Jeremiah trailed Hazel through the green-shadowed corridors of the Wilds, his boots whispering over moss and damp leaf litter. The air held the same resin-sweet tang as before, but something in the way it pressed against his skin had changed. It was no longer the sensation of drifting in circles; there was a pull now, a subtle forward draw he couldn't have named but felt all the same.

Hazel's pace never faltered, but every so often she'd slow, her head tilting as her ears twitched toward some unheard cue. Sometimes she'd change direction with nothing more than a lazy sidestep, weaving them between leaning cedars. Other times, she'd stop cold, spin, and take them on a near-reverse course without explanation. The first few times, Jeremiah's brows had drawn together in irritation, but now he kept quiet, watching her read the Wilds like a book written in shifting shadows and scents. Somehow, it didn't feel like backtracking. It felt… purposeful. Like she was tacking against an unseen current, closing in on something neither of them could point to on a map.

Billy, normally a constant blur of motion at the edges of Jeremiah's vision, had quieted. The little kraken floated close to his shoulder, trailing a faint shimmer in his bubble, his tentacles resting against the inner curve like a cat draping its paws. Whether it was the Wilds' mood or Jeremiah's own nerves bleeding down their bond, Billy was subdued — alert, but still.

The deeper they walked, the more the air itself seemed to tighten. Anticipation wound through Jeremiah's chest in a slow, steady twist, as if some invisible hand were ratcheting a winch. Every step made it worse — or better. He couldn't decide.

When Hazel finally stopped, the pressure was at its sharpest. She stood just ahead, half-turned toward him, her grin blooming like a spark catching dry kindling.

Jeremiah's brow furrowed in suspicion. "What—" he began, but the question never finished. Hazel's grin widened, and with a flick of her tail, she bolted into the underbrush.

"Hazel—?" His voice snapped upward in pitch as she vanished between ferns and shadow, gone before he could even raise a hand.

He shoved forward after her, branches snapping under his forearms, leaves slapping his cheeks. "Hazel!" he hissed, not daring to shout but unwilling to be silent. Billy zipped after him in a dart of pale light, close enough that Jeremiah could feel the gentle push of displaced air with each shift of the kraken's bubble.

The brush thinned faster than he expected, light swelling between the trunks — and then, with one last step, the forest was simply gone.

Jeremiah stumbled to a halt, his breath catching in his throat. The world opened into a broad, sun-soaked meadow, a sea of red, white, and gold flowers bowing gently in the wind. Here and there, dense bushes sagged under the weight of dark red berries, their tart-sweet scent lacing the air.

And beyond it all, at the meadow's far edge, a single colossal tree rose from a gentle hill. Its trunk was thick enough to swallow a house, its branches reaching so high they seemed to tangle with the clouds, and heavy with leaves that shimmered like copper in the sunlight.

Beyond the hill—

Jeremiah's breath hitched. Beyond the hill, there was nothing. No treeline, no more meadow, only an unbroken drop into endless, cloudless blue. The sky stretched from horizon to horizon, so vast and bright it made his eyes sting.

Jeremiah stared, unable to move, the pull in his chest replaced by a hollow ache of awe, and for a moment, Hazel vanished from his mind entirely. Even Billy paused over his shoulder, his small black eyes reflecting that impossible sweep of open air.

High in the massive tree, a flash of white darted between the leaves. A heartbeat later, a small, waxy-white bird burst into view, wings catching the sun. It spiraled down in a lazy arc before alighting on one of the berry bushes a few paces away. Its crest — a brilliant splash of blue, red, and yellow — bobbed as it began to peck delicately at the ripe fruit.

Jeremiah blinked, the stillness breaking. Automatically, he pulled up a System scan, the familiar ripple of blue light brushing the edges of his sight.

The readout appeared — and his stomach dropped.

——————✴——————

Candlewick Cockatiel

Grade: G - 1.4

Mental - (G): 0.8

Physical - (G): 0.2

Supernatural - (G): 0.4

Rarity: Common

Pedigree: ★★

Ecology: A male Candlewick Cockatiel — a small, social avian beast cherished as a household companion across much of Nexus. Renowned for their melodic calls and affectionate bonds with those they consider part of their flock, these birds are as charming as they are spirited.

Most individuals sport soft, waxy-white plumage, crowned with a crest that blends vivid blues, reds, and yellows, though diet can play a notable role in coloration. Depending on what they eat, body feathers may develop distinctive patches of blues, greens, or oranges, each pattern unique to the bird.

