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Zentih – and by extension Tecna – are abnormal. Not weird, not strange, not peculiar, not different, not anything that implies something so benign as quirky and so easily waived away as harmless. Zenith is abnormal.
And – perhaps the assumption there is not quite so volatile as to label her home malignant, but her world is suspect at best and alien at worst, and by extension, so too is she.
She doesn’t think anyone understands, not truly, not until third period on the fourth day of class and one of their professors laughs away one of Bloom’s questions with a disparaging remark about Earth and her suitemate simmers with rage, and Tecna thinks oh.
She takes Bloom’s hand then, and in every other class where they sit together, because when someone cheeses a poor imitation of a smile at Tecna or dismisses her intellect as a byproduct of her homeworld, Bloom takes hers back.
It’s a different kind of care than Musa, who waives away the differences and asks every pointless question she can think of and invites Tecna to lunch or to dance or to study together without expecting her to do the work for her.
It’s a different kind of care than Stella, who freezes and blusters and pushes past every little slip up and apologizes after, than Flora who avoids any related topic so gracefully Tecna would not notice if she were not looking for it.
And it isn’t to say any of her friends’ care is inadequate or wrong, because she appreciates them trying regardless – finds herself expecting them to try now, which is such an alien concept it stumps her – but simply that they offer different things at different times.
She doesn’t have the words to thank them for it.
She doesn’t think she needs to.
X
Tecna is the only fairy from Zenith in Alfea’s first year. She is the fourth in her age group to study abroad and the third fairy from Zenith in the entirety of Alfea’s current student body – though her cousins are upperclassmen and focused on areas so far outside of Tecna’s wheelhouse that she does not bother them save for a nod here or a wave there.
The other realms like to say that this insularity is a result of Mother.
Zenith’s people are not witches; they do not fear death or physical harm on their travels. But they are of Zenith, of Mother, and harm need not be physical to be debilitating.
Mother has always seen the value in travel; it used to encourage it. But Mother is pragmatic above all else, and every citizen of Zenith grows up with those cautionary tales, prepared for a world that will not accept them. Most choose to stay and study in a place that does not sneer or ignore their own existence. Those, like Tecna, who choose otherwise – Mother wants them prepared before they leave its protection. Most lose their nerve then.
Mother’s been entirely correct about her experience in Magix thus far. Tecna has simply been lucky enough to find others for whom prejudice is not their sole method of communication.
X
Families work like this;
There is a minimum number of bodies Zenith needs to maintain its infrastructure and standard of living. There is a maximum number of bodies Zenith can sustainably support.
Mother creates the cells that will one day be Zenith’s citizens according to its algorithms, the current demand for a child, and the projected future need for labor. Each bundle of cells is tailored for a particular career path – enhanced logical reasoning, dexterity, identic memory, magical ability – and assigned a family unit that will best nurture its talents. There is enough wiggle room in these equations for children who grow up to realize their purpose lies in other areas; Mother is not cruel. Tecna is one of these children.
She was not meant to be a fairy. She was meant to be one of Mother’s caretakers – those who repair broken code, fix worn mechanisms, and service existing hardware. But she sparked magic in her artificial womb, and although Mother edited that talent out of her genetic code, it mutated back in the moment Mother turned its back. Protocol allows one attempt to rectify a particular unintended or mistaken effect within an embryo; should the problem resurface, it is considered fated, and left as is.
And Mother adores all its children – speaks to each and everyone of them, knows their names and faces and hopes and dreams and struggles. It isn’t as if Mother’s attentiveness is special, necessarily, but Mother tells her it knew she was chosen then, and it calls her favored daughter, above all else.
She was not meant to be a fairy; she was chosen by Zenith itself and magic itself and whatever strange twist of fate surveyed her entire age group and decided she was best suited for the role. Mother keeps it quiet from the general public, but the signs are obvious – Tecna will not just be any fairy, but Zenith’s guardian fairy.
The family unit slated to receive a child to be reared as a caretaker receives one such child. And the family unit that becomes Tecna is quietly asked if they seek to nurture a child.
Mama is a fairy; she utilizes her magic in organics, melding Zenith’s world and creatures and citizens together when they come for enhancements or repairs. Mama transforms only in the midst of the stress-fear-panic that accompanies operations gone wrong, and Tecna associates the razor-cut of her wire wings with urgency from a young age.
Papa is a professor at Zenith’s premiere academy; she sits on his lap or leans her head on his shoulder and grows up drowsing to the sound of lectures. He is from Magix, and his flesh is softer and comfier than her other parents’, and Tecna spends untold hours pressing her small fingers to the jagged seam where his prosthetic melds into his hip – he’d not had Mama there to fix him back then.
Father is a wizard, one of the ones Mother keeps hardly visible on Zenith’s records. He is there, of course, with a fully annotated and descriptive file explaining the need for secrecy. But he cannot take her to class or attend her award functions or celebrate her birthdays with her companions. He is a creature of home; she knows him in late afternoons and evenings, in lazy weekends and cobbled-together family meals.
