After a short walk, they arrived at their destination—The Drunken Gryphon Inn, a cozy, three-story building though Sora doesn't know what the words on the sign says the sign depicting a tipsy gryphon attempting (and failing) to balance on a barrel. Warm light spilled from its windows, and the faint sound of laughter and clinking mugs drifted through the open door.

  The group hesitated outside The Drunken Gryphon Inn, the weight of the day's misadventures—and Linda's wrath—still heavy on their shoulders.

  Creed exhaled, rubbing his temples.

  "Alright. We get rooms, we eat, we sleep. Tomorrow, we figure out how to pay off a literal airship."

  Muta groaned. "Guess no ale tonight."

  Fiara rolled her eyes, pushing open the inn’s door. The warmth of the hearth washed over them, carrying the rich scents of roasted meat, spiced ale, and freshly baked bread. The common room was lively but not overcrowded—a mix of off-duty guards, traveling merchants, and a few fellow adventurers nursing drinks in the corners.

  That smell… of food

  Behind the bar stood Gareth, a burly, bearded man with thick arms that looks like it could snap a rock in half with just his biceps and a perpetual grin. He looked up as they entered, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

  "Well, if it ain’t Tempest City’s favorite disaster squad!" he boomed, wiping a tankard with a rag. "Heard ya pissed off Linda real good this time. Lost a whole airship, eh?"

  Creed winced. "News travels fast."

  Gareth laughed. "Oh, you have no idea."

  While Creed negotiated for rooms, the others settled at a corner table. others settled at a corner table, Sora lingered near the entrance, still taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The inn’s interior was just as lively as the streets outside—wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, decorated with dangling tankards and dried herbs. A fireplace crackled against one wall, its light flickering over the patrons’ faces. A bard in the corner plucked at a lute, humming a tune.

  This place is… kind of nice? Sora thought, his feathers ruffling slightly.

  When was the last time I ate something good? Two days ago? Three?

  Gareth glanced at Sora from his position near the bar, one eyebrow raised. "A new addition to the team?"

  Creed sighed. "It’s… complicated."

  "Isn't it always the same with you lots?" Gareth laughed. "So, you planning to buy something that's easy on the wallet?"

  Creed nodded in agreement. He then proceeded to the table.

  After a while Gareth brought over a round of drinks—water for Creed (who looked like he needed to keep a clear head), a modest ale for Muta (who grumbled but accepted his budgetary restrictions), and a spiced cider for Fiara. Mikalien, still buzzing with energy, opted for a honeyed tea while scribbling furiously in her journal.

  Sora perched awkwardly on a stool, his talons gripping the edge as he eyed the steaming bowl of stew Gareth had slid in front of him. The aroma was rich and savory, unlike anything he’d ever smelled before.

  I… I forgot what hot food even smelled like.

  His stomach twisted—not just from hunger, but from memory.

  Even back in his old life—his human life—he’d spent months in a sterile hospital room, hooked to machines, the only "meals" are tasteless mash potatoes and the occasional cold Yogurt.

  Breathing in the scent of real food, after weeks of surviving on half-charred rabbit and boar meat and whatever fruits or berries he’d scavenged on that floating island.

  A hand clapped his shoulder—Fiara, glancing down at him. "You gonna stand there all night, birdie?"

  Sora flinched, then forced a weak chirp.

  Right. Can't talk. Just… chirps.

  He took a hesitant sip.

  The flavor exploded in his mouth—rich, savory, perfect.

  For a second, he forgot how to breathe.

  It’s… it’s so good.

  His vision blurred.

  Fiara snorted. "Never had proper food before?"

  Sora lowered his gaze, his feathers fluffed up to conceal his expression.

  Not in this life and the last for the longest time.

  Time past now in the room he shared with Creed, and Muta the latter snoring loudly, Sora perched on the windowsill instead of the bed. The mattress looked too soft, too human.

  I used to dream about exploring the world, he thought, watching the city’s lanterns flicker below. Now I have wings. And yet… I still feel trapped.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Creed, already lying down, cracked one eye open. "You gonna brood all night?"

  Sora didn’t answer.

  With a sigh, Creed tossed a blanket at him. "Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, the bed’s here. And try not to molt everywhere."

  Sora caught the blanket, clutching it tightly.

  I don't know why I didn't realized it till now but I should be dead. But I’m not. And I don’t know what that means yet.

  Outside, the city hummed with life. Somewhere, shadows moved. A wanted poster rustled in the night breeze.

  But for now, Sora closed his eyes—and for the first time in this strange, second life, he slept warm.

  ...

  The morning sun filtered through the grimy window of The Drunken Gryphon Inn, painting stripes of gold across the wooden floorboards. Sora stirred, his feathers ruffling as the sounds of the waking city drifted in—cart wheels rattling over cobblestones, merchants calling out their wares, and the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer.