Despite their gentle reputation, Candlewick Cockatiels can become territorial toward unfamiliar people or animals. When agitated, the tips of their crest feathers ignite in a bright, flickering flame — a warning display meant to startle predators and alert their flock to danger. In the wild, this fiery signal can ripple through entire groups, and large flocks have been known to cause accidental blazes in urban areas where flames spread quickly.

——————✴——————

Jeremiah's fingers tightened reflexively on the strap of his satchel. "Oh… no."

Billy stirred in his bubble, brushing against Jeremiah's neck with a tendril, as if sensing the shift in his mood.

Jeremiah kept his eyes locked on the bird. It cocked its head at him, a fragment of berry skin still clinging to its beak. Then, with a soft trill, it fluffed its crest — and for the briefest instant, the very tips of the feathers flared to life, a warm orange spark winking in the sunlight.

Jeremiah froze, muscles locking as the bird's dark, bead eyes met his. He didn't breathe, didn't blink — not until the faint sparks dancing along its crest guttered out. The cockatiel gave one last bob of its head, plucked another berry, and launched into the air with an easy beat of wings, vanishing toward the copper leaves with its prize.

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Only then did his lungs remember their job. Jeremiah let the breath out slowly, shoulders sagging as the knot between them loosened. He eased back a step, then another, until the shade of the treeline closed over him. His legs gave out, dropping him onto the cool cushion of moss. The tang of resin and berry lingered in his mouth, as sharp as the adrenaline still needling his veins.

A soft giggle trickled down from above.

"What? Afraid of a little bird?"

Jeremiah flinched, head snapping up. Hazel lay sprawled along a low branch, one leg dangling, her chin propped in her palm. Her grin was all teeth, her tail swaying like a lazy metronome.

He glared up at her, wiping a damp palm on his pants. "It's not the one bird I'm afraid of."

"Oh?" Her ears tipped forward, interest sharpening the tilt of her head. "Familiar with them, are you?" There was mischief under the question, like she already suspected the answer.

Jeremiah sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah. Like the System said, Candlewick Cockatiels are a popular pet back home. Pretty, friendly, and they'll sing their little lungs out for you. Harmless… most of the time."

Hazel's grin only grew. "So what's the problem, Law Boy? Sounds like they're exactly what you're looking for."

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he jerked his chin toward the meadow. A handful more white blurs lifted from the berry bushes, arcing toward the shelter of the giant tree. Moments later, several others launched from the upper branches, winging off into the deeper forest.

Jeremiah's frown deepened. "The problem is, wild flocks of Candlewicks are never small. You don't find just one or two. You find dozens. Sometimes hundreds."

Hazel blinked, still lounging as if they weren't discussing potential swarms of fire-tipped birds. "Big families, huh?"

"Ya…" Jeremiah said, shifting his weight forward, elbows resting on his knees. "They've got almost no natural predators. But mostly…" He trailed off, his gaze lifting to the massive tree. "…it's the females."

One of Hazel's brows arched high, her tail curling in curiosity.

Jeremiah dug into his bag, rummaging past folded tarps and coiled rope until his fingers closed on cool metal. He pulled free a pair of battered binoculars, flicked the lenses open, and brought them to his eyes.

The upper branches swam into view — layered fans of copper leaves, mottled light, a tangle of nests woven into the crooks. He swept past roosting males, their crests bobbing as they preened, until he found it.

A smaller bird, nestled in a well-guarded nest, feathers a deep gradient of reds that seemed to drink in the sunlight and blended in with the coppery leaves. The belly was still the same wax-white, but without the male's flamboyant crest, the head seemed sleeker, more aerodynamic. Long crimson tail feathers curled over the edge of the nest, twitching with minute adjustments. Around her, half a dozen males clung to nearby branches, all facing outward like sentries.

A pit opened in Jeremiah's stomach.

He kept scanning. Another crimson form, this one pacing along a branch, tail flaring and snapping closed like a warning flag. Two more in other nests, their scarlet plumage blending in against the copper leaves. Each one surrounded by its own little court of males.

"Damn it," he muttered, lowering the binoculars. He handed them up to Hazel, who took them with a curious hum, adjusting the lenses.

While she searched, Jeremiah flicked his fingers, pulling the familiar ripple of blue into his peripheral. The System's readout blinked into place, lines of text crisp and cold in his vision — and every word only confirmed what the sinking weight in his gut already knew.

