"I just don't get it, Anon," Keliner said, her voice cracking slightly as she sat on the cold iron balcony rail, her eyes unfocused and heavy with exhaustion. The faint glow of the city lights below twinkled like dying embers, barely illuminating the thick haze that hung in the air from distant fires. Her wings sprawled beside her, limp and frayed at the edges, like battered flags in a war long since lost. One of the membranous folds fluttered weakly as a breeze passed. It smelled faintly of smoke and stale champagne.
Inside, the party raged on. The bass from the music throbbed through the ground, vibrating in the bones. Echoes of laughter and shouting and the clinking of glasses created a background ambiance so jarringly out of place it felt surreal—detached from reality. But out here, it was quiet. Hollow. A bubble of grief wrapped in moonlight and resentment.
She let out a trembling sigh and turned toward me. Her crest, normally neat and proud, now hung a little discolored, pulsed red by stress. But even under the wear of the evening, the chromatic viens of it shimmered like stained glass, catching the full attention of the moon's light—reminding anyone who saw it that she was still a creature of beauty and flight, even if her heart had crash-landed.
"I..." she hesitated, looking down at her taloned hands, clawed fingers interlocked as though she was physically trying to hold herself together. "I got another call from my family today. There was another air siren. Another missile strike."
Her voice broke. The words were starting to tremble, like glass about to shatter.
"They were so scared, Anon. I was so scared. And then..." her throat caught, "...we lost connection. Right as they were running into the shelter. I could hear them scream. And then—nothing."
Keliner's fist slammed into the rusted balcony rail with a sharp clang. A lone feather drifted from her arm and fluttered down into the darkness below. She didn't notice.
"It feels like every single day Ahuzat Bay gets attacked by those stupid Kekistani rockets." Her voice took on a strangled, furious tone—coiling tightly around each syllable. "And what do I do? I sit here. In this school. In this tower. In this party. While my mom could be dead. My little brother—he's only eight, Anon. He still has stuffed insects. And I'm here... listening to morons laugh."
Her voice cracked and cracked again, her throat raw with fury. Her talons curled into the metal railing.
"This whole place is full of traitors and cowards and—sympathizers. They clink glasses while bombs rain on us. They tell us to be 'measured' and 'diplomatic' when our children die in the street." Her voice dropped lower, quieter, darker. "I feel like everyone's against me. I can see it. Every smile feels fake. Every hand they offer is just another back they'll stab later."
Her wings, limp before, had stiffened—arched like the backs of angry cats. They stood rigid, trembling. Feathers quivered as the wind passed, no longer playful but sharp and electric with tension.
"I don't give a shit if when we fire back we knock down a few frog-infested apartments. Who the fuck cares if there's some ammo or kids or whatever in there? They deserve it. All of them. I want to level it all."
Her voice became sharper, more venomous with each word. Her eyes narrowed, glassy but blazing.
"The Lily Pad Strip is just a cesspool of awful, horrible non-dinos. Why did the others side with them? Why did even some of our own pterosaurs say we went too far?" Her nostrils flared. Her pupils dilated like a hawk in kill-mode. "I don't think we went far enough. I think we stopped too soon. I want to reduce every building they've ever built into fucking mud. For what they did to us. For what they did to my family."
Her voice faltered, trembled. Her wings began to shake, and not from anger this time. Her breathing hitched. The fury was breaking down, giving way to something else—grief. Helplessness.
"I can't..." she whispered. "I can't let it happen again."
She finally turned to me fully now, eyes wide and broken. Her throat bobbed. Her voice dropped into a hushed whisper, barely audible beneath the hum of the city.
"The Paleocene... we almost didn't make it. They tried to erase us. And no one helped. Not a single one. We were alone. All alone."
I stepped forward and reached out, gently placing a hand on the bent arc of her wing. The membrane was warm, trembling under my fingers.
"I'm here," I said softly.
She looked up. Her face streaked with tears that caught the moonlight like river water. The pain was real. But so were the doubts. She was looking for something. For someone. Maybe for an excuse. Maybe for absolution.
I let my voice get quieter. "I'm here. For you. And for pterosaurs."
She smiled, bitterly—like someone choking down bile. "Thanks, Anon..." Her voice was weak. "I'm glad... you're one of the good... ones. And I don't mean good humans. I mean good people."
She scoffed through the remnants of a laugh. "So many dinosaurs just pretend to support us. But when we need them, they run. They call us monsters. They say we're bloodthirsty vultures. Say we're dangerous." She spit over the balcony. "I'm sick of their free speech crap. It's just a cover to insult us."
She pressed her palms to her face, rubbing her temples. "I can't believe this is happening again. Never again, they said. Pfft. Never again is now."
I stepped back slowly, giving her space, walking into the dim hallway just outside the balcony door. I didn't go far. I just wanted to let her breathe.
A voice called out from down the hall.
"Oh my gods, there you are."
It was Harksen—recognizable even from far away, her signature silver bracelets jangling as she approached. She was dressed for the party, wearing a metallic shawl that shimmered in the dim hall light like oil on water. A fellow ptero, a Geosternbergia, but taller, with a more commanding crest that stood up tall and broad on her head. She was smirking, but her tone was laced with exhaustion.
