Those Without Wings Fall
There’s a saying that mountain ranges are the spine of the continent. To understand it easily, imagine finding a dinosaur fossil underground. Picture a single dinosaur, slightly hunched over in death—that’s the continent.
First off, the flesh and meat have melted away, leaving only traces behind. That’s the land, the boundary between continents and seas. The massive head points roughly eastward. So, that big skull could be the Great Forest in the continent’s eastern reaches. The kingdom encompasses the area from the head to the neck.
The torso, where the tasty ribs would’ve been—that’s the Empire. Good meat’s always in the ribs, and the Empire’s territory was especially fertile. That’s why some guy from long ago succeeded as emperor and named it the Empire.
The Empire is the strongest nation, sure, but it doesn’t own the continent. Up in those snowy peaks live the northern barbarians. Down by the tail in the deserts lurk terrifying sultans, assassins, and necromancers. Off the southern coast are countless islands. Even the Empire’s scholars don’t know what civilizations thrive in that archipelago.
Now that we’ve circled around, let’s head back to the skull and neck vertebrae. The spine extending from the cranium—that’s where the mountains begin. They’re not as wide as the Great Forest, but their length dwarfs it. The kingdom’s entire north belongs to the “mountains,” and part of that range stretches into the Empire.
In other words, the eastern mountains and western ones are completely different regions. Delphram was in the eastern mountains.
—A holy site of the ancient Oboe civilization, once upon a time.
That was Pellelian’s explanation. The Oboe civilization was from a very ancient era, apparently. Back then, humans got along chummily with wyverns.
—There are tons of their ruins around. That’s where I built my dungeon.
“How’d you even build in such a brutal place?”
—Obviously, I conscripted dwarves.
“······Gray Hammer Village?”
—Exactly.
The dwarves of Gray Hammer Village had vanished. Was it connected to Pellelian? If so, that’s news to me.
“What kind of dungeon is this one? Each one had its own theme, right?”
—Tch, “theme.”
Pellelian didn’t like my wording. But it was true. The first dungeon I hit was a chimera lab. The second, a magic stone vault. The third, an armory. Plenty to loot from the last two, at least. Would this one have goodies too?
—Probably something······ I suppose.
He sounded uncertain, for some reason. Pellelian’s like that in two cases: he doesn’t know, or he’s hiding something shady. Or both.
“But you said if you died, you’d come here to croak. How’s that work?”
—What do you mean?
“I mean, dead is dead. If you just keel over with a ‘squawk,’ how do you get here? Were you planning to come ahead of time knowing you’d die?”
—Both apply. I prepared a teleport on death.
“Teleportation isn’t that casual, is it?”
—With sacrifice and limits, it’s possible.
Oaths and restrictions? Sounded familiar. Anyway, pre-planning your death spot was kinda romantic. I said so, and Pellelian—totally out of character—got a wistful look.
—One blue night, the snake that bit Cabala the princess’s ankle was pierced through the head and killed. Do you grasp that tragic pathos······?
“Whoa, seriously······ dramatic.”
It felt like a play monologue, but his eyes were too misty. Curiosity killed.
Right then, Wyvern Mom arrived, mouth stuffed with dry miscanthus reeds. She spread the fluffy pile on the floor—a nest foundation. Unlike birds, wyverns lack feathers, so wyvern chicks need this padding.
“Pipipipi!”
“Keee!”
“Chwik!”
The chicks mobbed her, rubbing heads against hers. Cute, but basically demanding grub. I sidled up too. Not for food, no sir. If I squat nearby, Wyvern Mom comes fretting and force-feeds me nutrient mush till I’m bursting.
She’d grown more worried lately. Probably ’cause I wasn’t growing anymore. The wyvern triplets were now three times my size. The little bros were even eyeing this “big” bro with rebellion.
I’m fully grown already.
Couldn’t say that. Frustrating. But luckily, she didn’t share the mush. Instead, she shoved the approaching chicks away sternly. What gives? Then she crowed gutturally at the air.
A black wyvern from the flock zoomed in—subordinate who’d migrated here with us days ago.
“Kkuk!”
He tossed something from his mouth into the nest and flew off.
What’s that.
—He caught a nasty beast.
