Chapter 24: Last of the Seven

LAST OF THE SEVEN

Yuren reacted fast—so fast he barely realized what he was doing. He snatched the bird midair, not with his hand, but by hooking it with his leg. The chick thrashed, kicking up a storm even as it dangled upside down.

"Are you nuts, bird?" Yuren grumbled, hauling it up to his face like he was inspecting some ridiculous toy. "What’s your plan now, huh? All your siblings are gone—you're it. If you want to stick around, try not to be a menace."

The chick was wheezing, its tiny beak opening and closing, eyelids fluttering. Anyone could see it wasn’t built for much more of this treatment. Yuren tucked the fuzzy thing against his stomach, locking one arm around it so it wouldn’t hurt itself.

That settled it down—a little. He shifted it to his side, cradling it like a newborn. The chick froze, staring up with huge, scared eyes.

He was almost ready to claim it for his own then and there. But apparently, the chick had other ideas—it bit him hard.

That bite shot straight through his skin, sharp as a pin. Yuren yelped and stumbled, and just like that, they both hit the ground.

Thwack—

His heart crashed along with him. He thought, for a split second, that was the end—but the fall barely counted compared to what could've happened. Lucky, even if pain carved up his bones.

"Ow..."

Not that he had time to dwell on it. The world hadn’t stopped spinning. All around, a massive tree burned wild, flames clawing at the branches, which snapped and fell one by one. For a moment, the blaze reflected in Yuren’s eyes—it felt like his insides burned too. Everything around him died: branches, nest, anything living. Flames howled and stretched, hungry to swallow everything whole. There was no way out.

The nest burned, bitten off chunk by chunk.

And then, cutting through fire and chaos, came a piercing cry. The mother, Aligoula, returned. Her wings thundered, kicking up clouds of glowing cinders, sending debris flying. She dove toward the ruined nest, her beak shrieking with worry. The hunter was gone, but her home was shattered. Her terror wasn’t for herself—it was for her children.

She landed on a burning branch without hesitation, kept calling out, eyes locked on the smoldering hole where her nest used to be. She soared up again, pumping her wings hard—once, twice, three times—enough to blow out the flames enveloping her nest, snuffing them out like candlelight.

Only then did she crawl inside.

But it was too late.

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She had nothing left to give. No food, no shelter. She spread her wings wide, unintentionally tearing what remained of her home apart. Her last call rang out, shaking the air—so loud it must’ve echoed through the forest. It sounded like a scream, grief laced with accusation, hurled at whatever gods watched from above.

Slowly, she lowered her gaze to the lifeless chicks and folded her wings around them. Her sorrow shone through her eyes, clear as day. She’d given life, and now, all she understood was loss. Somewhere inside, something snapped—a sense that everything she’d been had unraveled: the protector, the teacher, the caretaker. Her mind emptied, leaving only grief and raw rage. That, she understood. Nothing else mattered.

She wrapped her broad wing around her chicks, almost tender—almost human. She pressed her beak to them in a kiss, deliberate, not just instinct. This bird showed real intelligence. With surprising gentleness, she gathered their bodies one by one, tucking them beneath her wing.

Then she launched off, flying with only one wing, burning with courage. She meant to bring them down to earth.

She left her ruined nest behind, never hearing one tiny chick still calling from beneath the spot she’d stood. She had no clue that one child survived.

That lonely chick watched its mother go, wings fluttering desperately, chasing her with its eyes. Its cries faded, swallowed by distance and smoke—but it kept calling.

Yuren watched it stretch and strain, saw it fail, until the wind and flames swept away its voice.

"Hey, bird! One of your kids is here! It's alive! Right here—mother bird, your child—" His words drained away, growing weak and hopeless. He let his hand fall, feeling useless. Too late. Nothing he could do now. But the cry had been loud. Maybe the mother heard it through her own grief.

"S-she’s gone..." Yuren stood frozen.

The mother Aligoula, battered but stubborn, forced herself to fly on one wing. Dropping, stumbling, but always holding her chicks close, she fought down through the heat and chaos. Finally, she landed.

Behind her, the tree burned like a crown, and Yuren remained trapped on a branch above.

"No, no—I'm not ready to die." Panic dripped from his words. "How do I get out? If there was a way, I'd have found it by now. Dammit—why, why now?" Yuren cried out, his voice cracking, echoing through the trees. "Grandpa, can you hear me? I’m not ready!"

Only fire and wind answered.

The flames surged back into the nest, growing and consuming everything. What was left collapsed, rushing toward them, threatening to finish them off. Only Yuren’s careful grip on the chick spared them for now—but the little bird, Amaya, just floating there, watching her master being chased by chaos. She was tiny and powerless. Helpless.

Crack! The exact thing he feared happened next.

Terror and desperation took over—every nerve in Yuren screaming, "This couldn't be the end." He grabbed the clueless chick.

Why now, just when he wanted to give the chick a moment of peace?

He leaped frantically toward another branch, flinging himself out of the danger zone. Raw instinct saved them both—he would have been gone otherwise, lost to the flames.

He held on, kept the chick safe, even as his strength bled away. Sweat dribbled down his face, disappearing into the wood.

He’d survived. Barely.

Embers spun and drifted around them.

"What now—what now—" Yuren's jaw shook, mind blank. The fire thickened, heat rising with every tick of the clock. Sweat poured off him, useless against the heat, his skin starting to blister, but he just bore it.

"Help! Please, someone, anyone," he dropped to his knees, tears finally spilling out. "Isn't there any way… ?Grandpah!"

Then—a sound brushed his ears, snapping his eyes open, sharp and clear. No mistake. Something had heard him. It came from below.

Yuren looked down, and relief flooded his face, tears spilling freely.

He laughed, giddy, unstoppable, all tension letting go.

That sound—it really was Baby Giant.