Submission (#611) Approved

It was another fun day at the music festival, but the moment Nadira set foot on the creaking, ore-laced bridges of Layer 2, she knew something was up today. The Summer Daze Music Festival was supposed to be fun. Loud, chaotic, neon-soaked, and ear-meltingly loud—sure. But fun. Instead, it was full of feathers.
LOUD. SHRIEKING. FEATHERS.
The sky above the jagged skyline of the Falling Spines was raining birds. Flocks of squawking, glitter-feathered Rockatiels had descended on the festival grounds like a flying mosh pit, drawn by the bass drops, laser lights, and possibly the suspiciously crunchy nachos in Zone C. One divebombed a DJ’s head mid-set. Another had snatched a glowstick and was now taunting an entire crowd of ravers with it.
Nadira didn’t flinch when one screeched inches above her horns, but her tail yelped like it had just seen a ghost.
“Oh no no NOPE—air rats with attitudes! We are not getting pooped on today!” the sentient limb shrilled, yanking Nadira back by the waist like a leash.
She didn’t budge. If anything, she looked thrilled.
“These things are chaos incarnate. I like their energy,” she said with a smirk, eyeing the swirling flock.
“You like storms, not avian terrorism, Nadira!”
Festival staff were clearly overwhelmed—nets were tangling in speaker towers, flares weren’t working, and someone was sobbing into a can of whipped cream.
A panicked stagehand stumbled past them, covered in neon feathers. “They’re stealing our wires! One of them hotwired a fog machine and locked the crew in the porta-potties! HELP!!”
Nadira cracked her knuckles.
Her tail groaned. “Oh no. You’re excited. That means I have to do the hard work—”
“You love it and you know it,” Nadira teased, grabbing a length of glowing tape and snapping it between her claws like a whip. “We’ll wrangle ‘em. You distract ‘em with sparkles. I’ll flank ‘em from the sound tower.”
“WE DON’T EVEN HAVE A PLAN—!”
But Nadira was already leaping off the bridge, wings unfurling in a streak of bioluminescent light, her acid-laced limbs glimmering dangerously under the moonlit sky.
The Rockatiels had no idea what was coming.
The second layer’s bridges shook with rhythm and feathers.
Lights strobed wildly across the spine-needle skyline, illuminating the absolute carnage above the stage. Rockatiels swarmed like a glitter-drenched cloud, knocking over booths, stealing fries, and now — somehow — playing dubstep on a kid’s electric keyboard.
“OH COME ON! They’re syncing with the beat now?!” Nadira’s tail cried from around her neck, coiled like a panicked scarf.
But Nadira wasn’t panicking. She was laughing.
From her perch atop a speaker tower, the acidic glow of her markings pulsed in time with the festival music, her sharp eyes tracking the birds’ movements. “They’re drawn to the sound, dummy. The louder it gets, the harder they party.”
“Then we need to make it quieter!”
“Nope. We make it louder. But with control.”
From below, a familiar voice yelled, “HEY! FIRETAIL! YOU UP THERE?!”
It was a volunteer — a scrawny festival coordinator dragging a rolled-up tarp and looking very winded. “We’re trying to lure them toward the western spines — they hate the echo off the stone!”
Nadira’s ears flicked toward him. That was useful.
Her tail perked up too. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That we need to weaponize rhythm?” Nadira grinned, baring her fangs. “Oh yeah.”
With the volunteer’s help, they redirected one of the speaker channels toward the western ridge. Nadira then launched into motion, tearing down leftover banners, snapping tent poles, and combining them into a makeshift net.
All while directing her tail like a conductor’s baton.
“Glitter burst, now!” she shouted. Her tail whipped a cracked glow orb into the air, scattering sparks.
“SPARKLES!!” the birds shrieked in their scratchy voices, divebombing the bait zone.
Another wave of birds spiraled after her, but Nadira dove between the bridges like wildfire, leading them closer to the sound trap. Her glowing markings blurred into streaks of violet and seafoam across the dark skyline.
Then—snap! The net went up.
Half the flock was caught in one sweep, the rest fluttering back from the echoing screech of their own cries bouncing off the stone. They hated the reverb. A few flew in panicked spirals. Others began to scatter.
“YEAH! WHO’S GOT THE BEAKS NOW?!” Nadira’s tail shouted triumphantly, now wrapped around the soundboard and flipping sliders with dramatic flair.
The staff, emboldened, began coordinating other Tatsukoi in nearby areas. Nets flew, echo pulses rolled out across the layer, and even a few dancers joined the effort — stomping in perfect rhythm to keep the birds confused.
Nadira landed hard near the center stage, panting, sweat gleaming off her scales. Her eyes sparkled with adrenaline.
“Still think this was a bad idea?” she teased her tail.
Her tail made a wheezing sound. “Let’s just say if I ever hear another bird call, I’m climbing back into your spine cavity and locking the door.”
By the time the sun dipped low over the horizon — casting golden light across the sharp ocean-facing spires of the second layer — the chaos had mostly died down.
The flock of Rockatiels had been trimmed down significantly. Most were now contained in feather-puffed bundles beneath tarps or reluctantly roosting in hastily built soundproof booths. A few still loitered in the distance, muttering insults to the beat of muffled house music, but they were no longer a threat to life, limb, or snack bar.
The staff was exhausted, feathers were everywhere, and someone’s food truck was still upside down (the birds had somehow learned how to operate the lever).
But the music?
The music never stopped.
From behind the main stage, a makeshift announcement played over the remaining working speakers:
“Attention attendees! Thanks to the heroic efforts of volunteers and performers alike, the Summer Daze Festival is BACK ON!”
“And to celebrate... please welcome a surprise performance from the one and only — NADIRA!”
There was a stunned pause.
“…What.”
Nadira turned slowly to glare at the festival coordinator, who just grinned from behind his clipboard. “You did save the day,” he said innocently. “And rumor has it your tail’s got rhythm.”
“I’M NOT GOING OUT THERE!” her tail squealed. “We don’t even have a setlist!”
But Nadira just smirked. “Then we wing it.”
A beat later, she strolled confidently onto the stage. Her markings still glowed faintly with leftover bioluminescence, and the crowd — ragged, muddy, and exhilarated — roared.
The backdrop had been hastily reassembled, feathers still clinging to the trusses. The Rockatiel keyboard was taped back into place. A backup mic screeched as it turned on.
Then Nadira leaned in, tail perched dramatically behind her.
She grinned. “Hope you like improvisation.” With that, the beat dropped.
It was chaotic. Half-jungle, half-acidwave, punctuated by her tail shrieking harmony while Nadira moved with her usual wild, whip-crack style — her footwork nimble across the wires, her claws tapping on metal, her body rolling in time with the crowd’s energy.
The surviving Rockatiels in the soundproof booths started bobbing their heads. One even chirped a solo in key.
The crowd loved it.
By the time the sky turned to velvet and stars began peeking through the Cascade haze, the festival was not only saved—it was unforgettable.
Later, as the lights dimmed and volunteers handed out cold drinks and leftover glowsticks, the festival coordinator approached Nadira with a lopsided trophy made from scrap metal and a stolen fry basket.
“For services in bird-wrangling, chaos-wrangling, and vibe maintenance,” he declared.
Nadira squinted at it, then accepted it with a half-smirk.
“Better give my tail its own trophy next time.”
The tail puffed up proudly. “I’ll need my own dressing room too.”

Reward	Amount
Gold	10
Disco (Rockatiel)	1
Summer Daze Music Festival - Design and MYO Raffles (Raffle Ticket)	1