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Chapter One
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The air was still as two avians held their stance against each other, each waiting in anticipation, though for different reasons. One, poised to attack with his two long, curved swords, though he kept the right one sheathed. He waited for the right moment to strike. The second waited for the other to do so, readying two of her blades in a defensive position. Time had passed for a minute like this, neither making a move. Another minute passed and the first of the two avians charged the other, meeting her in moments. The arch of the sword in his left hand halted as the knives met it with a ‘clang’, the other jumping and using her wings to launch herself back a considerable distance in preparation for the next attack. She retook her previous stance, her eyes were expressionless as she was immediately berated by the next attack. Just like before, she defended, moved, and prepared to defend again. From above it would have looked like some form of dance, there just seemed to be a rhythm to their movements, harmonizing with the other’s movements. I have personally never had such an experience but I assume a dance could only look so coordinated if you know your partner.
Of course from the side, to everyone else, this whole exchange looked rather boring, it was more like a bird shooing away another with little flutters and hop-steps forward until the intruder, who would have been backed off the branch, would be forced to fly away.
This cycle continued for a few rounds until after moving back from an attack, she didn’t take a defensive stance. Instead, she took her knives, maneuvered them in her hands, and threw them at her opponent. He dodged them and continued his assault, his curved blade slicing the air. As he watched her dodge another swing, Axel prepared to defend. Axel knew even though she seemingly rendered herself defenseless, he had fought Yorré enough to know how her projectiles work. As anticipated, Axel parried the two blades he had previously dodged, the runes at their base now dark magic. Yorré’s magic. Another moment and shadows started to encompass him, shrouding his view of the arena and darkening his vision. The swirling darkness was nauseating and it just seemed to keep getting heavier. After a few seconds, it was getting harder to see the knives. While he had hoped to win this battle with his left blade alone, Axel realized he had to be realistic and now unsheathed his right.
Yorré had kept her distance so Axel’s explosion didn’t affect her, however, she hadn’t anticipated slicing winds to barrel towards her afterward. The ground was being shredded around her, swirling into a cloud of dust as the invisible force got closer. It was as relentless and merciless as the sea during a storm but the waves in the air were probably more erratic and choppy than she had ever seen in tides. Panicked, Yorré took off into the air. She had only started planning her next move when - “I win” Axel smirked, sheathing his sword. Yorré took a moment to wonder before realizing she was flying. ‘Ah, right, rule 2’, Mouthing an ‘oh’, Yorré started lowering herself down. She feigned a small pout as she approached her brother, who had picked up the throwing knives and now held them out to her. “So, what? Is that a win for me? I didn’t think you would so easily forfeit, my dear sister”, he said, almost smug enough to be unbearable. Yorré scoffed as she took the blades back, checking them before twirling one in Axel's direction, “Well, who can blame me for being surprised, I didn’t think you would resort to such an underhanded move. Did my shadows really frighten you that much?”, she retorted in the same taunting tone. A moment of silence passed before they were both laughing.
Light-hearted duals such as these were just as common between the two siblings as any other game kids would play together. Of course, like those games, they also got unnecessarily serious and competitive, hence the need for rules. They only came up with two: 1. No attacking when the other’s back is turned and2. No flying higher than 1 meter. There was no reason to add so many rules, if the other person can’t defend then they shouldn’t be fighting.
“Well that leaves the score 3-2 and unless you want to go again, I win”. Yorré looked up at the transparent ceiling before answering, the sun stood just passed halfway through the sky, “No, I’m good”, she said before turning to leave.
The arena was in shambles by now anyway, with small craters, dents, and lacerations on the ground that will surely annoy the staff cleaning up after them. The smell of hot dust still clung to the air and the sunlight from the window made the small particles visible.
Axel would probably continue to train until dusk, maybe there will be the same amount of dummies left when he finishes. It would be a nice thought for once, it was a lot of work for magic-users of the sort to have to constantly enchant dolls because they kept getting destroyed. Now, it wasn’t as if the great King Barren would waste the talents of the witches, they were set to several tasks, which cut down on the number of staff on the premises. The only people who were exempt from taking multiple jobs were those with assignments the King considered more important. Among these few were Neris and Lyden, a witch and warlock who were assigned as companions to the prince and princess of Preshell when both pairs were just entering their preteens. They weren’t like bodyguards (I would be surprised if they were) but brought up as rather a partner or second in command. While incredibly close with Axel and Yorré, Neris and Lyden were more envied for their magical prowess and benefits of their position. This is probably our earliest record of witches cursing dolls, though it’s not as diabolical as stories make them out to be. Maybe it was just criminally underpaid babysitters and weavers that villagers burned at the stake. “Don’t worry, I’ll win tomorrow”, Yorré said before leaving. Axel just gave her a thumbs up before turning to the training dummies and spreading his wings. Unfortunately, it looked like it would be another long night for the magic weavers.
