Dawn broke over the campsite with a soft, golden glow, painting the sky with streaks of amber and pink. The air was crisp and cool, with only a hint of a breeze.

Ebonheim rose early, as she always did, and went to check on the others. Viviane and Serelle were up already, huddled over a campfire and sipping on bowls of steaming soup. Ingrid and Thorsten sat nearby, sharpening their weapons and preparing for the journey ahead.

Urien lay sprawled under a pile of furs, snoring loudly, his boots poking out from beneath the heap. Lorne stirred quietly in his tent, emerging a few moments later with a yawn.

They had decided to move their camp to the forest's edge, just in case other harpies stumbled across them unexpectedly; The open fields would have left them too exposed, whereas the trees offered some camouflage.

As they finished breakfast, Ebonheim made her way to the outskirts of the camp where Gwynelle awaited, nibbling on a strip of jerky.

Gwynelle perked up immediately, fluffing her feathers and stretching her wings. "Ready?" she chirped, bouncing in place. "Go to queen, meet with queen!"

Ebonheim gave her a thumbs-up. "Soon, Gwynelle. Just let us finish packing up and we'll be off."

The young harpy nodded, flitting about impatiently, her feathers fluttering in the light wind.

Once everything was loaded into packs and bags, and everyone's armor and weapons were equipped, they set off for the floating islands.

Gwynelle led the way, flitting through the air with ease. Her wings carried her high above the treetops, and she occasionally flew in spirals, chirping cheerfully. Ebonheim and the others followed along below, weaving their way through the forest.

As they traveled, Gwynelle would periodically swoop down and land on a branch, waiting for them to catch up before taking off again. Her antics provided a welcome distraction from the monotony of the hike, and the others gradually grew more animated as the day wore on. They joked and laughed, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air.

Eventually, they reached the edge of the forest, stepping out onto a vast plain dotted with boulders and patches of wild grass. The floating islands hovered in the sky like suspended clouds, drifting lazily above the forest canopy. Their undersides were cloaked in verdant moss and dangling vines, while the tops were scattered with rocks, bushes, and trees.

Some of the islands were massive, taking up the space of several hills, while others were tiny, barely large enough to stand on. The smaller ones moved about, bumping into each other and creating small explosions of dust and debris. Others drifted slowly through the sky, undisturbed by the chaos around them.

"Wow," Serelle breathed, gazing upward in awe. "To see this kind of phenomenon up close...it's incredible."

"Aye," Thorsten grunted, shielding his eyes from the sun's glare as he scanned the skies. "Which one's the nesting site, little bird-girl?"

Gwynelle landed on a boulder near the forest's edge, bobbing her head excitedly. "Home!" She flapped her wings and took to the air once more, flying straight towards the largest island. It hung in the sky, like a giant, leafy cloud, its green foliage swaying gently in the breeze.

As Ebonheim and the others approached, a flock of harpies swooped overhead, chattering noisily. They circled the group, flapping their wings and shrieking before settling onto nearby branches or the ground.

Ebonheim raised her hands placatingly, trying to convey a sense of calmness and peace. The other members of the group followed suit, mirroring her gestures and expressions.

The harpies watched them cautiously, cocking their heads to one side as if unsure what to make of them. Some leaned forward, sniffing the air, while others leaned back, as if retreating in fear.

Ebonheim looked around for Liselotte, but saw no sign of the regal harpy who ruled the territory.

Urien leaned close to Lorne and whispered, "Are these all female? I don't see a single male among 'em, which makes me wonder..." His voice trailed off suggestively, and Lorne shot him a disapproving look.

"Harpies are all females, actually. They mate with human males to produce offspring, and sometimes even keep them as mates, but usually cast them out when they grow bored of them," Serelle murmured in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Oh-ho, is that so?" Urien stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes roving across the surrounding flock. "I suppose that means they're open-minded when it comes to matters of the heart." He winked at Lorne, who rolled his eyes. "Heh, you know, I always wanted to—"

A loud squawk interrupted him, and everyone turned their attention back to the flock.

