Fire.

Smoke rose up from the once peaceful countryside, flames scorching the fields and eating up any water still present in the earth. I pressed my body against the cobblestone border that separated the False King from his country-men. The earth beneath my talons was dry and dusty, it was hard to sink my claws in to get a firm grip. Around me where once there were houses now only scorched, burning ruins, and corpses lay where at one time there was a lively village.

This is no longer my home.

Slowly, I reached behind me, drawing my bow and readying it beside me, my hands already placing the arrow and prepared to end anyone unfortunate enough to delay me. Yet no one came. The False King's guards were much too preoccupied with what remained of the farm workers, as well as invading forces from the other Holds.

I don't know what I expected.

Taking advantage of the situation, I flung myself over the border and ducked my upper-body as I hurried across the dry, burnt grass, my cloak billowing out behind me. I didn't expect to not be noticed by the archers upon the Fort, and I was right to be mindful. Without so much as a glance I began to weave myself around each shot, arrows flying past my wings and between stray feathers as if we were dancing together. I had trained these men to be the best, yet I was still their better.

This is not the home I once knew.

An arrow ended my arrogance and caught itself in my cloak, pinning me to the dry earth. I did not want to hurt them, they had once been my comrades. Sons and daughters of great friends whose memories kept me warm on the coldest of nights. But this was war, and there was no place for sentimentality. I readied my bow and took aim, while my right talon reached back and plucked the arrow from my cloak. As the arrow came free, an archer fell dead. More arrows came, and I threw off my coat, momentarily disappearing from the fray. When the archers caught side of me again I was much closer to the Fort now, shooting them down as I ran. I had learned much while I was away, and I could see how they had not grown, nor had any preparation for dealing with me.

I have no home now.

Blood spurt from the guardsman's neck as I slit his throat from behind, the red liquid staining his mussed feathers. I could see the very moment the life left his body, his head having turned to me so I could watch him die. I felt nothing. I pushed the doors and found they opened without much resistance. Had the guards abandoned their duties or knew I was coming? I was not alone inside, more soldiers arrived to stop me from venturing further. The feathers I could see protruding from their armor and helmets showed me soft and lightly colored; these were no more than teenagers forced into battle. But this was war, and there was no place for sentimentality. I raised my bow as they charged toward me and shot them down three arrows at a time. The Hold of the Owls had fought many wars and had learned so little. They may have won through fear and aggression, but I had no fear.

I will not leave this place.

Little kept me from entering the False King's throne room. He was perched upon his stand, glaring down at me yet I could see the fear in his eyes. Fear is what drove this man to kill his own people and attempt to conquer the other Holds. Even as he was losing this war, his thirst for power and fear of loss drove him to continue. But I did not care about what he felt, I had no empathy for this traitor. I began to finger my bow, my brown feathers stained with blood, stroking the smooth wood as I stared straight into his eyes. The fear increased and he raised his right wing, calling out for his men to shoot me down. He had no honor and would not even fight by their sides; he had no place being King, not even a Jarl could be so cowardly. No one came into the room, and any that remained did not fire a single shot. The False King faltered and began to call once more, the fear now present in his voice. His orders were soon replaced by cries of agony as an arrow tore through his wing, through the wrist and into the shoulder, pinning it there like a fledgling learning to fly.

I have done my duty.

He collapsed to the marble floor, screaming as he only pushed the arrow further, confounded that it did not snap or bend at all. I walked towards his pathetic body, my talons clicking against the cold marble stone. He stared up at me, his beak agape as I drew back another arrow, my eyes cold and hard, and filled with such disdain for the coward before me.

So begins the Fall.

The arrow pierced through his right eye, setting deep into his brain. He made no sound as he lay there, his mouth ajar, blood soaking into his fluff. I had kept my promise to my friend, and the people of the Hold. As if on cue, the archers in the room drew their bows and took aim upon me. I knew I would not leave this place, I knew that I would die. Slowly, I closed my eyes and spread my wings, taking a low bow and I smiled softly.

"My story lives on."