Cirrus[]
A cloud passes over the sun.
I’m lying in bed, pillow propped up behind me, flipping through a book without really bothering to understand.
Besides, Norlia’s so boring, and I really don’t want to know what affairs my ancestors had, or detailed descriptions of how they… ewwwwwww.
The book, titled The Wingfeather Family’s Honor, which is supposedly centuries old and one of the oldest texts in the world, and blah blah gross stuff, goes flying towards the door and hits the doorknob where it lies sadly.
My bedroom has no roof, since my dad says I need to learn to predict and control the weather currents above me. If by that he means I should let myself get soaked every time it rains - news flash: it rains a lot - then whoopee, this is not helping.
My tiny twin bed sits in the corner, along with my nightstand, a desk, a chair, and a lot of bottles with storm clouds of varying sizes in them. Our home is humongous, but the room is roughly the size of a bathroom.
Scratch that - my dad’s bathroom is twice the size of this.
Speak of the devil.
My father steps into the room, gaze turning stormy when he sees the book. He flicks a hand, minuscule tornado of wind landing it safely on my nightstand.
He crosses over, eyes flickering with barely held anger, jaw clenched to stop himself from snapping. Instead he just says, “Eyzo halshti, your mother and I are worried.”
I groan. “Yeah, yeah, Dad. I get it. Don’t worry.”
Then I add under his breath, far too quiet for him to hear, “You always do.”
He shakes his head, long and braided pale gray hair swinging behind him as he did so.
“No, you don’t get it. You have to live up to the Wingfeather name. And, as of now, you have the potential-“
I tap my fingers on my bent right knee, sighing. “Dad. You always tell me I have the potential, but-“
“Quiet, halshti.”
“Dad, can’t you just call me Kaminari? I’m Kaminari. Not ‘Eyzo Halshti’, not ‘Fast Flier’, not ‘Young Wingfeather.’”
“But you are. You’re a flier, and a good one at that. And, more importantly, you’re a Wingfeather.”
I sigh, blackish gray eyes flecked with yellow, identical to my father’s, narrowed as I watch the clouds drift above me, forming the roof of my bedroom. “Fine.”
He nods curtly. “Good. And, Kaminari, your-“
I groan again before sitting up, raking a hand through my disastrous gray hair. “Yes, Dad.”
“Keep it in check, alright? Elektra Windchaser will be coming any moment, and he’ll be shocked if the son of Ikazuchi Wingfeather can’t even braid his own hair.”
“I can, I just don’t want-“
Dad’s eyes glint dangerously, yellow seeming to flicker like lightning in his fierce gaze. “Don’t you dare say that to Windchaser, got it? Never say that! You are an excellent flier, but a sad excuse for a Wingfeather. Your mother is right to be disappointed.”
I flinch. He only tells me that every other day, but every time it hurts more. “Sorry, Dad. I’ll go brush my hair.”
“And?”
“And be the best in class.”
“And?” He prompts, huge solar-gold wings fluttering. “What’s the oath?”
“And avenge the Wingfeathers and Storm Fey every moment that I live, until I fall in battle,” I recite monotonously, adding just a touch of sarcasm to my voice. However, it’s left undetected. After all, the great Ikazuchi Wingfeather was known for his fighting abilities, not his sense of humor.
“Good. Go do all that, preferably in that order, and go talk to your mother.”
I frown. “I don’t like doing that.”
“You should, eyzo halshti. Don’t you care about your mother?”
“Mom isn’t even-“ I stop myself, knowing the right answer is the wrong one. “Fine.”
I walked out the door, slamming it just hard enough to avoid yet another scolding behind me. I had to check on my mother every day…
Had to check on a pile of ashes.
☁︎☁︎☁︎
The living room is devoid of anything living, except the well-crafted ceramic jar that held what was once my mother.
My feet glide across the floor… literally. I’m not walking. Each beat of my wings matches that of my heart.
As I land on the ground again, I pick the jar off the table it stands on, handling it much more carefully than I do most other things.
“I’m going to avenge you, Mom,” I mutter, turning the urn delicately in my pale hands, cold white clay slowly growing warmer. “I’m going to avenge all the Wingfeathers. Like grandma, and grandpa, and uncle, and… and Talia.”
That’s the only time I ever say her name. Around my mother.
The urn has delicate clouds near the top, but towards the bottom they gradually grow darker and darker until lighting clashes downwards, forming the same figure, over and over.
My mother had hair slightly darker than mine, yellow eyes, and the same feathery gray wings as me. She smiles, but it’s less happy and more determined, angry.
I wonder if that’s how she looked when she died.
According to Dad, she would be disappointed if she saw me.
I don’t know, though. My guess? He’s right.
She looks so strong, so brave, so orderly, so ruthless. She’s what I want to be… what I’ll never be.
“Are you proud of me?” I ask quietly, pressing my own forehead against her porcelain one.
Do I want her to be? Do I wish she was? Do I…
“No point wondering,” I chide myself, setting the jar down. “Flying class, weather class, fighting class, kicking Stratal’s stupid Ivory butt…”
Yet I can’t help but trace a finger around her delicate lips, the only part of her body that seems motherly, not fierce.
Did her lips ever touch mine? Ever touch my father’s? Talia’s?
I don’t know again. I don’t know anything about her. Not even her name. After all, dad thinks she can just tell me her name.
Dad still hasn’t realized, years too late.
Suddenly, I gasp. My fingers are gone, yet I can still feel smooth clay against my fingertips. The shock soon fades, replaced by the tug in my gut that always happens when I go invisible.
I like being unseen, at least while I’m at home.
I walk towards the door, taking care to grab my sword from the side counter, his blade glistening from a good polish.
I study him for a second, from his black obsidian blade to his hilt wrapped in worn leather. He’s not very thick, nor very wide, in fact, he’s almost petite in comparison to most of the other swords. His blade is skinny and long, ending on a sharp point that gets blood flowing if you so much graze it. But, despite his seemingly weak stature, he’s best for flying use, and I’ve beaten nearly all the kids my age with him.