Gwynelle had landed in the center of the flock and was speaking in a low, urgent tone to the harpies. Her eyes darted nervously to the group, and she kept gesturing at them emphatically. The harpies listened attentively, occasionally making chirping noises or fluttering their wings in response.

After a while, the flock seemed to reach a consensus. Several of the harpies hopped down from their perches, approaching Ebonheim and her group. They stopped in front of them, cocking their heads curiously from side to side, examining them intently.

The group remained still, allowing the harpies to scrutinize them, hoping to convince them that they meant no harm.

A tall, muscular harpy with bright yellow plumage and blue eyes stepped forward, staring directly at Ebonheim. She extended one wing towards her, holding it rigidly in the air. The others in the flock seemed to watch her closely, waiting for some sort of reaction.

Was there some sort of etiquette for meeting with harpies that they were supposed to follow? She tried recalling her interactions with Liselotte last year at the gathering, and couldn't think of anything specific.

Oh dear. Hopefully this isn't some sort of test. Maybe I should offer her food? No, no, that's stupid. Wait, maybe I should shake her wing? Or...?

The tall, yellow-feathered harpy waited patiently, her wing still outstretched, unmoving.

Hmm. Maybe she should take a gamble and embrace her instincts.

She gently placed her hand on the harpy's wing, patting it softly. The harpy's feathers rustled at the touch, and she chirped in surprise. The others in the flock fluttered their wings and made clacking sounds in what seemed like approval.

The yellow-plumed harpy chirped back at them, turning to face Gwynelle, who squeaked in reply. The rest of the flock followed suit, hopping up and down in unison. They chattered excitedly, chirping and whistling at one another, seemingly pleased by this development.

Ebonheim exhaled, relieved, and relaxed her posture. She sensed that some sort of ritual had just occurred, and the others seemed to pick up on this as well, as they lowered their hands and ceased their nervous fidgeting.

After a moment, the yellow-plumed harpy approached Ebonheim once again. "Name?" she asked, pointing to herself. "Name?"

Ebonheim pointed to herself, repeating the same gesture. "Ebonheim. I am Ebonheim." She gestured to the others one by one, introducing them. "Ingrid. Thorsten. Viviane. Serelle. Urien. Lorne."

The yellow-plumed harpy observed Ebonheim's gestures silently, and then she motioned towards herself again. "Mesyori," she said, tapping her own chest with one wing. "Mesyori," she repeated, pointing at the others in turn. "Ingrid. Thorsten. Viviane. Serelle. Urien. Lorne."

The flock tittered in approval. Gwynelle cheered, flapping her wings and spinning around joyfully.

Mesyori bowed deeply, spreading her wings wide, her feathers shimmering in the sunlight. The other harpies in the flock bowed as well, imitating the movement. Ebonheim and the others inclined their heads, following suit.

Viviane nudged Serelle with her elbow. "This is good, right? It seems like a positive outcome so far."

Serelle nodded. "Indeed. I believe they just accepted us as guests. Which is fortunate, as we have come to make a request of their ruler." She glanced over at Ebonheim meaningfully. "Time to formally introduce ourselves to their queen, I suspect."

Ebonheim nodded, turning back towards Mesyori. "Mesyori, can you take us to your queen?"

The yellow-plumed harpy's brow furrowed, her feathers ruffling, and she turned towards the others. They spoke to one another rapidly, before facing Ebonheim.

Mesyori waved her wings toward the forest. "Skytalon. Out. Hunting. Long wait."

Ingrid frowned, crossing her arms. "And how long is long, exactly?"

"Wait," Mesyori repeated, shrugging her wings.

Lorne rubbed his forehead, exhaling deeply. "We'd best settle in for the time being, then. Perhaps they'll be more forthcoming once their queen returns."

---

As they settled in to wait, Ebonheim and the others got a chance to observe the harpies up close. They watched as a group of young harpies chased each other through the sky, dipping and swerving to avoid obstacles. Their feathers flashed iridescent colors, reflecting the light in different hues.

