Monthly Short Story for March: Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School Side Story 4 A Hero's Visit (Patreon)

Hello Commissioned Pioneers! :D As promised as always, in accordance with the results of last month's poll, I present to you the Bonus Story of the Month! There were a total of four choices again, with a majority voting for Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School Side Story 4. Let's  jump right to it then! I'd like to proudly present, Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School's fourth side story! :D

A Hero’s Visit

Aetheronrealm, Crown Dependency of Flockston, the Household of the Reformed Telani Family

He was back.

That charlatan of a traitor was back.

He wasn’t due to be back until the next season. Why was he early? What did he want?

We paid him handsomely the last time he came to inspect our family. We even gave him the last of our prized artifacts.

An artifact which proved to be the breaking point of much of our family, as it was all of what remained of an era that had long since been crushed to dust by the enlightened elements of the Nexian Reformation.

Perhaps this was why he was back.

Maybe this was some sick twisted punishment by the old gods. Perhaps, in our rush and our arrogance to abandon the old ways, the old gods have all but abandoned any pretenses of protection even if we still worshiped in secret.

“Acinor, put your brother to sleep and take him to the cellar.” I instructed sharply, under a hushed, shaky breath.

“Yes, mother.” The ever dutiful Acinor bowed sharply.

“Acinor, please. We’ve talked about this. No more bows, no more displays of Linshan. We-”

“We are NOT Nexian! How many times do I have to say it?!” Another voice erupted from within our humble abode. A house that had once been assigned to one of our middling subordinates, but that now served as our primary place of residence, as part of the Great Reshuffling. It was a slap to the face, an unacceptable embarrassment, but the fact that we were even allowed to live at all was mercy the likes of which many of our fellow pro-sovereign fellows were not fortunate enough to receive.

“Uncle, please. The war is over and we have no choice but to at least-”

“I have HAD IT!” The aged veteran limped forward, dragging with him a peg leg, affixed to a stump that had never truly healed properly. Without our old ways of healing, we were relegated to begging and pleading for Nexian medicine. Which, granted, was superior to our own old ways, but due to its exotic nature, we had no conventional means of replicating. As a result, we had no way of tending to the man’s battle-damaged form, not as we had comprehended it prior to the reformations.

For even old medicine was sacrilegious in the eyes of the Nexian Reforms.

“Uncle, if you would please hide-”

“Isinar, for once in your cowardly little life, will you LISTEN to me?! Look around!” He gestured to our meager accouterments with his clipped wings, permanently affixed with Nexian artifices designed to ensure that they too would not heal, an ironic twist of fate given what the man himself had so boldly announced all those years ago when he was still a sitting member of the migratory flock’s justice and enforcement committee.

He’d vowed, or more accurately, threatened that any and all Nexian-aligned sympathizers or outright traitors were to be affixed with similar devices. Their wings all but clipped, their fates relegated to static cities in service as grounded birds of service. It was a barbaric state of affairs we had long since abandoned in our past, but that had resurfaced as tensions between the Nexian reformists and the Sovereign-flock loyalists grew in the twilight of the Aetheronrealm’s era of indecision. It was, so very clearly, a vitriolic move with no true political gain but with all the more enemies to gain. My uncle would, of course, never admit this. Indeed, he had very much earned this fate. As the Nexus, in their sick and twisted propensity for ironic acts of ‘justice’, made sure to follow up on those open threats. And in true Nexian fashion, they’d adopted our old tools of barbarism, giving them mana-based enhancements to improve on their former limitations.

“Do we have anything left to lose?!” The man shouted once more, his formerly regal caws now reduced to commoner-like squawks by virtue of his old age and battle-damaged vocal cords.

“We have our lives and our place to lose, uncle.” I stated simply, plainly, meeting the man eye to eye with both of my wings affixed to my sides.

“So what if  they take even this shack away from us?! We’re practically peasants as it is! You’re just too stubborn to say it!” He continued to seeth, struggling to maintain that strongman’s posture that had once come naturally to him. But that was now all but impossible given the nature of his grievous injuries.

“We still have a voice in the subordinate flock’s council, and a home that at the very least is able to house what remains of our dignity. So please, uncle, I humbly request that you delegate the responsibilities of the family to me; at least in this particular instance.” I bowed deeply, a testament to my wishy washy attitudes towards the complicated relationship of tradition and Nexian-reforms in this unfounded era of uncertainty.

“Hmmph.” The man huffed out. “Do as you please. It’s not like I have any authority in this household anyways. You’d soon hand me over to the Nexian cats like you did the Linshan pillar, clock, telescope, and binoculars.” The man spat back in a series of shrill coos.

