The cavern ceiling seemed to dissolve into a living, shifting shadow.
The sound was deafening now—a cacophony of shrieks and the frantic flapping of leathery wings. The Razor-Wings were not merely waking up; they were agitated.
Elara pressed her back against the damp rock wall, pulling the wool tunic over her head to shield her neck. "Ciro," she whimpered, the sound barely audible over the noise.
Ciro stood in front of her, dagger drawn, but he didn't attack. He was watching the swarm.
"Stay low," Ciro commanded, his voice calm but tight. "Do not flail. Do not scream. They are blind, but their hearing is sharp."
A single creature swooped down—a grotesque thing the size of a hawk, with no eyes, just a gaping maw of needle-teeth and massive, translucent ears. It snapped at Ciro's head.
Ciro ducked, slashing upward in a blur. The blade severed the creature's wing. It hit the ground, thrashing and screeching.
The screech drew others. Five more detached from the ceiling, diving toward the sound of their wounded kin.
"We cannot fight them all," Ciro realized. There were thousands. "We need a distraction."
As if fate were listening, a shout echoed from the cave mouth.
"Flush them out!" Sir Balon's voice roared from the cliff face below. "Archers! Fire arrows! Burn the rats out of their hole!"
Ciro's eyes widened. A dark, cruel smile touched his lips.
"Balon, you fool," Ciro whispered. "You just signed your own death warrant."
He grabbed Elara and shoved her into a narrow crevice near the floor of the cave. "Cover your ears. Keep your head down. No matter what happens, do not move."
"What are you doing?" Elara grabbed his wrist.
"I am opening the door for our guests."
Thwip-thwip-thwip.
Three flaming arrows sailed into the cave mouth. They clattered against the stone floor, their oil-soaked tips bursting into bright orange flames.
The sudden light and heat in the pitch-black cave sent the colony into a frenzy.
The Razor-Wings screamed—a sound so high-pitched it made Elara's teeth ache. They hated the light. And they hated the intruders who brought it.
The swarm did not attack Ciro and Elara, who were huddled still in the shadows. Instead, they surged toward the source of the disturbance.
Like a black river of teeth and claws, the swarm poured out of the cave mouth.
Outside, the shouts of the soldiers turned into screams of terror.
"What is that?! Get back! Get—ARGHHH!"
"My eyes! They're going for the eyes!"
Elara peered out from beneath her arms. Through the cave opening, she saw a chaotic silhouette against the sky. Soldiers who were climbing the ropes were swarmed. They let go, falling hundreds of feet to the rocks below. The archers on the ridges were engulfed in the black cloud.
It was a massacre. The Razor-Wings were feasting.
Ciro watched the carnage for a moment, his face illuminated by the dying light of the fire arrows. He looked terrifyingly at peace with the violence.
"The way is clear," Ciro said, turning back to the dark tunnel leading deeper into the mountain. "The swarm has gone to feed. We have maybe ten minutes before they return to roost."
He pulled Elara up. She was trembling, staring at the cave mouth where the screams were fading into the distance.
"They... they are eating them," she whispered, horrified.
"Better them than us," Ciro said coldly. He picked up one of the burning arrows from the floor to use as a torch. "Come. The mountain is deep, and we have a long walk in the dark."
He led her away from the slaughter, deeper into the bowels of the Weeping Cliffs.
Elara followed, but she couldn't stop the sound of Sir Balon's screams from echoing in her mind. She realized then that in the wild, there were no heroes and villains. There was only the predator and the prey.
And tonight, thanks to Ciro, they were neither.