Saigal flew low across the arena, carrying the basketball-sized powder bomb strapped tightly against his chest. His wings trembled violently, yet they still obeyed the rhythm of the whistle echoing through the battlefield.
High above, the human spectators held their breath.
On the mythology side, Dasamuka chuckled.
The giant had no idea that death was approaching him on the wings of an aging falcon.
Nurlan blew the first sequence.
Command: Create an opening.
Saigal dived swiftly, though his flight wavered ever so slightly.
He slipped between the giant's enormous fingers and slapped one of Dasamuka's faces with the tip of his wing.
The head flinched instinctively.
A narrow opening appeared.
Feeling the sting, the central head immediately opened its jaws, preparing to unleash another earth-shattering roar.
But Saigal veered away.
He swept past the left side, climbed slightly, and escaped the opening entirely.
Nurlan froze.
"...Saigal?" he whispered.
The second sequence rang out—
firmer this time.
Open the path... again.
Saigal dove once more.
His wing grazed another head's lips.
The giant instinctively tilted its face.
The opening widened again.
The darkness inside its throat was now clearly visible.
And once again...
Saigal turned away.
He refused to enter.
He hesitated.
Truly hesitated.
High in the air, Saigal let out a faint cry—
a cry Nurlan had never heard before.
It carried fear.
It carried pleading.
The desperate instinct of a living creature that understood one simple truth:
Go inside... and die.
Nurlan covered his mouth with his trembling hand.
His entire body shook.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Saigal..."
"Y-you're... afraid...?"
The words caught in his throat.
The old falcon glanced back at him for only a heartbeat.
As though asking permission...
to retreat.
To stop.
To live.
And in that single moment...
Nurlan—
a teenage shepherd from Kazakhstan who had already lost every one of his companions—
felt his heart shatter.
Yet beneath those tears...
he had no other choice.
If Saigal turned back...
Dasamuka would win.
And if Dasamuka won...
mythology would reclaim another point.
Nurlan slowly raised the whistle.
His hand trembled.
His heart screamed in protest.
But a battlefield had never shown mercy to gentle choices.
He blew the whistle with every ounce of strength he had.
Its shrill cry pierced the arena.
Louder than ever before.
Delivering an absolute command...
one Saigal could not refuse.
A suicide attack.
The falcon jolted.
His wings locked into a diving posture before his mind could object.
Every instinct fought against it.
His beak opened in a desperate cry.
As though begging fate itself.
As though pleading for his master to take the order back.
But his body continued forward.
Those aging wings beat powerfully against the wind.
Driving him toward the opening that now lay fully exposed inside Dasamuka's central mouth.
The giant opened his jaws wide.
Preparing another roar powerful enough to split the earth itself.
Then—
Saigal shot forward.
Past rows of filthy, jagged teeth.
Past the nauseating breath that had nearly killed him before.
Past Nurlan's scream—
a scream that never managed to escape his own throat.
The falcon disappeared cleanly into the giant.
Straight through the soft flesh of its throat.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Then—
BOOOOOOOMMMM!!
The explosion deafened the entire arena.
A violent eruption of crimson fire, orange light, and shredded flesh burst from Dasamuka's mouth.
The colossal giant was hurled backward.
Its enormous body split apart...
then exploded into a rain of blood that shook the very ground beneath the arena.
Countless fragments scattered through the sky.
Broken pieces of the powder bomb.
Burnt lengths of rope.
And Saigal's dark brown feathers...
drifting gently through the air.
Like ashes released to the wind after a funeral.
...
The final feather landed softly at Nurlan's feet.
Silence.
No cheers.
No applause.
Only a teenage boy kneeling upon the blood-soaked earth...
feeling as though his own heart had exploded together with that blast.
And Saigal...
Faithful until the very end.
Defying his own instinct to survive...
had carried out his master's final command.
The moment Dasamuka collapsed like a colossal fortress shattered by a storm...
the human side erupted.
The grandstands thundered—
with screams.
With tears of relief.
With embraces.
With countless hands raised triumphantly toward the heavens.
Some shouted Nurlan's name, praising the young shepherd who had slain a monster feared even by the mighty Asura.
But amid all that celebration...
Nurlan heard nothing.
The world had gone silent.
The roaring crowd faded into a distant, meaningless hum.
He simply stood there.
Frozen.
The dust from the explosion still lingered in the air.
Before him...
Saigal's feathers drifted down one after another...
like autumn leaves.
His feet moved on their own.
He slowly bent down.
And picked up a single feather, its tip charred black.
The instant his fingers touched it...
something struck deep within his chest.
Tura.
Akhzan.
Saigal.
All of them...
gone.
He should have been celebrating.
He should have felt proud.
Humanity's third victory had secured their honor before every creature of mythology.
But...
Nurlan dropped to his knees.
They struck the ground soaked with Dasamuka's blood.
His fingers clenched the feather so tightly it nearly snapped.
Tears fell one after another, soaking the cracked earth below him.
The cheers only grew louder.
Yet Nurlan could only stare into the empty sky...
where his three companions had once flown.
A lonely wind rustled the dead branches overhead.
Somewhere in the distance, the lingering scent of smoke still drifted through the air.
Nurlan pressed the feather against his chest.
As though the warmth of his own body might somehow bring Saigal back.
Gradually...
the cheering began to fade.
The arena fell silent.
Every eye turned toward the lone boy standing at the center of the colossal battlefield.
And for the first time since the match had begun...
Nurlan looked exactly his age.
Small.
Fragile.
Heartbroken.
Libra slowly swept her gaze across the arena.
Her violet eyes reflected the glow of the two thrones behind her.
With a graceful yet resolute motion, she raised her right hand high above her head...
then slowly lowered it until it rested before her chest.
The unmistakable signal that the Fifth Match had come to its end.
Across every section of the Colosseum, the giant screens came alive.
Veils of shimmering light gathered together, forming glowing words one letter at a time.
KHAIRAT NURLAN — THE BIRD TRAINER
The human side erupted once more.
A tidal wave of cheers rolled throughout the Sky Colosseum.
People rose to their feet, applauding wildly.
Calling Nurlan's name as though he were the hero who had just rewritten history itself.
Yet at the center of the arena...
Nurlan lowered his head.
His small figure seemed to shrink beneath the overwhelming roar.
That title—
which should have been the greatest honor imaginable—
felt like a hand crushing his heart from within.
"...That name..."
"...is wrong..."
His whisper broke apart.
A sob escaped him.
The three feathers trembling inside his hand shook together with his fingers.
"It shouldn't be my name..."
His voice quivered as he forced himself to speak the names that hurt the most.
"...It should be Tura..."
"...Akhzan..."
"...and Saigal."
With slow, careful hands...
he fastened the three feathers onto the shoulder of his sand-colored cloak.
Not as decorations.
But as three humble memorials...
to the souls that had flown higher than any sky could ever reach.