2407 Varkala 13, Briss
The town closest to the Palace bled as a montage of red and beige in April's eyes as she darted through the clear expanse, flapping her feathery white wings as she went. She would rather be working on drawing up some provisions regarding the tourist guidelines in Starvale but Runa had urged her to take a break when her brain was no longer working.
So, without much of a fight, April changed out of her loose, white robes she only wore inside her room, and donned her light armor. It wasn't like the bulky full armor most soldiers in Vafron were known to wear every day. Instead, April wore a half a breastplate that stopped by her midriff, shoulder and elbow pads, followed by tailored arm greaves.
As she flew, her sheathed sword hanging on for dear life by her leather belt waved with the gusts of wind brought about her glide. Her legs felt right at home in tight trousers, fitted shin guards and knee pads, and leather boots. They warded off the cold wind billowing around April well.
The nearest trading town was a few distances from the Palace. Behind her the rising silhouette of the mountain ranging from Azorgend towards Vafrom stood unmoving, forever the silent guard over everything. From its sides, the noticeable outline of the marble building April knew to be the Temple of Air waved at her without shame. Perhaps April should drop by and offer something to Pidmena to appease the goddess and prevent her from taking April into her embrace too soon.
Then, April shook her head. What use was it if Pidmena already decreed it? Besides, if gods were really real, how come they never stopped people from not believing in them? If April had the power of a god, she would never let anyone claim she didn't exist. Yet, no lightning rained from the sky. No voice descending from the heavens halted April from her flight. Yup. Proved her point.
When the town's square showed up, characterized by the gap in the blocks of red and orange roofs dotting the carpet of civilization on the valley bleeding off from the mountain, April tucked her wings. She sucked in a breath as she dove, letting the pull of the earth grip her form. The wind roared in her ears and drove the plait of her blond braid back as she hurtled down. Then, as the town's beige cobblestones neared, she spread her wings in its longest stretch, catching the wind and stopping her fall into a light hover. With a few flaps, her soles tapped lightly against the ground.
The town's square was, in fact, a circular patch of land void of buildings save for a huge fountain slotted in the middle. Sprites with all the possible kinds of wings and clothes milled around, passed her by for being absorbed in their own activities, or disappeared into the nearby shops after crossing the square.
April had been to this town many times before but it seemed like there was always something that changed since the last time she visited. The tome store near the lip of the alley northwest of the fountain had been replaced by a shop seemingly selling a couple of used machineries. When did that happen? If not for the other shops around it, April wouldn't have known it was the spot she knew before.
With no aim in mind, she strode towards the western alley, leaving the fountain bearing January Sylkrana's statue in the middle. April had learned to avoid any of her ancestor's likeness in every place if she could. Being reminded of the very place she left in her attempt to Relax wasn't going to help.
As it was, seeing January, the High Queen who won the last War of Queens and the one who put the Sylkrana bloodline on the throne as well as the air sprites as the Imperial race, did nothing but tell April of the great heights her descendants would have to uphold all their lives. This was the standard set upon her, the rung set against her achievements. And it wasn't just her. It was the same for her mother, her mother's mother. Soon, it would be passed on down April's children and her children's children, for as long as a Sylkrana was on the throne.
The alley she disappeared into was, trivially, where the weapon smiths and other metal work shops flocked into. The air smelled of molten metal, burning oil, and baked clay. Ash and other dark particles flew in the air, the sound of metal clanging against metal joining them.
April wrinkled her nose as she neared another corner. She was about to turn when she heard the familiar clink of armor she only heard when she encountered soldiers in the palace. How many air sprites walked around town wearing armor?
With her heart pounding, she flattened herself against the facade of a shop selling decorative armor. Slowly, she edged closer to the corner and sneaked a glance. At least four soldiers bearing the Vafron crest on their chest plates strode out of a smith shop's back door, carrying bags of what suspiciously looked like sheathed daggers.
April knitted her eyebrows. Since when has the army needed that many replacements? Was there a brewing war April hadn't heard about?
She watched the soldiers laugh and slap each other on the shoulders. They turned another corner, parallel to the alley April was in. They're going back to the town square. After that, they're probably going to take flight like the sneaky buzzards they were.
She smacked a closed fist against the shop's wall and made to follow when something gold and sparkly caught her eye. Previewed behind a glass window was the grandest set of golden wings April has ever seen. Like the sign written in printed Keijula script said, this was a shop for decorative metalwork. These wings weren't meant to be used apart from being displayed on the wall of some vain noble.
Golden wings. Wouldn't it be nice to actually be able to fly with those?
April tore her gaze away from the display. What she didn't stop in time was the rumbling of the gears of her mind. Gold wings. Wings made of metal. An air sprite flying with metal wings.
