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Van stood at the edge of the rooftop overlooking the crowd below. He clenched and unclenched his fists, a defiant pout on his face. Adventurous and proud, eager to please to a fault, he would never turn down a dare, and he had to prove to Merle that he could make it from one rooftop to the next. No matter that he’d never actually used his wings before. How hard could it be?
“No, Lord Van,” she mewled from behind him, too afraid to come out on the edge herself. “You’ll get hurt!”
“I won’t get hurt. My wings will save me.”
“But you’ve never flown before! You’re going to fall! I’m scared. Come back!”
“Just watch me!” he cried, launching himself from the rooftop, wings emerging from his back.
For a brief moment, he was airborne, the air chilling his arms and rushing against his face. Instinctively, he flapped his wings, one powerful wingbeat, pushing the air forward and in front of him. He smiled widely. So this was flying.
And then he fell. His heart stopped for a moment. He screamed. And the people below screamed and cried for help.
He was going to land headfirst on the ground. He shut his eyes tightly, wishing for someone to catch him. He didn’t want to get hurt. He’d thought he could really do it. But he was four years old—he didn’t have any idea how to fly!
Then he landed in someone’s arms. He caught the scent of flowers in an open field and felt the sensation of wings sheltering him, warm arms holding him, a kiss pressed to his forehead.
“Mama?” He looked up and saw her gentle, beautiful face.
She breathed out, relieved. “I was just in time.”
“Mama, it was so scary. My wings wouldn’t come out!”
“Van, no more wings. You mustn’t show them in front of people.”
“Why not?” Van watched the rooftops rush past them as she flew back toward the castle.
“Not everyone has wings. Showing your wings so carelessly is dangerous.”
“Wings aren’t normal?” He’d thought wingless people like Merle and Balgus were the exception, not the rule. Didn’t everyone hide their wings most of the time, and bring them out if they wanted to go for a nice flight, like Folken would do sometimes?
Mama sighed as she alighted on the balcony of the castle, setting Van down on the floor in front of her.
He withdrew his wings and frowned, looking up at Mama with wide eyes. “Am I in trouble?”
She shook her head. “No, you aren’t. But you mustn’t scare your mother and poor Merle like that again. Keep your wings hidden until the time is right. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
—
Early in the morning, Folken had come to Van’s room and told him to get out of bed, because they were going to go see something special. But it was a surprise, so he couldn’t ask where they were going or why they were going there. Van was almost five, and he was about to burst with questions. Folken was fifteen, way older and way more patient, and wouldn’t give in no matter how many times Van pushed on his leg or pulled his arm while whining, “Come on, tell me!”
Finally, Folken stopped walking and said, “We’re here.”
Having been too busy pestering Folken for the last ten minutes, Van hadn’t had the chance to pay too much attention to his surroundings. They stood at the edge of the woods through which they’d come. A short field led to a grassy cliff overlooking a lake and a beach far below. Dawn was just breaking, dim light fighting its way through hazy fog.
“Where are we?” Van looked up at Folken.
“Outside Fanelia.”
“Why did we come here?”
“You’re going to practice flying.”
Van threw his hands on his shoulders, embracing himself. “But Mama said I have to hide my wings. I can’t show them.”
“Not in front of other people, no. But it’s just you and me. We both have wings. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
Folken’s deep voice was like Mama’s, in that it always calmed Van down, and made him believe that what was being said was the truth and was good for him. Even if Mama was older and she was, well, Mama, Folken allowing him to fly was just as good as Mama permitting it. Besides, he’d messed up so badly the first time. He needed to give it another try. He wanted to. What good were his wings if he couldn’t use them?
“Then how do I fly?”
“Well, you’re just learning, so it might be good for you to get a running start. That helps you lift off and gives you the momentum to stay in the air.”
Van didn’t know what “momentum” meant. Maybe it had something to do with making the moment longer so that you could keep flying. The moment had passed so quickly the first time he’d tried to fly.
“When you lift off, you flap your wings up and down, not too fast but not too slow either,” Folken continued. “And then, when you get higher, you can glide because the air gets warmer. Sometimes a warm dragonwind will pass by, which helps you fly faster.”
