Seeing the ape push through the sixth ring of flame, John chirped, "Attention, Hall of Parrots! Go and seal the safe passages of the fifth ring—flame them. Then do the same to the fourth. Nah, that's not enough. The fun's about to reach its climax. Do me a favor—just seal them all. After that, hunt the remaining beasts and collect the harvest."
The five parrots chirped back, singing a sweet song—an ode to blazing fire.
John rolled his eyes. "Tch, lunatics." But he let them have their moment. It was their stage, after all. As long as they followed orders, he didn't care. At least their voices were easy on the ears, even if their lyrics were nonsense.
Shardah Franca, the silver wolf, had been steadily ascending the mountain when the melody reached him. Sweet and entrancing—yet he knew better.
After everything he'd seen today, the innocent facade of those birds no longer fooled him.
His paws froze mid-step. A cold sweat beaded across his skin, dampening his fur.