A live monster, tossed for the chicks. Familiar look: mosquito rat. But not normal. Five times bigger, compound eyes flickering weirdly.
Mosquito rats were baby-fist-sized, so five times made pocket-mouse scale. But the horror? Easily a hundred times worse. Fly-like compound eyes. Proboscis dangling like a leech. Rat-like forelimbs clutched, surveying grumpily.
As it tried fleeing—
“Didak, tak.”
Wyvern Mom clacked her jaws, blasting wyvern fear. Unaffected chicks and fear-immune me? Fine. But Gigant Mosq Rat (GMR for short) froze solid.
She thrust her snout in, claws slashing air. Teaching hunt moves. Proper mom stuff. Kinda burdensome how this non-mom kept mothering me.
“Kkugak!”
She cut the fear and shoved it at the triplets.
“Chweeek!”
“Kee!”
Chwee and Kay tumbled back screaming. GMR just sniffed; they shrieked like it bit. Sigh, how’ll these scaredy-cats survive this hellscape? Reminded me of brave baby centipedes, tinier but fearless.
But maybe I judged too soon. Bravest stepped up: big sis Pipi, boldly forward.
Staredown commenced. Pipi bigger, but GMR’s eyes emotionless. Pipi broke silence—
“Piiiii!”
Battle cry? Nah.
“Piiiii!”
“Chikchik.”
“Piiiiii!”
“Chik, chik.”
Pipi gaped wide; GMR panicked chirps.
—Ah, got it.
“What?”
—Open mouth fools it into thinking food’s inside.
“Ah······!”
Baby bird logic from non-bird? Age thing, maybe······.
“Kkue······.”
Wyvern Mom sighed earth-shatteringly. Worried how they’d survive.
She eyed me expectantly.
—Just gonna sit there?
“Yep.”
Planned to lay low till departure. But then—shocker. Tears welled in her eyes.
Why’s she······.
Made sense. Even hedgehogs love their hoglets. Fierce wyvern queen adores hers. Recent raid cost her old nest. Death looming. Wants chicks monster-ready. But “baby” me? Tiny, wingless······.
Screw it.
Cheer her up. Time for a bit of “sincerity.”
Predator Leap lv4
Tang! Tail-slam rebound launches me, precisely aimed to chomp and pass. Principle of Predator Leap.
Mouth full of red meat chunk.
“Jjiik!”
GMR screamed, collapsed.
“Pipipi!”
“Chwii!”
Triplets chorused cheers, mimicking me by tearing into it.
Gulp. Swallowed.
Paid some mush dues? Wyvern Mom checked—wings flared, skyward roar.
“Kkurarararak!”
Danced over, stroking me with wing membrane. Her praise style.
“Saaak!”
Isil rustled happily too. Felt good.
—That thrilled over wyvern praise?
I’m praise-weak, apparently. Not bad sticking around······.
Hunt lesson succeeded? Pumped Wyvern Mom upped ante.
“Kkakkkak, kkugakkkak!”
Winged speech. Somehow getting it: Can’t hunt for you forever. You gotta hunt solo soon. Time’s short.
Kind young mom voice fits. Chuggo grizzled witch for Chwee.
But she tail-pointed nest bottom.
“Kkuak.” (Jump)
Jump, obviously. Tough even for me. Triplets freaked too.
“Pi, piiii······.”
“Kkuaak!”
Jump or get shoved.
Pipi—hesitant but bold—leapt.
“Saaaak!”
I peered: spinning midair, splat-imminent.
“Piaek!”
Luckily, roared and flapped—decelerated, glided.
Wyvern Mom shoved dazed Kay.
“Kayiiii!”
Sudden tough love! Kay next, Chwee after. Then me. Scram plans brewing.
Didn’t expect biggest scaredy Chwee to jump.
“Chuu!”
Saving Kay? Or envying Pipi? Already plummeting.
Meant Wyvern Mom shoved sooner than thought.
Thud!
Hey, you know I got no wings!
Betrayed, falling. Cliff drops survivable with wits.
Isil!
Help, Isil buddy. Expected vine grab.
But he eyed triplets, misunderstood.
Flap flap. Leaf as wing? Futile baby-palm wings.
Plummeted sharply.