That's why I gave him his name. Flight's Bane, dangerous when on the ground and deadly when above. The name is emboldened in pale silver on both sides of the blade, so it's the last the opponent sees when they die.
One hand wraps around the tiny pendant tied around his hilt. A silver peregrine falcon pendant, symbol of the Wingfeathers.
I untie the necklace and put it around my neck, fiddling with it obsessively. Flight’s Bane is sheathed to my left side, his name visible on the sheath as well.
And no, I’m not weird for naming and gendering him - at least I don’t make out with him like some people in town. Seriously, Ranto takes her spear out on dates. Not naming your weapon would just be weird.
As I walk out the door and through the village, I flicker in and out of invisibility, just like some around me.
I turn back for a second, to the gray pagoda-shaped house with the huge title seared over the gray doorway using lightning. House of Wingfeather, in Norlia.
One hand curls into a fist, and I effortlessly blast lightning from it, searing the words in again. Smoke rises from each word.
“Still using that stupid, brash, lightning form? Traditional two-finger too hard for you?” A voice snaps, making my fists clench and slowly unfurl.
I turn slowly, jaw clenched. “Storm comes and goes, fresh ground below, Stratal Windchaser. What brings you to the house of Wingfeather?”
“You mean your father hasn’t told you yet?” Stratal asks, adding just enough incredulousness to her voice to annoy me. “Or is he too busy hallucinating about his dead wife?”
My gray, feathery, wings beat hard, fanning the air around her. “Stratal, that goes against our rule to respect the fallen. Or are you, disgrace of the Windchasers, going to break that rule as well?”
She manages to recover, two-toned yellow and pink eyes narrowing. Left pink, right yellow, each hateful. “Disgrace? Just because I’m an Ivory? I’ve beaten you in every spar, every contest-“
“Excluding flying.”
“-ha, that’s the only one. Who was so scared they couldn’t even electrocute a dummy?”
I feel my cheeks reddening as I grope for a witty response. All I find is more insults from her.
“Yeah… I thought so. Because it was soooo realistic. You wimp. Can’t even braid your hair, Kaminari.”
Her carefully plaited blue-gray hair swings behind her as she speaks, tattered blue wings fluttering in victory. Most of her gray skin is hidden by a pale yellow shirt and skirt with white leggings, her polearm, Windstorm, strapped to her side.
“Shut up, Stratal. Where’s your brother at?”
It’s her turn to turn red. “Elektra’s busy.”
Busy being better than you?”
“Busy calling your father out for being wishti.”
I cross my arms, twin dark gray tails flicking in anger. “He's not drunk or dumb. He's just-“
“Insane? A sapan? Both?”
I feel my wings flap harder, my feet rising from the ground slightly. “My dad is the best warrior-“
“Was.”
“We’ll see about that in the next spar. I bet you'll miss Elektra... oh, wait, you won't! Because he always bullies you and you run away crying.”
Stratal's long, ribbon-like, translucent, tail lashes in the air. "Rather be bullied than hallucinate about a dead mom and dead sister.”
I tense in anger, fists curling and uncurling. “Don’t you dare mention her. You don’t deserve it.”
The Ivory smirks smugly - she knows she’s struck a nerve.
“You don’t deserve the Wingfeather name, Kaminari. Fast flier? Talk about a joke.”
My tail is lashing like crazy now, my fists clenched. Unreleased electricity crackles about in my hands, dancing across my fingertips.
I try to breathe, try not to let her get the upper hand, and yet…
Stratal yelps as lightning sears the area just next to her, far too fast and unexpected for her to redirect.
She’s panting, half of her carefully done blue-gray plait seared off, leaving it almost as ratty and uneven as mine.
“You little sapan-“
A laugh interrupts her just as she’s about to tackle me.
“Ooooh, Stratal’s a big girl now, bullying the other kids?”
The fairy flushed. “Shut up, Elektra.”
“You’re an Ivory, don’t tell me - the real Windchaser - to shut up.”
I watched the two bicker, holding up a hand.
Elektra high-fives me, laughing. “Get out of here, little sister, eyzo halshti and I are going to class anyway.”
She opens her mouth to retort, then flinches under his sharp gaze. “Fine,” the Ivory spits, one hand poking the gray skin on her wrist annoyedly.
Her brother smirks, turning to me. He’s something of a specimen, with his scarred and tanned skin - scars being respected and tans being rare - his perfectly straight and combed white-gray hair pulled in a bun, his large yellow eyes, his chiseled features, his strong and tall build. But what really sends everybody quite literally flying at him is his track record. A perfect soldier, the youngest ever to be recruited, at sixteen - meaning he was one year older than me when he was made a soldier - his perfect rule-following, and his fighting streak of fifteen battles won and over three dozen enemies taken down within six months.
The Windchasers have reached astronomical amounts of fame, and Stratal can only hope to reach what her brother has succeeded.
I know him, though… like, actually know him. In reality, he’s honor-bound, mature, and ruthless, but not too bad for a laugh. His jokes aren’t the types that would get you in trouble, though… unlike mine, which typically end with several broken rules and items. Plus, we’re two years apart, but he’s my best friend.
“Come on, Kaminari,” Elektra calls, shaking me out of my daze. “Class.”
I nod, rushing to catch up with him. He’s a good amount taller than me, but with the help of my flight, I catch up. He shots me a white smile when I do, one hand smoothing his already immaculate gray bun.
“So, what were you doing with my sister?”
I laugh, before realizing that wasn’t a joke, my laugh was too loud, and he’ll think I’m weird. I settle for what I hope is a suave smirk, saying casually, “Oh, she was being a jerk, so I taught her a lesson.”
He laughs, elbowing me and waiting for me to regain my footing before he responds. “Yeah, isn’t she always?”
