Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rumi was a falcon. Not a bat.

The first time Celine had shouted those words at her, she’d only been a chick. Wings still soft and covered with down, she’d wandered too far away from her and Celine’s nest, and couldn’t find her way back. It had been sunset when she’d left, and now it was unexpectedly and distressingly dark.

She spent a few minutes just standing there, desperately crying out with incessant muffled screes. When that didn’t work, another instinct told her to take matters into her own wings.

Tilting her head up, Rumi let out a shrill call, so high-pitched it was barely perceptible even to sharp avian ears. The echo that bounced back painted a picture in her mind that was much more detailed than she could see with just her eyes.

Encouraged, she stepped forward, beating her small wings. The map that had just formed in her head told her she was someplace familiar, not too far from the house—and the nest.

Sending out the call again with almost every step, she eventually caught sight of the dim lights that meant home was near.

She surged towards the soft glow with an excited burst of chittering, stumbling up the stairs and knocking on the door. A moment later she was wrapped up in the comforting embrace of Celine’s glossy black cormorant wings.

Celine let out a familiar guttural chirr that at once made Rumi feel calmer. “My little falcon,” she murmured. “I was getting worried for you.”

“I found my own way home,” Rumi declared proudly.

Celine ushered her inside with a gentle push using her wing, shutting the door behind them. “Sharp just like your mother, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what I did,” Rumi admitted. “It was like—I made this sound, and then I knew where I was.”

Celine’s shoulders and wings tensed slightly. “Did you?”

Rumi hesitated, unsure of what she had said wrong. “I…think so?”

Celine ruffled her feathers. “Tell me the truth, Rumi.”

“Yeah,” Rumi murmured.

“You shouldn’t do that, dear.” Celine was trying her best to keep her voice calm and level, but Rumi could pick up on the agitation underneath her smooth tone.

“Why not?” Rumi asked, both worried and confused now.

Celine made a soft, displeased rumbling in her throat. “Because that’s a bat thing to do.”

Rumi tilted her head. “But I’m part bat.”

Celine flared her wings, making Rumi shrink back. “You’re not a bat,” she said in a low, dangerous voice.

“But—“

“You’re not a bat,” Celine said again, louder this time. “You’re a falcon. Like your mother. Act like one.”

Rumi’s wings drooped. “I’m sorry, Celine.”

Celine softened. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Just—don’t do it again, mae.”

Rumi dipped her head, staring at the ground. Wordlessly, she turned and made her way to the nestroom.

Celine didn’t come to join her for a while. Rumi spent her time sitting dejectedly, wings wrapped around herself.

Being a bat meant being a demon. Bat wings were as clear of a sign as the dull violet patterns that crisscrossed Rumi’s upper arms.

But demons were evil. They were vermin that needed to be eliminated.

With a frustrated little screech, Rumi grabbed a fistful of her own fluffy down and yanked it clean off her wing. The ripping pain distracted her from the turmoil inside her head.

Underneath was the telltale dark gray leather of a bat wing.

How could a demon have feathers? It wasn’t natural.

“You’re right,” Rumi murmured, when Celine finally settled into the nest beside her. “I’m a mistake.”

Celine didn’t reply. Then she brushed a hand along the bare spot on Rumi’s wing, making her flinch.

“Cover that up,” she muttered.

Rumi rolled away from her, blanketing herself in her own wings. For once she didn’t feel comfortable in her own nest.

***

“Your wings are so cool! What are you?” The little black-haired fledgling tilted her head at Rumi’s wings curiously. Her own wings were tinier even than Rumi’s, and covered with down, pinfeathers, and pretty black-and-white banded feathers that contrasted against one another much more starkly than Rumi’s own. Pretty dark blue edged her half-grown primaries.

Rumi swallowed. “Mae.” Peregrine falcon. It was a half-truth.

The fledgling beat her wings excitedly. “A falcon! That’s so cool!”

“Yeah,” Rumi said absentmindedly. Celine had told her these girls’ names, but she’d forgotten already. “I guess.”

“I’m Zoey,” Zoey gushed, answering Rumi’s question. “I’m a Budgerigar. Budgie. Not exactly Korean, but I grew up in America. Make a falcon sound, Rumi!”

“Um,” Rumi said. “Why?”

Zoey beamed, wings trembling enthusiastically. “Just do it.”

Begrudgingly, Rumi let a harsh kak-kak-kak rise out from below her throat. Zoey paused thoughtfully, and then echoed it back at her.

Rumi flared her wings, alarmed. “How did you do that?”

The other fledgling—Mira?—chirred softly in amusement. “You’d better get used to that.”

Zoey smirked smugly. “Don’t you know parrots can do that? I can say words, too. Well. Almost.”

“I do not want to hear you do that right now,” Mira announced. Even as a fledgling, her wings were almost twice the size of Rumi’s. She was some sort of owl, with rounded feathers colored a soft cream and barred with light tawny.

Rumi took a moment to take in the two girls. These were the fledglings Celine had selected to be Rumi’s bandmates—her flock—who would eventually fight demons alongside her. They would become the next generation of hunters.

Rumi tucked her wings in close to her body self-consciously. She was the very thing they were tasked to kill.

Her new flock could never know that.

Celine told her she could fix it. When it finally came time to seal the Honmoon forever, her patterns would disappear, and her wings would finally be normal. When that time came, she’d be a true falcon at last, just like her mother, and not some abnormal hybrid.

***

Rumi knew it was going to happen eventually. For as long as she could she tried her best to pretend she was as excited as Zoey and Mira. She acted like she wasn’t terrified to start molting the worn juvenile feathers that hid her abnormality from her friends.

