Work Text:
Long ago, the Celestids colonized a variety of territories, each with breath-taking forests, astonishing seas, and serene set of rivers taking over a small portion of what the aliens call the Indian Ocean.
Every Celestid, young and old, thrived in their setting and their flock, curating the balance of harmony, tradition, and let’s not forget authority.
That is, until the aliens decided to take them away for “preservation”.
Ew, the word itself is disgusting.
One by one, they vanish into thin air, and absolutely NO traces are left behind, except for a feather if one is lucky to walk across a path.
But they still manage to get to them. Who knows what happens when they’re preserved. They could be turned into Celestid mush and be eaten by the rich aliens themselves; they find it as a wonderful delicacy.
“And they can take your guts out too! I must warn you, they’ve got knifes, sharp knifes. I’d advise you to stay away or else you’re food…”
Rico imitated an evil laugh as he rolled down a big scroll of paper, illustrating a Celestid having their guts taken out by an alien.
However, he wasn’t aware that he was teaching a group of kids that were now crying, witnessing such mature content.
Oh shit.
The scholar rookie covered the image with his wings, smiling sheepishly.
“It won’t actually happen! I’m so sorry for making you cry!!”
He rolled up the large paper to the top again and cleared his throat to explain matters in a more kid-friendly method.
“It was a problem, but it happens less because the 4 supreme flocks came together to address it.”
Back then, there were no 4 groups to keep everything in check. Governments within each flock was hard to maintain, especially with controversies circulating about certain Celestids doing this or doing that. Whatever it was, it sure made the others fear the Celestidan.
One day, one decided to hold a set of trials to see who would become one of the 4 supreme flocks.
“And that would change the course of Celestidan history, and your lives too.” He rolled down another scroll of paper to show the 4 supreme flocks.
The trials became a tough challenge for those who were ever so determined that they would take the easy route in and out. Those who were cowardly made their way through, but they were not eligible. But certain groups would eventually use their skills to get on the checkpoint the region is in today.
The Heron Celestids, pristine and cautious in their work of medicine, eventually become the flock of health.
The Goshawks, practical in their military work, became the #1 military.
The Parrots, clever and smart, became the network of all knowledge. [Not fully guaranteed, for some of the information is inaccurate.]
And the Doves.
“The Doves were easily assigned as the most supreme of the supreme,” Rico said.
“Some say it was their looks or personality that got them in.”
The kids came closer in curiosity.
“But they tried their best with their logical processes, and with that, they became the beacon of all flocks, keeping us safe from the aliens.” He smiled wide.
“Now, any questions?”
One kid raised their wing.
“Yes, Serena?”
“Newbie!” Tiny Serena pointed her wing at Rico as she giggled with the other kids.
It’s true Rico was a rookie. His father had complications, and it was dire, so he had to take his place.
It still hurts to be called a newbie though.
“That’s not nice, I’ve told you this multiple times, you troublemaker!” He laughed it off.
“You could really hurt someone’s feelings too.”
All the kids went silent.
Then they all called him a newbie.
Again.
Ugh.
They were all giggling with each other, and Rico had no choice but to watch them…make fun of him, if that’s the only thing to say instead of one to hide the fact.
“Ok then, no questions. It was nice seeing you, class. Next time, we’ll talk about the 4 continents they harbor, or in other words, the map!”
He took his book with him, waved goodbye to the class, and then exited the small classroom.
Flying to his home, he pondered about his leadership.
Perhaps they do not want him, for he is a newbie.
That’s what all the Parrot Celestids say.
His father was best at doing it, but he shouldn’t have died. He could’ve lived longer, but no. He decided to die on that damn mat the Herons provided for him. All Rico wanted was to be an aviator, and now his dreams are crushed.
HE LONGED FOR IT.
But he shouldn’t get worked up over the grief.
Landing on the wooden beam, he enters into his comfort zone, proceeding to enter his bedroom.
Lying on his back against the leaf blanket, on top of a straw nest, he looks up at the circular roof, because of course, it’s a way to take his mind off things.
Hopefully.
Because if he doesn’t, he might as well dwell in his own misery.
And there’s no time for misery.
No time.