sternly held onto the top of his reddish-brown eyes, and his whole, darkly colored and oblong shaped face, appeared both gentle and frightening at the same time. Grace stared in awe, noticing a deep zig zag shaped cut missing from one of his strange ears.
“My name is Grace Kronser, and umm, screw you and whoever else that man is! Now! Where is this exactly?” She demanded, gazing toward the ground and stomping. Her heart beat quickly, and her legs quivered with anger.
The man straightened himself, confused. “Are you a messenger, a nurse, or a deliverer of some sort?” He asked, growing more suspicious by the moment.
“None of the above.” She answered, seething.
The man stared at her, perplexed by her strange phrases. He abruptly pulled out a dagger.
“If you will not leave immediately, you will be killed. I can not risk anyone alive that seems a spy, not even a girl, another griffin-blood, nor a child.” He growled, motioning to her non-goat-like ears and then her throat.
“Griffin?” She muttered. She gazed at the man, not fearing her death, quite ready for it even, after losing her family.
The man froze, and suddenly burst into laughter.
“You, you don’t know your own race? You must be an escaped child of one of Konstance’s Griffin slaves, but the closest camp for them is miles from here. No wonder you seem so lost…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat, folded one arm, and did an odd form of bowing by stretching out one long leg behind him and sinking to the ground. He gently wrapped both of his hands around her own, then pulled himself up once more.
“Since that may be the case, you may stay one, and I repeat, one day, yet since you may also be a spy, you are to remain, for the most part, solitary, yet kept an eye on. I shall lead you to your tent, and there you are ordered to remain until I fetch you for dinner, although, you shan’t expect more than a glass of water, a meager bowl of bread crumbs, and perhaps a couple berries if the forager returns successfully. Follow me.” With that, General Fachidiot, his stallion Warwick, and Grace Kronser trotted over to the settlement of Aleron.