High atop the jagged cliffs of Stormbeak Ridge, the sky was not owned by one tribe alone but was the territory of multiple clans. All the clans in this ridge live happily together, but among these clans, there were two proud clans—the Eagles and the Falcons, who refuse to share the same sky as they both think to be above each other.
The Eagles were proud, powerful, and dominant. The Falcons were swift, disciplined, and precise. For generations, their rivalry remained respectful but distant… until two children from each tribe dared to cross that line.
Jagdev, son of the Eagle chief, was a natural storm—loud, brave, and always flying higher than anyone else dared. And Jagpal, a falcon-born prodigy, was quieter, sharper, his eyes always watching, always planning the next move.
They met by accident. A young Jagdev, bored of his tribe's routine drills, flew past the boundary lines. He found Jagpal perched alone, training with wind-slicing feather throws. Jagdev laughed and challenged him to a duel. Jagpal didn't answer—he just flew straight toward Jagdev. Seeing this, Jagpal also charged toward Jagdev.
But it turned into a draw.
From that day on, the two became rivals, clashing in secret beyond the eyes of their tribes. They fought in the skies, on the cliffs, even inside dark caves where wings were useless. And every time they fought, it ended the same way—
A draw.
Neither boy could defeat the other. Jagdev's power was unmatched, but Jagpal always adapted. Jagpal was faster, but Jagdev was relentless. They traded bruises, broken feathers, and laughs, never once finding an edge.
As the years passed, their duels grew sharper, more serious. The rivalry deepened—not out of hatred, but an unshakable desire to be the one who finally won.
So when the Grand Tournament was announced, their decision was instant.
No more friendly stalemates. A real stage. A real answer.
Jagdev grinned. "This time, I'll leave you grounded."
Jagpal's eyes narrowed. "Then don't blink."
They didn't tell their tribes. This wasn't about Eagle vs Falcon.
It was about Jagdev and Jagpal.
One last fight. No draws.
This time, they will be able to see who is stronger among them, or that's what they thought it would be.
"The winner, Gautam of the Python tribe!!!"
"What!? Jagdev lost? To someone else he lost" Jagpal said to himself. "Impossible, He had to win so that i could have fought him" Jagpal said in disbelief
...
"Now, for the next match, we have Jagpal from the Falcon tribe and Hem from the Hippo tribe."
Jagpal walked into the arena like a blade unsheathed—lean, sharp, and deadly. His falcon features—piercing eyes, compact wings, and feathers bristling along his arms—seemed carved for speed and precision. But today, something else pulsed beneath his calm.
Rage.
Jagdev was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be across from him. All their years of training, fighting, tying—it was all leading to this moment. But Jagdev had lost. Fainted. Carried away before they could decide who was stronger.
And now, Hem stood in his place.
A giant. A wall of thick, aura-hardened muscle. The hippo-man's gray hide glowed faintly with patches of cracked stone patterns. Calm, still, unreadable.
Jagpal didn't see a fighter. He saw an obstacle. Something standing in the way of what should've been.
Horn Blow!!! signaling the start of the match
The instant the Horn blew, Jagpal disappeared.
A flicker. A burst of wind.
Hem's instincts kicked in—he raised his thick forearms, just in time for claws to slice down them in a flurry of cuts. Blood welled up instantly.
Hem grunted, stepping back, but Jagpal was already airborne again, circling in the air, aura flaring violently.
"You're not him. You don't belong in this fight." Jagpal glared at Hem and said coldly.
Hem planted a foot and slammed it down. A pulse of aura rippled through the ground—but Jagpal didn't need the ground. He struck again—shoulder, elbow, thigh—each hit surgical. Fast. Angry.
The crowd roared as blood splattered across the floor.
But Hem stayed upright. Defensive. Breathing. Watching.
"This isn't a Falcon I'm fighting. It's a storm." Hem mumbled to himself.
Jagpal circled again, faster this time. His aura was unstable—too aggressive. Each flap of his wings left a shimmer in the air. He wasn't thinking. He was attacking to hurt, not to win.
"I'll make you fall like he did!" Jagpal shouted.
He crashed down—claws glowing white with compressed aura—straight at Hem's shoulder.
CRACK!
His claws dug deep. Muscle tore. Bone cracked. Hem cried out and stumbled back, his left arm limp.
The crowd gasped.
Jagpal stood there, chest heaving. Blood staining his talons. He raised his wings slowly.
"You're done." Jagpal said.
"...You're not fighting me." Hem said.
Jagpal blinked.
"You're fighting your friend's shadow. You want to scream at someone, scream at fate. But I'm not Jagdev. I'm here. Right now." Hem said
Jagpal twitched. His next step faltered.
"If you really cared about him, you wouldn't fight like this. Reckless. Sloppy. Angry. You'd fight clean. Like you trained. Like he would." Hem said while stepping forward despite the pain.
Jagpal clenched his fists, struggling. His wings drooped. The fury boiled—but it flickered.
"You don't understand... we were supposed to finish it. It was always supposed to be him and me… not like this..." Jagpal said.
Tears welled up but didn't fall.
"Then fight for him. Not through him." Hem said.
Jagpal froze.
The wind howled through the arena. For the first time, Jagpal stood still. His aura calmed slightly. Then—too late—Hem charged.
A sudden, powerful stomp shook the ground. Aura wrapped around Hem's good arm like a club. He swung—slow but inevitable.
Jagpal moved to dodge—but his hesitation cost him.
THWACK!
Hem's arm smashed into Jagpal mid-air. The falcon crashed into the arena wall, then hit the ground hard.
Feathers scattered. Silence fell.
Jagpal groaned, barely conscious. His aura flickered weakly, then faded.
He tried to push up. One hand. Then collapsed.
"Jagpal is unable to continue! Hem is the winner!"
The crowd erupted.
Healers rushed in from both sides.
Jagpal lay flat, breathing, eyes unfocused.
Hem staggered, blood dripping from his arm. One of the healers tried to inspect the damage.
"Sir, your arm—it's in pieces—"
"Fix it…"
"You shouldn't be walking like this—"
"…I'll need both arms for the next one." Hem said.
He looked back once, at Jagpal, who lay still but calmer. The rage had burned out. What remained… was pain.