T.W.: death
Virgil kept flying even when his wings started to burn. He'd probably tear a muscle at this pace, but he had to save Roman.
He swooped down close to a beach, looking for something, a shell maybe, to carry the drink. A small bottle caught his eye and he snatched it before forcing himself into the sky again.
Virgil's wings and back ached with the strain of trying to keep the altitude. Then the home of the Garuda's came into veiw.
A giant tree carved itself into the sky, it's large branches with natural hollows provided shelter for the Garuda's. The higher class, the ones with talons and beaks and other bird-like features lived near the top, while the lower class, like Virgil, were fired to scrounge by the roots.
Virgil was aiming for the top of the tree, where the most trusted Garuda's were tasked with protecting the cup of immortality. The cup was in the open, so it should be easy to fly over and scoop just enough out. It was the guards afterwords that Virgil was worried about.
Virgil was getting close now, a few more seconds and he could save Roman. He flew over the cup, ignoring the shrieks of the Garuda's, and filled the bottle halfway. Virgil shot out the other side and made a wide arch to fly back to the beach.
He heard the sirens wail behind him, accompanied by the wingbeats of the guards. Virgil tumbled onto the sand. He looked up, seeing the guards draw near, and quickly poured the liquid immortality down Roman's throat.
Virgil waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The guards arrived. They grabbed Virgil with their sharp talons. Virgil screamed. Tears ran down his face. The guards pulled him back. He struggled against them. They pinned his wings down. He sobbed. The guards dragged him into the sky. He felt empty. They threw him into a cell. He didn't even try to move.
Virgil whimpered quietly as he blacked out, one name resting on his lips.
"Roman..."