Van eyed the cliff, following the edge of it down, down, down to the beach. He felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach, and he hugged himself tighter.
“What if I fall?”
Folken slipped his shirt over his shoulders and head, letting it fall on the grass, and his own white wings burst from his back in a flurry of feathers. “I’ll be there to catch you.”
Folken directed Van some distance away from the cliff until he was on flat ground. “Watch me,” he said. Then he broke into a sprint, and upon reaching the edge of the cliff, he leapt. Van inhaled sharply, his heart skipping a beat, but Folken didn’t instantly plummet to the sand below. Instead, he flapped his wings in a slow, circular rhythm until he was high enough to glide above the ocean with just a few occasional wingbeats. Then he descended and planted himself on the ground next to Van, blowing his bangs away from his eyes with a short exhale of breath.
“That was amazing!” Van cried. His heart was beating, not like it had been when he was looking at the cliff. It was a happy heartbeat. This was a special day, and he was going to learn how to fly with his big brother who was so much better at flying.
“You think you can do it?” he said, looking down at Van.
“Of course I can!”
“That’s the spirit!” Folken dashed to the edge of the cliff, took off again, and came around until he returned to its edge, keeping himself suspended in the air with slow, smooth wingbeats.
“Go on, Van!” he called.
Van swallowed. He made a wish to the protector god, Escaflowne. And then he unfurled his wings and broke into a sprint. The wind rushed past him, and all he heard was blood pumping in his ears; Folken cheering him on and the chirping of the birds were completely blocked out of his mind. Just before he reached the edge of the cliff, he closed his eyes and jumped.
The rooftop. Merle screaming, Don’t do it! Mama rescuing him and scolding him.
His body went rigid, ice in his veins, and he began flapping his wings rapidly to try and recover. He had to stay in the air. He had to use his wings. He had to fly, but he was falling, falling…
And then he landed with a thump in Folken’s willowy arms. Folken had caught him, just like he’d said he would. The wind whirled around them, rising to a whistle as they ascended. Van barely realized how tightly his eyes were shut until Folken told him to open them. He did, and, wiping tears away and sniffling, he saw sand and water swirling below them.
His body was still frozen, and his head had started spinning, and whenever Folken dipped, his stomach lurched. At first, he wanted to tell Folken to land right away, but when the dipping eased up and the flight suddenly became smooth, the coldness in his body gave way to blissful warmth. He felt free and light, like he didn’t have any cares in the world, like a big weight was lifted off his back. Flying with Folken was fun.
They finally landed at the edge of the cliff. Folken bent over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. Van pulled on Folken’s pant leg. “I wanna try again! I wanna try again!”
Folken laughed his quiet, reserved laugh and straightened up. “I’m glad you liked it so much.”
“It was so fun! I won’t ever be scared again.” A frown briefly interrupted his excitement. “I mean, Mama said people get scared of wings. But they’re just scared because they don’t know how fun it is to fly!”
Folken gave him a sad smile. Folken always looked a little sad, but he was always happy when he was with Van and Mama. “Yes, I suppose you could say that’s why they’re scared.”
“I’m not scared anymore. Can I please try again? Please?” He widened his eyes and pouted like Merle had taught him to do.
“Of course. We’ve got all morning to practice.”
Van jumped up and down. “Yay! Yay!”
—
When you get older…
This was the preface to many sentences Balgus spoke when they were in each other’s company. Van was thirteen, and he was tired of hearing “when you get older” speeches. When he got older, he was going to pilot the legendary Guymelef Escaflowne. When he got older, he was going to undergo the Rite of Succession and slay a dragon. When he got older, he would ascend the throne and become King of Fanelia.
Things weren’t the same without Mother and Folken. After Folken disappeared during the Rite of Succession, Mother went to look for him. After she didn’t come back, Balgus went in search of her. Unable to find her, Balgus had come back, delivered the news, and, downtrodden and ashamed, retreated to the woods to train in seclusion.
