Monthly Short Story for August: A Bedtime Story (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 8.

If you guys remember Bonus Stories 4 and 5, A Hero's Visit, and a Long Flight Home respectively, this story takes place a little while before then! I won't spoil too much, or give too much away, but this story takes place long before the events that would turn Thacea's world into what it is today. It takes place deep within Aetheronrealm's history, and gives a glimpse of the state of her world from far within the past, one that was hinted in both of the above stories! And while it gives a lot in the way of lore, revealing all there is to be revealed about the arcanists and the empiricalist factions within Aetheron, it's also hiding quite a few more important clues that will become more important as the main story progresses onward and we see just how different Aetheronrealm is from the rest of the realms in what magics it used prior to the Nexus' arrival! And of course, what exactly the Nexus did! And how this might tie back to Earth and what Emma can learn from Thacea! But that's all I can say for now haha. I really hope you guys enjoy this as it's been a long time coming! :D

Let's jump right into it then! :D I'd like to proudly present, Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School's eighth side story! :D 

A Bedtime Story

Aetheron, The Grand Seat of the Inner Flock, Star Spire Castle. 

The relation between the arcane and the empirical is a strange and complicated affair. For many, it is merely a matter beyond reach, an issue which concerns them not, as the bounties of the harvest were far more pressing than whatever petty squabbles existed between the Inner Flock, and the Fledgling Middling Flock.

Yet for those educated enough to understand, or to those observant enough, or really, to any who were not of the landed flock, the issues which were currently brewing within the heights of the nested towers were a matter which had the potential to redefine the entirety of the Greater Flock.

For the arcanists’ relations with the empiricalists was starting to fray, and the fragility of their relationship which had existed since the formation of civilization itself, was starting to show.

Though all of history has shown that the arcanists were, in fact, the ones who held the keys to civilization, the balance of power now started to sway in the other direction.

For the seeds of doubt over the arcanist’s projected capabilities were starting to sprout. And the doubt over the empiricalists’ potential to tackle the issues presented to the contemporary world, was starting to wane.

It seems as if the world was starting to become destined towards the path of empiricalism.

And perhaps, it was the giftless that would inherit it whole.

All of this, however, was at complete odds with the established order.

For the institutions of the greater flock were constructed with what was up to this point, the apparent truths in mind; the belief that the gifted shall and forever be the guiding light of civilization. For it could not be denied that it was the arcanists’ that led directly to the birth of civilization, and it could not be denied that it was with the arcanist’s benevolent grip on power that the peace and stability we now take for granted was established.

For the arcanists were the catalysts to civilization. Their powers bringing forth harvests that could support both the meat-hungry masses, and the meat-averse flocks. From the cradle which they ushered civilization came the subsequent elevation of their status first as gods amongst men, then as the flighted nobility which eventually coalesced into the Upper Flock.

The institutions of the Greater Flock, thus, favored those with an inclination towards the arcane, those belonging to the ranks of the gifted, the families that now call themselves members of the upper flock.

It was unthinkable to assume that these institutions could ever consider the possibility that the ancient and apparent truths could change.

There was never a point in time in which the individuals the institutions favored, the gifted, could effectively lose objective superiority above the giftless.

However, it would now seem as if even their god-like powers had their limits.

Moreover, whilst the catalyst of civilization had been the arcanists, the maintainers of what had been built were undoubtedly just as vital to the facilitation of civilization itself.

Indeed, as history has shown, it seemed as if it was always more prudent for both to cooperate.

As the bedtime story of tonight would serve to communicate.

“Story, story!” The young fledglings screeched out, echoing through the network of stairs constructed by those of the landed flock. It was, after all, the only way they could reach those of flighted status. Those not of the landed flock however, had the privilege of simply flying up to reach these typical heights. Though perhaps not so much this particular height, as the airspace above the royal nest was thoroughly guarded and watched by the eternal flight of the Royal Guard.

I let out a long, drawn out hush, managing to deftly squish my tongue in between the blunted beak typical of my branch of Avilan-kind. For there was no need for the sharp beaks meant to peck, shear, and tear, when all I ever craved were seeds, nuts, and other such bounties of the forests and plantations.

