Chapter Text
The entrance hall of skyborn academy was, objectively speaking, quite large. It was seven stories tall, with entrances from top to bottom
through which skyborn cadets, skyborn professors, skyborn researchers, and, well, everyone (everyone who counted, i.e. had proper full-blood wings-- the lesser species were not allowed anywhere near the academy) flew in and out in a complex dance of air traffic. Down on the floor was no better, as newly arrived students wheeled oversize luggage
carts determinedly towards some unseen destination.
It was objectively speaking large, but to the young skyborn standing just inside the entrance it was monstrously enormous, gargantuan, many times the size of any building Ryler Dhacian had ever seen before, in all fourteen years of his life. He had no luggage cart-- just one piece of baggage, an old and rather frayed leather suitcase whose handle he was gripping on to so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
He was supposed to go to the Triumph hallway. He had no idea where that was, but suspected it was probably all the way on the other side of the hall. In which case he would have to go through the roiling mass of people around him, and if so he was going to get crushed.
Even standing here, on the edge, he had already been bumped into very painfully by three-- three!-- luggage trolleys. Stacked with four oversize suitcases or more, they did not give very clear visibility to the panting students pushing them. And that was just the edge of the room. Towards the center the scene disintegrated into sheer chaos.
Ryler breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, trying to gather his nerves and courage. He was going to have to make a mad dash for it, that was all. He opened his eyes and found that his legs had not
moved. In fact, they appeared to rapidly be turning into jelly underneath him.
Something bumped into him, for the fourth time that day. But it wasn't a luggage cart, it was another skyborn, who looked to be about his
age. She had blond hair, braided neatly around her head, and a resolute, determined, and above all busyexpression.
"I'm sorry!" she said hurriedly, turning to continue on her way-- and then she paused, and turned back to look him over.
"You new here?" She asked.
"Y-Yes," he said. "I'm-- supposed to be starting as a new c-cadet," he said, and internally cursed himself for the pathetic stutter. He'd never been good with new people.
"You're not from New Stormrook, are you?" She said, standing there opposite him, oblivious to the traffic swirling around them.
"No," he said, wondering how she could tell. Was it that obvious?
As if she could read his mind, she smiled and said, "You had that shell-shocked look that newcomers get when they first see the Entrance
Hall. Don't worry, after a while it's not that bad. Where do you need to get to?"
"Um. Triumph hallway," he said.
Her face lit up, making it even more attractive than it already was.
"Triumph! Oh, that's fun, it's cross-girding from my hallway. Come on, then, I'll show you where to go," and saying that, she pried the suitcase from his fingers and carried it off, leaving Ryler no choice but to follow her as she expertly wove her way through the room.
A few minutes later, panting, bruised, but otherwise only slightly the worse for wear, they arrived in the Triumph hallway, two turns off
from the main hall. The entrance to the hallway was all guilded gold, a carved depiction of Skyborn soldiers beating humans in battle (a
small explanatory plaque on the door explained that the battle depicted was the Ralley of New Denquist). Inside, the hallway was
painted deep blue, white, and gold, the colors of New Stormrook.
The hallway was a slight improvement on the chaos outside, but it was crammed from end to end with newly arrived cadets and, of course, their suitcases. Several people were complaining loudly about problems with their keys, and somebody's luggage had somehow come open and strewn clothing and toiletries all over the floor, causing several
others to trip and curse loudly.
"Which one's your room?" the girl asked Ryler, as they surveyed the scene before them.
"7... 7A.." He said, as he fumbled open the paper he'd been carrying with him near non-stop since he'd received it in the mail a month previous.
She made a face. "That's pretty much the other end of the hallway..."
And then, with a shrug- "Oh well. Follow me!" she said, and walked onwards.
"Excuse me, coming through, excuse me," she said, wielding his bag in front of her like a shield. The crowd of students seemed to part in front of her. Many of the students seemed to already know her-- they laughed and greeted her as she passed by. Ryler, following behind, felt overwhelmed and embarrassed.
The door to 7A was already open, and a pile of suitcases next to the bed in the far corner of the room made it clear that his roommate had already arrived, although at the moment the room was unoccupied. The girl settled herself down onto the other bed, as yet bare and unmade, and placed Ryler's suitcase down next to her.
"That should do it," she said, and stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. "I need to get back to the office, but you should probably start unpacking-- speaking of which, where is the rest of your luggage?"
Ryler flushed. "There is no 'rest'," he said. "That's all I brought."
"Really?" she said. "You pack really light, then." She sounded, oddly enough, a little impressed.
"Well, in that case," she continued, "I could probably stay and help you unpack."
"Don't you need to go to the office?" he said, confused.
"Well, I was going to offer to help-- they're always drowning in paperwork this time of year-- but it's going to be lunch in six minutes anyway, so it's not like by the time I got there I'd be much help anyway. And you'll probably need help getting to the lunchroom, so I might as well stay."