“You know I had no choice but to-”

“And look at these replacements.” The man hobbled towards the living room’s mantleplace, grabbing hold of the Nexian-made import that was our new household clock. He held it out, the replacement to our old clock. What had once been a series of complex hands, dials, clock-faces, and even star-trackers, were now replaced by… a series of what I could only describe as light-projecting apparitions. This replacement was a product of pure imagination, set amidst the real world. For this clock face actually projected upwards and above the clock itself. Casting a dazzling display of overly complex lights that didn’t need to be that flashy. And indeed, whilst it surpassed everything our clockmakers of old could ever dream of, it was severely lacking in some of the creature comforts that our old clock afforded us. Including details of important astronomical movements.

It was ultimately a symbol of the Nexian reforms in every way you could look at it. So when the  old man decided to shake it vigorously, trying to pry at the back of it, I really wasn’t surprised. “Look at this… this instrument of utter insanity!” He shook in place, his atrophied hands trying desperately, but failing to open the magically sealed back.

We had yet to find out how these new clocks worked. All we knew is that they did, and that they were far superior to our old mechanically wound instruments.

“We are like children in this new world. Unable to even discern the fundamentals of the tools which we rely-”

DING

The doorbell.

There was no more time.

We’d wasted it arguing.

“Uncle, I will say this only once more, please, leave. Go back upstairs, or better yet, stay with Cinata, he needs the protection and support of someone he actually trusts.”

That later statement of urgency seemed to have worked on the old man as he grumbled his way downstairs, out of sight, but never truly out of mind.

DING DING

I breathed in deeply, brushing down my feathers with my mother’s preening comb, before finally, I put on the smiling, positive face of the role I was expected to play.

“Coming!” I shouted out saccharinely, all of the worries and anxieties being pushed to the back of my mind as the role I’d learned to assume supplanted what little remained of my former sensibilities.

With a deep breath, I opened the oak door, revealing the bearer of the new age himself.

The hero of the Aetheronrealm.

“Hello dear friends!” The avatar of heroism spoke, his voice wreaked of an unnaturally upbeat cadence. A cadence which was at one point in time, only spoken with a straight face within the confines of a drama troupe or a particularly eccentric theater-play.

It was jarring to hear, even more disconcerting to be on the receiving end of, for it made a mockery of the realities of life.

“It is always an honor to welcome the great liberator to our humble abode.” I spoke, bowing so deeply that I swore I could hear the collective cries of my ancestors ringing somewhere deep within my duplicitous soul.

“Oh, pish posh.” The hero outstretched a single talon, waving it about like a petulant child. His mannerisms, his stature, the way he carried himself, it was all wrong. “None of this! None of this prostration of the self! You’re talking to a hero here, not the lord-mayor nor a member of the landed nobility! So please! Let us dispense with such pleasantries.” The avinor continued, his larger than life personality befitting of his eccentric choice of armor, which under traditional conventions, was anything but practical. Indeed, it was detrimental to any self-respecting warrior who had but a lick of combat experience.

For the man’s large, bulky, almost comically oversized pauldrons, chest pieces, and greaves, were all detrimental to the avinor’s greatest gift: the power of flight.

He looked more akin to a creature most commonly associated with an affinity for the terrestrial, a creature bound to the land as much as it is to sluggishness and lethargy, he looked more akin to a coastline animal than any of our own kind.

Yet, as expected with Nexian trickery, the armor was not what it seemed. For despite all outward appearances, the man walked around as if he were wearing a wingless tabard. He carried himself with such light-footedness that the illogicality of the scene was starting to color even more of my perceptions of him.

His presence, his very existence, was jarring.

But so was the Nexus.

And so was the magic that had all but replaced our own.

“Might I inquire as to the purpose of your visit, great hero?” I once more asked, making sure to hit those high-low pitches that were an indicator of respect and self depreciation.

“Ah, to the point as always my fair lady! To the point as always!” The man let out a series of sing-song chirps. “But, I do not wish to be to the point.” His tone shifted, my a deep nausea overtaking me as his words, whilst still largely jovial, felt like the screeching of talons on a freshly paved landing strip. “I wish to…” The main trailed off, waltzing into the living room without so much as a request to enter further into our home, into our nest. This brazen act of disrespect was unheard of in the old culture. Indeed, there were a series of verbal and physical cues to be exchanged before such trespassing was attempted.

This Nexian etiquette… it was jarring, even if I tried my best to accept that this was now the norm.