“Settle down, little ones. Settle down.” I cooed softly, making sure not to insult the little princes and princesses of the royal family, trying my best to straddle the line between educator and caregiver-in-absentia.

“But I wanna hear story!” The young 5-colored male squawked out. The dark surrounding his eyes hinting at the great future ahead of him as one of the few to grace the Arcanist’s ranks. At least, if old conventions of beliefs were to be considered.

“Story story story!” Another young 5-colored female quickly added, tip tapping her claws against the wood and gold finishings of the oversized nest. Which was honestly quite an impressive feat given the distance the small thing had to travel from the center of the soft pile of nesting material, to the far corner that held it all in place.

“Alright children, story time will come.” I spoke with a soft smile. “But only if you can recount today’s lessons. Can you do that for me?”

The pair’s eyes grew wide at that, their beaks hanging agape, a look of incredulity quickly forming in a matter of seconds.

“But it’s soooo loooonnngggg!” The boy  spoke.

“And boring! Super boring!” The girl quickly added.

The pair however, were promptly interrupted by an even smaller, frailer fledgling. The 4-colored male quickly slowly rising back up to the world of the waking after what was a surprisingly successful attempt at sleeping through this chaos.

“Can it be a short version of it, Proctor Lekta?” He chirped out meekly.

The two louder siblings glared back at their lesser cousin with great annoyance, but that was quickly rectified as I clacked my beak aggressively, causing the pair to turn their full attention to me. “That is alright, Kilta, a shortened version will suffice.”

“Well, today’s lesson was on the topic of the empiricalist creed. At least, that was what the main point of it was. To show the difference between the empiricalist creed and the arcanist truths. The creed gives power to the giftless by allowing them a chance at crafting their own destinies even without the gift. The creed believes that there is a natural order to the world that is neither subject nor master to the arcane. The creed believes that this natural order can be observed and studied. And from those studies, truths about the world can be created.”

“Not created, Kilta.” I quickly interrupted. “But… deduced.”

All three fledglings stared at me with blank expressions, as I realized I was using vocabulary a bit beyond their age.

“Erm… by deduce I mean, drawn from.”

The trio nodded at that, as I gestured for Kilta to continue.

“And from those truths, all manner of improvements on life can be made. From observing how the rivers flow and how things are forced down because of it, and how wood can float on water, we can make rafts to move heavy objects down it better than moving it on land or by air can ever be. From observing how mountains and trees are shaped, we mimic them to create our towers and buildings. Empiricalism is about observation and de-dedu-”

“Deduction.” I completed Kilta’s sentence with an overwhelming sense of pride in his speech.

“Yes, deduction.” He nodded, before turning to his nestmates with a bright grin on his face.

“But the other thing we learned is that none of this would have been possible without the arcanist’s help.” The five-colored girl quickly added.

“And will you be telling us about the arcanist truths, Lita?” I inquired with great warmth, trying to veer her out of the blindsided sense of superiority, and down a more tempered and constructive path of reasoning.

“Ugh, do I have to? It’s obvious!”

“It might not be obvious to some, Lita. And besides, don’t you want to know how to defend your gifted honor if you ever need to?”

“I’ll just strangle the air out of them if they don’t listen!” She spoke with a certain sadistic glee, which I almost physically recoiled from if it wasn’t for my decades of service with those of the gifted upper flock.

These tendencies towards… more seemingly megalomaniacal mindsets were distressingly common. Although, thankfully, a lot of it was always meant in hyperbole. It was just so… jarring to hear it from a fledgling.

“Litaaaaaaa!” I spoke under a threatening coo, which seemed to be enough to set her straight.

Though doing even that still unnerved me, given what the little one could do if riled up enough.

Sure she couldn’t just kill me here and now.

Even arcanists in their teens would find it difficult to hurt an adult Avilan.

But still, the thought was distressing all the same.

