Unlike the burn of fire, the burn of the cold could not be snuffed out. The shivering ice of winter buried itself within, embedding itself in the skin and bones of its victims. The freezing flame ignited and spread quickly, frost filling every crevice until everything was frozen in place. Captive, awaiting death.

 The first blow of the autumn winds signified the bringing of this cold, slow death. A threat which the Flocktic Cekkurics of Olzen felt annually, their bones shuddering with dread. As the leaves turned shades of vibrant and dangerous reds- all bodies remained busy, fleeing with urgency. After the war against winter had raged for thousands of years, those of the grassland finally felt as though they had nearly conquered it. Despite the ever-looming threat, they felt prepared, guarded by the sacred shield of Olzen- The Talons Flock.

 Regarded as the warriors who defend the land from winter, the Talons were considered heroes. As such, they were treated with the greatest respect and honour. 

 Befitting them and their titles was their home- The Talons Perch. Only the most capable Flocktics were allowed entry.

 The sight of the Perch was breathtaking, magnificent. A massive fortress fit to host warriors and legends alike.

 Towering chiseled stone walls encircled the many connected courtyards, their shoulders rising above the many faces that paced between their legs. Atop the wide walls were wooden walkways and watchtowers being patrolled by hardy soldiers, adorned in heavy plated armor. Along each major wall hung long purple banners with the symbol of Olzen- an emblem of green grass, bright blue sky, and a crown surrounded by wheat; the emblem mimicked the shape of an eagle's foot. 

 The clanging of sharp steel could be heard across the walls- possibly being forged, or perhaps used for sparring. It was swift and repetitive, echoing across the barracks- a sharp pitched note ringing on the winds. 

 At the highest and most central point of the barracks was the Crest- a glass dome with many open entrances where Flocktics flew to and from. The tip of the Talons Perch at the peak of the Crest was the flag of the Talons- a stark black with a pair of talons meeting, one armored, one not. 

 The stone base of the Crest was high, nearly nine stories tall, and each stone brick had an individually embedded hand-print. The hands of thousands of foundational members and their families held the Crest high and proud, sturdy and immovable.

 The powerful history of the structure was only rivaled by the sheer volume of occupants swarming the barracks. Many Flocktics moved between the arches at the base of each wall, creating a blur of greys, browns, and blacks. Above them, sitting between two banners was a tough looking Hunting Flocktic with heavy pauldrons weighing her shoulders down as her eyes narrowed and quickly inspected each individual as they passed. Below and near the entrance was a director- a Singing Flocktic wearing a purple drape that hung in front of his chest and off of his shoulders- who was sending various parties every which way, barking orders across crowds. 

 All recruits were directed to the left, leading along a narrow path into an open assembly. There was a lower turnout this season, with only about two dozen bodies occupying the space- and even fewer would make it through to become fully-fledged members of the Flock. Even at its most desperate, the Talons Flock remained exclusive to only the most capable. 

 Despite there being so few recruits, Mazdall still felt cramped. She adjusted her wings to lay more flush with her body, tucking them uncomfortably tight. She scanned the recruits, noticing that only Hunting Flocktics like her were present. Most recruits appeared to be around her age- all young adults or older. They all ranged greatly in colour and pattern, but she was the only one of such a stark whitish grey colour. She couldn’t help but worry that she drew attention. Perhaps it was her nerves kicking in, but she could feel her body temperature rise.

 The autumn wind was cold and sharp, but the breeze was welcome, whisking its way between her feathers and soothing her. 

 Across the heads of recruits, an armored Hunting Flocktic with black and brown feathers made his way to address them all. 

 “Recruits.” He started, “Over the course of the next four weeks you’ll get a taste of what it’s like to be a Talon, and many of you will fail. Winter fast approaches, and we have less than eleven weeks to prepare for the first frost. Any incapability will result in immediate decommission.” He took a breath before continuing, “There’s- what? Only… … ten, fifteen… … twenty five of you? I would be willing to wager less than five of you will still be here by the end, if any. We need all the help we can get, but you are no use to us if you can’t perform even our very basic tasks.”