"Hey guys, where've you been?" she called out, before catching sight of Keliner's face. Her smirk faded. "Damn. I can't believe Nycto actually fucking said that. Imagine siding with literal terrorists, right? Fucking crazy. What is the world coming to?"
I shrugged. "What can I say? I've never trusted dinosaurs. For reasons like this."
My voice was low. Flat. Too honest.
She looked at me, frowning. "Yeah... I guess you weren't wrong in that. I just..." she looked off, shifting uneasily. "I didn't imagine we'd turn against each other. I thought that if anyone had our back, it'd be our own."
She paused. "I'm a liberal, but... I have limits. Some people push too far. And you just... snap."
I leaned against the wall beside her. "It's almost like... being politically correct doesn't mean you're correct."
She blinked. Then looked around, checking to see if anyone overheard. "Gods, I hate how true that sounds." she looked around, her voice hushed. "Yeah. Don't say that too loud. Someone'll call you a traitor. Or worse—a conservative."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "My dad's company—he's big on promoting 'understanding' and 'coexistence.' But there are just... some things you can't forgive."
"You can't coexist with people who want you dead," I said.
She nodded. "Exactly.I was a liberal my whole life, I want to be free. Free to love. Free to fight. And free to defend what's mine."
And then...
A new voice cut through the air, sharper and colder.
"Oh gods. Don't tell me you guys are still mad."
Miller had arrived.
A Nyctosaur, her frame sleeker, more slender than the Geos, with a tall crest that looked like a lightning bolt made of bone ,swept backward like a scythe. She frowned, arms crossed, looking exhausted.
"You guys were practically raving about leveling entire buildings. I had to speak up. If people hear us saying that crap, we lose credibility. You're playing into every stereotype about us."
Keliner looked up, her eyes burning. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, MILLER."
The hallway went quiet. The party behind the door felt galaxies away now.
"You sympathized with them. You told us we went too far. But it's not your family being bombed. I have to protect my own. And I'll say whatever I have to. I'll do whatever I have to."
Anon tilted his head slightly, eyes dark and thoughtful.
Harksen stepped up beside me. "Yeah. Anon gets it. But you don't, Nycto. You're just way too gullible. Always falling for their 'peace' garbage. You think they want peace? They want us dead."
"They don't all think that way!" Miller protested. "You don't know that!"
"SHUT UP," Keliner snapped. "You fucking KULAK. Your family only cares about money. You don't care about the war. You care about profit. That's all you ever fucking cared about."
"I—No! That's not true!" Miller stammered. "We—we helped! We sent medical supplies. Dinotarian corridors, for gods' sake! You can't call that sympathizing!"
"You're just letting the murderers escape!" Keliner roared. "your a traitor! you're so fucking dumb. You insult all of us by even pretending those things deserve mercy."
"I don't want to die," she growled. "I don't want my brother to die. We are God's chosen. We are pterosaurs. I will not be murdered by frogs."
"You're not even a real pterosaur," she snarled. "You're just a mouthpiece for frog propaganda."
"We are pterosaurs," she said, voice shaking with fury. "We are gods chosen dinosaurs. We are above all this filth.our wings where meant to rule the heavens. We will NOT fall again."
Harksen glanced at me nervously, then muttered, "Maybe don't say that in front of the human."
"time to cool off," Harksen muttered, tugging her arm. "You're lashing out at your pet, now."
"Sorry about that, Anon," Harksen muttered. "She's just... mad. Thanks for being on our side." She gave me a half-hearted smile.
She pulled Keliner away, the two muttering angrily under their breath as they vanished into the hall.
Miller slumped, sighing. "Fuck. I was just trying to be reasonable."
"Sometimes," I said, "people don't want to hear reason."
She looked at me, eyes glassy. "I know we're not doing the right thing. But..." she looked away. "It's not fair what she said. Calling me a kulak."
"She's stressed," I said. "I'm sure she'll apologize."
"Maybe she won't."
She dropped her wings at her sides, sagging.
I looked at her carefully. "I'm sorry. On her behalf."
She looked at me.
"I can be honest with you," she whispered. "I don't agree with what we're doing."
I smiled. My eyes lit up—just briefly.
"I agree. People are going too far. We need to stop it before more innocent people get hurt."
Then she said:
"Do. But it needs to be done."
My smile froze. My heart stopped.
"Why won't they just let me be the bad guy? Just this once. I've always been weak. Always on the sidelines. It's not fair. For once... I want to be the one who smiles when someone else gets hurt."
My smile vanished.
"Yeah..." I said softly. "It's not a big deal."
There was sarcasm in my voice now. And venom.
She didn't catch it. She just looked hopeful.
"We always have each other's backs," she said. "That's what it means to be a pterosaur. Even when we fight—we never abandon each other."
"So this is what you want?" I asked.
She nodded, smiling like a kid.
"I want to stop being the victim," she said. "Hurting people feels good. I'm a bird of prey. It's what I was made to do."
She thought I was impressed. She smiled at me.
And I smiled back.
Fake. Plastic. Cold.
"You're just like the rest of them," I thought, as my eyes went dim.