The Kalavinka's Child Heads West (Reverse-Jet Novel Awards 2023 / 800-Character Pilot Version)

He was a large man, seven feet tall. On his left shoulder sat a young girl wrapped in a dust-repellent cloak. In the two and a half years since arriving in Tang, Yoshitsugu had drawn countless stares, and even now, he was under the gaze of four men.

Oto whispered from his left shoulder.
“You didn't have to quit, you know.”
The two of them were traveling across the desert with a caravan, aiming for the Western Regions. That was until last night, when Yoshitsugu threw a punch at a merchant who had lifted Oto's bedding.
“Those people can't be trusted.”
“What about the travel permit?”
Without a way to pass through the Yangguan checkpoint, their journey from Dunhuang—no, their journey from across the sea—would come to nothing. The situation was dire.

In the heat of their argument, the owners of those gazes finally revealed themselves. Three angry voices blocked their path. Travelers with children were easy prey for bandits.
Oto, having caught the sound of the wind and sand, shouted.
“Behind you!”
Dodging the slash of the man who attempted a sneak attack, Yoshitsugu countered with a backfist. He followed up with a palm strike to the man in front. While he forced the thugs to their knees, Yoshitsugu misjudged the distance. A whip strike aimed at Oto tore away her cloak.
In an instant, the bandits' thoughts froze.
“You saw it, didn't you?”
Scars covered the wings on her back. Feathers grew from her waist down. Bony legs and talons.
Oto leaped at the stunned man and tore at his face. At the same time, Yoshitsugu closed in on the remaining man and punched through his stomach.
As the battered bandits fled, Oto pointed to the ground with her arms and wings. On the sand, stained with blood and vomit, lay the travel permit.
“Good. Let's go openly.”
Oto took her place on his shoulder again and laughed, “Hehehe.”

The world beyond the Yangguan checkpoint was composed of three colors: the sky was azure, the earth was gold, and the mountain range between them was white.
Captivated by the magnificence, Oto poured her bright, clear heart into her voice. It was a wondrous tone, as pure as a Buddhist chant, reaching even the distant sacred peaks.

Every time he listened to her singing, Yoshitsugu remembered their meeting—the stowaway on the Japanese envoy ship, the orphan with the head of a human and the body of a bird.
“I want to go west. The song is calling me.”
She played the melody she had heard in a faint whisper. Drawn by her singing voice, Yoshitsugu gave her food and a name. She could never replace Oto-ko. Even so, Yoshitsugu swore to defy the Imperial Court, abandon his official rank, and become a perch for this wounded, flightless bird.

Before long, Yoshitsugu heard a faint round song from across the desert.

<To be continued>