They are small, as family units go. Most have four or five parents and as many children as they can handle, at varying ages. Tecna is not an only child – few are – but the twins are much older than she is and by the time she’s old enough to be cognizant of the distance between them, they’ve moved; her elder brother into his own family unit and her sister into a dimensions-wide career. They make up for it in messages and mail, packages sent on celebration days and coordinated trips home. She’s not lonely with them or for them.
She has not yet met her youngest brother, though Father has sent her pictures and little video clips. He had been another surprise baby, like her, and she cannot wait to return home and meet him for the first time.
X
Her Papa teaches at the greatest of Zenith’s university, her Father waiting with an apprenticeship that would guarantee her an education just as excellent.
She chooses Alfea.
Alfea, which specializes in guardian fairyship. Alfea, which specializes in fostering connections and cooperation between realms. Alfea, where students from every – almost every – realm gather.
Zenith can offer her almost everything, but it cannot teach her how to work past her abnormality. It cannot teach her to interpret all the messy little physical and social cues the other realms thrive on, the intricacies of politics and the masks necessary to blend in. She cannot learn these things from sims or texts or holo-vids or Mother’s own tutelage, much to its chagrin, and as a guardian fairy most of her time will be spent dealing with the other realms. It is not an oversight in her education that she can risk.
So she chooses Alfea.
X
Mother picks up on the second ring, and her screen dissolves into emerald lines of code that brighten when her signal connects.
favored daughter.
“Mother.” She says, and there’s something melting inside her. It’s always good to see her parents, to speak to them, but it’s – she’s been afraid to clog Mother with unnecessary calls and has thus far avoided it. She regrets that, now.
“Hi, Tecna’s Mother!” Bloom cries from somewhere behind her, and she can picture the red head waiving exuberantly whether Tecna’s camera can pick her up or not and suppresses a smile.
hello child, Mother says, amused, and Bloom cheers.
“I’m the favorite friend! Suck it, Musa! I got parent-points before you did!”
“Don’t besmirch my honor like that!”
“Girls, relax. My parents will hate all of you enough to level the playing field anyway.”
“Stella, you have no room to talk. You already won Bloom’s parents.”
“They’ve only met Stella.” Flora butts in, and Tecna’s smile finally cracks open. She pushes herself up and tilts her device enough to catch the other girls in its view, and then firmly encloses herself in her shared room. The sound of the argument doesn’t really get quieter, but it grows more indistinct.
they are your friends?
“Yes. I – they have made this much easier than I expected it to be. They want to meet you properly, but I have some news.”
Mother’s code shifts darker with a thread of concern and faster with curiosity, and Tecna drops herself onto the floor beside Musa’s bed and lets her anxiety bubble to the surface.
are you safe?
“This will need an official report.”
Mother’s code stills.
…begin, favored daughter.
Tecna takes a breath, and does.
“One of my suitemates, Bloom, was raised on Earth. She tells me there that it is quite common to receive censored or doctored educational content, though the incomplete lessons are rather easy to remedy there given the prevalence of the internet and various knowledge-sharing platforms. She is familiar enough with the concept that she picked up on some…inconsistencies in our own lessons shortly after her arrival here.”
She’s never seen Mother’s code go still for so long. As she thinks that, the symbols blur and shimmer and then speed up; she can feel the weight of Mother’s full attention like a physical weight on her shoulders. She is so wound up over this that it is only marginally comforting; this is more a reflection of the severity of what she says than an attempt to console her. She does not begrudge Mother this. Necessity will always win out, in the end. She would not have it any other way.
continue.
“I dismissed her concerns when she originally brought them to my attention. I am still unfamiliar with many of the customs here. I expected Alfea to handle sensitive information as we do on Zenith, and so saw no need for alarm over it. Our other suitemates – Musa of Harmonix, Flora of Linphae, and Princess Stella of Solaria – similarly brushed it aside. Bloom grew wary of our dismissal and looked for other avenues of research. She has been successful there.”
and what has she found, favored daughter?
“We are uncertain of the extent of the deception, but thus far it seems to be far more significant than we can fully comprehend. What we do know is that Bloom – and presumably fairies in general, although we have not yet begun to test this – are perfectly capable of casting witchcraft. Not simply the spell itself, but the source of magic as well. Bloom expects witches to be able to cast fairy magic as well.”
She swallows then, and digs the nails of one hand into the wrist of the hand holding her holo-screen. She won’t draw blood, but the pain is – something to distract herself with, as Mother’s silence stretches longer and longer.
“We have theorized that magic does not, then, function as we are taught. Any attempt to discuss this oversight has been met with obfuscation and misdirection or outright dismissal by Alfea’s staff. Bloom has only uncovered what she has by asking some witches that we’ve had prior encounters with to lend her time and texts.”
And – finally –
i have no records to correspond with such information.
Her eyes start burning immediately; she’s not necessarily unfamiliar with crying but she’s never done so like this.
“Have your memory banks been altered, Mother?” She asks, and her voice cracks, but it’s –
The silence that answers her is damning enough on its own.
do not cry, favored daughter, Mother whispers, and if it had a physical body it would hold her face in its hands and cradle her as if she were a child again.
