Jeremiah stood frozen, every muscle drawn tight as the System scan hovered at the edge of his vision.
C-Grade.
Cold flooded through him so quickly that for a moment, Jeremiah felt frozen in place, as if his limbs had become lead. For one awful second, his body refused to move, like a mouse suddenly catching the eye of a tiger. Then instinct snapped back into place, and he began easing backward, one careful step at a time, his eyes never leaving the bird perched above him.
A soft, feminine chuckle echoed through his mind.
“Interesting,” the voice said. “She thought you might awaken sooner than I expected.”
Jeremiah’s eyes widened.
“You can talk?”
The bird tilted its head. Its beak curved in a way that shouldn’t have been possible, yet somehow suggested a smile all the same.
“Much of the impossible becomes possible when we dream.”
Jeremiah paused mid-step.
The words brushed against something in the back of his mind. He frowned, tilting his head as he tried to catch the thought before it slipped away.
“Dream?”
That didn’t make sense.
How could he be dreaming? He had come down here to settle the injured Candlewick into the atrium before heading home. Before that, he’d been—
Jeremiah’s brow furrowed.
He’d been…
His frown deepened.
Why couldn’t he remember?
Jeremiah remembered getting back to the shop. He remembered rushing the injured male into the clinic. Remembered running into Sam in the hall, remembered her fussing over his injuries while Roy gave his report. He even remembered the three of them going over treatment options.
After that—
Nothing.
His thoughts dragged, thick and sluggish, as though his skull had been packed with damp cotton.
Jeremiah glanced around the atrium.
At first, nothing seemed out of place. The perches stood where they should. The nest-box remained exactly where he had secured it. Clean currents still drifted through the chamber.
But the longer he looked, the more something felt… off.
Not in any single, obvious way. Not something he could point to.
It was just… wrong.
The edges of the world refused to hold steady. Shapes softened when he wasn’t looking at them directly. Colors bled into one another at the edges of his vision, as if the air itself had been smeared. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, but the distortion didn’t clear.
Could he really be dreaming?
The moment the thought formed, something inside him shifted.
Yes.
The realization struck clean and immediate.
Like a bucket of ice water crashing over his head, everything snapped into place.
The haze peeled away. His thoughts sharpened in an instant, and the sluggish weight in his mind vanished so completely it left him off-balance. The world around him wavered once — then settled into something sharper, stranger.
Jeremiah drew in a sharp breath.
It wasn’t his vision that had been blurred.
It was everything else.
Anything outside his direct focus began to lose shape, as if it only half-existed without his attention to anchor it. The perches behind him dulled into vague impressions the moment he turned away. The far walls of the atrium thinned, their edges wavering like half-remembered images instead of solid structures.
He turned back to the bird, eyes narrowing.
“Who are you?” he asked. “What did you do to me?”
The bird’s impossible smile returned.
“I did nothing to you, child,” she said. “I am simply… visiting, for lack of a better word.” Her head tilted slightly, rainbow fire glimmering along her crest. “Your connection to the Dream is not yet strong enough to properly Dreamwalk, but your time in the Wyrd Wilds has thinned the shell of your dreams.”
Jeremiah’s eyes widened.
Every Constellation carried its own dangers.
With Law, it was runaway systems and creations built without restraint. Mana brought cursed workings and hostile spellcraft. Deviance meant uncontrolled mutations and the monsters that followed. The Wyrd was… the Wyrd.
As for the Dream—
The Dream eroded boundaries.
Too many people recklessly delving into the Dream was how things like fractured psyches and mad hive-minds came to be — how people stopped being entirely themselves.
Jeremiah’s stomach twisted.
The Siren chuckled softly.
“Fear not, child,” she said. “You’re not yet in danger of attracting Nightmares. I say your shell is thinned, but no more than what a few late nights and too much coffee might cause. A few days away from the Wyrd Wilds, and it will heal naturally.”
The tension drained from Jeremiah’s shoulders so quickly that it nearly made him sway.
He caught himself and straightened at once.
Something about her presence made it too easy to believe her. Her voice carried a calm that settled into him before he could stop it, and that alone set his nerves on edge. The System’s warning still pressed at the back of his mind.
He couldn’t afford to let his guard down.
“You still haven’t told me who you are,” he said, forcing as much authority into his voice as he could manage.
The bird shifted slightly on her perch, crest tilting as she studied him.
“I am sure you already have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me?”
Jeremiah frowned, but didn’t answer right away.
He knew she was leading him, and he didn’t like it. But she wasn’t wrong either. He already had enough clues to begin fitting the pieces together.
His eyes flicked to the edge of his vision as a familiar prompt surfaced.
A mission prompt. One he had accepted days ago and barely looked at since.
——————❇——————
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 establish a contract with 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]
——————❇——————
Jeremiah turned his attention back to the bird, forcing his voice to remain level.