“Alright fine!” The girl eventually complied, and with a huff, she finally spoke. “The arcanist truth is the truth that there’s a biiiiiiiig ocean of power, surrounding all of us!” She raised up both of her wings for emphasis, flaring out her feathers in the process. “And only a smaaaallllll tiny little few of us can actually see it, let alone touch it! But for those that do, they can use the power to do amazing things! Like grow plants where they are not supposed to!”

“And how do we know where and why plants don’t grow where they’re not supposed to?” I shot back with a sly grin.

“Because it’s obvious!”

“No, because empiricalists observed as such.” I quickly corrected her.

“And arcanists fixed what the empiricalists couldn’t!” She quickly shot back.

“And that’s right.” I nodded in acknowledgement. “And that leads me to our little bedtime story.”

It was at that point that all three eyes looked on at me with childlike glee and wonder.

“This is a story about this exact issue, Lita. It’s about why arcanists and empiricalists cannot survive on their own. We may both be proud, one perhaps more than the other.” I quickly inserted my bias in there before moving on just as quickly. “But at the end of the day, if we are to live in the world we want to live in, we need to work together. Today’s story is called The First Village, and it is a story so old, so timeless, that it could very well be the first story in Avilan history!”

This little preamble seemed to be enough to take hold of the trio’s full and undivided attention.

“A long time ago, in a land far far away, there lived a flock of Avilan-”

“Were they heroes?!” The five-colored boy, Pilta, piped out with a wide smile. His obsession over the heroic age of Aetheron’s past was admirable, which made it all the more disheartening to shoot down when I had to… which was more often than I wished it was.

“No, not quite like that. You can ask all the questions you want after the story is over, Pilta.”

The prince hmph-ed back against the nesting cushions. But whilst his body language communicated a certain level of dissatisfaction, his eyes still betrayed the genuine interest he still had in the story.

So I pressed on.

“As I was saying, a long time ago, in a land far away, there lived a flock of Avilan, very similar, very much alike to you and me. There were those gifted in the arcane-” I made a series of vague, purposeless hand gestures, resulting in nothing. The children however, mimicked these gestures effortlessly, generating small sparks in the air in the process. I couldn’t help but to smile and chuckle lightly at the sight. “-and those without the gift whatsoever. Now, this is where the similarities start to end. For despite them looking like you and me, talking like you and me, capable of flight like you and me, they did not know about the Call to Order like you and me.”

All three stared back, mouths agape.

“B-but, how did they survive?!”

“It would be every Avilan for themselves!”

“How… how could you even call them a flock if they did not feel the call to order?”

Kilta, once more, managed to grapple the fish by the throat.

I rewarded him with a smile and a nod, as critical questions such as these were worth their weight in gold.

“Because they weren’t. At least, not yet officially. For as you all know, before the Call to Order, there existed an age without the True Flock. A Flockless age of orderlessness where every family, individual, and clan flew and navigated on their own. There were no maps, no routes, no sharing of anything. The world was locked in an eternal cycle of barbarism, for at that state, we were not so dissimilar to our unthinking cousins. There was no safety in the permanence of fortresses and outposts, no escape from nature in our towns of brick and concrete, and what’s more… there were no great farms or pastures. Food, like almost everything else in that era, was all hunted, scavenged, or foraged. Which means there were no true flocks, and no true kingdoms. It was an age of as much unparalleled freedom as much as it was unparalleled danger and unparalleled directionlessness. That was… until The First Village. A village that arose only because fate demanded it. For you see, this group of Avilan did not arrive together on their own volition. They each had their own destinations, their own paths and flights. None intended to be with more than but a handful of family and kin. And all would have simply been on their way without ever once meeting if they had gotten their way. However, because fate demanded it, they would be trapped together on a barren rock we now call The Isle of Towers.”

All eyes went wide once more, as sharp, echoey gasps were uttered out for a solid minute. This reveal was… almost always to be expected, given the nature of what the Isle of Towers was.

“How could you call the Isle of Towers barren, Proctor Lekta?!” The Pilta uttered out in disbelief.

