Kingdom of eagle

2

As Arion soared into the open sky, the wind against his feathers felt like freedom itself. His heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t from fear or exhaustion—it was from exhilaration. He was doing it. The Great Sky Race, the event he had trained for his entire life, was finally underway, and he was part of it. He beat his wings powerfully, rising higher with each stroke. The vast expanse of Aetheris lay below him, its magnificent peaks and valleys looking like mere shadows beneath the bright, endless sky.

The first part of the race was always the easiest. The winds were calm here, and the eagles had to push themselves upward, towards the first checkpoint, a mountain peak known as the Sentinel. Arion could already see the massive structure in the distance, its craggy surface standing tall like a watchful guardian over the kingdom. His focus was sharp, his body primed for the challenge. Every beat of his wings propelled him closer to his goal.

Around him, the other racers had spread out, each one pushing forward with their own unique flying style. Some used powerful, steady strokes, while others used quick, sharp flutters to gain speed. Arion kept his pace steady but fast. He felt confident, the energy of his training coursing through him. His father’s words echoed in his mind, reminding him of the importance of patience and strategy. "The race is long," he told himself. "Conserve your strength. There are greater challenges ahead."

For a brief moment, it felt as if he was unstoppable. His wings cut through the air effortlessly, and he found himself moving ahead of several competitors. A smile formed on his beak. The kingdom below blurred as the vastness of the sky opened up before him, and the thrill of competition filled his entire being. Arion felt on top of the world—literally and figuratively.

But the winds began to change. As they approached the mountain passes, the once gentle breeze transformed into something much harsher. The air became thicker, the currents more unpredictable. Arion’s wings began to feel the strain as he adjusted to the new environment, his muscles working harder to keep him aloft. The Sentinel mountain loomed closer, its towering peak surrounded by sharp rocks and fierce gusts of wind that twisted and turned without warning.

Arion’s confidence wavered as he saw some of the older, more experienced eagles begin to maneuver expertly through the treacherous conditions. They cut through the wind with precision, their bodies moving in perfect harmony with the air currents. Slowly, they started to pull ahead.

Arion, on the other hand, struggled to maintain his pace. Every time he flapped his wings, the wind seemed to push back twice as hard. His movements became less fluid, more desperate. His once steady rhythm faltered, and as the other racers surged forward, Arion felt the gap between him and them widening.

He grit his beak, determined not to let his position slip any further. "I can do this," he told himself, pushing his body to its limits. But the wind was relentless, each gust sapping more and more of his strength. His wings felt heavier with each flap, and his breaths grew more labored. The once bright and limitless sky now felt oppressive, its vastness closing in on him as the Sentinel’s shadow stretched over the race.

Despite his best efforts, more and more eagles passed him by. Their forms became distant blurs as they sped ahead, navigating the challenging winds with ease. Arion could feel his position slipping, and with it, his hopes of victory.

By the time Arion reached the halfway point of the race, the realization had begun to sink in—he was losing. The others were far ahead now, and no matter how hard he pushed himself, he couldn’t seem to close the gap. The wind howled in his ears, drowning out the sound of his own labored breathing. His muscles burned, his wings felt as though they were made of lead, and each stroke seemed to take twice the effort it had at the beginning.

A deep sense of despair began to well up inside him. The initial excitement and determination that had carried him through the first part of the race were gone, replaced by frustration and exhaustion. He could feel the weight of his failure pressing down on him, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, it clung to him like a heavy fog.

"How could this be happening?" he thought. He had trained for years, prepared his whole life for this moment. His father had placed so much hope in him, believing that Arion would make the kingdom proud. But now, with the finish line still far ahead and the other competitors nowhere in sight, Arion felt like he was failing—not just himself, but his father, and his entire kingdom.

He glanced up at the sky, hoping to find some inspiration in the vast, open space that had once brought him so much joy. But now, the sky felt cold and distant, indifferent to his struggles. The realization hit him harder than the winds he was battling against: he wasn’t going to win. He wasn’t even going to finish in a respectable position. The thought twisted in his chest like a blade, and for a moment, he considered stopping altogether, simply giving up and letting himself drift to the ground.

But even in his despair, Arion knew he couldn’t do that. To stop now, to give up before the end, would be a greater defeat than losing the race itself. He had to finish, even if it was at the back of the pack. He had to at least show his father that he could persevere, even when everything seemed lost. So, with a heavy heart and tired wings, Arion continued on, pushing through the pain and the disappointment.

As Arion finally crossed the finish line, it was clear that he had lost. The other eagles had already landed, many of them celebrating their victories or consoling those who had placed lower than expected. Arion, however, felt no relief, no sense of accomplishment. He had finished, but the race had beaten him in every way that mattered.

He landed softly on the ground, his wings trembling from exhaustion, his body drenched in sweat. The cheers of the crowd, once so loud and invigorating, now seemed distant and hollow. Arion barely heard them as he folded his wings and lowered his head in defeat.

His father, King Thalor, stood at the edge of the platform, watching silently. Arion didn’t dare meet his eyes. He knew what his father would see—a son who had failed, who had let the kingdom down. The weight of his defeat was too much to bear, and Arion felt the urge to run, to flee from the disappointment and shame that now surrounded him.

Without a word to anyone, Arion turned away from the crowd and began walking toward the edge of the cliff. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t stay in Aetheris any longer. The kingdom that had once felt like his home now felt like a cage, a place where he would always be reminded of his failure.

As he spread his wings once more and took flight, leaving the kingdom of Aetheris behind, Arion made a decision. He would leave the kingdom, search for answers, and find a way to redeem himself—not just in the eyes of his father, but in his own heart as well. And so, with the wind beneath his wings and the weight of his defeat still heavy on his mind, Arion flew into the unknown, unsure of what lay ahead.