Far from the trench and the dense forest, in a quieter estate surrounded by
plum trees and shaded courtyards, Sky sat in his ornate bronze cage beside
the general's study. Once, his feathers were bright and iridescent. Now, they
had dulled with time, and he moved more slowly, his eyes not quite as sharp.
But his gaze still searched the horizon every morning.
The general, old and grizzled now, sat nearby sipping tea. Crown Prince
Linhua, no longer the same sharp-tempered youth who once rode to battle,
was now an emperor of another country — calm, thoughtful, and weighed by
responsibility.
> "He still watches the wind," the prince said quietly, as he stood beside the
cage.
The general nodded. "He's never forgotten them."
Sky ruffled his feathers and let out a soft trill, eyes resting on a distant
branch. Sometimes, when the light hit the sky just right, he would chirp the
same name he once repeated every day: Li Xian.
It had been decades.
They were both gone — Ren Xu and Li Xian — martyred in the final clash of
that brutal war. Sky had seen them fall, had circled above their broken
forms, and had refused to leave for days.
Eventually, he was brought back by the general, who swore to care for him.
For years now, the macaw had lived in the care of the royal family, respected
by all — not as a pet, but as a symbol.
Of loyalty.
Of sacrifice.
Of waiting.
The prince's children visited the macaw often. His eldest son, now seventeen, had started training in court diplomacy. The second, a boy of
twelve, was spirited and often tried to mimic Sky's cries. The youngest, a
daughter of sixteen, was graceful, clever, and sharp-eyed. She often sat by
the cage with books and spoke softly to Sky, as if he understood every word.
He always tilted his head at her. Something in her reminded him of…
someone.
Still, the bird waited.
He did not know that Ren Xu and Li Xian had returned, reborn in another
land, far beyond the mountains, across borders drawn by men who had
never known them. He did not know that the fates had begun to spin their
threads again.
But somehow, the old ache in his chest was softer today.
And as the sun dipped low and painted the sky with the same hue as Ren's
old war robe, the macaw closed his eyes, murmured something only the
wind could hear, and dreamed of flight.