The young Sunward Eagle was the size of a golden eagle but thinner, its beak more curved, its wings absurdly long — built for soaring in thin, high air. Its feathers had not yet turned gold. They were gray as rain clouds, except for a faint copper shimmer along the wingtips. It watched Aris without fear, without flinching. It had never seen a human. It had never seen anything except its dead mother and the cave’s slow shadows.
The Aquila solis — known to the old naturalists as the Sunward Eagle — had never been seen by living eyes. For two hundred years, it existed only in a single, smudged drawing made by a Victorian explorer who swore he glimpsed it over the lost plateaus of northern Burma. Its wings, he wrote, were “not golden, but woven from the light of dawn itself .” species of eagle
In the optics of those eyes — preserved with eerie clarity — he saw a reflection. A reflection of a smaller eagle, perched on the rim of the nest. A juvenile. Still alive. The young Sunward Eagle was the size of