What happens if Napoleon Bonaparte is resurrected in a fantasy world to save a whole continent from a Demon Lord?
A moment after his death, the former ruler of Europe receives a visit from the mysterious Faucheur, who proposes him to reborn in anoth...
"Not giving in to anger is the illusion of the wrathful,
not feeling fear is that of the cowards."
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The harpies had long since forgotten how to fly.
Those who were lucky enough not to spend their entire lives locked in a cage producing eggs had to go unnoticed if they wanted to maintain their freedom, often hidden in remote hermitages on top of the mountains.
What in ancient times was a source of pride and boasting had become a curse, and being able to soar in the skies showing off their splendid wings had turned into a taboo, something to be feared and discouraged.
In the end the feathers had become ruffled, thinned out, and it was now impossible to find a harpy that could do anything more than glide for short distances, obviously on the condition of diving from great heights.
Before she too ended up in a cage, Xylla had been an energetic and lively girl, who loved to challenge fate and proudly display her superb golden wings.
Too bad that one of those reckless glides of hers had made the slave hunters discover the existence of her village.
All of a sudden she had seen her homeland burn, her companions who were too old or too young slaughtered as useless, while she, along with the few unfortunate ones left alive, had been turned into a hatching animal, forced to incessantly lay eggs which then went on to enhance the dinners of some depraved nobleman.
It was therefore not surprising that all this had made her an empty soul, who fed on hatred, and who found the mere fact of sharing the same room with a human unbearable.
Hera, Martha and the others, after being freed, had found their place, and were now trying very hard to leave behind the horror that they had somehow survived.
But not her.
She couldn't.
The fire burning inside her seemed unquenchable.
So she spent her days walking non-stop through the streets of the city around the Castle, always ready to pick a fight with anyone she didn't like, whether human or monster.
She hated this place, but she knew she had nowhere else to go, and in the short time she had been there, she had caused so much trouble that no one, not even her friends, wanted to have anything to share with her anymore.
One morning she was walking in the market area, once again teeming with life, as it hadn't happened for several years, with the blank expression and the uncertain step of someone proceeding by inertia, without a real purpose.
If only she hadn't been distracted by the darkness inside, she would have realized that those three National Guard soldiers sitting around a tavern table enjoying the sun, fresh air and cider were talking about common haradveni eggs, a Maharadi's large bird.