I nod eagerly - a bit too eagerly, like I’m a nerd - and say, “Uh-huh. My dad was feeling out over my hair, too, like, ‘Oooh, eyzo halshti, braid your hair, Winchaser’s coming!’” I deepen my voice for the imitation and make a stupid face, which makes him laugh again.
“Hey, he’s kinda right, you should braid your hair.”
“You don’t,” I point out.
He sighs, smoothing the bun yet again. “You know it’s because I’m a soldier. And you’ll be one soon, that is if you beat Stratal. Then you’ll climb the ranks, and I’ll be a lieutenant - maybe even your general, bossing you around all day.”
I smile. “You’re that confident? I mean, I know you’ll get to be a general, but me getting to be a soldier that early? Maybe earlier than you?”
He nods. “What other way to prove yourself to your father?”
That’s what I like the most about Elektra. His willingness to pass on his own fame, his own glory, and put me on his pedestal.
I grin, beginning to smooth out my hair, attempting a messy braid. “Maybe…”
☁︎☁︎☁︎
Clang.
Swish.
“Ow!”
Whoosh.
Sweat stains my hair and Flight’s Bane’s hilt. Stratal and I have been at it for at least an hour now, but neither of us can get the upper hand on each other.
A thin trickle of blood leaks out of my right bicep, and a bruise is beginning to form on my cheek, but I’m significantly less wounded than her.
Stratal’s yellow shirt is stained with both fresh red and dried brown, her snarling with anger.
Her polearm, Windstorm, who’s a girl, goes for me again, Flight’s Bane blocking her with a clang that resounds through the air.
We’re both panting with exhaustion, yet I keep on pushing. What really matters is that I defeat her, that her blood and wound count are higher than mine.
I stab my sword at her, him making contact with her shoulder.
Stratal bites back a yelp and thrusts, Windstorm piercing me in the neck, which makes everybody gasp.
Fatal spots are worth an extra vial of blood and a new wound count, which sucks.
I begin fighting to get to her neck, heart, or eyes, but she’s anticipating it and launches herself over me.
I can’t help the grin spreading over my face. Is she stupid? She knows I’m the real flier here.
The battle’s over now.
I launch myself into the air effortlessly, using a bit more force so I can hit Stratal, the Ivory groaning in frustration when Flight’s Bane nearly kills her, the wound on her neck bleeding horribly. She flies at me, but I dodge so easily it’s pathetic. One smack with the flat of my blade, and she’s on the ground.
The whoosh of lightning and wing being released from their bottles, signifying my victory, is the best sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life.
I’ve won.
Stratal gets to her feet, teeth gritted and fists clenched. She spits out, “Rematch!”
“No reason to,” the coach, a strict, orderly, and harsh woman says. “Just measure the blood.”
I’m proud of myself for not flinching when they put a vial to my first wound, waiting five seconds to fill each wound with blood. It takes roughly two minutes to locate, drain, and patch each wound, but it’s worth it when my final count is two vials of blood. Including the empty extra one from Stratal’s fatal strike.
She isn’t having much luck. There are three red-filled vials next to her, and when Coach Aella slaps down the extra one for a fatal strike, it’s more than obvious I’ve won.
“Kaminari has five wounds and Stratal has eight, including the fatal one for both of them,” she calls. “Looks like the winner’s Kaminari.”
Huh. I expected just a bit of excitement out of the coach. Maybe a smattering of applause - after all, if I win these next spars, I’m basically guaranteed to go to the army now.
Instead, all I get is a glare from Stratal, a high five from Elektra, and then, after a two-minute break, we move on to the next spar.
That was anticlimactic.
Maybe it’d be more bombastic if I had any friends. But friends are rare enough, and I’m the opposite of popular. A troublemaker who gets the kids laughing before the teacher comes in, maybe. A prankster who acts cocky but faces the consequences later, in a private room, listening to my dad scream and throw glass bottles.
I watch, bored, as Stratal snaps at Elektra. I can hear snippets of their conversation… words like failure, go away, better, hate.
The spars have been going on for the past few months, and Stratal and I are the final competitors. If I win, I’ll be out of this stupid military training camp and in the real war. Fighting intruders, working the weather, managing the tribe… and Dad’ll be proud, hopefully. That is, if I win. Stratal’s an amazing lightning and wind manipulator, even if I deny it, so these next battles will be tough to say the least.
“Come on, Kaminari, it’s my turn to win,” the Ivory snaps, glaring at me. Her wounds have been messily bandaged, some of the white gauze is already peeling, and she looks so angry it’s a tad intimidating.
I force on a casual smirk. “In your dreams - and my nightmares. I’m gonna be the one in the military, I bet your parents would disown you if they could. Oh wait, they’re dead!”
Her pink and yellow eyes flicker with insane anger, but all she does is blast wind in my face, messing up my hair, and stalk away.
I roll my eyes, controlling the angry flickers of yellow, and follow her to the next sparring ground.
☁︎☁︎☁︎
“So,” Elektra asks, sidling up beside me, “how you doing?”
I try for a nonchalant shrug, hiding a wince. “Decent. Gotta work a lot harder this next spar. I’m not the best at magic.”
He smiles. “You’re fine. Stratal’s good with lightning, but here,” he leans in closer, whispering now, “I’ll give you a tip.”
“What?” I ask eagerly, leaning in as well.
“She takes a good five seconds to recharge, but it’s three if she closes her eyes and concentrates. If she does, blast her. Keep yourself charged. Make sure to hit her while she concentrates.”
I frown. “How do you know that?”
A cocky smile. “I have my ways.”
He’s so cool, I think, but all I say is, “So you spy on Stratal while she trains?”
The soldier laughs. “Don’t like looking at her Ivory face, but essentially. Now get going, and get to the grounds before Stratal. If there’s one thing my little sister hates, it’s competition.”
I smirk, rising off the ground until I’m even with Elektra, yet he shoves me back to the ground with a white smile. “Good luck, eyzo halshti!”