Balgus’ presence had been a constant in Van’s life since he was a baby, and the years the samurai had been away had been terribly boring. The remaining members of the court had raised Van, and he wasn’t allowed to see Merle as often as he’d wanted. Now that he was getting older, Merle was starting to get on his nerves, because she just did whatever she wanted, and no one ever told her no because they felt so bad for her. Merle and Balgus aside, there was another person, a friend of Folken’s named Ruhm, and he was nice enough, but they weren’t that close. Van didn’t really know anyone else as well as he knew Balgus and Merle. He was confined to the castle most of the time, and the only people who came to visit other than Balgus, Merle, Ruhm, and his caretakers were other samurai who helped him train and complimented him that he had some talent due to Balgus’ influence, and he could become a skilled samurai. When he got older.
“I don’t want to hear about getting older anymore,” he finally told Balgus one day, dropping his sword at his feet with a clang. “I’ve had it!” He considered storming off, but he also felt like talking more about it. Maybe Balgus would listen to him this time rather than lecturing him about how he had to act his age.
Balgus sheathed his sword and glared at Van from his single eye. To anyone else, that stare was menacing. But to Van, it felt like home.
“What ails you, Lord Van? Do you fear getting older?”
Van folded his arms. “How can I not be scared?” He crossed them more tightly. “After what happened to Folken? What if I get eaten, too?”
“So you fear the Rite of Succession more than you fear getting older?”
Van closed his eyes. Exactly what did he fear about getting older?
Tumbling from the cliff, Folken catching him in his arms. The first time he lifted off and stayed in the air on his own, catching a dragonwind and easing into a glide. All the times he’d flown on his own, forgetting Fanelia and forgetting his name. Just his winged body and the air around it.
“I don’t want to be bound by things like war and politics. I want to be free.”
Balgus furrowed his brow more deeply. “Lord Van, he who is destined to become king should not value his own freedom over that of his people. A king secures the freedom of his people with a strong and independent spirit, in both mind and body. The security and wellbeing of his nation should come before his own personal desires.”
“But if I’m not happy, then how are the people of Fanelia going to be happy?” Van threw up his hands and turned his back sharply, walking toward the door. “Why doesn’t anyone care about how I feel? Why am I not allowed to be myself?!” He slammed it behind him before Balgus could respond, ran down the hallway past all the rooms, out the door, and out of town, and into the woods. He ran and ran, out of the woods and through the field to the edge of the cliff, and then he jumped, tearing his shirt open in a furious burst of feathers, releasing his pent-up frustration in every intense wingbeat, the night wind shrieking in his ears. As he ascended high above the lake, a dragonwind approached, and he skirted it and slowed his rapid pace to a smooth glide, his breathing and heartbeat returning to normal.
Why had Folken had to die? If Folken had slain the dragon, Van wouldn’t have to worry about his future and about Fanelia’s future. And Mother would have lived. Now the only family he had was Balgus and Merle. Some family. Some country. Some brother and some mother, to leave him alone and lost like this, to thrust responsibilities on him that he’d never wanted. He wished the members of the court would spoil him like they did Merle. Even though he rolled his eyes when she acted like a child, he wished he could be in her place, around her age, instead of preparing to inherit a country. Some inheritance that was.
When he landed, his face was hot with angry tears, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the first time Folken had shown him the cliff. He didn’t want to slay a dragon or be slain by one. He just wanted his family back, wanted his brother back most of all. But deep down, he knew Balgus was right, like always, and that one day, he would be king.
—
An explosion of Energists tore the earth asunder and forced Van to dive headfirst to save Hitomi from falling. He hadn’t anticipated her stunned and slightly flustered reaction to his wings, nor how easily opening up about his parents and his heritage would come. And when the others found out, they accepted it more calmly than he’d expected. Maybe it wasn’t so strange to Allen and his men that the King of Fanelia was a Draconian, being in the company of a beastperson, a princess, and a girl from the Mystic Moon as they were.