Just as Yorré had started to make her way down the hall, she jumped at the address from a silvery voice laced with honey, “Lady Barren”, it came from a tall figure behind her. Yorré knew who it was before she saw the dark horns protruding from greying, brown hair because of the way she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. The warlock, Calvedear stood almost 8 ft tall, which may have seemed normal for most Atechan people but for someone who is around 5’3, one’s kneck was bound to get sore while trying to hold up a conversation (Yorré had figured this out the hard way). The Atechan as a species of persons were, of course, still highly respected, to the point of being held up as nobility even if they held no title. It makes sense, given that they are the last of all the different ancient species that had first established the lands and religious beliefs of Selias. By the time Yorré, Fae, and Axel were born, you would have seldom found an Atechan outside of the nobility, magic, or the religious orders of society. And the Great Warlock Calvedear was the first to lead both the Magic and religious hierarchies.
Yorré managed to hide her initial surprise to acknowledge him, “Your Grace”, and did a slight bow in respect. Calvedear flicked his hands, shooing away her gesture, “Dear Child, there is no need for such formalities”, well given his age, experience, and status there was certainly a need for ‘such formalities’, there were some in areas of power who would bite your head off if you didn’t acknowledge them. Nevertheless, Yorré straightened herself, “My apologies, what is your business here today?”, no she couldn’t help but be formal, she may know him but Calvedear was no friend she had just happened across in the hallway, he was a man on her father’s court. “Oh, nothing really, I was just bored and decided to see your progress for myslelf but it seems you’ve decided to retire from training”
“Well, I can’t be training all day, I do have other business to attend to”
“And what might that be?”
Yorré wanted to say something like ‘It’s not yours to worry about, that’s why it’s my business’ but decided it was rude, instead stalling with, “Nothing too important, reading, focusing on my studies, getting ready for anything”.Calvedear hummed, “I do hope you are not wasting your time on ‘nothing too important’, you’ll just waste away to dust having done nothing at all”
“Ah, don’t worry, I’m not”
“Good, now I did want to make sure you and your brother were aware of tonight’s importance, you’ve come of age and are now expected to take on responsibility”. Yorré nodded, “yes sir, we both understand, my brother is still in the arena if you still wish to remind him”, there were loud, violent sounds from inside the room, “Although, I’m not sure he is in the best mind for conversation”, she added. “No, I suppose not. Well, don’t let me keep you from anything, my dear”
“Oh no, it’s fine, have a good day sir”, Yorré said, already walking away.
Even on carpet, every step a person made would resound down the grand halls of the castle. It made the tall archways of the ceiling seem impossibly taller, you feel like an ant in comparison. The pillars were chiseled with small designs that could only have been made by perfectly stilled hands, between which there hung portraits and landscapes. It is almost like looking through history, the paintings changed as did the hands of the artist, which meant different hands painted the same king. It was no mystery that Tordin Barren was immortal, while the hands of the artist grow old eventually to be replaced, he should never grow a single strand of grey hair. Among the hundreds of years encased in paintings, pictures of Yorré and Axel were much less (and pictures containing the late Princess Fae and her mother, Aria, were shrouded behind a curtain). The structure of the castle was younger than him but an ancient wonder to the rest of the world. Should anyone have expected the King of Preshell’s castle to be any less than magnificent, they would be sorely mistaken.
Such a large castle always seems empty, even with guests the palace could hardly express the same energy as the party. Not that this was something particularly negative since it was quite nice to get from one location to another without running into people (for the most part) or getting caught in pesky conversations that largely relied on small talk. Yorré considered most people starting a conversation in that scenario as those who just talk for the sake of talking, it doesn’t have to be meaningful, only words. Neither Yorré nor Axel were fond of the meaningless small talk with people but sometimes hallway conversations were interesting, and sometimes they caught interesting topics and stories such as these but it was on very rare occasions. Luckily, Yorré seemed to be cursed to always get stuck in the dull exchanges. I say lucky because if it had been Axel often caught in those slow discussions, he probably would have been in a sour mood most days and more vulnerable to the whim of his temper. And no one wanted that.
Fortune was smiling when Yorré was able to make the rest of her way to her room without interruption. She lived in the East Tower of the Castle which had a stunning view of the city below and the horizon where the sun should rise over distant mountains and ocean. When Yorré and Axel had first moved to their father’s palace (As their old Hidden village had been destroyed) they were given the choice of where they wanted their rooms. Axel had chosen the room, which he claimed, had the best locational advantage in the place (and it really did) while Yorré had chosen the East Tower because she used to love the idea of living upstairs, or going upstairs (just stairs in general).
Of course, as Yorré got older and started training, she really started to hate the idea of living upstairs, going upstairs, or just stairs.
