Flight School: Predator

Close Distance

Her form was decently accommodated by the towering, arched windows that stretched across the side of the hall that Io was closer to. Her light filtered in.

"Hardly," Faustes sighed, taking a step closer so that he was within the mirror's capacity. His reflection was immediate and slightly startling. There was no pause that prepared the student for this—the beige spotted wings tipped with a shade so dark Io was unable to tell its colour at first sight. His wingspan was incredible had no one compared it to the wings that were unseen, for Io's were far wider, greater than those that any would have had the courage to imagine.

"You see them?"

"Yes."

"See, it's supposed to be immediate," Faustes explained. "There's no waiting. More like it's always there and you're just manifesting them when you shift. Fledglings need to search for it when reflecting, likely because they haven't thought about it often enough but as you mature, the reflecting is long done and it becomes an instinct. It surfaces and doesn't sink back."

Io nodded for the sake of it, collecting what he supposed was an energy dispersed within him and then releasing it as though spreading his wings. All he released was a sigh.

Two days from now, the outcome would not have been so empty.

"Are you thinking of something?"

"What?" Io stared blankly at the man in the mirror before correcting himself. "I mean, I don't understand. Sir."

Faustes didn't bother acknowledging his mistake. "Basic motivation—we all need some drive in the beginning."

"Drive?" The boy peered up curiously. "What do I think of?"

"Anything you like," Faustes answered vaguely, "most people think of something happy."

Immediately, it came to him. "So what do you think of, sir?"

The deputy headmaster snorted.

"Not relevant," he dismissed his student's question before making an off-handed remark. "You're a little shit you know that?"

Io laughed. "No one's called me that before."

"I'm surprised," Faustes mused in a quipped manner, turning to leave the stage. "Not many people are fond of you, Tori."

"Like the people in my new class?" The boy put bluntly, eyes fixed.

Faustes found the boy rather sharp despite his surface appearance of naivety. In fact it was a mistake made by the professor himself; to assume that the flushed optimism Io possessed was one of blind faith and positivity. It soon came to light that there was—oblivious to many—a dark abyss behind his joy which no one, not any perceiver, could see the bottom of.

"Yes," the man said shortly. "They were highly restless."

"Must have been hard for you, sir." Io commented lightly, descending from the elevated platform and tailing his new homeroom teacher. "I'll try to make friends."

Faustes didn't discourage him in any direct manner but seemed to warn him of the complications that might come with his latter statement. "The vulture hates you."

The laughter that ensued was rather disarming.

"I know, sir." Faustes shook his head, unable to express the sort of regret that was stirring within—one that reminded him of the days when he was, like the boy, filled with hope and determination—and yet there was an inkling; a small, bead of awe that wished he could return to such a time.