Age of Wings

100 Years Ago

When birds fell to the ground instead of gliding through the air for the first time, Baldwin knew something was wrong. There could be no other explanation for the burn marks that had begun on his hands and spread across his entire body. Sadly, those burns had already been enough to take the last breath of thousands—some of them even aristocrats.

If you were a Ravshaneli, death was certain. But if you were lucky, perhaps you could come back to life after dying.

“Will it work?” Felix asked hopelessly from a corner of the room.

Poor boy, Baldwin thought. Felix’s sister had recently contracted the disease, but before the burns on her body could claim her final breath, the soldiers of Kalopsia had taken her life, saying, “We must carry out a cleansing.”

Ignoring the rotting bird carcasses on his table, Baldwin transferred the antidote he had developed into a syringe. This time, he was hopeful; he seemed certain he had discovered the mixture the aristocrats guarded like a secret.

With a sly smile, he said, “That’s it. Come on, Felix, bring your arm here.”

Felix hesitated, staring at the liquid inside the syringe.

“Come on, Felix, you can’t be afraid. This can’t be worse than what we’ve already been through.”

Felix nodded faintly and rolled up his sleeve to his elbow. With practiced precision, Baldwin found the vein and injected the entire contents without hesitation. Felix drew a sharp breath; after one last look at the burns on his arm, he closed his eyes.

“It may take some time to show its effects. If you feel unwell, please come to me.”

Felix only nodded. “I’d better go now,” he said, putting on his gloves and wrapping the scarf around his neck over his mouth and nose before leaving the house.

*****

What Baldwin expected to wake up to the next morning was certainly not the sound of his door being pounded as if it would break. Startled awake, he shot up from his desk. Muttering about the ache in his back from sleeping sprawled out, he made his way to the door. On the other side stood a young woman, her eyes filled with fear.

“Baldwin… Felix… they’re at his house! The guards are there—they’re going to kill him!”

As the woman spoke in rapid succession, a sharp pain of fear settled in Baldwin’s stomach. He grabbed the leather gloves by the door and covered his mouth with something he barely noticed. He rushed outside, following the young woman. The scent of last night’s rain filled his lungs as he kept repeating to himself:

“Not again…”

The door to Felix’s crudely built brick house stood open. Baldwin was afraid—he didn’t want to face another disappointment. He couldn’t lose another friend. It was too much.

Though he didn’t want to, he stepped inside, and a terror far greater than he had imagined took hold of him. He had prepared himself for many things, but what he saw—damn it—was far worse than anything he had imagined.

The woman’s scream beside him was proof that he wasn’t losing his mind. The guards lying sprawled on the ground, their necks broken, were chilling enough. But the true cause—Felix, covered in blood, the whites of his eyes replaced by a deep crimson—was proof that they had passed a point of no return.