 He narrowed his eyes, “Understood?”

 The batch of recruits gave several out of sync nods and verbal confirmations, and the head of the assembly tightened his shoulders, “Good.”

 The commanding presence of him exuded confidence, he was clearly experienced and had been a Talon for a long time. The smug grin hiding behind his flat expression indicated that he seemed to enjoy this opening act of intimidation. He waited in the silence to let the recruits take in his words, taking his time to adjust his stance. All eyes were on him, yet he behaved as though no one was looking. He scanned his eyes across the small crowd, making eye-contact with every single one before speaking again, as if connecting soul-to-soul, “My name is Jeyn. I’m the current Flock leader, and I will become your head commander if you become a Talon. I don’t expect many to succeed, but I hope you will exceed my expectations and prove me wrong.” 

 This surprised Mazdall- yes, he was clearly a long-term member by the looks of it, but he still looked so much younger than she would’ve expected from the leader; he couldn’t have been more than ten years older than her.

 “Now, I would like you to meet your station director, Obora.” 

 As he spoke, a tough dark blue Singing Flocktic walked her way steadily from behind an arch, not bothering to acknowledge the recruits.

 “You will all be passed off to her today, so I shouldn’t be seeing your faces for a long time. Good luck, and I hope to see at least a few of you by the end of this.” He nodded towards the group, giving a rather sincere acknowledgement. “Of a feather.”

 “Of a feather.” The group repeated back to him.

 With that, he stood up and walked off, disappearing behind an arch. Simultaneously, the other Flocktic began checking a list before calling out names, not bothering with an introduction. As Mazdall waited for her name to be called, she tilted her gaze up to admire the fortified walls and flowing banners. The halo of the sun framed the Crest of the Talons Perch, its glass catching the light and spitting it back at her, causing her to squint. She could only imagine what kinds of affairs had happened there over the years.

 The Talons Flock was one of the oldest running Flocks of Ladorne, and the single most important one in the entire province of Olzen. Olzen’s sprawling open fields and endless grassy plains provided excellent terrain for scouting, and so many of the Talons acted primarily as hunters and scouts- but as the wind whistled colder, most would turn into harvesters, builders, and survivalists.

 “Mazdall!” 

 Her name was called and she quickly rose from place, nearly whipping another Flocktic with her tail. Quickly, she made her way towards the eerily gruff looking Singing Flocktic and followed her along with the other recruits. As Mazdall approached, she noticed that the station director’s feathers were torn and tattered, her body covered with several large scars. Most notable of all, one leg of the station director’s was substituted by a steel rod replacement.

 No one verbally acknowledged it, only followed her lead as she began her route.

 As they walked, their leader pointed out various locations within the unit, “We’ll first be passing by some sparring grounds, and past that you’ll see our primary smithy-” She seemed to be rushing through the tour, and her tone certainly indicated she felt the role of ‘tour guide’ beneath her. Regardless, Mazdall gazed at every sight with wide eyes, taking in every little detail she could. 

 The sparring grounds were currently occupied, with two Flocktics dueling it out, heavily armored and evidently testing ground equipment. The sparring grounds had a neatly crafted cobblestone floor, with each wall displaying armor, weapons, and golden plaques she couldn’t quite read. 

 As they ducked into a darker corridor, the smithy came into view. It was dark and poorly lit, but the molten metal and various fires blazed in anger at every touch, flaring up and glistening against the cooling metals. A blacksmith carefully used their hands to grip a set of fresh metal talon gauntlets and held them high, where they caught a ray of light peeking between the boards of the roof.

 Despite her enthralment, Mazdall tried not to show it on her face, so as not to draw attention. Though internally, she was mesmerized and couldn’t help but gawk at the pair of talons.

 Suddenly she heard a resounding clink below her. Her ears guided her eyes in the direction of the sound, and she found herself turning around to see a silver coin with a sapphire trim bounce off the ground before settling near her. 