“You’re the flock’s dominant female…”
The bird threw back her head and trilled. The sound rang through the dream-atrium in clear, haunting notes, beautiful enough to make the thin air itself seem to shimmer. In his mind, the sound translated into bright, open laughter.
“I much prefer the term Mother, child,” she said. Her crest flickered with soft, heatless color as she lowered her head again. “Though I suppose your phrasing is not entirely inaccurate.” She studied him for a moment, then added, “As for what you may call me, Adarna will suffice.”
Jeremiah nodded once.
Adarna. A little on the nose, maybe, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.
“Okay, Ms… Adarna,” he said carefully. “If you’re… visiting me in my dreams like this, I’m assuming it’s for a reason.”
Adarna’s eyes narrowed, though the playful edge never quite left her voice.
“Oh my. So forward.” She shifted along the perch, and the colors in her feathers slid and changed with the motion. “I was under the impression that the civilized world preferred to label beings such as me Calamities.” Her crest flared slightly. “Are you brave, Mr. Bridge? Or merely foolish?”
Jeremiah felt the blood drain from his face as the reminder settled in.
Dream or not, he was standing in front of a C-Grade beast.
He forced himself to straighten anyway. Panic wouldn’t help him, and neither would looking weak. If Adarna truly meant to harm him, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. That much was obvious. Yet, his gut told him that if she really meant him any harm, the System wouldn’t have given this mission only an F-rank. He clung to that idea as he steeled his nerves once more.
A dozen similar thoughts flashed through his head in quick succession, and Adarna’s gaze sharpened as if she’d read every one of them.
She gave a soft, knowing trill.
“As for your question,” she said, “you would be correct, Mr. Bridge.”
Her eyes drifted past him.
Jeremiah followed her gaze and found the injured Candlewick male resting in the nest box below. Or rather, the dream’s version of him.
“I’ve been watching you,” Adarna said.
Jeremiah furrowed his brow. “Watching me?”
She nodded. “From the moment you first stepped into my clearing.”
Jeremiah’s frown deepened.
She turned back toward him and folded her wings neatly against her sides. “You know,” she continued, “I honestly thought you would have made your move before now. As I said before, I have found that humans possess a nasty habit of taking first and asking permission second.”
Jeremiah’s jaw tightened. “I’m not like that. I’m a shop owner, not a poacher.”
Adarna trilled again, though there was little humor in it now.
“There are many who wouldn’t bother to differentiate the two.”
Then she leaned forward, and a cold shiver ran down Jeremiah’s spine.
Her gaze sharpened, and the dream-space seemed to narrow with it, the blurred edges of the world pressing inward, as if everything had turned to listen.
“Tell me, Mr. Bridge,” she said. “Did you ever stop to wonder why my flock lives in the Wyrd Wilds?”
Jeremiah opened his mouth — and paused.
His brow furrowed as the question settled.
Now that she’d pointed it out, it did seem strange. Candlewicks were mana-aligned beasts, tied to that constellation. The Wyrd Wilds, on the other hand, existed where Wyrd and Dream pressed against each other. It wasn’t their natural habitat.
Seeing the realization settle across his face, Adarna eased back.
“The answer is simpler than you might think,” she said.
Her voice darkened, the shift so sudden it made Jeremiah’s chest tighten.
“For all the danger the Wyrd Wilds represent, even under your System’s guardianship…” She paused, and for the first time, there was no playfulness left in her voice. Only something colder remained, old and bitter. “I have found the outside world so much more… wanting.”
Silence followed.
Jeremiah knew there was more. A great deal more. He could feel it in the shape of the words she hadn’t said, and in the taste of mana that radiated from her. But he didn’t know if it was his place to ask, and something told him that pushing there now would be a mistake.
After a moment, Adarna spoke again. Her tone had steadied, but it hadn’t softened.
“You say you are not like the others,” she said. “So then tell me, Mr. Bridge, if I allow you to continue down this path, what are your plans for my flock?”
Jeremiah swallowed.
This wasn’t how he had imagined this conversation going. There had been no version of his planning that involved pitching his idea to a C-Grade beast — let alone one capable of understanding and conversing with him.
But none of that mattered now.
He knew there would not be a second chance if he got this wrong, so Jeremiah took a moment to consider how to word his proposal.
After a moment, he took a deep breath and spoke.
“I want to arrange adoptions,” he said, choosing each word with care, “between your flock and the people of the Outskirts.”
“Adoptions?” Adarna echoed.
She rose higher on the perch, feathers shifting in a subtle flare of color that rippled down her body. The look she gave him was sharp and incredulous, and for a brief moment, Jeremiah found himself thinking that if she had been human, she would have been clutching pearls.
“You would have my children become pets?” she asked, the final word slipping out as a hiss.
Jeremiah held her gaze.
“Companions,” he corrected.
Adarna let out a short, sharp bark of laughter.
“Semantics, Mr. Bridge.” Her feathers bristled, color sliding across them like oil catching light. “I am well aware of how sapients treat beasts they consider lesser. A cage is a cage, no matter what name you give the occupant.”