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Molotov Cockatiel

Grade: F - 2.33

Mental - (G): 1.1

Physical - (G): 0.2

Supernatural - (F): 2.2

Rarity: Uncommon

Pedigree: ★★★

Ecology: A female Candlewick Cockatiel, commonly called "Molotovs" for their volatile temper and rare affinity for fire magic — a trait seldom seen outside of true magical beasts.

Smaller and far less common than their male counterparts, females serve as both leaders and defenders of their flocks. A single Molotov will often gather a large harem of males, guarding them with relentless vigilance against predators and rival females alike.

They are easily distinguished from the males by their vivid crimson plumage, the absence of a crest, and a long, elegant tail that flares when agitated. In ancient times, Molotov Cockatiels were frequently mistaken for the legendary phoenix, thanks to their fiery mastery and their habit of erupting into full combustion when defending territory.

Warning:

Approach with extreme caution. A provoked Molotov is capable of channeling intense, sustained flames, and is more than willing to use them.

——————✴——————

Jeremiah's shoulders sagged as the scan flickered away, leaving him staring at the afterimage like it might somehow soften the reality.

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "That's what I was afraid of."

Hazel lowered the binoculars with an almost reverent look. "No one can argue they're not beautiful," she said, her tone slow and appreciative, "I like the tail." The branch she leaned against creaked faintly as her own tail flicked lazily behind her. "But I don't see what the problem is. They're still just F-rank. What's got you acting like we stumbled into a dragon's nest?"

Jeremiah gave her a flat look, the kind that might've singed the edges if looks could burn. "The males," he began, gesturing vaguely toward the distant flurry of white crests in the branches, "are mostly bluff. Flash the crest, sing real loud, maybe nip you if you push too far. But half of them will be your best friend ever if you give 'em treats. The females, on the other hand…" His hand made a vague, explosive gesture. "Fireballs. Literally, with the tempers to match."

Hazel's brows arched in visible intrigue. "Go on."

"They're not dangerous just because of their magic. The entire flock takes its cues from them. If a female doesn't like you, none of the males will either. They'll mob you, and when you've got twenty, thirty birds all taking potshots, you'll be lucky to make it to cover before you're cooked like a holiday roast." His gaze drifted back toward the copper leaves. "One female in a city is enough to get Gifted Special Forces called in. And they don't come to make friends."

Hazel tilted her head, ears flicking forward. "And a flock with more than one?"

Jeremiah's voice dropped into something halfway between grim and incredulous. "A flock with multiple females will throw an entire district into lockdown. Evacuations, containment zones, the works. That," he jabbed a finger toward the massive tree, "isn't just one. I've counted seven Molotovs so far, and at least ten times as many males. Either a bunch of smaller flocks have merged for mating season… or we're looking at one of the largest Candlewick flocks on record."

Hazel's eyes practically gleamed. "So they're extra feisty?"

He gave her the sort of deadpan only a man staring down imminent incineration could muster. "So they're extra flammable."

She dropped from the branch with liquid grace, landing in the moss in front of him. The grin she wore was all teeth and trouble. "You still want them, though. Don't you?"

Jeremiah opened his mouth, ready to protest, then shut it again, the words snagging in his throat. The truth settled in his gut like a heavy stone — yes, the Candlewicks would be a prize. The shop could use them, with their bright temperaments and striking colors. If he managed to contract a female, the males would follow without a fight. It was the kind of opportunity that didn't simply drop into a man's lap.

But reality barged in, uninvited. His brow creased. "Even if I got close enough to contract one, breeders need a special license for females. City law. Keep one without it, and they'll hit you with fines big enough to bury you."

Hazel scoffed, as if he'd just claimed the weather might be too nice. "That's all that's holding you back?" She snapped her fingers.

The air warped with a soft, glassy hum. A pane of pale light bloomed into being between them, translucent as mist yet edged like cut crystal. Lines of text spilled down its surface, crisp and inevitable — an opening act for disaster.

——————❇——————

—✦—

NEW OPTIONAL MISSION AVAILABLE!

—✦—

Birds of a Feather

Rank - F

Description – Contract a female Candlewick Cockatiel and prepare a suitable environment for her flock in your shop.

Optional: Gain the trust of the greater flock and contract the dominant female.

Reward – One-Year Prima City Candlewick Cockatiel Breeding License. (Subject to renewal with approval from a city inspector upon application.)

Optional: ???

Failure – Unknown / Possible hostility from the Amber Tree Candlewick Cockatiel flock.

Accept?

[Yes / No]

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