“Well, like I said Pilta, it was a barren rock.” I responded with a wink. “The Isle of Towers wasn’t always the Isle of Towers, you know. It took a lot to take it from a lifeless patch of dirt into the grandest city in all the world. And you’ll be hearing about the very beginnings of that in this story.” I took a deep breath, steadying myself and taking note if anyone else had more questions, before finally continuing. “Now, you may be wondering how a flock’s worth of Avilan found themselves transported all the way to this island. Well that’s simple.” I stood up, walking over to the wall immediately behind me before pulling down a scroll that cost about an entire town’s worth of grain stores to commission. It was a scroll of the known world, a world map, which was as highly detailed as could be, starting with the Isle of Towers as its centerpoint, before radiating outwards in every possible direction. I pointed to the Isle of Towers, then towards the coast of the mainland a good distance away, then to the intricately drawn symbol denoting strong winds and storms placed within the waters between the shores of the mainland and the island. “It’s all about storms and migrations. The waters between the Isle of Towers and the mainland is known to us now as being host to sudden and dangerous storms that appear without warning. At the same time, our sense of direction and the pull of migration takes us on a flight path across and through this gap on our way from the South to the North each season. We all know better now than to use this passage. However, since there were no stories, tales, or lessons on migration in the past before society began, there was no one to warn the poor souls of the dangers of this particular route. Which is where on one, deceptively sunny day, a flock’s worth of Avilan each going their own way, was hit by a storm so severe that it dragged all of them towards the Isle of Towers. There, they awoke to find themselves surrounded by strangers, needing to work together to survive this new hostile world.”

Lita raised her hand, and spoke before I could even give her permission to.

“Why didn’t they just fly out of there? There’s no need to survive when you can just fly away right?”

I smiled and nodded deeply once more, again, rewarding critical thinking whenever it appeared. “That’s a very good question Lita. And there’s a very simple answer for that. The stories say that the moment anyone tried to leave, they were instantly thrown back by the strong winds. For the Isle of Towers was surrounded by a storm that lasted a hundred years, forcing this flock to stay put, and forcing them to adapt to their new surroundings.”

The young fledgling nodded curiously at that answer, before putting her arm back down.

“The Isle of Towers, then known as the Rock of Nothing, was not known for its abundance in resources or its wealth of prey-life. In fact, nobody ever went out of their way to visit what was little more than a large patch of grassy rock interrupted only by a few forests and a single mountain. The mountain was known to be an angry one too, spewing out smoke that disrupted flight patterns throughout the mainland. So what was a flock of strangers to do to survive in this strange new barren land? Well… they tried doing what they’ve always done at first. They went their separate ways, trying to hunt, forage, and fish. It worked well, for the first few weeks. But after a while, the hunters soon noticed their game quickly dwindling, the foragers noted less and less to scavenge, and the fishers? Well they noticed the fish wisening up, and the eternal storm surrounding the island prevented them from reaping the bounties of the wider ocean. The island could not support the lifestyle which our ancestors led. A lifestyle which could only be sustained with wide enough land to hunt, forage, and fish on. So what did they do about this? Did they fight and bicker? Yes. Was there bloodshed? Naturally. A few lives were lost in the process of competing for the last scraps of food. But when the reality of the situation made itself clear… when there was simply no food left to fight over, that’s when we finally see the first signs of the Call to Order taking shape.”

I paused, taking another moment to regard the children, who were now more than invested in the story as their little eyes locked onto me like the predators they were.

“For as hunger beset the group, and as injuries started to mount, families started to turn to each other for support. Parents formed the first nesteries, protecting and sheltering their young together. Hunters formed the first multi-family hunting wings, seeking out what remained of the prey on the island, sharing tips and knowledge in the process. But what really made this the First Village, what really made the first flock possible, was the work of only one group. A group that at the time had no name, but that we now take for granted in the modern day.” I paused preemptively, knowing that at least one of the three would interrupt.

“The alchemists?” Lita asked.

“Nope.” I replied.

“The shipwrights?” Pilta followed up just as quickly.

“Okay now I’m curious. Why shipwrights?” I cocked my head.

“Because they would’ve saved everybody by making a ship and getting everybody out of there!” The rambunctious boy answered gleefully.

