"I always wanted to fly…"

In a lone dark place, swirling with dark clouds and spires designed not by hand, but by the twisted nature of this land, a swarm of newborn – but massive - bird-like dark birds called Nevermores could be heard cawing as they flew away. Doing what billions of its other brethren have done. A suicide mission from before their first step outside the black pool.

However, an oddly small Nevermore was sitting next to the spawn pool its other kind has just emerged from. Its eyes glowed a mellow red, similar to other Grimm, but also different.

It spread its wings, and flew off in a completely different direction.

For the next few hours, it flew seemingly randomly, just looking at everything happening, and finding what was there to find. The Nevermore didn't know why it did this, the mission that the others had the minute they emerged wasn't there for it. It didn't know where to go.

But it enjoyed the freedom of flight. It enjoyed not being bound to things like ground, not being bound to any one speed, and to be able to see.

Even if what was there to see wasn't that much.

Whilst flying, it saw others of its kind. Not the able-bodied flying brethren it had emerged with, but the same darkbess-empowering species that it knew it belonged to - the Grimm. All of them, all the sub-species, were going in a general direction. It knew what they were, and what their differences were, even if didn't yet have the brain power to ration their names.

But it knew that the white-armoured 4-legged furry beings were faster than, say, the tough hide bipedal berserkers, who were slow, but looked capable of taking and giving hits.

The Nevermore didn't know why they were shaped like this, or for what they'd use their weapons for, or where even it was going. Really, there was a lot it didn't know.

It'd like to change that.

After hours of uninterrupted flying, it hadn't even come close to scouring all of the land, but if it had the capacity to, it'd know that it wasn't anywhere near close to scouring all of the continent.

But it seemed to have searched enough to come across an imposing castle, with ever-rumbling clouds above it, and a moat filled with nature-defying pikes, and a darkness filled with red eyes.

It found it pleasant to be able to just fly across all of it, without much of a care over the terrain. Or lack thereof.

"Pleasant." It had a rough understanding of the word, and it didn't know why the thought of that emotion was what it thought it was feeling. The bird didn't feel emotion, but it understood what it was, it understood that – if it could feel – it'd be feeling it right now.

It was feeling something else… Something it couldn't quite comprehend yet.

"Free."

The feathered Grimm had felt free the minute it had first emerged. It could just tell that this wasn't to be its usual emotion, it knew. It knew it was supposed to feel the same blood-hot anger at whatever its other brothers are against, but it couldn't bring up any of that emotion. Any of that bad emotion.

It didn't feel the bad emotions, nor the good emotions. But right now, it felt free.

The unusually small winged beast landed in one of the many structures high in the castle, hearing and looking at the fitting calls of other nightmare birds calling for their packs, even though such an action was useless.

The bird analysed its much bigger sub-species, and it knew what their body did, and how it functioned. White-armoured winged creatures, with feathers razor sharp.

Making a connection (probably the first), it turned to its wings, and saw – while much duller – they were also sharp, and capable of bite.

It didn't know what to do with this information. To hurt? What, though?

Before it could entertain the rare thought, something else had already taken its attention.

Or someone else.

Near where the bird had landed, there looked to be an intentional hole in the wall, looking to be an entrance to the building it hadn't realised was there. Except, there was something – someone – looking out at itself.

It couldn't tell what it was looking at, but it could tell that it wasn't something that came out the black pool, not like it did.

Where the bird was small, walked on two talons, had black fur throughout along with its black wings garnished with black feathers, and a red-stripped mask to go with its look. The other was nothing like it.

It was bigger than itself, but much smaller than any of its brethren; it also seemed to walk on two limbs, but they were nothing like talons, or any of its other species, for that matter, since it held absolutely no fur, the same could also be said for the rest of its body. But its head? It didn't even hold a mask. She had black hair, but it was only for her head, and while it seemed much longer than its feathers, it didn't seem to go past her shoulders; her face was equally as pale as her body, and her orange eyes are as different as they could be, with sclera, and an iris, where the bird was just one pupiless red orb.

The flesh carried an expression, and although it could tell that it was meant to be neutral, it knew that she was feeling some sort of bad emotion, even though it couldn't pinpoint it.

It opened its mouth and a sound came out. Not a scream of terror, but words the Nevermore could not understand. Even if it had the knowledge, it didn't have the processing power to string it to make sense.

In the end, after a few minutes of staring, the flesh – not as big as it felt like it should be - had started on its path down the corridor once more, looking forward and practically ignoring it.

The bird had never seen anything like the amber-eyed being before, but it knew that it wasn't Grimm just by looking at its appearance. Would it find more? It didn't know, but so far, it's seen little of it.

How many times has it seen the light flesh being?

Once. It had seen it once.

How many times has it seen its other kind?

It didn't know, but it had begun to understand the concept of quantity, knowing there was one light, and many darks.

The growing Nevermore – gaining sentience and intelligence at a rate wasn't allowed by its twisted nature – took off, and used its wings to glide over the land. It didn't have a goal, and it didn't yet understand what a goal was, but it will. For now, it finds purpose in flying, and that it will do.

It shall have to come back to the castle though, it feels like it could relate to the light being. Both of them seem like they have no goals.

AN: Howdy fellas! And before any of you ask, yes. That is Cinder. Tiny 12 year old Cinder.

I've been sitting on this little fanfiction of a fanfiction for quite a while now, and I actually have the whole general story planned out, but I've just always chickened out. If you see this doesn't even have a second chapter, and it's been a while since it's updated, maybe lose some hope. A dead fanfiction of a dead fanfiction, wouldn't it be ironic for it to die as well?

There's a lot I wanna say, but I wanna explain the power that our Grimm is gonna have later. It is inspired by The Gamer (much like in the original), but it's gonna be different, too. Hopefully I can explain it fully.

Check the original out, goes by the same name, minus the "redux."