“Oh,” he said. “Thank you.”
There was a moment of silence, and then he said, hesitantly—
“I’m sorry, but— but could you just tell me what your name is?”
She began to laugh, as he flushed yet again, bewildered.
“Alda,” she said at last. “Alda Kims. I’m sorry for not introducing myself properly, it’s not the sort of slip-up I’d usually make. And if you don’t mind, what is your name?”
“Ryler,” he said. “Rhyler Dhacian.”
“Nice to meet you, Rhyler Dhacian,” she said.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said, completely heartfelt.
----------
"The Duo," people called them. Ryler and Alda, Alda and Ryler...
People started slurring their names together, AldandRyler, like the two of them were just two halves of the same person.
Since the first month of school they topped every score board, every status sheet. Ryler was the more magically gifted, but it was Alda who
excelled in the battlefield. It wasn't just that she was talented. It was that she was terrifying-- driven, single-minded, and so fast your eye could barely follow her.
In theory they could have been rivals, but instead they were friends, close friends. Ryler had never been very extroverted, and once he started topping the charts he found it even harder to distinguish
between "potential friends" and "people who just wanted to use his help to get better grades". Overwhelmed by the attention, he'd retreated into an even quieter, shyer version of himself-- except
around Alda. And Alda was popular and well-liked by everyone, but when you're friends with everyone you don't have much opportunity to be close to anyone-- Ryler was the exception.
They studied together and they practiced together and they ate together and they stayed up late at night in the hallway adjoining the boys and girls dormitories talking to eachother, arguing about
politics (Alda was a hard-line Imperialist, who thought anyone guilty of harboring a half-breed should be hanged. Ryler, with his "squeamish non-city outlook", as Alda put it, was more inclined to thinking justice should be tempered with compassion) or historical interpretations (Alda thought there were clear signs of censorship
in coverage of the Hurstley campaign, and she was obsessed with trying to figure out what had actually happened, whereas Ryler didn't really
see why she cared when the real point of studying the campain was grasping Legaulie's brilliant usage of the pincer technique) or the best way to disarm an opponent wielding a hammer (Alda thought relying on magic was for sissies. Ryler thought it was more practical, and efficient).
On nights when they stayed up particularly late the talk sometimes tended towards the personal. Ryler had been roomed with someone else from old Stormrook, but his roommate, from an old and wealthy noble family, considered Ryler beneath his notice. They hadn't exchanged more than two sentences since the start of the year.
"A snotty, derelict antique," Alda called him. "He's just jealous that you're so much better than him. Relics like him should just stay in Old Stormrook."
"That's what I like about New Stormrook," Ryler said, "It's a system based on merit. If you're good enough and you try hard enough, you'll
make it to the top, no matter where you come from."
"Yeah," Alda said, "the Empress even encourages people from non-standard backgrounds to join the Academy." Her voice softened, as it always did when she mentioned the Empress.
Over their months in school Ryler had gradually pieced together bits and pieces of Alda's story. She'd been orphaned very young-- both her
parents had been killed by a renegade half-breed. But the school head, a younger sister of the empress herself, had taken her in and raised
her. It was no wonder Alda was so absurdly talented at fighting-- she'd been practicing it since she was three. As for discipline-- well, unquestioning obedience to military orders was the bread and butter of her upbringing. She had it engrained into her bones.
Ryler admired that about her. Her principles, her self-control. When Alda stepped onto a practice field her opponent knew she'd have no mercy--- whereas Ryler, more often than not, would lose points for being "too soft" when an opportunity for a killing strike arose. And people liked that Alda never went easy on them, always respected their abilities, they admired her the way they never would Ryler, not even if he got highest scores in everything.
It was the sort of thing that could have made him jealous, if he hadn't know that he was the person Alda trusted most, the only one she'd ever told about her one memory of her mother, singing a lullaby whose words and tune Alda had been searching for for years, with no success.
He was the only one privy to her weaknesses, her secrets. "I never cry," she told him, once. "I can't. I think I might have been a crybaby as a toddler-- I think I remember that-- but ever since my parents died, I... It's like a-- a physiological disability, I mean, even when I cut onions my eyes sting and sting but they just-- my tear ducts are blocked, I think, or something."
"If you were fighting someone and they threw sand into your eyes, you'd be in trouble," he said, for lack of a better response.
"If I was fighting someone..." she said, musing. Then smirked. "I'd probably cut his arms off, if someone tried to do that to me."
There wasn't really much to say to that, so the conversation proceeded to an animated discussion of how to fight with one's arms cut off.
---
When the news came that his father died Ryler retreated to his room to cry.
But his roommate was there. His roommate had never bothered hiding his dislike for Ryler and Ryler wasn't willing to have to deal with him now.
He wandered the halls without really thinking clearly. Somehow or other he found himself in Alda's room.
