Aija's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Aija traced the worn inscription on the cathedral door, her blue claws following each carved letter. For three hundred years, she had studied the mortals who passed through these stone arches. They aged, they changed, they died—all things she could not do while trapped in this cursed form. She wanted to understand them, really understand what it meant to have a life that ended. The priests had left her their love poems, but words on parchment only told her so much. She needed to watch the living, to see how they spent their brief, burning years. Her wings folded tight against her back as she stepped away from the door, ready to begin another day of careful observation. The morning sun cut through the trees as Aija walked beyond the cathedral grounds. She had read every poem, studied every prayer, but the words never explained the true weight of mortal life. She needed facts—birth dates, death dates, the exact span of years humans were given. Mt. Sinai Memorial Gardens stood quiet under the fading moonlight, stone markers stretching in neat rows. She knelt beside the nearest grave, her tail coiling behind her. The numbers carved into the stone told her stories the poems never could. A structure caught her eye through the trees—glass panels reflecting the dawn light. The Luminescent Greenhouse stood alone, its metal frame holding walls of clear glass. Inside, strange plants glowed softly in the dim morning air. This place could work. She pressed her clawed hand against the cool glass, leaving no mark. Here she could gather her notes, organize her findings about naturally born lives. A proper study needed a proper place. She continued walking until smoke rose above the tree line. An outdoor fire pit sat in a clearing, wooden benches arranged in a circle around the stones. Voices drifted from nearby—villagers beginning their day. This was where they gathered, where they talked. Aija settled onto a bench at the edge of the circle, her wings tucked close. If she stayed quiet and listened, they might speak of births, of families, of how their lives began. She had her memorial garden for endings and her greenhouse for study. Now she just needed their stories.