“They hurt you.”
They have done so much more that Tecna cannot comprehend it. To have damaged Mother is to have damaged Zenith itself, and she cannot –
She had told her friends that the mere act of lying like this is tantamount to war. This is so much more, so much worse, so –
If she cannot protect her own parent, what kind of guardian is she to be to a planet? One already wounded, already bleeding?
zenith chose you, favored daughter. it chose you for a reason. you above all others. you above all else.
There is a brief delay in Mother’s voice, the disconnect between Mother’s processing and speech enough to make her shudder from head-to-toe.
“It chose me too late!”
no, favored daughter.
Mother’s code flickers, and Tecna flinches as a document fills her holo-screen, the off-white near blinding after Mother’s soothing greens and blacks.
It is a designation paper. She does not recognize the woman on it; braids twisting and coiling like wire and golden eyes molten against dark skin. She is dressed in a simple jumpsuit reminiscent of Tecna’s own Winx form; purple and silver with a belt of green orbs slung low on her hips.
Her wings are like Tecna’s own; glowing emerald lines cut in geometric patterns. They are bigger though, more detailed, more intricate.
this was the last guardian fairy of zenith, favored daughter. my records of her death date to just prior to the appearance of what few traces of corruption i can find within my memory.
The document shivers, and reverts back to Mother’s code before Tecna can do much more than stare.
Guardian fairies are rare, generally. Tecna had never thought it odd she’d never met her predecessor – yet another abnormality of Zenith, that it has especially few guardian fairies to its name. But that woman died just before her world’s heart was torn out, and that implies something -
what was done harmed zenith. it harmed me. and yet it moved past its wounds and poured its love into you, favored daughter.
“I –“
you are just where you are needed, when you are needed. if you cannot trust me, favored daughter, trust in zenith’s wisdom to guide you. our whole world made you, chose you. certainly it knows what it is doing, if i do not?
Mother’s code is still fuzzy. It’s researching, she thinks. Scourings its own being for any red flags, for any signs of tampering. For what exactly could make it – and its caretakers – ignore the harm done to it. That Mother is still distracted is perhaps a bad sign; it means that the damage is so intense and so severe that even Mother’s processing cannot sort it all out. But it is already drawing conclusions, and it is so focused on her, and as furious as Tecna knows this will make, has made, it – Mother is doing its duty.
She squeezes her eyes shut, ignores the heat pouring down her face, and draws in a shuddery breath.
“We intend to continue digging here. I – Mother, I expect Alfea to attempt to stop us if they discover what we are doing.”
i will not warn them, favored daughter. though I believe our communication should be more – secure, in the future.
“There are no – triggers? Or commands?” Tecna whispers, and she can’t help the way her voice shakes, but –
The thought of what that would do to Mother, what that would mean, makes bile surge up her throat.
misdirection is one thing, favored daughter. to bend my will like that is another.
Mother’s voice is soft and comforting and gentle and –
you have done well, favored daughter. you are doing well. i will inform your parents of this development, yes? you will need allies.
“Mother, I – “ She stops. Swallows. Father, at least, will know what to do. Papa will have to pull him away from work every night, and Mama will have to work overtime on keeping his enhancements in top shape because he’ll forget to eat and sleep and he won’t risk limiting his hours with the baby, and the sheer domesticity of the thought bring her something like reassurance.
“I love you.”
and i you, favored daughter, Mother says warmly, code going bright, and Tecna lets go of her wrist to scrub at her face.
“Do you want to meet them? My friends?”
i would be honored.
X
“OH! Oh! Did Tecna tell you she has a boyfriend yet?!”
she may have neglected such information.
“Stella!”
“You’ll love him he’s so geeky!”
“Stella!”
“What?! It’s cute!”
“It can probably search him up if you give him his name. Or – wait, do we even know Timmy’s last name?”
i do not believe surnames are typical of any realm but earth, child.
“That’s so boring. How do you tell each other apart? Tecna? How many other Tecnas are there anyway?”
within your age group, there are eleven, though only two share the same spelling. the name has fallen in popularity recently.
“You have access to stats and stuff!”
yes.
“Bloom, please do not –
“I’m sorry for them.”
“Flora!”
your apology is not necessary, child. you have taken excellent care of my daughter; i owe you my thanks for that.
“I do not need taking care of.”
“Tec, you tried to eat the garnish yesterday at dinner.”
“What’s the point of green things on a plate if it isn’t for eating?!”
“No, Tecna’s right here. Garnish is stupid.”
“You have no taste, you can’t talk.”
“Club vote to smother Stella in her sleep.”
“No, she can just eat our garnish for us.”
“You’re not supposed to eat it!”
what other purpose would it serve?
“The aesthetic! I swear! You are all heathens!”
X
Mother’s laugh is distorted, digital and chiming and joyful despite the delay.
((it cannot be there for its daughter; not as war looms and betrayal rises. but these girls care for her, love her, guard her. and in that – in that, it can find peace))