Some dove into the lake below with a splash, while others swam through the water, their wings tucked tightly against their sides. They surfaced with fish in their mouths, and gathered on the shore to feast.

One group huddled together on a nearby hill, grooming and decorating themselves using colorful paints and beads to adorn their feathers. They sang to each other in melodious tones, their voices rising and falling in harmony.

Even the children were engaged in a game of tag, flitting through the air and tackling each other playfully. They tumbled to the ground, squawking and screeching, their wings flaring to cushion their fall.

Another group gathered around a large rock, playing a game involving small sticks and stones. They tossed the sticks into the air, each trying to hit them with their talons as they fell. Occasionally, a stick would land on a stone, and the players would shout in excitement, leaping into the air and flapping their wings in triumph.

The tall, yellow-feathered Mesyori stood off to the side, watching over them with a protective gaze. She occasionally joined in their games, flapping her wings and swooping through the air, but never strayed far from the flock.

At one point, a group of younger harpies approached Ebonheim and the others, peering at them curiously. They sniffed the air, making chirping sounds, and tentatively extended their wings, brushing them against Ebonheim's hand. The others followed suit, rubbing their feathers against her, clearly eager for contact.

"I feel like a piece of meat hanging on a hook," Thorsten muttered, enduring the attention reluctantly. One of the smaller harpies grabbed onto his beard with her talon, tugging on it and warbling loudly. Thorsten grimaced, and the others chuckled as he struggled to disentangle himself. "Oi, oi, not the beard!"

Ingrid sat nearby, having gathered a small crowd of her own, who stroked her blonde hair and braided her plaits with strands of animal fur and tiny flowers. She bore the attention with patience, letting them weave daisy chains into her hair and adorn her armor with colorful feathers.

A short, brown-plumed harpy with hazel eyes circled around her, inspecting her armor and shield. She ran one talon across the engravings on the steel surface, tracing the lines and runes.

Ingrid held still, watching her quietly. The harpy gazed back, cocking her head to one side, as if trying to comprehend what she was seeing. After a moment, the harpy plopped down beside Ingrid, leaning against her heavily, her head resting against Ingrid's shoulder.

Ingrid slowly brought up a hand, hesitating briefly, before placing it on the harpy's head and patting her gently. "I, uh, appreciate the show of affection, but perhaps a bit more personal space?" She tried to nudge the harpy away gently, but the creature clung to her stubbornly, cooing sweetly. "Agh, well, at least she's cute."

Meanwhile, Urien found himself surrounded by a horde of harpies, all clamoring for his attention. He smirked smugly, patting their heads and stroking their feathers. "My, what a lively bunch of girls you are," he declared, flashing his teeth in a wolfish grin. "If only all the ladies were this lovely, eh?"

A petite, white-feathered harpy with silver eyes and blue ribbons adorning her wings peered at him, head tilted. She sidled closer, reaching out to tug on his cloak. Urien laughed, allowing her to pull him down to eye level, where she proceeded to inspect him closely.

Urien responded by blowing a puff of air at her, making her blink in surprise. She pouted, scrunching her face up in an adorable expression, before jumping up and catching the end of his beard in her teeth, giving it a firm yank.

"Woah, not the beard!" Urien protested, but was drowned out by the others' laughter. The harpy pulled again, drawing him in, and he stumbled forward, landing on his knees. The other harpies giggled as he attempted to break free, but the white-feathered harpy's grip was ironclad.

Eventually, he relented and allowed her to continue tugging at his beard, grinning sheepishly. "Alright, alright. You win." The harpies around him cheered, hopping up and down with wings flapping. The white-feathered harpy chirped happily, rubbing her head against his cheek before releasing him.

As the harpies dispersed, Urien caught sight of Lorne standing nearby, back against a tree, observing the proceedings.

"Oh? What's this? Lorne? All alone? Not interested in making new friends, eh?" Urien quipped, dusting himself off. "Think Kaela might get jealous if she finds out you're surrounded by scantly-clad beauties."