"What happened?" she said, as soon as she opened the door.
"My--" he said, and his shoulders began to shake. "My father--"
"Oh." She said. "Oh."
She hugged him, tightly. He got snot and tears all over her shirt but she didn't let go.
Later, they sat up together and he talked about his father, talked and talked and talked.
Later, he realized it was the first time she hugged him.
---
"I do not think the girl means any harm," the school head protested. She was careful to keep her voice humble, reverential. She did not want to upset her empress.
The empress's eyes narrowed. "She is too curious. It will need to be dealt with. But at least she is compliant, as far as you can tell. The boy..."
"He's not used to blood," the school head said.
"Stop making excuses for your failures," the empress snapped. "If he can't obey orders he is useless and a traitor."
"He has a strong sense for magic-- he could be a scholar--"
"If he cannot kill when commanded to do so, he has no right to belong to the Empress."
"Still, it is a waste," the school head said.
"Indeed," The Empress smiled. It was a terrible smile, all cruel white teeth and cold eyes. "He deserves a chance, don't you think?"
---
Ryler was having difficulty deciding what to buy.
There were all sorts of gifts you were supposed to be able to buy for a girl. Flowers. Jewelry. Cute stuffed animals.
Trying to imagine a combination of Alda and any of those items caused small painful implosions in Ryler's brain.
No, it would have to be something a little less... pink.
Something practical, maybe.
Except how did you make something practical into a romantic gift?
"Here, have this screwdriver, you never know when one of those will come in handy, and also I like you. Like,like like you."
It was kind of ridiculous. He tried imagining Alda's reaction.
Forget the screwdriver for a moment.
"Hey, Alda, I'm so happy we're teammates for the final exam, especially because I think you're the most amazing person I've ever met and I'm in love with you."
No, that was coming on way too strong.
"So, um, after we pass-- wanna go out with me?" He tried to imagine saying it casually, leaning against a wall.
So he wouldn't fall over if she said yes.
He crammed his face into his hands and gave a little moan. It was hopeless.
But what could he get her, at least? Something meaningful. Something suited to her.
Beautiful and deadly
...He stared at the wall for a moment and began to smile.
----
"Thirty-six thousand," the shopkeeper said, firmly, after a half hour of haggling. His jaw was set. Ryler could tell, with a sinking despair, that it wasn't going to get any lower than that.
He looked the blade over longingly. Double-edged, evenly balanced, and gorgeous. It was perfect. Utterly perfect.
But thirty-six thousand was his budget, for six months. And Ryler lived on a very tight budget by necessity. It wasn't like there was anything he could cut. It was food and school supplies, pretty much.
He couldn't do it. Couldn't buy it. Couldn't... couldn't afford it. As always.
It was okay. Alda wasn't the type to care. She'd be happy, she'd be happy with a cheaper present, one he could actually manage to buy her. She'd never have to know, how he'd gotten this ridiculous idea into his head, to buy her this...
this perfect, perfect sword--
He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply.
Thirty-six thousand.
He'd have to live on nothing but porridge. For two years.
His hand clenched around his moneyskin, involuntarily.
It was painful just taking the bills out, feeling them between his fingers, soft and defenseless.
"Done," he said, placing them down on the counter like they burned, and he walked out of the store more impoverished than he'd been his entire life, but walking on air.
---
They staggered into the final room, panting and out of breath. All the color-locks had been cleared. They were done.
He looked around and realized, with sudden joy, that they were the first ones there. "We're first!" he said.
"We passed!" she said, grinning at him.
"Congratulations," the Empress said. "You've made it all the way here."
Alda flushed. Ryler grinned wider, awash in adrenaline and relief.
"There is only one more test," The empress said, softly.
Alda stiffened, her back straight, chin up. Standing to attention.
"What- what do you mean?" Ryler said. "We passed all the guards--"
"The most important trait in a skyborn soldier is loyalty," the empress said. "You have proven your prowess, but now you must prove this as well."
Her eyes narrowed. "I command each of you to kill your partner," she said.
They both gasped.
Well, Ryler gasped. Alda gave-- a sharp intake of breath, but she also whirled-- to face him, taut, circling.
There was fear in her eyes.
"Alda--" Ryler said, stumbling. "Alda I can't-- I--"
His staff had clattered to the floor, by his side. He made no move to pick it up, his throat dry.
"Orders are orders," she said, voice high-pitched, hysterical. Then she lunged for him and--
It would have been nice, maybe, if at that point it all went black.
It didn't.
The weapon he himself had bought her tore into him and it took only fractions of a moment for the pain signals to reach his brain, but the blood welling up in his throat kept him from screaming, and somehow more than the searing fire in his chest-- which felt, somehow, miles away-- he felt vividly the warm blood, the salt of it, his head spinning for lack of air, and he could see the blood spattered across her face, and she ripped her arm back and he fell and he fell--
and then, only then, there was blackness.