  He flexed his talons against the windowsill where he’d slept, the rough grain of the wood familiar beneath his claws. The blanket Creed had tossed him last night lay crumpled at his feet. The door opened as the elf, already awake, glanced around to see Sora coming to consciousness.

  “You’re up,” Creed noted without looking over. “Good. We’ve got a busy day.”

  Sora chirped questioningly.

  “Guild’s opening soon,” Creed continued, as if he’d understood. “We’re getting you registered.”

  Ehhhhhhhh???

  Downstairs, the inn’s common room was quieter than the night before, with only a handful of early risers nursing steaming mugs. The group had claimed their same corner table, where the group are eating a breakfast.

  “Registration?” Fiara said around a mouthful of bread, raising an eyebrow at Creed. “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “Better than leaving him unaffiliated,” Creed replied. “If he’s with the guild, he’ll have legal protections.

  Mikalien’s head snapped up, her eyes alight. “Oh! Oh! This is perfect! We can document his physiological adaptations, observe his integration into society, and—”

  “No experiments,” Fiara cut in.

  Mikalien deflated. “...Fine.”

  Sora, meanwhile, was still stuck on the word “registered.”

  Adventurer? Me? I couldn't get myself from being captured two times. Not to mention I'm not fond of fighting and only resort to it when it's absolutely necessary.

  Fiara took notice of Sora distress. "Look, birdie—" She leaned forward. "You don’t have to fight. Guild’s got plenty of non-combat roles. Scouts, messengers, alchemy runners. Hell, you could just chirp ominously for ambiance in dungeons."

  Chirp ominously?! Sora’s thoughts loudly that he let out a few chirps and was reaching hysterical pitches. That’s not a job! That’s a—a—

  Creed sighed. "It’s just paperwork. For now after that he’ll need to take a basic proficiency test."

  All eyes turned to Sora.

  He froze mid-bite, a berry clutched in his talons. A test? What kind of test? Do I have to fight something? Write an essay? What if I fail?

  Fiara smirked at his panicked expression. "Relax. It’s just to see if you can handle basic adventuring. They’re not gonna throw you at a dragon."

  "Yet," Muta added, grinning.

  Sora’s tail puffed up.

  ...

  Tempest City’s Adventurer’s Guild was less intimidating in the daylight—though the glare Linda leveled at them as they walked in suggested she hadn’t forgiven last night’s airship debacle.

  “Back already?” she drawled, tapping her fingers on the desk. “Here to lose another guild asset?”

  Creed ignored the jab. “We need to register a new adventurer.”

  Linda’s gaze slid to Sora, who instinctively puffed up under the scrutiny. “...Huh. Didn’t take you for the type to adopt strays.”

  “He’s not a stray,” Fiara said flatly. “He’s… complicated.”

  Sora’s talons clenched against the wooden floor. The weight of the moment pressed down on him—this was the first time he’d ever had to introduce himself in this world.

  "Do I even… still use my old name?"

  Memories flickered—his mother’s voice calling him in for dinner, the way the nurses had softened when they said it, the way it had sounded on the doctor’s lips right before—

  He swallowed hard, his throat tight.

  “Chirp,” he said softly.

  Linda stared. “…Right. Let’s put ‘Chirp’ for now.” She pulled out a thick ledger and a quill, dipping it into an inkwell with practiced precision. “Species?”

  Mikalien practically vibrated out of her seat. “Male harpy! Possibly the first documented case! His wing structure suggests—”

  “Harpy. Got it.” Linda scribbled it down before Mikalien could launch into a full lecture. “Age?”

  The group looked at Sora, who froze.

  "I was twelve when I died. But how old is this body? Do harpies even age the same way?"

  He looked hesitantly at his talons and held up all six talons.

  “…Six?” Linda deadpanned.

  Fiara snorted. “Sixteen? Maybe? Just put ‘young adult.’”

  “Affiliation?” Linda continued.

  “Rogue Recon,” Creed said firmly.

  Linda arched an eyebrow but wrote it down. “And skills? Can he fight?”

  Sora’s feathers ruffled nervously.

  Sora’s feathers ruffled nervously. Maybe I should display my Divine Light Ma-

  “Scouting,” Creed interjected. “Enhanced hearing, flight-capable, agile. Good for reconnaissance.”

  Linda hummed, jotting it down. "Okay now he just need to do a basic proficiency test."

  She rose from her chair. "Come with me."

  Following her the guild’s training yard was a wide, sandy pit lined with wooden dummies, archery targets, and an obstacle course that looked like it had seen better days. A few adventurers were already there—a burly dwarf testing his axe swings, an elven woman practicing knife throws—but they all paused when Sora’s group entered.