Stranger still, Folken had survived the dragon’s jaws. He was far colder than he’d used to be, so distant now, and as disappointed as Van was in him for defecting to Zaibach, he couldn’t hate him, not even because of what had happened to Mother, to Balgus, to all of Fanelia. Folken was the only living person who shared his blood, who knew how exhilarating it was to fly, who knew the warmth of a dragonwind.
Maneuvering Escaflowne, when it was a dragon, was so different from flying with wings. When he got used to flying Escaflowne, he could go far higher and faster than he could on his own. The closer he became to Escaflowne—the closer their hearts were to beating as one—the more it was like he was outside himself controlling his own movements, as if Escaflowne was just another manifestation of his body, and its mechanical dragon wings were his feathered wings.
When he, Hitomi, and Allen were escaping Zaibach, Alseides Guymelefs following in hot pursuit, he grasped Escaflowne’s reins tightly, the wind blowing his hair back, and thought about one of the many things Balgus had told him about Escaflowne.
Escaflowne will bend to your will. Its pain is your pain. The closer you become, the more it will do for you.
Hitomi shrieked behind him.
Allen yelled, “They’re gaining on us!”
Van didn’t have to turn around. In his mind, he saw it all: Allen clutching Hitomi to his chest, Hitomi recoiling in fear. The pendant resonated within his mind, and he clenched his fists in determination.
“Fly faster, Escaflowne!” he shouted.
Escaflowne resisted him, tension buzzing between them. “Faster!” he repeated. They had to be united; they had to be on the same wavelength. What was pushing them apart?
The pendant swung again.
“Van!” Hitomi called. The tension eased, the wavelength righting itself. Escaflowne’s Energist beat in time with his own heart, the pendant keeping simultaneous, slow time in his mental space.
Allen squeezed her tighter. A sudden chill struck Van’s body, and the heartbeats fell out of time.
“Come on,” Van gasped. “Faster!”
Another echo in his mind. Hitomi’s voice. Faster, Escaflowne!
The wavelength united, heat flaring in his core, a cord seeming to snap within his mind and within Escaflowne. Light burst around them, surrounding Escaflowne, and they lurched forward and shot into the sky with gasps from Allen and Hitomi.
The light seemed to act as a protective barrier; without it, Van was sure his shirt might tear open and fly right off his torso. He’d never gone this fast before. It was all so new and thrilling: the scream of wind in his ears, his heart thumping against his ribcage, Escaflowne’s power coursing through his veins.
As he passed the Zaibach floating fortress, he glared daggers through its windows. Are you watching me now, Folken? If he hadn’t abandoned his destiny, maybe he’d be the one zooming through the sky on Escaflowne. He would never feel this adrenaline rush. It was nothing like flying with just wings. It made Van’s blood curdle and his heart leap into his throat.
When they’d escaped Zaibach, Van relaxed and Escaflowne unbundled its tension, untucking its limbs from its form as the protective light dissolved. He could sigh in relief for now, knowing that he, Hitomi, and Allen were safe. Still, as exciting as piloting Escaflowne could be, there was something different about flying with wings, something even Escaflowne couldn’t quite capture. Maybe Folken wasn’t missing out on anything special.
—
The rooftops, buildings, and castles burned with Fanelia, but only the valley was torched; the grassy cliff still stood, resolute in its sameness. Even without visiting it, Van knew it was there when he returned to the ruins that used to be his homeland. Did Folken still remember that cliff? His wings were black now. Van knew all too well what that meant.
Planning for war, the mess with Hitomi and Allen, the disaster of a royal wedding, and lingering anxiety about Folken left him unable to sleep for a few nights. He retreated to the roof of the castle and practiced his forms, thinking of Balgus and Mother and trying to remember something happy.
The last thing Balgus told him echoing within his mind as he faced the twin Zaibach Guymelefs in the Mystic Valley.
Fight! Cut yourself free from the sorrows of war with your bloodstained hands, Lord Van!
