To be honest, I’ve always been skeptical about the idea of talking to animals.
Not the beasts of this world—I’m talking about the pets people kept back in my world.
When a dog barks, humans can only guess at their general emotions. Deciphering a dog’s language with any accuracy is impossible. The idea that animals possess complex linguistic structures akin to human languages has always struck me as nonsense. Given their intelligence, barking is likely less a language and more a form of body language enhanced with sound for clarity.
Still, pet owners often claimed they could “talk” to their animals. I never believed it. Sure, animals can be cute and comforting to be around, but that’s it. I never felt the need to talk to a dog at my friend’s house. I’d just silently pat its head or scratch its back.
But...
Well, perhaps things might be different with a gryphon.
In this world, gryphons are considered the “kings of beasts.” However, calling a gryphon a “beast” feels inadequate—it’s more like a mystical creature.
According to lore, gryphons live in organized societies. Whether these are wolf-pack-level hierarchies or true civilizations is unclear. Even the game’s lorebook and monster descriptions didn’t go into detail. Gryphons were simply treated as boss monsters, little more than a challenge to overcome.
Frankly, such treatment seemed unworthy of a creature associated with the name "Fangryphon."
“Big Sis?”
Still, if this gryphon could recognize the artifact, perhaps trying to “talk” wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Big Sis, wait!”
Claire, standing near the door, called out to stop me, but I was already moving.
Everyone’s gaze turned toward me as I rose and walked forward.
In my hand, I still held the shattered artifact, deliberately raising it high so the gryphon could see. Though it knelt with its head bowed, the gryphon was still far taller than me.
As I approached, the gryphon’s wary gaze intensified. Given that I was holding the very object that had restrained it, its reaction was understandable. Even dogs growl at humans who once mistreated them.
“It’s alright,” I said gently, attempting what I could only describe as “conversation.”
“This object is destroyed. It will no longer bind you.”
The gryphon lifted its head at my words, its sharp eyes locking onto mine.
How should I interpret that gaze?
An order to explain myself?
Even as I stared at this magnificent creature, the thought amused me. My condition was pitiful—I looked like I might collapse at any moment. Yet I still entertained the idea that the gryphon wanted answers.
Without another word, I raised the artifact higher, allowing the gryphon to examine it more closely.
The creature tilted its head slightly, focusing its gaze on the broken relic. It didn’t emit any sound, but I saw its crimson eyes flicker with recognition as it confirmed the artifact’s lack of power.
No response. I hadn’t expected one. Even if we made sounds at each other, mutual understanding of language was improbable.
But for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw relief in the gryphon’s eyes.
It was dying, after all.
I tucked the artifact into my pocket and looked up at the gryphon.
Silence enveloped us.
Not even Alice, who had been checking on the gryphon moments earlier, made a sound. She stood nearby, watching us in silence.
I stepped closer and placed a hand on the gryphon’s side.
Its body was warm—much warmer than a human’s. Its feathers, though battered and torn, were surprisingly soft.
Then my hand brushed against a rough patch—a tumor.
A low, guttural growl rumbled from the gryphon’s throat, more like the sound of a feline predator than a bird. Was it a sign of pain?
“Come with me,” I said.
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The gryphon didn’t seem inclined to attack me, and even if it did, I could always reset time.
From what I’d observed, it didn’t see me as prey. Gryphons, like lions or tigers raised by humans from birth, might recognize individuals who care for them.
Whether it understood my words or simply wanted to follow me, the gryphon slowly rose.
The sense of majesty that radiated from its movement was palpable. This was the true presence of a king of beasts, unlike the eerie, manufactured intimidation it had exuded earlier under control.
I felt a twinge of embarrassment recalling how I had called it a “king” during the battle. Still, since I hadn’t said it aloud, no one else would know.
I took a few steps back, keeping my eyes on the gryphon. Slowly, with visible effort, it moved its legs and began to follow.
As I approached the door, I noticed the others had cleared a path for me. Even the Cardinal, slumped near the doorframe, stared wide-eyed at the sight.
The gryphon let out a quiet, piercing cry, like a bird of prey.
The sound startled the Cardinal, who flinched and scrambled further to the side. Though his legs had mostly healed, his panicked reaction suggested he was still reeling from the ordeal.
I reached the bronze door and glanced at Claire and Leo, who stood on either side.
Without a word, I nodded, and they stepped aside to open the door for me.
As the door creaked open, a flood of healing light washed over us.
I turned back to face the gryphon.
For the first time, I saw the gryphon fully restored.
Its golden eyes were the first thing I noticed—vivid, luminous, and piercing.
Though its feathers hadn’t entirely recovered from the earlier corruption, the tumors and wounds had vanished. Its powerful muscles were whole again, and its once-broken wings now folded neatly against its sides. Even its shattered beak and claws had regenerated.
The speed of its recovery was astonishing, far beyond anything human.
Now fully healed, the gryphon stood tall, its regal bearing unshaken.
For a moment, I wondered if I had made a mistake. Had I been wrong to heal it?
But as I hesitated, the gryphon didn’t attack.
I raised a hand and gestured toward the corridor.
“Go,” I said.
The gryphon stared at me, its golden eyes inscrutable. Did it understand?
“You’re free now,” I added.
After a moment’s pause, the gryphon finally began to move. Its steps were steady and deliberate, exuding a confidence that was no longer artificial.
Then, unexpectedly, it turned toward me, spreading its massive wings in a grand display.
The movement was so sudden that I almost flinched—but my shock was so overwhelming that I froze entirely, my soul momentarily leaving my body.
The gryphon tilted its head slightly, as if puzzled by my lack of reaction. Its sharp eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed amused.
With a slow, deliberate motion, the gryphon folded its wings and lowered its head toward me.
Regaining my senses, I grabbed the edges of my skirt and offered the most elegant imperial bow I could muster, one I’d practiced many times since arriving in this world.
The gryphon raised its head, turned without hesitation, and began to stride away.
Its massive body moved with an agility that seemed impossible for its size, each step light and graceful.
From a distance, its cry echoed once more—a high, piercing call.
I had no way of knowing what that sound meant.
But for my own peace of mind, I decided to think of it as a farewell.