“I’m sorry my little Hero of Aetheron but remember, this was a time before the advent of even the first boats!” I shot down, this time with some additional context.

“The farmers?” Kilta finally put his feathers in the coop. Though, much to my disappointment, the first two siblings simply chuckled at the answer, causing Kilta to slink back in embarrassment.

This made me all the more glad to put my foot down on the matter. “You’re absolutely right, Kilta.” The two immediately stopped laughing at that, their eyes turning wide with disbelief, then confusion, then eventually… a certain level of understanding finally hit them as their confused gazes gave way to a wide-eyed shock.

“Yes, the First Village only survived because of the farmers. And though there were many, only two of them stood out amongst the rest, as all would follow the example set forth by the two farmers who would later become the first two Princes of the Flock. Because it was these two, a gifted and a giftless, Ekin Tal and Takis Lork, that embodied the principles of what we now know as the Brotherhood Creed; that eternal bond of trust between Arcanists and the Empiricalists. Both saw eye to eye on what needed to be done. Both had a knack for leadership, and a will to lead the flock. Yet whilst Ekin had the power to overcome nature itself, it was Takis who helped guide the use of Ekin’s powers. It was Ekin who forced the growth of the first patch of farmland, sprouting seeds into viable food in a week where it normally would’ve taken seasons. Yet it was Takis who noted the drying of the soil, and suggested changes to the rotation of the crops preventing its early demise. For whilst Ekin was skilled in the arcane arts, it was Takis who took note of the world beyond the arcane. This pattern repeated in everything else they did. From irrigation, to construction, to everything else a fledgling village needed, neither could survive without the other. Or more accurately, the village could not survive without the cooperation between the first Arcanist, and the first Empiricalist.”

I let out a long drawn out sigh at the end of that, one of relief, that eventually turned into a full-blown yawn as I turned my head to an ever ticking device that was fast becoming a staple in Avilan life. Or, at least, within the circle of those that could afford the latest in empiricalist breakthroughs. “Alright children, I think that must be it for me for tonight. We can continue this tomorrow. I apologize, I must have bored you with-”

“Nooooo! More story! More!” Pilta beckoned loudly the moment I even hinted at my desire to resign for the night.

“Hmm, I don’t know if I like this story.” Kilta quickly countered, turning her beak up at me.

“Aww, what don’t you like about it, Kilta?”

“Mother warned me about this. It sounds like you give too much credit to the empiricalist.” She answered without a hint of hesitation.

“I’m simply telling you how the story goes, Kilta-”

“Your story. I’m going to ask mother about the story after this.”

I could only smile warmly in response, before asking an all important question that started gnawing at me the moment Kilta began showing signs of frustration at the story. “What makes you think I’m giving too much credit to the empiricalist, Kilta?”

“Because that’s what you empiricalists are doing nowadays!” She squawked back sharply. “You think that just because you have fancy new toys-” She pointed at the pendulum clock on the wall. “-and fancy new tools-” she pointed at the seeing-scope pointed out the window. “-that you’re suddenly better than us! But you’re not! You’ve always been the advisor, not the actor! Without us, you wouldn’t be here! And now, you don’t just want to show off, you want to change history too! That’s not right!”

It was clear that even the trio weren’t safe from the political turmoil currently brewing within the inner flock. I wish it didn’t come to this, but it was better to just call it a night. “Kilta, we’ll talk about this in the morning alright?”

The burning ire within the girl’s eyes did not let up, but was only momentarily tempered by her brother who gripped her talons, causing her to calm down somewhat.

I gave the budding hero of Aetheron an appreciative nod at that, before setting off toward the room’s exit.

Yet before I could leave, I heard a final few parting words from Kilta, who spoke with a certain giddiness in her voice. “You know, mother has told me that we’re on the verge of our own revolution. You empiricalists say you’re on the verge of a machinist revolution? Driven by your silly mechanics and gears? Well, us Arcanists have not been sitting around you know. We found a new way to get even more arcane. And this time, it’s not like before. It’s stronger. And there’s way more of it. It’s not just one pool now, but lots. So you better wait, Proctor Lekta. There’s a revolution coming sooner than yours.”