The longer the war went on, the more impossible it seemed that Balgus really had been the perfect warrior he’d always appeared to be. How could he have been? How could anyone hold so much pain inside and still become so strong? Mastering the sword means mastering yourself, Allen had told Hitomi. Not even Allen was that strong. But Van wanted to get stronger, to avenge Balgus and Fanelia, to protect the ones he loved: Hitomi, Merle, Allen, the others. At last, he understood what Balgus had always been trying to tell him. He had to fight for his own happiness and freedom so that he could fly without a care again, just like he had when he was a boy.
Now that he was no longer confined to the Crusade, he could easily fly in the evenings if he wanted. But it was risky—most Asturians probably weren’t as accepting as Allen, his men, and Millerna. That didn’t stop Folken from flying in the dark; Van had overheard townspeople gossiping about the black feathers that fell from the sky at night. Since no one had done any harm to the man who was both the former strategic mastermind of Zaibach and a Draconian—two things Van had thought Asturians would most certainly fear and despise—Van concluded it was safe enough to join his brother.
So he sheathed his sword, broke into a sprint, and rose into the air seeking Folken. As he searched, the wind blew past his face, his heart jumping inside his chest. It had been far too long since he’d flown on his own. Sure, he enjoyed flying on Escaflowne’s back, but he’d come to realize it was more often useful than fun. Escaflowne’s speed had ensured their safe escape from Zaibach, and Escaflowne had ensured his quick return to Fanelia. Flying on his own was far less useful. He couldn’t cover long distances, and it was hard to transport anyone other than himself. But it was far more relaxing, far more liberating.
Who was he without wings, without the ability to fly? It was because he could fly that he had been able to save Hitomi twice. It was because he flew on Escaflowne’s back that he had been able to save the group countless times. And they had never looked down on him for being a Draconian. He should be proud like Folken had always been. Not ashamed and scared like Mother.
“Found you!” he called as he came up on the black-winged figure from behind, distancing himself slightly to avoid their wings overlapping.
“Hello, Van.”
For a moment, Van thought Folken might fly away, but they continued alongside each other until Palas began to turn into the Chatal Mountains.
“I never thought you would forgive me,” Folken began. “Especially after what happened to Fanelia.”
“I didn’t think I would ever be able to, but…” He looked down for a moment, mountains speeding past them. “I shouldn’t bear grudges. I need to be more forgiving from now on. Balgus would have wanted that.”
“Balgus.” There was a note of pain in Folken’s voice. “I forgot all about him. He was such an accomplished samurai. If only I could have been worthy of his teachings.”
“You could still come back to Fanelia.” Van knew how wrong he was as soon as he said it; Folken would never be able to return. “You were more worthy than I was.”
“No.” Folken made a sudden turn, and Van followed him back in the direction of Palas. “I never could have become king. I was too weak. That was why Dornkirk was able to take advantage of me and mold me into a Sorcerer and then into his Strategos. After Father died, I always wanted nothing more than to be myself. I didn’t want to be a ruler. There was so much pressure on me to ascend the throne, even though I was only thirteen.”
Van’s heart fell. Folken had wanted his freedom too. It was only duty that had bound them to Fanelia. But now he didn’t feel that way anymore. Not after what Balgus had told him, not after he’d looked a dragon in the eyes a second time. Not now that he knew that Escaflowne could be used to save the world. Not now that he knew that flying was just not a solitary activity, that his wings could be used whenever the time was right.
“Balgus didn’t want us to back out of our duty,” Van said, edging ahead of Folken slightly; Folken caught up to him within the next moment. “We should fight to free Fanelia, just as we fight to free ourselves. Fight for our freedom.”
“That’s right, Van.”
The tone in which Folken said that made Van feel like the little kid who was just learning to fly again.
“Do you still remember, Folken?” he said after a moment.
“Remember what?”
“When you taught me how to fly?” He looked over at his brother expectantly.
Folken smiled and laughed shortly, his eyes on the rooftop from which Van had taken off. “You’ve certainly come a long way since then. Mother and Balgus would be proud.”
Van hoped Fanelia would be proud, too.