“I don’t need luck,” I call back, grinning, but when I face the sparring grounds, the smile falters. It’s not that I don’t need luck. Luck just never finds me.
I fly forwards, landing on the dirt-packed field before Stratal gets within ten feet. She snarls, limping towards me, and I can hear Elektra catcalling. When she gets near me, we toss insults back and forth, too exhausted to put real anger or hatred behind the words.
“You’re slow, aren’t you?”
“You’re one to talk, did Elektra put you up to humiliating me? Both of you should get a life.”
“I can humiliate you just fine without Elektra.”
“Then let’s see how this goes.”
“I’ll win, Ivory.”
She snarls and zaps one of my open wounds with lightning, causing me to jab Flight’s Bane’s hilt at her bloody arm hard.
“Settle down,” Coach Aella calls, and we stand stiffly immediately, dropping our weapons.
It starts to rain the second Flight’s Bane leaves my hand.
The three storm clouds in a bottle are set on the ground. “Three… two.. one… attack!”
She lunges immediately and I vanish, launching into the air and flapping circles around her, waiting for her to sense me. Her heterochromatic eyes are just widening when I launch, kicking her in the back and adding wind to my force to knock her down.
Stratal’s still on her feet, growling and blasting lightning, which sears my arm and forces me into vision, teeth grit, eyes watering.
She allows herself a little smirk as she holds up her fists, circling me. “Aw, did that hurt?”
I keep my arms down, waiting for her to attack, but my muscles are rigid with anticipation and I swear I’m going to crack a tooth.
Raindrops pitter-patter around us, making my shirt stick to my back with a mixture of sweat and rain, plastering my hair to my face.
“Oh, a little. Though I got you way worse before.”
“I’m sure you did. But now I get revenge!”
She lunges and I sidestep, kicking at her ankle and making her stumble, just as quickly catching the Ivory’s shirt and grinning before letting her fall. She snarls, yells, and punches again, but I grab her wrist and knee her in the gut.
Then she uses her body mass to fling me facefirst to the mud. Black spots tango and stars waltz in my vision as I stagger to my feet. I can almost hear Elektra laughing playfully behind me, since he knocks me over like this every single time we practice.
“Neat,” I pant. “Where’d you learn that?”
She tosses her hair. “Oh, around. Enough with the small talk, though, eyzo halshti.”
I just manage to lunge out of the way as a blast of lightning hits my ribs, my body frantically trying to right itself as I flicker into invisibility, heart thundering in my chest. Ow ow ow….
I bit my lip to stay silent as I flap my wings and send myself back into the air, flying over a scowling Stratal. Wait for her to close her eyes and recharge, Elektra whispers in my head. Attack more, dodge less. More force, less fluidity. But don’t be too blunt. It’s all about that balance.
What would he do? I know what I want to do, which is blast her back with lightning, but tactics. Strategy.
A wind ball sweeps her off her feet and dissipates just as quickly, knocking her onto the ground. “Kaminari, you little-“
I appear, hands behind my back, smirking. “Now let’s not get profane.”
Lightning fries the hairs of her arm as she lunges out of the way, sleeve gone. A growl begins deep in her throat and she punches, which I dodge again, but I’m not prepared for her to kick and I stagger backwards, tail lashing furiously.
Oh, right.
Twin gray tails lash towards Stratal and she has to stumble to avoid them, allowing a good blast of wind to the face to knock her down.
I raise a hand for another ball of wind that traps her for a second before she knocks the currents aside, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes again.
Three seconds, Elektra screams in my head.
I raise a fist to summon the lightning and kill her, but… but I’m just standing there, fist raised, until she blasts me.
I dodge easily enough, about to attack when she throws a handful of mud right in my face, splattering me and obscuring my vision.
“Cheater!” I snarl as I wipe my face clean, sidestepping her strikes. She lands one, though, and punches me in the face, knocking me into the mud. My face is already beginning to swell and my teeth ache.
Rain splats me over and over, and I can almost hear my father’s voice in each raindrop. Calling me a failure, a mistake, inadequate.
Stratal places a foot on my back, smirk wide. “And winner.”
I’m prepared for the lightning and the shocking pain but not for the iron taste in my mouth, leaving me on my back in the mud, mouth open so the rain can wash the coppery stuff out. What’s left of my sad excuse for a braid is undone, leaving my ratty gray hair to wash in the mud, my clothes already far beyond ruin.
The Ivory’s parading herself around the muddy arena, trying to get the mud off of her torn and formerly stylish clothes. I know how much she cares about her appearance, being an Ivory and all, which Elektra and I always tease her about.
It’s not always fun, especially since she can clearly remember it.
Stratal smiles as a small group of girlfriends congratulate her, toss dirty looks my way, and leave in the protective ball of conversation that girls always seem to travel in.
They have it better than me, lying around in the mud, that’s for sure. With a single friend who’s sure to be disappointed.
Speaking of him…
Elektra tuts as he squats to look down on me, using two fingers to pick up a bit of mud and drip the thin trickle onto my face before he catches my expression and wipes it off. “Look. That sucked. But let’s think. Why did you lose?”
My voice catches when I answer, “I sucked?”
He laughs a little. “You didn’t suck. You just wasted an opportunity! She had her eyes shut! Just zap her and we’re good!”
“That’s not fair,” I say, already knowing what his response will be. “To hurt an opponent when they’re recharging, vulnerable and focused like that.”
“ARE YOU A STORM FEY OR NOT, EYZO HALSHTI?” Elektra screams in my face, the mud slipping out of his fingers and smacking me in the face again. He’s attracting some looks, more looks than he usually does, so he lowers his voice. “‘To miss an opportunity is to lose a battle.’ ‘Strike like the lightning, relentless and conniving.’ ‘The storm does not wait for its victim to catch their breath’.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t follow through!” he yells back. “You know, you know, but the time comes and you’ve blown it!”
The soldier groans defeatedly and helps me to my feet. “Sorry. I sounded like your dad. But seriously, just one more battle to win, and this time you’ll have him by your side.”
