They returned to the safe cave where they rested. The cave welcomed them the way a wound welcomes a blade. Not with warmth, not with comfort, but with familiarity. The air inside was damp and heavy, pressing against their lungs. Water dripped somewhere in the dark, slow and patient, counting time in a way that made Harry uneasy.

  The fire was already dying when they sat around it.

  Harry dropped onto a stone, his back to the wall. His shoulders sagged the moment he stopped moving, like his body had only been held upright by fear. Collins leaned against a jagged pillar of rock, arms folded, eyes fixed on nothing. Cole crouched near the flames, poking at embers with a stick he had found earlier, though it was clear he wasn’t really watching the fire.

  The monkey sat apart from them. He always did.

  His tail curled around his feet, his hands folded neatly in his lap. In the flickering light, his face looked older than it had before. Lines etched deeper around his mouth. His eyes darted now and then, as if listening for something only he could hear.

  Harry cleared his throat. The sound echoed too loudly. “Tell me everything you know about the bird,” he said.

  The monkey looked up. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then his lips curved into a smile that was thin and forced, like it hurt him to wear it.

  “It almost never comes down,” the monkey said. “It is the fastest creature you will ever see.”

  Harry nodded once, urging him on. “It lives above the trees. Above the mist. Sometimes above the clouds. It watches from there.” The monkey swallowed. “Its mouth is sharper than metal. Not stone. Not bone. Metal.” He tapped his finger against the rock beside him. “And it carries poison. One strike is enough. You won’t scream. You won’t even understand what happened.”

  The fire crackled softly. The boys exhaled almost in unison. Not relief. Something closer to dread finally given shape.

  Collins broke the silence. “How do we kill it?”

  The monkey chuckled. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t joyful. It carried the sound of something old and tired being amused by foolishness.

  “Do you not wonder,” he said, tilting his head, “why Benjamin Salim, the strongest man who ever lived, could not kill that bird?”

  Collins’ jaw tightened. “Nor any other man,” the monkey went on. “Hunters. Warriors. Entire bands who thought numbers would save them.”

  Harry’s brow furrowed. His fingers curled slowly into his palm. “Why?” he asked.

  The monkey’s smile faded. “Because strength alone cannot kill it.” Collins pushed himself off the rock. “Then how do we kill this damn thing?”

  His voice bounced off the cave walls, sharp and raw. For a moment, Harry thought Collins might start pacing, or shouting, or doing something reckless just to break the tension. But he stayed where he was, breathing hard, eyes burning.

  The monkey met his stare without flinching. “How would I know?” he said calmly. “No one has ever killed it. Not here. Not anywhere else. Not its kind.”

  Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He stared into the fire, watching flames stretch and collapse, stretch and collapse again.

  “Maybe strength can’t kill it,” he murmured. “Maybe wisdom will.” The monkey studied him more closely now.

  “Wisdom,” he repeated, tasting the word. Then he nodded once. “Aturo chooses its prey while standing on the air.”

  Cole stopped poking the fire. “It doesn’t perch?” Cole asked.

  “No,” the monkey said. “Never. It does not rest on branches or cliffs. It balances itself on currents. It waits. When it strikes, it strikes from above. Fast and vicious.”

  Collins nodded slowly. His eyes sharpened. “Then maybe that’s its biggest weakness.”

  Harry looked up. So did Cole. Even the monkey raised an eyebrow. “What?” Harry asked.

  Collins shrugged, but there was something tense in the movement, like he was holding back more than words. “If it never comes down, then it doesn’t expect to be forced down.”

  The monkey leaned back against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. His mouth curved into a faint, skeptical smile. “Do you have a plan?” Harry asked.

  Collins scratched the back of his neck. “If we’re thinking about how to bring the bird down. I think I do.”

  The cave felt suddenly smaller. All eyes turned to him.

  The monkey shifted, settling in as if preparing for a story he didn’t quite believe. “I’m listening.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “The moment we enter the forest,” Collins said, “it will know.” The words sat heavy. No one argued.

  “Obviously,” Cole muttered. “It sees movement. It feels changes in the air. It hears things we don’t,” Collins went on. “So hiding won’t help us.”

  Harry nodded slowly. “But,” Collins said, “because it won’t come down, if we lie flat on the ground, it can’t strike us.”

