Chapter 6: The Last Phoenix

The attic was suffocating, filled with the smell of dust and forgotten things. Nira coughed as she pushed aside a stack of old canvases. Suddenly, her hand brushed something warm. She froze—nothing in the attic should be warm, especially not in the middle of winter.

Curious, she shifted a broken chair and gasped. Nest

ed in the corner, half-hidden under a tattered quilt, was a bird unlike anything she'd ever seen. Its feathers shimmered faintly, as though embers were trapped beneath the surface, and its eyes, half-closed, glowed faintly like dying coals.

A phoenix.

Nira didn't dare move. She had heard stories of them, of course. Everyone had. They were rare even before the Great Hunts, when kings and queens had driven mythical creatures to extinction in their thirst for power. The last known phoenix was said to have vanished decades ago, taking with it the final remnants of true magic. Yet here it was, barely alive and tucked away in her attic.

"Hey there," she whispered, kneeling slowly. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

The bird's head twitched, one golden eye fixing on her with weary suspicion. Its feathers flickered faintly, as if it wanted to burst into flame but lacked the strength.

Nira hesitated, then gently extended her hand. "You're not looking so good, are you? Let me help."

The phoenix didn't move at first. Then, with an almost imperceptible motion, it shifted its wing, revealing a patch of raw skin where feathers should have been. Nira winced. The wound looked fresh, as though something had tried to tear the bird apart.

"What happened to you?" she murmured, reaching for the quilt. She tore a strip of fabric from the edge and carefully began to wrap the bird's wing. The phoenix didn't resist, though its gaze never left hers.

As she worked, the bird let out a low, mournful sound—a sound that wasn't quite a chirp or a cry. It was something older, something that felt like grief itself.

"I know," Nira said softly. "The world's gone to hell, hasn't it?"

When she finished, the phoenix seemed to relax slightly, its head drooping as if the effort of staying awake was too much. Nira sat back on her heels, staring at the creature she had only heard about in legends.

"Well," she said finally, her voice trembling, "looks like it's you and me now."

The phoenix's eyes closed, and for a moment, Nira thought it had died. But then a faint glow began to pulse beneath its feathers, like the last flicker of a fire refusing to go out.

Nira watched the faint glow pulse rhythmically, her heart pounding. She wasn't sure whether it was a sign of life or the creature's last attempt to burn itself out. Either way, the sight filled her with an odd mix of hope and fear.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" she muttered, brushing her hands on her jeans. Her voice echoed softly in the attic's stillness, as though the old beams and forgotten boxes were holding their breath alongside her.

The phoenix didn't answer, of course, but its feathers shifted slightly, glowing just a little brighter. The warmth radiating from it felt stronger now, enough to make the chilly attic almost comfortable.

Nira sighed and stood, brushing dust off her knees. "Alright. Let's get you somewhere warm. Or... warmer. I can't promise much."

She grabbed the edges of the quilt and, as gently as she could, bundled the bird into her arms. It weighed almost nothing, as though its hollow bones were barely enough to anchor it to the earth. The faint smell of smoke and ash clung to it, sharp and oddly soothing.

Downstairs, Nira cleared a space on the worn couch in her studio. She placed the phoenix carefully on an old pillow, its head lolling slightly as it let out a faint, raspy sound.

"Stay here," she said, as though the bird was going anywhere. She rummaged through her cabinets, finding a battered first aid kit and a thermos of water. She wasn't sure what a phoenix needed—did they drink water? Eat? Burst into flames and hope for the best?

Returning to the couch, she knelt beside the bird again. "You're going to have to meet me halfway here, okay? Blink once if you want water."

The phoenix cracked an eye open and gave her what could only be described as a tired, unimpressed glare.

"Okay, no water. Got it," Nira mumbled, running a hand through her hair. "This is ridiculous. You're literally a mythical creature, and I'm treating you like a stray cat. Fantastic."

She leaned back, staring at the bird. What now? She couldn't exactly take it to a vet—or tell anyone, for that matter. Even if she trusted someone, the wrong word in the wrong ear could mean disaster. The world had been too eager to snuff out magic, and people would kill for the chance to harness what little remained.

The phoenix stirred, its feathers glowing brighter for a moment before dimming again. Nira frowned. She wasn't an expert, but it didn't seem like the bird was getting better.

"Alright, Ash," she said suddenly, the name slipping out before she could think. "I'm calling you Ash. Not original, I know, but it suits you. And we're going to figure this out together, okay?"

The phoenix didn't react, but somehow, Nira felt as though it understood.

She leaned forward and placed a hand on its side, feeling the faint heat beneath her palm. It was like touching the edge of a campfire, just close enough to be warm without burning.

For a moment, she closed her eyes. In that brief stillness, a strange vision flickered through her mind: towering trees glowing with bioluminescent light, rivers that sparkled like molten gold, and skies filled with creatures she couldn't name.

Her eyes snapped open, and the phoenix's glow dimmed again, as though nothing had happened.

"What... was that?" she whispered.

Ash's eyes opened fully now, fixing her with a sharp, knowing gaze. For the first time, Nira felt the weight of the creature's ancient presence. This wasn't just a bird; it was something far older, far wiser, and far more dangerous than she had imagined.

Whatever had happened in her mind wasn't an accident. The phoenix had shown her something—something important.

"Great," she muttered, leaning back and rubbing her temples. "I rescue a magical bird, and now I'm having visions. This is fine. Totally fine."

But as the warmth of the phoenix radiated through the room, a quiet determination settled over her.

Magic wasn't entirely gone—not yet. And maybe, just maybe, she had a chance to save it.