He produces Flight’s Bane from next to him and I busy myself with wiping his sheath clean, trying to avoid Stratal’s yellow gaze, because I know I’ll lose it if I do. “Y-yeah.”
“I can’t with you right now, Kaminari,” he says, kicking at a stone on the neatly paved roads, mud slowly getting replaced by clouds as we head up towards the sky, out of the range of the rain. “I just can’t. You’d better win this next one, because I didn’t haggle with General Nariko for some spare time for nothing. I’ve really flattered you up to her. She’s impressed, and I don’t want that changing. You’ve got sufficient talent, you’ve got more than enough discipline. But in the spur of the moment, you don’t have the stomach.”
I try to grin even though all I really want to do is cry. “Stratal’s got quite some stomach to spare.”
Elektra sighs and leaves wordlessly, but I can tell he’s forcing back a smile.
I face Stratal, hollow disappointment and sorrow refilling with a crazed desperation and determination. The tiebreaker.
This is it.
Black clouds skim my feet as I walk. Stratus clouds? Good for her. But they begin to fade into pale gray cumulus, and then white cirrus, reminding me all hope isn’t lost.
“Ready for the final match?” Coach Aella says.
I shoot a sideways glance at Stratal, whose eyes are focused on the coach, hand tight around Windstorm, jaw set in defiance. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
I nod. I don’t trust my voice in moments like this. Because something will slip out, a dumb joke, a witty remark, something that’s never gotten me anywhere.
Because my pride gets the better of me constantly. No, not my pride. My sense of humor. It’s who I am, really. Kaminari, class clown. Kaminari, the guy who took off his shirt and threw it on top of the school library roof for a bet. Kaminari, the guy who ate the ice cubes on the snow machine for the annual tour of Skywatch’s factories. Kaminari, who makes you laugh but ends up alone at the cafeteria being told to pull some more stunts.
Denki, the model boy of the grade, lost the semifinals to me. That was when I thought I’d start getting an ounce of respect, but no. A lifetime of building up the reputation I didn’t want means nothing changes. Until I become a soldier. It’s a clean slate. Play it right this time. Earn praise, not laughter.
Stratal, meanwhile, would easily be model girl, but instead it’s Audra. Why? The question is answered the second you see her. Gray skin. Pink-and-yellow eyes. Blueish hair. Weird tail, weird wings, weird height - she’s taller than most of the boys, but that’s probably not because of her being an Ivory. Probably. She and the other outcast girls.
I guess I have it lucky in the social aspect. The boys laugh at my jokes, they talk to me, if I’m lucky someone has remembered to save my seat at the lunch table. I’m their jester, not their friend, since they haven’t shown up to the battle, but oh well. Too busy comforting Denki, I guess. Stratal, on the other hand, has Tempest, Mistral, and sometimes Skylar if she’s upset someone, and nobody else. Tempest is a genius but a poor fighter, and Mistral’s a hybrid who nobody really wanted. Half-Ice fairy, she gets the second-most weird looks for her icy blue hair, strangely fluffy tail, white-flecked wings, weird posture, and pointed ears. She flies well enough but nobody ever takes her seriously, not in the classroom, not in the battlefield, nowhere. Skylar? She’s plain annoying. Follows every friend group around hoping she’ll get into one of them, as if she could. She’s pitied sometimes, I guess, by the nicer groups, but most of the time she doggedly follows Inazuma, Audra, Kiroto, and Sora around hoping for friendship. As if.
Stratal and I were the last people to be expected on the championship. Denki and Audra were guaranteed to win when they faced us off at the semifinals - Denki me and Audra Stratal - yet somehow the class clown and the Ivory are getting in the army.
Well, no. If Stratal weren’t an Ivory, she’d be popular, guaranteed in the army, surrounded by popular Inazuma and model Audra and giggly Kiroto and sweet Sora instead of the nerd, the weirdo hybrid, and the annoying little puppy. But me? No matter what, I’m the class clown. The stereotypes were set the second we reached grade school. Nothing changes then.
Huh. I’ve really taken note of this stuff. Now to get these observations onto the battlefield…
“Three… two… one… attack!”
Cumulus[]
I barely have time to unsheathe Flight’s Bane when Windstorm’s silver point is sliced at me. I dodge, and the other blade comes spinning at my torso. A deadly whirl of black and silver comes flashing as Stratal charges. “Sorry, Kaminari!”
“Sorry for what Elektra’s gonna say?” I counter as Flight’s Bane catches a blade, disarming her instantly as I shove. She hisses and grabs Windstorm before she can slip out of the Ivory’s grasp and charges at me again, punching a lightning-charged fist at my head.
I pull the energy towards myself, shock her, and stop her forearm with Flight’s Bane’s blade at the same time, bending down and grabbing her ankle. She barely has enough time to register what happened before I’ve pulled and she’s flipped in a circle and lands face first on the cloudy ground, Windstorm scattering hopelessly out of her grasp. I take the time while she’s getting to her feet to chop at her wings, rendering her flightless.
No amount of scolding from Coach Aella can stop the gasps ringing around the arena, Elektra’s whoop, and Stratal’s screech of horror.
“YOU BI-“
I dodge her reckless lightning strikes and trap her in a ball of wind, hoping she’s too angry and weak to fight her way out. But I’m not lucky, I never am, and she dissipates the winds, screaming as she stabs at me.
The opponent’s blinded by anger. Perfect.
Flight’s Bane jabs once, twice, hitting Stratal’s spots of balance and forcing her to stumble, her significantly shorter wings flapping and tail whipping in the air. I lash my own twin tails at her ankle and pull, knocking her to the ground and about to stab her when she blasts wind at me so hard I stagger, the Ivory jumping to her feet and using two fingers to send an arc of electricity straight at my face.
The next second is a blur.
