Circe, with her brows furrowed in amazement, was massaging her aching bottom with the same hand that a few seconds earlier had left a clearly visible mark on Helial's cheek.

Laughing silently the young man could not help feeling touched seeing the small figure of Circe, who was trying to make the pain disappear with a simple massage.

Although the Witch was much stronger than him, Helial's physical strength, thanks to Body of the Qilin, should not be underestimated so lightly.

As the young man's eyes hovered over Circe's body, she said enraged: "Are you done looking?"

"Sorry, I can't help it," laughed Helial again.

Circe remained silent for a few minutes, occasionally glancing sharply at Helial, who continued to look at her without a modicum of modesty and with an amused smile that annoyed the woman every time she looked at him.

When Circe felt that the pain had begun to subside, she sat on the top of the tower on which she had stopped in her run. Helial, who was still face down on the highest floor of the watchtower, sat down next to her. From there they could see the whole city of Orma, from the monumental centre, to the Royal Palace, to the furthest suburbs.

Below them lay the entire Goblin Empire, enclosed in a city of rare beauty.

When Helial had visited the streets of Orma for the first time, he had been amazed by the presence of works of art, immensely large buildings and frescoes painted with vivid colours scattered in every corner of the city. Fiercelake, the Nation from which Helial came, had always been defined as a bulwark of civilization against the barbarism perpetrated by the Goblins and other non-human civilizations; but now that the boy truly knew the artistic spirit of that people, he would not have hesitated for a moment to demote Fiercelake from its self-assigned first place.

Circe, slightly sulky, didn't have the spirit to tease her boyfriend. Usually she was always the first to take advantage of him, but this time she had received a hit below the belt, literally. She did not expect Helial to be so bold and reckless.

Stunned by Circe's reaction, Helial suddenly felt compelled to cheer her up.

Yet the boy continued to be amazed. Vidio was absolutely right: sometimes a heavy slap on the ass was enough to subdue a woman.

Thinking about Vidio, Helial also remembered something else that the old man had said to him, something that had nothing to do with slapping buttocks or with the panties of the tavern waitresses. The boy got serious. "Aren't we lacking something?"

Circe was taken by surprise. "Of course we are lacking something," she replied, without understanding what Helial meant, "otherwise we wouldn't even have the strength to go on every day."

The Witch immediately thought of her cousin and smiled, resigned.

However, Helial wasn't looking for such an answer, and shook his head, still serious: “No, I meant us, the two of us, as a couple. Aren't we lacking something?"

Circe was even more surprised; Helial had never shown any interest in her and their relationship, and she had always believed that Helial had simply accepted things going on, because it suited him.

The girl looked at him with a strange light in her eyes: “What has made you change so much in these two weeks? Now, after being away from me for so long, you make these sentimental speeches and let yourself be harassed without opposing."

Helial smiled with a snort and looked at Circe's eyes, trying to read her feelings beyond her dark irises. "And is this enough for an engaged couple in order to have a relationship?"

Circe looked at him, unable to answer. Helial's intense gaze almost made her feel uncomfortable. The Witch, at that moment, felt hot and began to fear that her face was turning red, but she didn't even know why.

Fortunately, Helial did not seem to notice or care about it, and continued to speak:

“I was once told by a man, a real swine, to tell the truth, but a very wise swine, that love is war and fear. In love we suffer and the soul is torn apart, until we want to exact revenge, requiring just as much pain in return."

Helial's words seemed to have the effect of an electric shock on Circe, who was now totally enchanted by Helial's gaze and bewitched by his words; by now, the young woman had lost the witchy Aura that surrounded her continuously, remaining only a mortal young woman.

"You knew a very wise man then."

Helial felt his heart beat in an unusual way, with a sudden blow, when he noticed a small hint of a smile on Circe's slightly reddened face. It wasn't one of her usual grinning or mocking smiles.

It was just a sincere smile.

"But something is puzzling me," said Helial, dramatically holding his chin between index and thumb and supporting his arm with the other hand, a ridiculous pose to say the least.

Circe could not hold back a laugh and, still with one hand in front of her lips, said to him: "And what would that be, if you would be so kind?"

“When I think of you I don't feel my heart is torn, nor do I feel pain. I feel only an infinite kindness towards the great Witch of Orma."

