Shadow Requiem

Chapter 20: The Ascent

~~[1,359 Words]~~

Yuren balled his fist and squeezed his eyes shut, drawing a deep breath from somewhere low in his chest. When he opened his eyes, his hand dropped, steady and sure with a fresh surge of determination. He was ready.

He scanned the bark, searching for a good hold. He hooked his right fingers into a crack and got moving.

Every dent and ridge he found, he used it, scrambling up slowly and carefully. His hands and feet crept over the rough surface, inch by inch. One wrong step, though, and he was done for. That’s all it took—the next second, he slipped.

He hit the ground hard. Ass first, then his back slammed down after. Pain flared. That was his third fall already.

He grit his teeth. “No way I’m giving up.”

Before the ache in his ribs had even faded, he pushed himself up and tried again. He climbed, clawing his way up—this time getting all the way to the eleventh meter. He could almost grab the first branch. One more step, and the bark under his foot gave way with a loud crack; it just tore clean off.

He tumbled, yelling as the wind whipped at him. For a moment, everything was just noise and falling.

Then something huge caught him mid-fall—a massive trunk, all muscle and warmth, wrapped firm around his waist.

He looked down. It was one of the giant creatures. Big as a house; maybe more. Its trunk—just the tip, even—was thicker than his whole body. The creature behind it, standing next to Baby Giant, must’ve been its father.

With a little help from that impossibly long trunk, Yuren rose—sixty, maybe seventy meters off the forest floor—and landed smooth as anything on a giant branch.

You’d think he’d be terrified, but up there, Yuren just felt… fine. Not afraid at all. Most people would freeze, but the wind just roared past, stronger than any fan at home, and Yuren threw his head back and whooped with joy.

He called out his thanks, grinning hard, barely able to catch his breath. “Thank you! ” He laughed long and loud.

The animal might have answered, but Baby Giant was faster—stomping and twirling its trunk through the air. Even just Baby Giant’s trunk stretched eight or nine meters, and its parents’ trunks dwarfed that—forty, sixty meters, easy.

Amaya, his ever-present companion, circled overhead, gliding in smooth loops. No surprise there—she stuck with him everywhere, always his shadow.

Yuren stood up, steadying himself on the branch that was almost as thick as a city street. He looked out, then up—still more tree above, way more. He’d thought the hard part would be climbing down, but the higher he got, the more he realised that with this tree, nothing was simple.

He muttered to himself, “So high up, and we’re not even halfway yet. I’ve got to watch every move now. If I fall again, no one’s catching me next time.” He let out a heavy sigh and pressed on with a little pep talk. “Trust yourself. You’ve got this. You’re getting that bandana.”

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He forced himself up the next stretch—mind spinning but grit in his veins. No slipping allowed, not now. He climbed until all he had left was instinct and whatever luck hadn’t run out yet. His fingers started to throb; the wind blasted stronger the higher he got until every breath felt thick and fast and his toes ached. The bark chewed at his bare feet, needles digging in. His muscles screamed for him to stop—but he wouldn’t. He fought back, mind and heart stubborn to the end.

Every branch became a rest stop—just enough to steal back a few breaths before pushing higher.

He kept on, like he was scaling a living skyscraper. Feet burning, arms shaking, but finally—finally—he made it.

He steadied himself, clutching the thick branch at around a hundred and fifty meters up. There were still twenty or thirty more meters to the top, but for now, this spot was enough. The branch was so wide he could have stretched out for a nap right there.

Yuren went quiet, palm against the trunk, letting the change wash over him. Up here, the wind felt almost gentle—a brush, not a slap. The view stretched so far it took his breath away. He laughed, helpless and giddy.

“So this is what Sariayah looks like from up here,” he whispered. "Woahh, that wall barrier so enormous, so tall they looked like a stairway to the sky. But Uncle Eirhan leaped it through like it was nothing", he chuckled, just a bit shaky.

But there was still that bandana. He moved, climbing up—didn’t even pause to wonder if he should. He could hear something odd—chirping. It got sharper and louder with every step.

And then he was there—a massive nest tangled in thick branches, easily bigger than his bed. The thing was all vines and feathers, built to last.

So that’s where those sounds were coming from.

He climbed onto the branch, sliding up to the nest opening. It arched above him like the roof of a tunnel, big enough to walk into without ducking.

Inside, the noise hit him—sharp, high-pitched. Chicks. Big ones.

“One, two, three… four? How can they be this huge?” he stared, half laughing. “These must be Aligoula chicks. The feathers are still fluffy—they haven’t been out of the egg long. Cute little monsters.”

He grinned, leaning against the nest, and reached his hand in.

One was sweet, and the next seemed calm too, but the third one? That one bit down, hard.

“Ow-ow!” He cursed, rubbing the sting away. It wasn’t awful, but enough to sting. “Hey now, you little—” He was about to reach again, but stopped short. Couldn’t quite grab it.

Suddenly, a roar made his skin crawl—loud enough to rattle the whole world.

He froze, heart hammering. That had to be the mother Aligoula.

He glanced around, every sense screaming at him. Light filtered through the nest, golden and strange, but he saw nothing.

Trying to keep cool, he edged along the giant nest, moving as quick as he dared. Every step over the woven vines felt like climbing the world’s trickiest staircase.

And there it was—the bandana. Green, tied to a stick right at the heart of the nest, a gold ring pinching it in place. He’d done it. His hands jumped ahead of his mind—he was already running for it, bare feet scraping against the rough nest.

He grabbed it, held it up and grinned. Victory, finally.

But then something made him stop. He looked at the bandana, slow and thoughtful, turning it over in his hands.

The second he touched it, memories bristled up—raw and powerful. His grandfather. It was like the man’s spirit was there in the cloth, pulling him into another world. Yuren’s breath hitched; he suddenly felt small, and the world felt enormous and impossibly far apart. Like no matter how hard he tried, he’d never reach his grandfather. Not really.

His smile faded. He stood there, lost for a moment, with the green cloth bright against the open sky—a little piece of something sacred.

He shouted as loud as he could, his voice tearing through the air. Maybe, just maybe, his grandfather would hear him, wherever he was.

Far off, the wind turned, almost like it carried a hidden smile.

A shriek punched through Yuren’s haze of memory. Oh god—the mother Aligoula. She was on him in a blink.

He turned, barely in time. A giant talon descended, bright and sharp and huge. No chance to run. He tried—but it caught him, claws slashing through his shirt, dragging him upward.

The bandana slipped free and vanished before he could even try to hold on.

He dangled, foot's off the ground, caught tight, until the tattered fabric ripped loose and he dropped.

He hit on something with a brutal slam.

A scream rose with him, lost in the wild, echoing through the endless trees.