  The boys exchanged looks. “That’s true,” Cole said after a moment. The monkey tilted his head. “And?”

  Collins drew in a breath. “So we don’t all lie down.”

  Harry’s stomach tightened. “We lure it down,” Collins said. “With ropes.” The words hit the cave like a dropped blade. “What do you mean?” Cole asked.

  Collins’ lips twitched into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “One of us stands.” Harry felt something cold slide down his spine.

  “The bird will choose him,” Collins continued. “When it dives, when it gets close enough, he loops the rope around its leg.”

  The monkey stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed softly. “You think it will give you time?”

  “It has legs,” Collins snapped. “And it bleeds.” Harry raised a hand. “This makes sense,” he said slowly. He hated that it did. “But what if it fails?”

  Collins’ smile faltered.

  “What if the rope slips?” Harry pressed. “What if it doesn’t tighten? What happens to the bait then?” The word hung in the air.

  Bait.

  Collins opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw worked, but nothing came out. The fire popped, sending sparks upward. One landed near Collins’ boot. He didn’t move.

  It was obvious he didn’t have an answer. Cole looked between them, unease written all over his face. “We’re talking about someone standing there,” he said quietly. “Waiting.”

  Sammy snapped. “That is easy.” The word snapped through the cave like a dry branch underfoot. It cut cleanly through the heaviness that had settled after Collins’ unfinished answer. For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then all heads turned toward Sammy.

  He stood near the fire, shoulders squared, eyes sharp. There was something different in his posture now. Less doubt. More resolve. “We tie another rope to his waist,” Sammy said. “With that, even if the bird is not trapped, we can bring him down.”

  The words landed. Harry felt it first. That small, dangerous lift in the chest. Hope. The kind that comes not because danger has vanished, but because it suddenly looks survivable.

  Collins’ lips slowly curled upward. “That could work.” Cole let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Frank actually laughed, a short, broken sound that echoed oddly against the stone.

  They looked at one another, smiles spreading, tentative at first, then wider. For a moment, the cave didn’t feel like a grave waiting to be filled. It felt like a war room. A place where men planned to win.

  Then the monkey clapped. Once, then twice.

  The sound was sharp. Final. It cut through their relief like a blade through cloth.

  “I hate to be the one who discourages others,” the monkey said, his voice smooth but heavy, “but how are you going to get that much length of rope?”

  The smiles faltered.

  Harry’s gaze shifted instinctively to Collins, who didn’t hesitate for even a breath. “That is easy,” Collins said. “The monstrous man had a lot in his cave. And there are more around the bush.”

  The monkey’s eyes narrowed slightly, measuring.

  Frank slapped his hands together. “What are we waiting for then? Let’s go get them.”

  The decision moved through the group like a spark catching dry leaves. No more debate. No more weighing. The boys rose almost at once, grabbing weapons, slinging packs over shoulders, fingers brushing against rope coils already stacked near the wall.

  All except two.

  Max stayed seated, his injured leg stretched out awkwardly in front of him. His face was pale, sweat still clinging to his temple. The monkey remained where he was, unmoving, watching them prepare like someone watching men pack for a journey they would not return from.

  “You don’t seem interested in this task,” Max said quietly. The monkey exhaled sharply through his nose. “Interested?” he repeated. “No. Concerned.”

  Max frowned. “Why?”

  “If you will listen,” the monkey said, “I would advise you to stay away from Aturo’s forest.”

  The name alone seemed to dim the firelight. “It is nothing like anything you have ever fought here.”

  Max shifted, wincing as pain shot through his leg. “Why should we?” he asked. “We came to kill it.”

  The monkey shook his head slowly. “If you go into that forest, many of you, if not all, will die.” The words were not dramatic. They were not raised. That made them worse.

  Something struck Max then. Not fear exactly. Understanding. His mouth opened, then closed. He looked away, suddenly quiet.

  No one argued further.

  They left in pairs, slipping out into the thinning light, moving fast. The forest beyond the cave waited, tall and tangled, shadows stacking upon shadows. They found the first cache of rope where Collins said it would be. Thick, coarse, scarred by use. They dragged it out, coils bumping against roots and rocks. More lay hidden beneath brush, half-buried like the remains of some forgotten plan.