I dodge, but not far enough, so in the millisecond I have to think, a sphere of wind catches the lightning and blasts back at Stratal. She’s not quick enough, being struck by her own lightning, now in a hamster ball of air currents.
She forms her own ball of wind and lightning - copycat - and we play the world’s most dangerous game of catch for a second, using our powers to blast the balls at each other. Little bits of electricity dance in the air where they connect.
Hmm… While Stratal’s distracted, I begin to compile all of the static, waiting for her to blast wind when I launch the three-feet-long spear of lightning, hitting her right in the sternum. I quickly cover my ears to block out her fountain of profanity.
“EN DE FAEN NOR YOU NASHBA OKLISH SAPAN, GO EIT NISH HENI, NALÉ-A-SHITI RO YOU NE OF A RALSHTI.”
I smirk. “I think I will do that. The nish heni are plentiful this time of year.”
“YOU WISHTI FISHNA, OG TO DE DASHNI,” she spits back. I wince. Yikes.
“That’s a lot of hun,” I comment, vanishing in a swirl of gray feathers.
“OF COURSE I’M HUN YOU WISHTI SAPAN.”
“Lenshti nishti en!”
“HAL BACK TO MAYMAY!”
Yellow flashes in my vision and suddenly I’m falling.
I am a little boy, flying in shaky loops. An older fairy laughs as he watches me, scooping me into the air when I begin to slip. “Good work, Kaminari!”
His forehead touches my own as I gaze into his dark gray eyes, just like mine. “You’re my little eyzo halshti, aren’t you? Only Talia ever flew this well.”
Sadness begins to cloud his gaze and I’m set down, told to toddle back into the home, where my mother will be back soon. But my mother is never back.
☁︎☁︎☁︎
Lightning fries the ground below me as my wings propel myself backwards, caught between dreamland and reality.
“What’s the matter, Kaminari?” Stratal taunts, smacking me in the back with Windstorm and knocking me to the ground. “Did I strike a nerve? Would you rather I strike this?”
I fumble to the side as she stabs, knocking aside her silver blades with Flight’s Bane’s matching blade and grabbing her pole, using it to drag myself to my feet. I immediately launch into the air, turning invisible.
She disappears as well, trying to sense me. When she does, I reappear, slicing low and making her stumble. One swipe at her left, another at her right, and she’s fumbling for a grip. Windstorm clangs against Flight’s Bane as we battle, two thin blades against one larger one.
One blade goes under my arm and I dodge, smacking her pole and holding it in place, then kicking the polearm away and slashing, grazing under Stratal’s ribs.
She swears under her breath and grabs Windstorm, spinning the blades and jabbing whenever I block the other one.
We go back and forth with the weapons, unable to get the upper hand on each other. I’m worse on the ground, and if I get into the air, she’ll just knock me down.
Unless…
Her next shot goes high and the blade smacks my forehead. She staggers, dazed, and I take the opportunity to slice.
Stratal whirls aside at the last second and blasts wind, propelling me upwards. I stab down again, slicing open the bandage on her bicep and causing another stream of blood.
She hisses like a cat and slices under my elbow, blood now covering both of us.
I put on a smirk. “Lose already, why don’t you? You don’t have to stain me while you’re at it.”
“Aw, sorry, Kaminari. Was that mean?” she says sarcastically, sticking out her bottom lip. “Is maymay going to come comfort you?”
“Is Elektra ever going to like you?” I respond, hovering in the air with Flight’s Bane between neutral and attacking positions.
The Ivory lingers for a second before smiling. “Is Talia-“ I grit my teeth, slicing Flight’s Bane at her and causing her to sidestep. “Don’t. Talk. About. Her.”
Stratal smiles and jabs again, hitting my ribs at the last second and causing me to stumble. I inhale sharply from the rush of pain, skirting around her and stamping on her tail. A low snap tells me I’ve succeeded, the Ivory whirling and moving to punch me. I grab her forearm and duck, but she’s expecting it and kicks my ankle. It’s definitely broken from that, a sharp rush of pain causing black spots to flicker in my vision.
A shock of lightning in her abdomen knocks Stratal backwards, wind whooshing out from under me and making me land face-first through a mist of clouds and onto the pavement. I roll aside just as she jabs, parrying her strikes and charging Flight’s Bane with lightning - a neat trick Elektra taught me. Each strike makes her flinch slightly, the perfect distraction.
Using Windstorm as a lever, I pull myself up and knee Stratal in the gut. She snarls and slices her blade again, cutting a thin line of red across my cheek.
I raise my sword, studying the inscription for a second before slashing at her chest. Blood stains my sword, her shirt, the ground.
“And… TIME!” Coach Aella calls, nodding with satisfaction. Her emotionless face makes it hard to tell who she’s rooting for. Probably neither of us, considering how much she favored Audra and Denki.
I stagger backwards, rubbing my ankle, while Stratal holds one hand to her ribs and the other cradles her tail.
When we meet each other’s eyes, all I see is desperation. Her pink eye is brimming with tears of pain, filled with determination, while her yellow holds only hatred.
Did I ever mention how unnerving those eyes are?
Neat rolls of bandages are handed to both of us, and we patch our wounds, while I attempt to make a splint with two sticks and a roll of bandage.
Survival was not my top class.
Everybody is dispersing, having submitted their votes already. The two coaches are counting them now.
I kind of forgot how to breathe. I hear a laugh behind me, and I turn, expecting Elektra, but instead finding Coach Arashi. He nods to me, smiling, which is much better than Coach Aella’s blank slate of a face. I like Coach Arashi. I get the feeling he was like me as a kid.
Hopefully, his laugh indicates that I’ve won, but instead…
“A tie!”
A tie?
☁︎☁︎☁︎
“Kaminari! Stratal!” a soft voice calls behind us.
A dark gray-haired, yellow-eyed girl rushes towards us, white tail and pale-skinned arm waving hello as she flies over with beautiful golden wings.
Sora. Also known as the most unconditionally nice person in all of existence.