  “A male harpy?” a human archer muttered to her companion.

  “Never seen one before,” the companion replied, leaning forward in interest.

  "Looks like his running the course, wonder how well he does."

  “Bet he’s all show. Harpies are quick, but that course eats rookies alive.”

  "Don't forgot they banned the use of wings, magic, and pretty much anything that gives any advantage in the course."

  A snicker came from the sidelines—a wiry dark elf rogue with a braided hair. "Bet he faceplants on the first rope."

  Sora’s feathers prickled under the scrutiny. The obstacle course loomed ahead—a chaotic mess of rope nets, swinging logs, and narrow platforms suspended over sand pits. It looked like something out of a military training ground, not a fantasy guild.

  Oh no. So if I fail, I get to do it in front of an audience.

  Linda led them to a cleared area, arms crossed. “Alright, ‘Chirp.’ Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Sora’s talons dug into the sand. I’ve fought for my life three times. I can do this.

  Creed gave him a light nudge forward. “Just do what comes naturally.”

  Nothing about this feels natural, Sora thought, but he stepped into the center of the yard anyway.

  A guild attendant gestured to the obstacle course—a series of ropes, platforms, and swinging logs. “Standard agility run. Complete the course under 30 seconds to gets an ‘A’ rank, getting it under 1 minute for B and any minutes past that is C.”

  Sora stared at it. I can fly. Why would I—

  “No flight,” Linda cut in, as if reading his mind. “Harpies get that restriction. Too easy otherwise, so hands—er, talons—only.”

  Fiara smirked. “Guess you’re climbing, birdie.”

  Creed gave him a nod. “You’ve got this.”

  Fiara smirked. “Or don’t. That’d be funny too.”

  Sora took a deep breath, crouched low—

  "Get ready," the guild attendant said.

  “BEGIN!”

  Sora launched forward.

  The initial rope hung taut between two posts, slick with morning dew. Sora’s talons scraped against it as he jumped, his wings instinctively flaring for balance—

  —And immediately, he tipped.

  "Whoops!" someone crowed.

  His stomach lurched as the rope swayed violently, but at the last second, his body adjusted. His tail whipped counter to the motion, stabilizing him, and his talons clenched tighter. "Wait—I can feel the balance?"

  With a grunt, he swung forward, releasing at the peak to land—barely—on the first platform.

  A few surprised murmurs rippled through the onlookers.

  Next came a series of heavy logs, each suspended by chains, swinging in erratic arcs. The gaps between them were just wide enough to force a leap of faith.

  Sora hesitated. "If I miss, I eat sand in front of everyone."

  "Not gonna jump?" the braided rogue taunted.

  Gritting his beak, Sora moved.

  His first leap was clumsy—his talons skidded off the first log, forcing him to scramble up the side. But the second one? He anticipated the swing, his ears picking up the creak of the chains a split-second before the log shifted. By the third, he was flowing—darting between the pendulums with quick, precise hops, his wings half-spread not for flight but for precision.

  The dwarf from earlier let out an impressed grunt. "Huh. Not bad."

  A narrow beam, barely wider than his talons, stretched over a pit of soft sand. Simple—until the guild mage standing nearby smirked and flicked a finger.

  The beam shook, vibrating like a plucked string.

  Fiara's ears flicked in suspicion leaning to Creed whispering. "That’s not standard"

  Creed narrowed his eyes looking for the culprit amongst the crowd of onlookers. "Will, figure out who it is later for now keep an eye out not the first time this happened."

  Sora’s pulse spiked. "They’re cheating."

  But then—

  A memory flickered.

  Him as a child, arms outstretched, teetering along the edge of a hospital garden’s brick wall. His mother’s voice: "Look ahead, not down! You’ve got this!"

  Sora’s focus sharpened. He wouldn’t fall.

  He stepped onto the beam—and ran.

  The vibrations threatened to throw him, but he compensated with every step, his tail lashing like a rudder. Halfway across, the mage intensified the shaking, but Sora leapt, twisting mid-air to land in a skid on the final platform.

  A few adventurers actually clapped.

  A towering rope net stretched upward, swaying in the breeze. The goal? Reach the top platform in under ten seconds.

  Sora didn’t pause. He sprinted at it, talons hooking into the fibers, his wings giving just enough lift to lighten his climb. He didn’t think—just moved, his body operating on some primal harpy instinct.

  When he hauled himself onto the final platform, the attendant’s stopwatch clicked.

  "Time: 1 minute, 42 seconds," they announced. "C-Rank."

  Linda scribbled it down. "Decent. For a first try."

  I… did it? Sora thought panting heavily.

  Fiara smirked. "Told you you’d be fine, birdie."