"Hardly," Lorne retorted dryly. "I'm simply observing. Their behavior and social structure could provide valuable insights into our negotiations with Liselotte. I intend to learn all that I can and incorporate those observations into our discussions."

Urien chuckled. "That's you. Always thinking ahead. Well, I guess you can't go wrong with a solid plan." He folded his arms behind his head, leaning back against a nearby boulder. "Still, wouldn't hurt to relax a little, you know? You're always so uptight. Maybe you oughta unwind a bit. Loosen up, take in the sights, smell the roses and all that."

All good advice—and under normal circumstances, one Lorne would consider heeding.

But the wide-eyed gazes belonging to a quartet of harpies, perched on nearby rocks, made relaxing rather difficult. Their eyes bore into him, unblinking, studying him with a strange intensity. It wasn't a look of curiosity or even desire; something more akin to the intense focus of a predator, sizing up its prey.

Their posture was taut, as if poised to pounce at any moment, and their taloned feet grasped at the rocks, claws scraping across the rough surfaces.

Unlike the playful harpies that surrounded Urien and the others, these four resembled Mesyori and the other adult harpies, with powerful, sleek physiques, rippling muscles, and piercing gazes. Yet they lacked the matronly air, instead exhibiting a cold, detached demeanor.

These particular harpies were dangerous—that much was clear. Dangerous, and deadly. And judging by their posture, they had set their sights on Lorne.

But why just him? The others seemed to draw the harpies' interest, too, especially Ebonheim, yet these harpies paid them no heed. Only him.

"I think I'm not the only one who should loosen up," Lorne murmured, indicating the harpies with his chin. "Just my luck."

Urien followed the gesture, raising his eyebrows. "Ah, so it seems. Hmm..." He straightened, his expression sobering. "Noticed something off about those ones, then? Seems like they've taken an interest in you, and not the fun kind, either." He scratched his head, glancing between the harpies and Ebonheim. "Any idea why?"

Lorne shrugged. "Who knows? But we'd better inform Ebonheim. Something tells me things might get...complicated."

"Agreed."

With a sigh, Lorne pushed himself upright, brushing the dirt off his trousers, and strode towards Ebonheim. The harpies' eyes followed him, tracking him like predators stalking their quarry.

As he approached, Ebonheim greeted him with a smile. "Looks like you're making some friends!" she teased. "They seem to be quite fond of you."

"Fondness" was not a term Lorne would use to describe these harpies' feelings towards him, but he merely smiled politely. "Indeed," he replied. "Although, if I may speak frankly...I suspect they harbor more than just a passing interest."

Ebonheim raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. "What do you mean?"

Lorne gestured to the harpies, who continued to observe him intently, their eyes narrowing. "Just a hunch," he answered, keeping his voice low. "But we should remain cautious. Something tells me they won't hesitate to act if they perceive us as a threat."

A flicker of concern crossed Ebonheim's face, but she quickly smoothed her expression, nodding solemnly. "Understood. Keep an eye out, then. Once their queen arrives, I'll do what I can to resolve this peacefully." She paused, glancing at the harpies again. "But if worse comes to worst..." Her voice trailed off, but her meaning was clear.

"Understood," Lorne repeated. "I'll plan our escape route, just in case." With that, he turned and walked off, leaving Ebonheim to her thoughts.

---

As the sun crept across the sky, the harpies grew restless, circling overhead in wide, lazy arcs. Gwynelle landed near Ebonheim, bouncing and fluffing her feathers. "Queen. Here soon."

"Finally!" Thorsten grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. "Bout damn time!"

The other harpies, who had been frolicking about, suddenly snapped to attention, their gaze shifting skyward. The wind began to blow, stirring Ebonheim's hair as a powerful gust swept past, rustling the trees and sending leaves flying. The forest seemed to shiver, the trees creaking and groaning in the rising gale, as a shadow appeared in the distance.

Ebonheim squinted, her eyes tracing the soaring silhouette breaking through the clouds.

Liselotte, Queen of the Harpies, had arrived.