That was the moment when Circe's embarrassment could no longer go unnoticed: her face became deeply red, impossible not to see even in the dark.

One can easily imagine what happened shortly thereafter.

Or at least, Lumia could imagine each scene vividly when she saw Helial return to his rooms full of bruises, scratches and bite marks.

…

A few years earlier, a crow

I know that I'm just a crow, that I have no right to be the king in the sky, but should I give up flying because of this? Every time the hawk chases me, above the skies and the city full of strange green wingless birds, I risk my life.

The hawk does not like me flying into its territory. But is the sky his property?

My friend, the magpie, loves to steal the sparkling objects from the wingless green birds, but I want to steal the sky from the hawk, to rise above the clouds, even if none of my kin has ever succeeded.

Maybe it's because of my black feathers, who knows. If they were brown and white like the hawk's, perhaps I too could go over the clouds.

But this does not matter, because I will steal the sky from the hawk.

...

After the umpteenth pursuit, literally losing half of my feathers, I fell into this courtyard, mortally wounded.

Maybe I should admit that the hawk really is the true king in the sky. That it is too fast for me, too strong.

Every time I try to fly up into the sky, he pushes me back to the ground and hurts me.

Could this be the fate of the crow, never being able to steal the sky?

Ah, my breath starts to groan. The lungs start to fill with water and blood, and collapse.

This time the hawk really got me.

I'm dying soon.

Yet when I turn my beak, I see an image, a vision, I don't know: there is this wingless green bird, female, perhaps, because of its large breast, and it continues to move quickly and launch bundles of energy that I can perceive, but I cannot understand.

It is fighting with another bird, a very strange one, a black metal bird, wielding two large claws. The wingless green bird has lost several times, as I did against the hawk.

And, in fact, the green bird also appears to have a black plumage, on some parts of its body. It doesn't seem to have wings, though. It almost looks like a crow too. A wingless crow.

Now it has been thrown to the ground, like me, collapsed on the gravel courtyard for the umpteenth time; it seems that this strange crow has been knocked down more times than I have been wounded by the claws of the hawk.

But, every time, before the black metal bird can leave, the half-crow gets up and challenges him again.

I make a sound, I try to do it, to prevent the strange wingless green bird from continuing to get injured to death, to prevent it from ending up as I did. It ignores me.

But the metal bird reminds me very much of the hawk. Yes, it must be a wingless hawk, a land hawk. It cannot be defeated. No crow can defeat a hawk.

Why, then, does the green bird continue to fight violently with it, trying to overcome it?

The green bird has been wounded time and again for hours now.

For hours now I have been dying on this gravelly ground.

There is no difference between me and that strange green crow.

I drip with blood, it drips with blood.

I groan, it groans.

I am going to die, it continues to fight

But why does it keep fighting?

…

A few years earlier, a hawk

Even today that fool of a crow tried to fly in my sky, that stupid creature.

I, the hawk, am the king in the sky, undisputed ruler of the air. Not even the eagle tries to touch me anymore, why should a simple crow continue to challenge me?

There are those who are born hawks and those who are born crows.

But look, here it is again.

I thought I had killed it this time.

"Hey, you," I yell at him, "you can barely move your wings. Blood clots have replaced the feathers and you don't even seem able to keep your eyes open anymore. Why did you come back instead of going to die in peace? "

Look at him, what is that strange light in his eyes. He seems suddenly taken by absolute bliss.

"The other crow, still drowning in his blood, has not yet stopped fighting the wingless metal hawk on the ground."

"What are you saying? I am a hawk, you are a crow. You can't fly above the clouds. You were born like this and you will die like this."

It seems that, this time, the crow has definitely lost its mind. It looks at me shaking its head, I feel its eyes investigate my body. This time they do not envy, there is only an inexplicable dignity.

“I am a crow and I will forever be, even in death. But I want to die like the land green crow, trying to steal the sky from a hawk, otherwise I would be just a crow. "

"And what are you now, if not a crow?" I laugh in its face.

"A hope for all crows, like the wingless green crow is for its fellows."

While my claws penetrate his flesh, that cursed one manages to hurt me with his sharp beak. I got his brains out and he died miserably.

As I deliver the final fatal blows, it seems to look down, towards a courtyard from which the racket of weapons comes, with a pride it carries with him during the last moments of life as a crow