Icariel

"Ica—the reply has arrived!" Her mother's clear voice echoed through the forest. The sound still lingered among the trees when a sudden gust of wind stirred up fallen leaves and dust. A figure darting through the forest gradually came into focus. Icariel, with her wing membranes spread, glided on the wind and landed precisely on her mother, tackling her with a full embrace. "Finally, it's here!" Icariel excitedly pulled her mother toward home, her wing membranes billowing from the run, looking as if they might catch the wind and lift her at any moment. On a small wooden table lay a letter sealed with the wax stamp of the "Dusk Patrollers." A family of three gathered around the table as Icariel took a deep breath, one hand pressed against her chest and the other gently resting on the letter: "Ready? I'm opening it..." Her fingers traced along the wax seal, slowly breaking it open to pull out the letter inside. Icariel closed her eyes, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She carefully opened her eyes and read attentively, but her pupils suddenly contracted when she glimpsed a certain line of text, and the smile that had been on her lips quietly disappeared. "Ica?" Her parents looked worriedly at their child. Icariel didn't speak, or perhaps at that moment she was unable to form complete sentences. She weakly spread the letter on the table for her parents to read. "Recommendation form... for a Jungle Ranger? Icariel, didn't you apply for the Sky Forces?" Icariel pointed to the note at the bottom, which clearly stated:

"Note: After comprehensive evaluation, we believe your flying ability does not meet the selection criteria for the Sky Forces. Considering your excellent gliding and night vision capabilities, we recommend you join the Jungle Rangers."

Her father sighed: "As expected, gliding alone isn't enough... but wings are something you're born with. Ica, perhaps you should join the Jungle Rangers instead." Under her parents' concerned and consoling gaze, Icariel shook her head and said hoarsely the first words she had spoken since reading the letter: "There's still a chance."

If one isn't born with wings, then create a pair—with this belief in her heart, Icariel began her long journey of experimentation. Icariel secretly collected feathers shed by the avian races, washing and drying them before carefully attaching each one to a frame she had crafted herself, piecing together a pair of wings. She sought out her best avian friend, Alia, to learn how to fly with wings. When her friend saw the pair of wings, she burst into flapping laughter, nearly lifting off the ground: "With all those colors, are you trying to be a parrot?" After she finished laughing, she taught Icariel how to spread her wings and take off. But these wings were, in the end, a patchwork creation. Their colors were mismatched, and their length and resilience were uneven. Icariel tried flapping them the way her friend did, but after only a few beats she tumbled back to the ground, rolling several times and snapping the "parrot" wings in the process. Alia looked at the dust-covered, broken wings and instinctively wrapped her own wings around herself. "Just looking at that hurts... Honestly, they're not even as good as your own wing membranes." With Alia's help, Icariel struggled back to her feet, brushing leaves and dust from her body and giving her scrapes a quick rinse. Cradling the damaged artificial wings in her arms, she carefully examined every spot where they had broken. "It's really hard to replicate..." Icariel remarked, turning her gaze toward Alia, "What if..." "Not a chance!" "Hehe, I'm just joking, don't take it so seriously, Ali." The two of them then burst into laughter together.

At night, Icariel and Alia sat on the tallest tree in the jungle, gazing at the star-studded sky. Icariel stretched out her hand, as if trying to grasp the twinkling stars above. "Ali, do you think I can really fly?" The usually forward-charging Icariel rarely showed such a bewildered expression. Alia patted Icariel's large tail and pretended to be angry, "Don't talk like that. You should say 'I will definitely fly!'" "Right..." Icariel patted her own face, shedding her confusion. She reached out to Alia, smiling especially brightly under the night sky, "Let's fly for a while, Ali." Without waiting for a response, Icariel grabbed Alia's hand and leaped off the branch, gliding beneath the starry sky. "I will definitely fly," Icariel whispered. "You definitely will," Alia guided Icariel higher, "When you join the Sky Forces, I'll write a song for you called 'Little Colorful Parrot!'" They laughed together, and the last knot of frustration in their hearts vanished like smoke. Icariel closed her eyes, carefully feeling the sensation of the wind supporting her body—she had to commit it to memory.

From then on, Icariel and Alia repeatedly refined their craft, experimenting with different designs, taking off, falling, and taking off again—over and over in the air. She had tasted bitter soil and choked on icy lake water. She had calculated precise measurements late into the night, and had once been left helplessly hanging upside down from a branch when her clothes got caught. But her heart that yearned to fly was forged into a diamond through repeated hardships. It shone brightly, ready to soar toward the night sky and transform into a star.

When Icariel submitted her application to the Sky Forces again with her new flying device, her expression was just as determined, confident, and fearless as it had been at the very beginning. No one knew what she had gone through over those years, how many injuries she had sustained, how many tears she had shed, or how many nights she had spent gazing at the sky. People only knew that on a clear, crisp autumn day, the Sky Forces welcomed its first non-avian soldier—Icariel.

"The branches quietly bloom with fragrance in the sweat of effort, and tiny flying squirrels sprout wings on their backs. Fly, fly, fly. Fly toward the picturesque autumn light."

"Take this! It's the perfect gift for you!"