“I wish to… hmm, how should I say this, I wish to merely check up on your family, my dear.” The hero continued, his armored talons generating these unnatural, forced clacking sounds as each segmented piece of metal clanked against one another, and the stone floor beneath them. “You see, I very much enjoy our talks. I do so deeply enjoy our long, insightful discussions into the nature of the old world. For I enjoy witnessing the dichotomy of what once was and what will be. You can say I have an old soul, but a modern heart, and a ravenous appetite which can only be sated by spoiling them both. For what I truly enjoy is the contrast my dear. You can’t have a balanced meal with a single herb or spice after all, the trick is in the contrast, the contrast! Sweet and salty, rich and citrus, fatty and acidity, ocean and land, and the list goes on and on! My physical palette has long since been sated, so now my aim is to sate the soul. And the soul cannot be sated until it knows that its duty is done.”

I simply stood there, taking it all in, blinking blindly at the ramblings of a man who spoke without really speaking at all.

“And that duty shall be done…” He spoke cryptically. My heart skipped several beats however as he reached for his side, the same side that holstered a rucksack and his sword.

There was a fifty-fifty chance of what happened next, though whatever it was, I knew I had no power to do anything about it regardless.

Thankfully, he didn’t reach for his weapon. Instead, pulling out what looked to be a perfectly preserved, immaculately decorated two-layer cake, as he placed it on the coffee table in front of the mantlepiece without much fuss or fanfare.

As if pulling out a cake from your rucksack was a normal thing to do, and was once again, yet another one of the Nexian tricks that had come to dominate the post-reformation way of life.

“Speaking of flavors, you must try these new Nexian-imports! Rich sumptuous veltocattes and sharp citrusy telar berries! Wrung of their essence, turned into a batter and baked! With who knows what else in the icing, the frosting, and of course, the fondant!” He listed off, before turning to face me.

“Oh dear! This is indeed quite a varied selection!” I managed out, in the same abnormally pitched cadence that the hero was so avid on using. “I can’t begin to describe how grateful I am for your acts of generosity. Especially with such exotic and coveted items! They most certainly are all the rave around town, that’s for certain!”

The ‘hero’ glanced up at me, a sharp glare that interrupted the otherwise empty vacuous positivity that had dominated most a majority of his eye contact up to this point. “Oh, is that so? Because as far as I know, telar berries have yet to have propagated beyond the walls of the capital.” He uttered out calmly. His words, which would’ve been all but asinine small talk when taken out of context, was certainly anything but trivial when the context of this conversation was brought into the picture.

Every single word, of every single sentence, be they a practically insignificant topic was all a test of faith and an unending trial of moral character as the man would put it.

“Ah, apologies, hero. I meant the veltocattes! T-they have just been sent in and have arrived at the specialty stores within the city. I meant that those are the talk of the town nowadays! From the domestic servants to the ladies of the nest-” I paused, catching myself. “-house, ladies of the house, yes, everyone around town is most certainly delighted to finally have these incredible Nexian imports!” I managed out through a forced smile.

The man had narrowed his eyes at my use of the word: nest. Which was to be expected, given how it was neither acceptable nor outwardly discouraged just yet, at least as it stood in official writing. Indeed, the finer details of the lingua nexica were still being preened within the capital, as the new regime went back and forth with the Nexus on just how far they were willing to take this defacement of our culture. Or, in their own words, they were simply trying to iron out just what scraps were to be allowed into our localization of the lingua nexica; what words would be grandfathered in, and what words would be completely replaced. With that being said, it was still a good idea to be cautious. It was better to stay on the safe side whenever saying anything outside the nest. For you never knew who was listening in. What’s more, you’d never know if your local butcher, baker, blacksmith, or even neighbor was the type to talk. As talk could easily spread and reach the ear of those that actually cared about such things.

“Hmm, that is fair. It is easy to get a lot of these new things mixed up and all that!” The man offered with the same unnatural smile, to which I could only return with a smile of my own. The lump in my throat was now finally dissipating as it seemed as if he’d forgiven that minor transgression.

It was clear that if things continued at this current rate, we’d never be done with today’s check-up.

But… if I pushed things too far, if I gave any hints that I wanted him out, then that would be reason enough to raise suspicions, leading to even more trouble.

I had no choice.

No other option but to just play along.

I knew however, it was all for the greater good at the end of the day. For no matter how shameful, how ridiculous, how utterly humiliated I felt playing the role that I never wanted to assume… I knew for a fact that it was at least ensuring the continuity of our line, and what’s more, the continuity of a tradition that could not die.

