James Czerniewski clutched the ancient parchment, its corners curling in his sweating hands. He glanced up at Mr. Clucks, whose jet-black feathers glimmered beneath the streetlights like polished obsidian. The silence between them was heavy—each of them haunted by Matthew’s words and the recent battle’s ghostly residue.
"Why would Matthew leave this for us? It doesn’t make sense. He was always direct—never one for riddles," James murmured, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. Mr. Clucks shifted his massive talons, the pavement cracking beneath him, and leaned in to peer at the parchment with one ember-glowing eye.
"There’s a pattern to his madness," Mr. Clucks intoned, his voice deeper and more resonant than ever. James ran his fingers over the parchment, eyes darting across Matthew’s looping script.
"The shadow that fell is but a whisper of what is to come," he read aloud, frowning. "Do you think it’s another invasion? Or something worse?" The chicken’s hulking frame seemed to tense, his wings ruffling nervously as he considered the question.
James gasped as symbols beneath the handwriting began to appear—cryptic runes that shimmered with a silvery sheen. "Look! There’s something hidden in the ink—coordinates, maybe? Or a date?" His heart hammered in his chest, hope and fear battling in equal measure.
"It’s a warning. Matthew was never one to leave things to chance," Mr. Clucks rumbled, his beak inches from the parchment. "He’s telling us where the next threat will strike. We have to get there before anyone else does."
"You saved me once, old friend. I’m not letting you face this alone," James said, his voice steadier now. "Together, as always," Mr. Clucks replied, stretching his wings until they filled the cramped room with black feathers.
With a final glance around the study, the duo made their way into the rain-soaked streets. Their silhouettes—man and giant chicken—merged with the darkness, moving toward a future as uncertain as the cryptic message they carried.
Matthew Sterling clutches a device, its screen pulsing with unreadable glyphs. The city sprawls below him, unaware of the storm that’s gathering. "Let’s see if you’re ready, James. The real game is just beginning," he whispers, voice lost in the thunder.
"Whatever comes next—we face it together," James promises, gripping the parchment tightly. Beside him, Mr. Clucks lets out a low, determined cluck, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the first hints of danger—and hope—begin to glow.