The two of us glance at each other and decide it’s not worth it to upset her. “How are you doing, Sora?” Stratal asks, smiling as kindly as she can.
“Oh, alright. You did really good in the battle. I watched,” she adds, grinning and showcasing her dimples. She laughs lightly before turning to me. “You too, Kaminari. I can’t believe you beat Denki!”
I shrug modestly, grinning. “Oh, it was really hard. Who did you fight again?”
The Ivory elbows me, hissing, “Kaminari!”
I mouth, “what?”, but Sora clearly doesn’t mind. “I opted out. I don’t think I’m quite ready yet, so I’ll try again next year, maybe. Besides, it made me really happy when two of my friends won!”
I can’t help but smile. “Everybody’s your friend, Sora,” I remind her.
Stratal scowls. “Ka. Min. A. Ri!”
“What?”
“Oh, it’s alright, let’s not fight. You guys did super well! This is the first time in history there’s been a tie!”
And I don’t know how to feel about it.
Stratal supplies an answer. “It’s nice. More people for the army.”
Sora sticks out her bottom lip, twisting the flowing end of her kimono’s golden sleeve. White puffy clouds and glittering amber jewels are embroidered around it, a rarity. “Oh, I don’t want to go to the army. I don’t know why everybody does, do you? Too much death and not enough music. I’d much rather be a wind chimer, like my family.”
But almost nobody has that choice, I think. Almost nobody is famous for anything besides fighting… except the Airvoices. Known for their musical talent with wind chimes, they’re astronomically rich and respected. Of course they’d produce a sweet, lovable daughter like Sora, who everybody adores.
“Oh, and speaking of that,” she continues, “would you like to come over and hear my composition? Audra, Denki, Kiroto, Inazuma, and all my friends are already over. They can’t wait to see you, I’m sure!”
She actually claps her hands together and jumps up and down, wings fluttering and catching what little sunlight there is. “Come on!” Sora squeals as she grabs Stratal’s hand and pulls her along.
I follow, knowing I’ll see the entire school over at her huge house. The Beauty of the Chimes, The Chimes for short, a huge wispy golden pagoda set on a cloud, is humongous and beautiful. And packed with people.
Oh, what’s the harm? It’s just a party. Nothing will go wrong.
☁︎☁︎☁︎
I can’t help but audibly gasp when we fly up to The Chimes, watching the delicate silver-and-gold instruments. I run a finger across one pale silver one, and a chorus of tinkling meets my touch, mixing in with its fellow chimes as the wind blows everything back and forth. Sora smiles when she sees me. “Saying hello to Raindrop already?”
“Huh?” I respond, mesmerized by the music.
“Raindrop. Your wind chime. She’s adorable, isn’t she? So high and soft and gentle. Like raindrops!”
“You mean you name them?”
“Why wouldn’t we?” she responds, tapping out a beautiful tune on… Raindrop.
“One long high E, two short, a high C, A, G,” she says, tapping out each note as I watch.
“Not quite, huh? More like calm rolling clouds than raindrops. Hmm… I’ll get a tune for my Raindrop, I’m sure of it. Oh!”
I follow, starstruck, as she pulls me along to the next chime, bright golden. “Say hello to Sunny! I made her with a tune in mind. Listen!”
I listen - and it does sound sunny. Like flying in circles on a warm day. Landing in the sun-kissed grass. Feeling the sun’s warmth, gentle yet bright, on my skin.
“A, A, high E, half-note high F, nice long high G.”
“…wow,” is all I say as I follow her, finally looking up at the house. Clouds float around gently, slowly forming a large staircase that shifts ever so slightly in the wind. Chimes hang everywhere, from the clouds, from the roof, coating the fake yet beautiful trees. I can’t help but wonder why they’re all named. But I guess it’s like our weapons. We name things that matter to us.
Sunny continues to play behind us, a soft breeze summoning another tune, soft as a sunbeam. I wave my hand through a tiny patch of cirrus, feeling it dissolve under my skin. Sora could translate that feeling into music, too, I bet.
The Chimes is a delicate pagoda that looks like it might dissolve just like the cloud did. The gray roofs are wide and slowly curl upwards and thin out until they’re nearly vertical and paper-thin on the edges, while the house itself is tall yet thin. The golden structure peeks out from behind gray roofing tiles like the sun behind clouds, turning stormy gray to gentle white. Balconies coat the area, from tiny ones embedded on the roof, to a huge one near the very top where a group of fairies recline.
I try to form words, to express how utterly amazing this place is, but I can’t. So instead I grab a wind chime and tap out a tune, hoping my amateurish knowledge of music can express my feelings. High and bright yet slow, as if the music itself has stopped to revel in this sight, expressing notes of pure joy and wonder.
Sora grins. “That’s Rainbow. Very appropriate.”
“Do you name a wind chime and make a tune for every weather phenomenon?”
Her dimples deepen. “And then some.”
“That’s… awesome!”
They fade away again only to reappear. “Most people don’t say that. But thank you, Kaminari.” “They don’t?”
“Have you seen the Storm Tribe?” she says with a laugh, though I don’t see what’s funny. Maybe I’m making a weird face again. “Weapons everywhere, bloody scars on nearly all of us, death at every turn. I’m optimistic, but I’m not naive. We’re weird. So what? Weird is what this place needs.”
I don’t have time to ponder her words before she’s pulled me along. “Come on! Inazuma can’t wait to see you!”
Stratus[]
Inazuma can definitely wait to see me.
The second Sora pulls me through the wide-open doorway and into her house, she catches sight of me, smiling kindly at Sora before elbowing her friends. They erupt into giggles, sharing side-eyes that seem to sprout entire essays until she finally saunters up.
Inazuma places a slightly gray-tinged hand on my arm, looking me up and down with a slight sneer. I’m taller than her, as I am most people, but she doesn’t seem bothered. Her large, mascara-framed, gray, eyes seem to study every part of me. Her hip-length, silverish hair with dozens of little dyed golden braids woven into it shimmer. “Hey, Kaminari. So glad you beat the Ivory!”