She circled above them, her powerful wings beating steadily as she surveyed her domain. The sunlight shimmered off her azure and white feathers, while her long hair trailed behind her like a flowing river. Her crimson eyes flashed, and a faint smirk tugged at her lips, revealing a row of sharp teeth.

Her legs, covered in soft, tawny feathers, ended in sharp, black talons that firmly grasped the body of a slain chimera-like beast. The creature, easily thrice her size, bore the marks of a fierce struggle: its lion’s mane was matted with blood, one of its goat heads hung limp, and the serpentine tail had been torn off.

The wind seemed to gather in her wake, swirling around her in a tempestuous dance. Ebonheim and the others craned their necks, shielding their faces from the raging gales. Even the surrounding harpies struggled to maintain their altitude, flapping their wings with all their strength.

"Wind magic," Serelle noted, her voice raised above the howling winds. "Amazing."

Thorsten raised a hand to shield his face as the gusts intensified, billowing his cloak around his shoulders. "Aye, a mighty display of power. She's showing off her dominance, eh?"

"Queen! Skytalon!" Gwynelle exclaimed, waving her wings frantically, her eyes brimming with adoration. "Greatest in whole world! Strong, brave, smart! Queen is strongest of all!"

With a mighty flap, Liselotte descended, dropping the beast's corpse onto the ground with a resounding thud. The other harpies crowed, flocking to the carcass and tearing into its flesh. Blood spattered the earth, and chunks of meat flew through the air.

The humans flinched, instinctively backing away from the carnage. Even Urien blanched, a rare expression of discomfort crossing his face. Only Lorne remained unaffected, his face remaining calm and impassive.

As the harpies feasted, Liselotte glided to a boulder, her talons digging into the rock as she landed. She stretched her wings, fluttering them as if shaking off the fatigue of her flight. Her eyes scanned the assembled group, finally settling on Ebonheim.

The howling winds died down, leaving the forest still once more.

A heavy silence hung in the air as the two parties regarded one another. The harpies feasting on the chimera's corpse slowed their frenzied devouring, their eyes flitting between Ebonheim and their queen.

Gwynelle shifted anxiously from foot to foot, her eyes darting back and forth. Mesyori and the other harpies flanking her tensed, their wings flexing and feathers bristling. Even Urien and Lorne exchanged wary glances, both seeming ready to draw their weapons at a moment's notice.

Ebonheim cleared her throat, smiling nervously, and approached Liselotte.

It had been several months since she last saw her at their yearly gathering. The game they played last year was quite fun. It was called Mystic Runes—a word-building game using runes that represent ancient magical languages. Players drew rune tiles and formed words or magical incantations on a board that granted different bonus points based on the complexity and length of the words.

Needless to say, Liselotte did not fare well in the game. Elmsworth ended up winning, with Calyxia finishing a close second.

"Lotte! Hello! Good to see you! It's been a few months," Ebonheim called out, keeping her tone casual. "Lovely day, isn't it? Hope you don't mind us dropping by. We, ah, had an inquiry regarding your domain. I'd like to talk to you about it, if you have the time."

Liselotte fixed her crimson eyes on Ebonheim, her gaze cold and unreadable. The silence stretched on, with Ebonheim swallowing and tensing in anticipation.

Then, without warning, Liselotte opened her mouth, unleashing an ear-splitting shriek that echoed throughout the forest.

Ebonheim winced, covering her ears, and the others flinched, gritting their teeth.

Gwynelle and the other harpies dropped whatever bits of the chimera they were munching on and prostrated themselves on the ground.

The forest seemed to shudder under the force of Liselotte's cry, as if recoiling in fear. Trees swayed and branches rustled, while birds took flight and beasts scampered deeper into the shadows.

Liselotte let her voice fade away. She bent down from her perch as she inspected Ebonheim's face, and leaned in closer, until her nose nearly touched Ebonheim's. Her pupils narrowed into thin slits.

"I didn't invite you here." The words left Liselotte's lips as a guttural growl, threatening to turn the air around Ebonheim to ice. Her expression darkened, and her feathers bristled, standing on end. "Trespassers."