  By the time they returned, their arms ached, clothes damp with sweat and dirt. The pile of rope at the cave entrance looked absurdly large. Excessive.

  “This will be more than enough,” Collins said, dropping his end with a dull thud. They stood there for a moment, staring at it. At the plan made physical.

  That night, they rested like never before. Not because they were calm. Because they were tired beyond pretending.

  The fire burned low and steady. They sat close, backs against stone, shoulders brushing. The cave listened as they spoke. Stories spilled out, uneven and raw.

  “I am the firstborn of King Robert of Westlake,” Sammy said at some point, his voice quieter now. “I have step-siblings. As the firstborn, I am meant to take the throne.” He paused, eyes fixed on the flames. “But only if I am strong enough. Without strength, I am nothing. My stepbrother, Newton Hill, will take it.”

  No one mocked him. No one comforted him either. They understood too well.

  Others spoke. Of homes swallowed by war. Of fathers who never returned. Of expectations that pressed heavier than armor.

  Harry listened. He saw it then. Clear as firelight on stone. Every one of them carried something broken. Not visible. Not always spoken. But heavy all the same.

  After enough rest, Harry stood. “It is time,” he said. They rose without argument. Ropes were lifted. Weapons checked. The map spread briefly across the ground, Harry’s finger tracing lines he already knew by heart. Then it was rolled away.

  They moved.

  At the border of the forest, the monkey stopped. The trees here were taller. Thicker. The air cooler, but not fresh. It smelled old. Waiting.

  “I wish you all good luck,” the monkey said. Harry turned. “Good luck?” He frowned. “Are you not coming with us?”

  The monkey shook his head. “No. This is where my journey ends with you.”

  Harry smiled, a small, genuine thing. “That is fine. We shall meet again.”

  The monkey nodded, but there was something brittle in the motion. “I wish.” He turned away, then paused. His voice dropped so low Harry almost missed it.

  “They will all die,” he whispered to himself.

  Harry watched him leave. “What is your name?” Harry called.

  The monkey froze. Slowly, he turned back. His eyes softened, just a little. “I thought you would never ask,” he said. “I am Smiggle.”

  Harry nodded. “Smiggle, thank you for your help so far.” Smiggle smiled. It looked real this time. Sad, but real. “It was nice seeing you again.”

  Then he was gone, swallowed by rock and shadow.

  Harry took one last breath and turned toward the trees. They entered the forest.

  It happened almost immediately. The air shifted. A sudden wave of wind slammed into them, violent and cold. Leaves exploded upward. Dust stung Harry’s eyes. He spun, heart hammering.

  Not fast enough. He saw it first. A massive shape tearing through the sky. Wings stretched wide, blotting out light. As big as a lion. Larger, maybe. Feathers dark as storm clouds, edges sharp as blades. Its eyes burned, fixed, unblinking.

  “Aturo,” Harry breathed. “Everybody lie down!” he shouted. The command echoed.

  Bodies dropped. Not all of them fast enough. Larry went down last.

  The bird struck. There was no warning cry. No hesitation. Its beak flashed, a streak of silver and shadow. It hit Larry square in the chest, punching through flesh like it was cloth.

  Blood sprayed. Hot. Sudden. Everywhere.

  Larry’s body slammed into the ground, skidding across leaves and dirt. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His eyes stared, already emptying.

  The boys froze. Time seemed to crack.

  The bird rose again, wings beating once, twice, scattering leaves and blood alike. It circled above them, patient now. Watching.

  Harry lay flat against the earth, cheek pressed into damp soil. His breath shook. His fingers dug into the ground as if he could anchor himself there.

  Larry was dead. Just like that. No scream. No last words.

  Frank’s shoulders trembled beside him. Cole’s face was pale, eyes wide, staring at nothing. Sammy’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles bled.

  Above them, Aturo hovered. Waiting. The forest held its breath.

  Harry swallowed hard. His heart slammed against his ribs, loud enough he was sure the bird could hear it. The plan, moments ago so neat, so perfect, suddenly felt thin. Fragile.

  Larry had been the fastest among them. And he hadn’t been fast enough. Harry’s jaw tightened.

  If this was the cost of wisdom, then wisdom demanded more than thought. It demanded blood.

  And Aturo was ready to collect.