The moment she got into her bedroom and closed the door, she let out a big sigh and sat on the carpeted floor, leaning against the wall. “You have a bed y’know, I’m sure it’s more comfortable than the floor”, Yorré looked up at the demon laying on one of the wooden panels that acted as a foundation for the roof, his hands dangling on either side. “Yeah, but the bed is made and I don’t want to bother it yet”, It wasn’t as if the bed was well made but it was a better answer than ‘I am being lazy, deal with it’. The roof demon shifted to laying on his stomach, his arms(?)(you could only see hands) still dangling off the side, “With that logic, why make your bed in the first place if you’re just going to mess it up again?”
“Because it’s nice and it looks neat”
“It’s a waste of time is what it looks like and you know it”
“Pyr, sometimes people do things because it’s a good habit, like staying organized”, Pyr responded with a knowing look to goad a real answer because no, Yorré would not have what most would consider an organized system (it was more like organized chaos). Yorré added, “also because more maids would come to my room if it was messy”, Pyr nodded, as long as she could keep her room borderline neat, then maids wouldn’t have to be sent to take care of the mess (it wasn’t like anyone wanted to make the journey up and down the east tower often so it was the perfect hiding place for Pyr.
Ever since Yorré had met Pyr, he had been insistent on staying by her side. While this was initially out of guilt for his mistake, the two came to be good friends over the years. They had come to an agreement: Pyr wouldn’t take control of her (he wouldn’t have anyway) and let her use his power to strengthen her own if Yorré would provide him a place to stay as the marshes are not very pleasant for anyone and offer protection from others who would use him for his ability. Pyr’s conditions were the reasons why he preferred to stay hidden from people, not even Yorré’s father, Tordin, nor her brother, Axel, knew about the demon. Pyr especially didn’t want Tordin to discover his existence though he never mentioned that to Yorré, much less tell her why. He very rarely walked freely outside of the room, as Yorré would seldom catch a glimpse of him out without a disguise. Pyr wouldn’t easily fit in, his (weirdly expressive) eyes were a vibrant red, his mouth wasn’t visible to people, and his hair(?) was made of wisps of smoke that ascended upward, looking almost like a grey candle. The rest of his body was fine besides the point that he didn’t have arms, which is why his hands always seemed to float independently.
“So how did your sparing go?”, Pyr brought one of his hands up to hold his chin, “Did you win?”
“No, but I’ll win next time”
“Ok, then why did you come back here to sulk?”
“I didn’t, I just wanted to do something else and be away from people for a while”, Yorré gave him a light glare, “And you’re not helping with that”. Pyr sat up on the plank, “No, I’m not”. He stretched a bit before coming down, “And you are going to ruin your wings laying like that against the wall in their condition”. He was right, after training today Yorré probably did have to clean her wings, and laying on them wrong was rather uncomfortable now that she noticed. Her two wings were splayed on either side of her and looking down, she noticed some of her feathers needed to be preened.
Preening was similar to braiding hair, no she wasn’t tying her feathers together but there was something simple and calming about smoothing out and positioning your feathers into place. On many a long rainy day, Yorré had studied her wings out of curiosity, taking note of feathers and playing with the limits of the limbs, though nothing that would be dangerous. It would probably be considered odd for a bird to try to learn about the wings it was born with, and Yorré definitely looked odd when she did. She sometimes saw preening as a way to explore her wings without looking strange but for the most part, it was just calming. Like braiding hair, you could also let someone help you, though someone you could REALLY trust (feathers are not like the hair, wings are sensitive and delicate and shouldn’t be trusted with just anyone). If Yorré were to get help, she would often go to Pyr, as she did on this particular day.
Yorré’s wings resembled those of a barn owl, same as Axels and same as their late mother’s. Aria was an Avian Hybrid with pale blonde hair and grey eyes, Fea would have probably looked exactly like her, save for having green eyes like their father (though no one knew what people Tordin belonged to). Yorré took more of her father’s features, inheriting his black hair, nose, and eye shape but was heterochromatic, with a green left eye and a grey right.
After fixing her feathers, Yorré opened her wings to stretch, then closed them and went to her desk, which had an assortment of drawings and scrawled notes of ideas. At the far corner of her desk was a book caked with dust, at some point Yorré had tried to decipher what it said but the language it was written in was completely unknown to her, she never found any records of it. Yorré picked up a notebook and started to read through what she had written, adding on to any thoughts in the margins (or whatever room there was left there). It wasn’t a diary nor organized notes she kept but rather thoughts, it was a place where she could write down her reflections on ideas, something she started around the age of 12 when she realized that her ideas probably sounded like nonsense to everyone else. She didn’t think her ideas were nonsense but had been aware that she had too much to say than would be acceptable in conversation. Yorré had 13 notebooks filled so far, this one was her 14th. What I wouldn’t give to know what she wrote, unfortunately, those notebooks have been lost to time.
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