 The coin held her attention- its shine so elegant and bright- and unbeknownst to her, the rest of the group was trekking away without her. Meanwhile, she followed its trail of sound to see if she could find where it came from. She gently lifted it off of the stone walkway and held it in her palm for a moment before spotting a Hunting Flocktic traveling back in the direction of the sparring grounds, a pouch wrapped around his arm scoring a large tear across the bottom. Mazdall began moving on three limbs towards him, clutching the coin carefully in her hand. 

 It was rather difficult for her to maneuver through the weaving bodies that traversed the halls- her and her group traveled with the flow of traffic, but now she found herself trudging upstream. Many heads turned to her in confusion as she sped up, but very few of the stubborn soldiers cleared a path for her, rather leaving her to contort her body and bend her wings to fit past them instead. The Flocktic turned down a corridor she hadn’t seen before. She had only barely taken a step into it before hesitating about whether or not she was supposed to be there. Moving slowly, she cleared her throat to prepare to get his attention.

 As she went to call out to him, an intimidating figure cut off her path with his wing. Mazdall halted.

 “Recruit.” The low voice grumbled, leading her eyes to meet his. 

 “C-Commander Jeyn!” Mazdall stuttered out, “I’m so sorry sir, I didn’t mean to get in your wa-”

 “Why are you wandering away from your station director?”

 Mazdall stared at him for a moment before looking back at her clutched palm, “I didn’t mean to, I found something and-” Her story trailed off as she realized explaining was pointless. Regardless of excuses, she deviated from her group. Besides, wandering around because of a coin seemed rather irresponsible.

 “I’m sorry. I wandered and lost my group.” She admitted.

 “Honest,” He acknowledged, “but still you strayed into restricted areas. This will weigh against you as we determine our future Talons. Is that clear?”

 Mazdall’s hand dropped, her fist holding the coin settling near the ground. “Yes.”

 “I will escort you to the station quarters. As well as inform your leader of your error. Come with me.” His tone didn’t convey anger- but rather muted frustration. Perhaps disappointment.

 Commander Jeyn took his lead, guiding her.

 As he led Mazdall back towards the rest of the group, the flow of bodies in the halls seemed to slow, parting for Jeyn. It was telling seeing soldiers who wouldn’t move an inch for her slide over completely in respect for him, a leader whom they clearly honoured and upheld. A part of her worried that she had already made a bad name for herself, and she couldn’t help but sigh. She peaked at the coin in her palm once more before shoving it into one of the leather guards around her legs. She took one more breath before lifting her head and puffing out her chest, trying to remain proud like a Flocktic should.

 When they arrived at the station quarters where the rest of the recruits were, the station director had a stern glare. “Now I see where the other went.”

 Without hesitating, Mazdall quickly fessed up, “I’m sorry, I strayed off and got lost. Commander Jeyn helped bring me back.”

 “You wasted his time.” The station director snapped, but Commander Jeyn raised a hand to cut her off.

 “Enough, Obora.” He said, “She will either make up for it or go home. Further conflict is unnecessary.” 

 The station director sighed, but accepted his words and allowed Mazdall back, warning her, “He means it, you know. Insubordination can and will result in decommission.”

 “I understand.” Mazdall winced.

 Commander Jeyn turned his body to take his leave, but Mazdall couldn’t help herself and quickly said to him, “Thank you for leading me here.”

 He seemed surprised at first, his stern eyes almost softening- but only for a moment before he narrowed them towards her, a ghost of a smile beneath his stern look.

 “Hm. Earn your place, and then you can thank me.” 

 His words held in her head- earn your place.

 As she waited for further instruction from the station director, she knew it was true- that in order to become a Talon she would have to earn it. Already, she was starting from below the very bottom and would have to prove to herself and others that she could rightfully call herself a member of the Talons Flock- the ancient shield of Olzen and the conquerors of winter.