The idea formed in April's mind, stopping her mid-step. Of course. Metal-tipped wings. A hidden but potent weapon nobody had ever seen on an air sprite before. Something that she could use to throw at fairies to catch them off-guard.
A giddy and wicked giggle rose from April's throat. If she succeeded, these feather-brained advisers would eat jasclume ores for breakfast. After all, April would prove one didn't need expensive armor to win a battle. She just needed her wings and a little bit of her magic's help.
2407, Varkala 29, Velpa
Sweat dripped down the side of April's face, stinging her eyes. She clicked her tongue as she ran her sleeve against her forehead. The elbow pads she wore knocked against the bone but the exposed cloth turned blotchy and dark with her sweat. She gritted her teeth and looked at her wings. There were still a few steel-tipped feathers peeking from the row of white. She leveled her gaze at the dummy swaying on its rounded base, disturbed from her previous strike.
Again.
She flapped her wings, bringing her form into a hover a few inches from the ground. Her magic answered her call—a warm force flickering underneath her skin. Then, she twisted mid-air. Using the momentum and her magic, she sent a gust of wind through her wings. The wind dislodged a metallic feather and her magic guided it along the airstreams towards the dummy's head.
Metal twanged. The thin strip of glinting metal clattered to the ground, useless.
A curse flitted off April's lips. She folded her wings behind her, relishing in the tight knot building in her shoulders with the motion. Her boots hit the ground with a light thud. She strode towards the dummy and picked up the scattered feathers, one by one.
When she got back to the Palace the day she first thought of experimenting with her wings, she scoured the archives for any tomes containing any mention of transmutation leistivais and filled her head with nothing but them. She retreated into her room, ordered the maids out, and set to work, determined to make it work and create a perfect projectile to launch from her wings.
Something sharp enough to break through barriers conjured by flimsy maxia spells or even the rysteme ones. Something sharp enough to slice through the form with little to no consequence. Something sharp enough to kill.
Within a few botched tries of the passages of spells she found detailed at one tome, she held the product in her hands—one that satisfied all her requirements. Sharp, thin, and hopefully strong strips of metal fashioned from one of her own feathers.
Now, April fought off a wince from showing from her face as her wings rustled out of habit. It did come with a price, after all. The best method April came up with in order to keep her little surprises on her wings and allow her to launch at will was to pluck a feather off, transmute it, and stick it back to the small tear she made on the skin attached to the bone. Then, in theory, she would flap her wings hard, and using her synnavaim's influence on the air around her, dislodge the metal things from the patched up hole and into the target.
It was all in theory, of course. She didn't count on a number of things like how the air would drag the feathers' metallic weight back, making her calculations on her aim and speed all wrong. And how it was a lot more painful than she let on. After all, she was tearing through skin and bone, over and over again. Her feathers could only grow at the rate that wasn't either slow nor fast enough. Her magic could only close wounds that fast.
She needed a lot of feathers to transmute but most of her primaries were too long, almost dragging down to the back of her knees, and only three quarters of her secondaries could be used to avoid the projectiles from stabbing her arm or her shoulder. That only left her coverts. And, as if being played by the most cruel twist of fate, those feathers were one of the sturdiest and hardest to pull. They're also the most painful.
But the pain was a necessity April couldn't wish away. She needed it to keep her sharp, to keep her focused on her goal. To get people to treat her seriously, she needed to show strength. To get people to respect her, she needed to show them what would happen if they mess with her. And what better way to achieve all that other than letting them know they could end up with a metal feather lodged in their throats at moments only April could choose?
That's why she needed to fix her aim, to guide the trajectory of her projectiles properly. She couldn't miss. She shouldn't have the guts to miss. Because if she did, it's her head that's going to fly off her neck.
So, she checked the last two metallic feathers on either wing. That's four projectiles to let coast the air currents. She had attended to more in her previous trials. It was another one of the complex maneuvers she has yet to master. Her eyes traced the dummy's outline, its battered chest from numerous blows other soldiers had landed over the years, and its dented head, giving it a deflated look. She took a deep breath.
Again.
She moved to whirl, to increase her momentum and the force she needed to dislodge the feathers, when something dark whizzed in her periphery. She paused, four feathers still attached to her wings. Her feet thumped on the ground, her arms flailing around her as her neck craned up the training grounds' upper floors. There, next to a different arched window, stood the same sprite who was watching her. As expected, black wings were to the courtyard, blocking any chance of April from seeing their face.
April made a show of bending down and recalibrating the straps of her shin guards, all the while keeping her periphery solely on the set of black wings tracking her every move. How much of her practice session had they seen? How long had they been there? It didn't matter now, did it?
One thing was certain—she couldn't be here anymore. Her progress in combat should be kept secret, especially when she hasn't even perfected it yet. And as soon as she did, she'd make sure those black wings knew how to be a little bit red.
Just they wait.