Jeremiah didn’t step back.
“Not everyone treats their animals like that,” he said, shaking his head. “Even with birds, plenty of people let them roam freely through their homes. What you call a cage is often more like a nesting box. A safe place. Somewhere to retreat when they want quiet, or shelter, or simply to be left alone.”
Adarna watched him without blinking.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, the tension in her plumage eased, and the restless shimmer of color dulled. When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of its bite.
“I don’t doubt that this is true for some,” she said. “That there are those who would treat my children as their own. Who would care for them until their final breath.” Her crest flickered once. “That’s not my concern, Mr. Bridge.”
She leaned forward.
“What I wish to know,” she said, “is what you plan to do about the others. Those who will hide their fangs behind friendly smiles, right up until the moment flesh is torn, and bones are broken.”
Jeremiah’s heart kicked hard against his ribs.
Those shifting eyes pinned him in place. It wasn’t just the feeling of being watched. It was the sense of being seen through, as if anything he might have tried to hide was being stripped away under that gaze.
Jeremiah swallowed.
Then, gathering what confidence he could, he answered.
“Contracts.”
Adarna’s head tilted.
“Explain.”
Jeremiah drew in a steady breath.
“Any adoption through the store would require a binding contract between the Candlewick and the family taking them in,” he said. “If the Candlewick ever feels like it isn’t being properly cared for, or if it’s being mistreated, the contract would let it return safely to the shop and to the flock.” He swallowed but kept going. “Or if need be, retrieve them ourselves.”
Adarna straightened slightly and gave a slow, measured nod.
“Hm.” Her tone turned thoughtful. “I see. It is not a terrible idea.”
Hope surged in Jeremiah so quickly it almost hurt. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it.
Until Adarna continued.
“But.”
The single word crushed that rising hope just as quickly.
“I think you underestimate how cruel some people can be,” she said. “Or how sly. No contract is perfect, Mr. Bridge. Not even ones as… special as your own.” She held his gaze without blinking. “What then?”
Jeremiah opened his mouth, but no words came.
His thoughts raced, chasing answers that dissolved the moment he reached for them. He could feel the shape of the trap she had led him into, and worse, he knew she was right. System contracts were powerful, but powerful wasn’t the same as flawless. If someone found a way around one, it would be through a gap he hadn’t seen.
And if he couldn’t see the gap, he couldn’t promise her he would have an answer for it?
The silence stretched.
By the time he spoke, his shoulders had already sagged.
“I… don’t know,” he admitted.
The words tasted bitter on his lips.
“There are too many ways for things to go wrong,” he said. “If I can’t even predict how a contract might be broken, then it’s not something I can really prepare for.” He let out a quiet breath, frustration bleeding through. “All I can do is handle things as they come. Do the best I can in the moment.”
Adarna nodded once.
“And there lies the problem.”
She spread her wings.
Dream-light caught them, and for a heartbeat their shifting colors cast long, fractured shadows across the atrium, bands of color that didn’t quite belong to the waking world. Then she pushed off her perch and glided down toward the central birdhouse anchor, landing with effortless grace on the primary perch before its entrance.
“You ask me to trust you with my children,” Adarna said. She turned just enough for him to see the sharp line of her profile. “And I will not deny that you make a persuasive argument, both in word and in deed.” Her gaze flicked toward the sleeping form of the injured male. “But a mother’s worry is not something so easily soothed, Mr. Bridge.”
She began walking toward the entrance.
Jeremiah stood there, watching her go as the meaning of her words settled over him all at once.
He’d failed.
Adarna paused just before the entrance to the anchor.
“That said,” she continued without turning around.
Jeremiah’s head snapped up.
“While I’ll not agree to your plan as it currently stands, she was right that you have… potential.” Her voice remained even. “I will not forbid my flock from visiting this place under the contract of this atrium. Nor will I forbid them from forming their own contracts on an individual basis.” A faint pause followed. “Even at their own risk.”
Something flickered back to life in his chest.
It wasn’t what he had wanted.
But it wasn’t a total failure, either.
Adarna turned her head just enough to fix him with a single eye.
“But hear me well, Mr. Bridge.” Her voice sharpened, the last trace of warmth gone. “Should I find your duty to them… wanting, the consequences will extend well beyond whatever your System sees fit to administer.” Her gaze hardened. “Am I clear?”
Jeremiah swallowed, then met her gaze and nodded.
Adarna held his stare for a long, silent moment.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
“Good.”
She turned away and stepped through the entrance to the birdhouse.
The instant she vanished into the darkness, cracks formed along its surface.
Spiderweb fractures raced outward through the air, spreading faster with each heartbeat. The perches splintered into jagged lines. The walls of the atrium split like painted glass. Light poured through the seams in thin, blinding strips.
Jeremiah flinched back, raising an arm as the fractures rushed toward him—
—and in the next instant, the dream shattered.