I can’t help but take note of the way she keeps slowly changing poses, as if an invisible camera is aimed at her. Maybe there is, for all I know. It is kinda likely, as she’s the prettiest girl in the grade by far and, genetics-wise, that makes a lot of sense.
She clearly tries to look good too. She uses makeup, which most of us can’t afford and don’t want anyway, she wears shimmery and fancy kimonos, she keeps her wings - silver with flecks of gold like stars - unfolded all of the time, and somehow manages to fight while keeping her appearance perfect.
Next to her, people are beginning to notice my torn clothes, the mud and blood all over me, and how I’m just… not that physically attractive. I’m tall but wiry and kind of clumsy when I’m not in the sky, unlike Inazuma, with her perfect posture and hourglass frame.
I nod wordlessly as she pulls me along, still yammering. “I mean, like, jump off a cliff with your weirdo wings tucked in, right? It was hilarious when you cut them short, Sora’s such a sweetie, she told me all about it. And- oh! Stratal!”
The fairy purses her lips, running a gray finger across her bare right arm. “Hey, Inazuma.”
“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!” she says cheerily, pulling her in for a hug and then holding her at shoulder length, smiling widely as she studies her. “I cannot believe Kaminari tied with you.”
She shoots a sideways glance at Audra, who glares at the Ivory. When their eyes meet, they giggle a little, like they have some inside joke about Stratal. They probably do.
Audra looks uncomfortable to say the least. If it weren’t for her being the best in the year, she’d be sitting by herself all the time - and be fine with it. She wants no attention, only for another opponent on the battlefield. But she nods along, letting Inazuma do the talking.
“Like, it was so shocking! Don’t Ivories have, like, super-special fighting tactics that can beat, like, all of us? I think there’s a name for it? Cheating?”
Stratal’s tight-lipped as she spits out, “I don’t cheat.”
“Mmhm. You’re an Ivory, Stratal dear. But that doesn’t matter! Come get wishti with us - I mean the other wishti, let’s get drunk. You’re already, um, that.”
“Dumb?”
“Oh, honey, you’re not dumb, I love you. Let’s go!”
And Stratal is pulled off in Inazuma’s little ball of conversation and giggling and hugs while Sora follows, catching my eye and smiling at me before they all vanish.
Then somebody clears their throat behind me. Two somebodys.
I turn to face Denki and Audra, who glare at me in the exact same posture. Arms crossed, feet planted, eyes narrowed.
Their resemblance as identical twins is immediately noticed. Same pale blonde hair, same yellow tails, same plain gray wings, same heavily freckled pale skin with a gray tinge. And the same deep, deep, amber eyes, wide-set and catching every light in a ten-yard radius. The only visible difference is Denki’s simple shoulder-length braid, while Audra keeps her hair down all the way to her hip, two long yet thin braids on either side of her head.
“…hi?” I manage.
The girl raises her eyebrows, as if expecting me to do a flip or something. I guess I could. I don’t think that’s what she wants from me, though. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she rolls her eyes, scoffs, and leaves, elbowing Denki before running off after Inazuma.
He bursts into laughter, grabbing my arm and knocking into my shoulder like I’ve seen most of the guys do around the school. “She’s so annoying, right? Like she wanted money from you or something.” The fairy shakes his head, tail flicking the air to indicate he’s feeling more annoyance towards his sister than he’s trying to show.
I shrug, keeping my tails down. “Yeah.”
He winks. “Knew you’d win. I wonder who voted for Stratal, though.”
“Tempest, Mistral, Skylar. Most of the people who don’t like me, which is, like, half the people in this place.”
I try to make that last part a joke.
“Oh, yeah, and Sora might pity her,” I add, trying to keep his attention.
Annoyance flickers across Denki’s face at that last bit. “She likes me, though, and by extension, you.”
I frown. “She likes you?”
He shrugs, before flying out a nearby window and to a balcony several floors above, where I follow. “Sora! Do you like me?”
She gawks, flustered. “Yes, I like you, Denki. You’re a great friend.”
“Just how great am I?”
I bite my fist to hold back a laugh.
“…super great?”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, and launches himself onto the balcony railing, perching on with ease.
Sora blinks. “W-wait, not that way-“
Denki winks again, before falling backwards off the railing and down the hundred-foot drop. Nobody even blinks.
She rolls her eyes, trying to hide a smile, as he flies back up and lands on the platform.
“Come on, dude,” he says, grinning and blushing slightly.
I blink, before pointing at myself. “Me?”
“Duh. Whiskey time!”
I gulp. Whiskey? That’s gotta suck.
“…are you sure? Like, is that allowed?”
That gives him a good laugh as red colors my cheeks. “Allowed? Who cares about allowed? What the coaches don’t know won’t hurt them. And I need some whiskey anyway.”
I nod. “Uh-huh…”
Denki grins. “First-timer?”
I open my mouth, then close it. “Uh… n-yeah.”
He twines his tail around mine, smirking. “Come on, then! I say a nice big overdose for your big start.”
I swallow. “You’re sure?”
“Come on, if you can stab at sapans two hundred feet in the air, you can drink a bit of whiskey,” he responds, punching me in the arm. It hurts more than I’d like to admit.
Besides, I’ve been taught to fly and battle from childhood. Even before childhood. But drinking?
Denki plops an entire bottle in my hand, halting my train of thought. “Drink up!”
I falter, blanching. “Uh… m-maybe not.”
“Come on, dude, it’s fine. More than fine, it’s super good. Takes your mind off,” his gaze darkens significantly, “everything… else.”
I pretend not to notice, taking the bottle ever so tentatively and sipping.
The best way to describe it? It burns.
A dim part of my brain recognizes that Sora and a couple wind chimes would probably have a better way to describe this torturous yet amazing feeling. But the rest of my mind is roaring incomprehensibly.