For what was being saved, who was being saved meant more than any of our lives now. As it wasn’t just the preservation of the family line, nor was it any ordinary tradition that could be passed down through song and writing, but an integral part of who we once were and what we were once capable of that had slowly been whittled away by the introduction of perhaps the most malicious aspect of the Nexian dialogue.

Their magic.

Acinor, or more specifically his brother Cinata, was one of the last living links to a time before Nexian magic. He was our last hope.

“May I offer you a drink, perhaps some imported tea? Or perhaps I should bring out the porcelain and tableware-”

“Ah, there is no need for that my dear. I won’t be staying long, and I won’t be having any of this cake either. It's a gift after all! What’s more, I’m quite stuffed. Having just arrived not by the power of my wings but the great transportiums recently introduced by our Nexian friends! Why, I don’t think I’ll ever need these after all they’ve brought to the table.” He gestured towards his wings, as my heart, and my very soul dropped through the floor itself.

Hearing an Avinor say that was beyond just a Nexian slight. It bordered on outright insanity.

“Of course, I merely jest!” He corrected himself, allowing me to breathe a sigh of relief. “What? Did you think I was serious? I need these to continue rounding up what is left of your untended mess, my dear. Oh, sorry, your uncle’s untended mess. He really did cause quite a bit of a stir out in the badlands. However, it shouldn't be too long before we civilize the rabble rousers.” He spoke nonchalantly.

I knew it was a good idea to send the old man away for this meeting. Lest he lunge at the hero for the audacity of his statements.

“Yes, of course, how silly of me to assume that the joke was anything but!” I offered with a smile and a subtle laugh at my own expense. “And I cannot thank you enough for braving the dangers my uncle has so foolishly wrought on this world. Which is why I must insist that you stay for at least tea. It’s the least I can do to express my appreciation.” I offered.

I didn’t want to offer this.

I didn’t want him around for any longer than was necessary.

But it was a test.

All of this was part of a test.

A neverending social test.

A test that I desperately needed to keep passing.

For Acinor, and for Cinata.

“Oh, my dear, a true hero knows not to overstay his welcome!” The man beamed, standing there in the middle of my living room in shining armor that practically blinded me.

I hated him. I hated his entire existence.

“Ah, well, I certainly know better than to challenge the word of a hero!” I spoke with as earnest a voice as I could muster. For I knew that everything within me wanted to imbue that sentence with as much sarcasm as I could possibly put into it. And it was taking everything I had to not ruin this whole interaction with some much deserved backtalk.

“Spoken like a true reformed avinor, my fair lady!” The hero shot back with a few foreign gestures of his talons, yet another Nexian cultural import which I still didn’t quite understand. “With all of that being said, I did say that I was only here to sate my soul did I not? And the satiation of my soul in this case was the fulfillment of my duties! Of which I have already done so through the delivery of that cake.” The man smiled, as he once more spoke, proceeding to make his own leave as he made way towards the door he’d barged in from just moments earlier.

“I don’t know what to say, but, thank you, for such an unexpected act of generosity Great Liberator.” I managed out with a thankful smile. One that was more fueled by a relief of this being a short visit more than anything.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call this an unexpected act of generosity my dear. For you see, I forgot to mention that the cake was intended for your son. It is his birthday is it not?” His cadence had shifted. It was becoming more difficult to tell where the theatrics ended and where the genuine threats began.

But the fact that he was being this deliberate, this direct, was enough of a hint as any.

“I’m afraid little Acinor’s hatchday, er, apologies my hero. I meant to say, I’m afraid little Acinor’s birthday was months ago! But if this is a belated gift I certainly do not mind-”

“Ah, it’s not for little Acinor, my fair lady. It’s for a certain other son which I have yet to see. But which I would love to see, come next visit.” The man’s grin grew wider, and wider still. To the point where I felt as if I was being stared at not by another Avinor, but by some vicious, hungry predator. “He has grown past his downfeathers has he not?” The man quickly added, leaving me unable to respond, unable to even move as I felt trapped, like a prey in the midst of an Avinor’s strike; paralyzed with utter fear.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you are referring to-”

“Of course you do, my friend! Of course you do! Why, wouldn’t it be quite silly of you to forget your own son’s birthday! Then it’s settled! Next visit! Playdate? I might bring my own son. It’ll be a splendid time!” His face shifted, returning to its usual state once more as he dictated those terms to me.

The man left without another word, walking out and being greeted by cheers and jubilation. Whether or not half of those cheers were done out of obligation was anyone’s guess.

But I knew that our time here was up.

We had to move quickly.

If we are to preserve what the Nexus calls our tainted flock.