—
Black wings are a harbinger of a fate of death. Folken’s death resonated within Van’s mind, within his body. Just days after Van had forgiven him, vowed to trust him, spared his brother from his vengeful blade, he’d lost him. Now, at the shrine in Fanelia, Folken’s grave is no longer temporary: he’s really gone. With his parents, Folken, and Balgus gone, once again, the only person left to whom Van is close is Merle, the only person he can call family. Merle, the one who had first encouraged him to fly. Somehow, he owes everything to her, his best friend.
Rebuilding is going well. Through helping out, he’s getting to know his people. Hitomi encouraged him to open up, and he’s trying, because he wants to be more like her. So he listens to everyone’s stories, and empathizes with their pain, because the pain of his people is the pain he shouldered throughout the war.
He remembers Balgus’ words: A king secures the freedom of his people with a strong and independent spirit, both mind and body.
He remembers Allen’s words: As long as she has a king and a people, Fanelia has a future.
“It’s beginning to look more like home around here,” he remarks, Merle standing next to him on top of a half-finished rooftop, leaning her head on his shoulder. People mill about like ants below, carrying bundles of lumber and tools in their hands, chatting with each other, shaking hands, laughing, smiling. “This is more like the Fanelia I grew up in.”
“It’s not the same,” Merle says.
“No, not exactly the same.” No Mother, no Balgus, no Folken. And the castle he’d grown up in had burned to the ground. “But we can make it better than before.”
“Better? You think it can be better than the old Fanelia?”
“I think Fanelia is already better because I feel better. I know if I smile and talk to everyone like I’ve been doing, everyone’s going to feel a lot more confident about the future and what’s yet to come.”
She giggles. “You sound so much happier than you used to, Lord Van.”
He looks down at her leaning against him, clutching his wrist with both hands. “I do?”
“You used to be so closed off, I thought I was the only one who knew what you were thinking. But now you just tell me and talk to me whenever something’s wrong.”
“Do you not like me being more talkative? Is it getting on your nerves?”
She shook her head. “No, I like it. I can tell Hitomi left her mark on you.”
He blushes, suddenly conscious of Hitomi’s pendant against his chest, as if she’s thinking of him in this very moment, too. He isn’t used to wearing something around his neck, and the gentle weight of the pendant and fine texture of the chain bother him at times. Yet it makes his heart feel warm just having it there. With Fanelia and Gaea finally at peace, his heart is calm. And knowing that Hitomi is finally home, he can smile.
“I think,” he hesitates for a moment before continuing, “I’ve learned that I have to balance my own needs with those of my country and the people around me.”
He pauses and thinks of Folken. I always wanted nothing more than to be myself. His own anger as he ran out the door, away from Balgus. Why am I not allowed to be myself?! Now he understood why Folken could not have been king. Not because he couldn’t slay the dragon, but because he hadn’t wanted to compromise his sense of self. He had been afraid. In the face of a dragon, everyone realizes how little they matter. Dragons draw out and thrive on that fear. A truly great king would cultivate humility and inner strength in the face of dragons, in the face of the world. Just like Balgus had been trying to tell him.
“A great king recognizes the importance of that balance,” he finishes, and exhales through his nose, a short, contented, confident sigh. Yes, Balgus would have been proud. Mother, Merle, Balgus, Hitomi, Allen, and Folken; everyone had all helped him get here, in their own way. Though Balgus and Folken are gone, and Mother long before them, he knows that without them he never could have made it to this new beginning, both for himself and for Fanelia. A new start, free from the fear and pain of war, but one in which responsibility no longer feels like so heavy a burden. A new, seedling country that shared his name and his happiness.
Fanelia would continue to grow, even though the change was slow. He and Merle, and all their fellow Fanelians, would sow the seeds now, and water it with their graciousness and kindness. In time a new Fanelia would sprout. Its people would acclimate themselves to the new garden, and care for each other, for the city, for the land. The first winter would be cold and harsh, and they might be forced to shelter together instead of alone—all the better for getting to know each other. Next spring it would bloom with people, babies and kids and beastpeople and samurai and mothers and old bachelors, merchants haggling farmers, and it would flourish in a wash of color, and Van would see the painting from above through Draconian and Fanelian eyes, his wings shadowing over his people like a good omen of hope to come.