Of course, molting was, thankfully, a gradual process. But new feathers took a long time to grow. The longer Rumi had any bare patches at all, however small, on her wings, the greater the chances were of her friends finding her out.

Back when she’d dropped all of her soft baby down to make way for her first real feathers, the only one around to see what was underneath had been Celine. Rumi herself could barely stand to look in the mirror, because all she saw sticking out from her back were ugly bat wings, covered only just enough with paltry little fluffs of down and half-formed falcon feathers.

Her new feathers, as they grew in, were beautiful, barred with the rich gold-edged brown and white of a young peregrine. They hid the shame of her demon wings as she desperately tried to convince herself that she was normal.

Those feathers served her well as Celine first taught her to fly, showing her how to beat her wings in the steady rhythm of a falcon rather than in the erratic snapping of a bat. It still didn’t feel natural, and she often faltered in the air. Bats weren’t meant to have feathers, after all. It was a miracle she could even fly in the first place.

Rumi’s last big molt began with only a few flight feathers at a time. Long, worn, deep-brown primaries lay scattered about in the girls’ nest when they woke up, and Zoey insisted on collecting them, as ‘souvenirs’.

Souvenirs of Rumi’s worst nightmare, she thought bitterly. She got into the habit of constantly glancing back at her wings, to make sure no obvious dark gray showed through any of the bare patches that gradually showed up and then filled in with new, coal-black feathers.

Every time Mira or Zoey offered to help preen her new feathers, she’d refuse. Even so, she couldn’t stop the little jolt of sadness she felt watching her flockmates preen one another as they began to molt, too.

Zoey’s wings stayed relatively small, and she had to flap hard to keep up with Rumi and Mira in the air, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her feathers were stunning to look at, mottled with clean white and deep black. Sapphire blue tinged her primaries and secondaries, creating nearly-hypnotizing flashes of color when she flew.

Mira’s wings weren’t any less impressive. They were cottony white on the outside, lighter than the usual hue of an Ural Owl, and even brighter on the undersides. Bars of light tawny russet streaked the outsides of her wings, and the undersides were banded with a deeper, richer brown that contrasted starkly with the white background feathers.

Rumi’s flockmates told her that her own wings were beautiful, too. Black on the outsides, barred black and white on the insides, thin and pointed as falcon wings should be.

They didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know how disgusting Rumi really was under all those pretty feathers.

Chapter Text

As the girls got older, they gradually began sleeping in the same nest less and less. In a way, it was a relief—mainly due to Mira’s owl tendencies to be awake and fluttering about most of the night. Fortunately for Rumi, she’d inherited a falcon’s sleep schedule instead of a bat’s.

Celine worked them relentlessly, honing their skills in fighting, flying, singing, and choreography. Rumi learned to shove every bat-like tendency down and out of her friends’ sight, and the suppression became as natural to her as the way she’d only pick out long-sleeved outfits.

Rumi soon came to realize that Celine had chosen her flock well. Each of their specific skills complemented each other with near perfection, and they soon fell into a coordinated rhythm both in fighting and dancing.

Mira, owing to the comb-like fringe on her flight feathers that was signature to owls, could fly in complete silence. Her night vision was also fairly better than Rumi or Zoey’s, practically turning her into a stealth missile at night. Ambushing her friends in the dark was a particular hobby of hers.

Zoey was maneuverable and agile, able to slip through small spaces Mira and Rumi had to dodge thanks to their larger wingspans. The consistency of which she practiced her mimicking skills, while rather annoying, worked in her favor. Eventually she could imitate a huge repertoire of sounds, even voices, with pinpoint precision, serving as a vital way to confuse their enemies in the heat of battle.

Rumi, to nobody’s surprise, was fast. Her level flight was quick, sure, but it was only when she gained some altitude that she was truly able to shine.

Celine had told her stories of what her mother was able do in the air. Tucking her wings to her body, she’d dive into a near free-fall, and only Gwi-ma could help any demon unfortunate enough to be in her line of sight. A single strike, given enough velocity, could kill on impact.

“Show us your stoop, Rumi,” Zoey prodded one evening after training, splayed out on the couch with her wings askew.

Rumi quirked an eyebrow at her. “In here?”

“No, outside,” Zoey responded, as though it had been a serious question.

Rumi hesitated. She’d only performed the signature peregrine falcon stoop twice, both times under the keen supervision of Celine.

Plus, she admitted to herself, it was harder for her than it would have been for a pure falcon. The leathery surface of her wings underneath her feathers created quite a bit of drag.

Rumi shifted her wings uncomfortably. “Celine probably wouldn’t be too happy about that.”

Mira let out a tiny, amused hoot. “Oh, who cares what Celine thinks? We fledged a long time ago. And she can’t just stop training us. She can’t do anything.”

Rumi said nothing. Logically, she knew Mira was right—she wasn’t a fledgling anymore, and although she was still under Celine’s instruction, she wasn’t under her care.

Knowing that didn’t stop the pit that opened up in her stomach. She was still a demon. When she messed up, Celine looked at her like one.

“Rumi?” Zoey’s voice was concerned now, and Rumi straightened up. “Are you…okay?”

All at once Rumi realized her wings were pressed tight to her body, feathers flattened. She shook out her wings, trying her best to look composed.

“Yeah,” she said, voice still strained. “Yeah. I’ll do it.”

Mira tilted her head at her, puzzled. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I do,” Rumi insisted, feeling a sudden rush of determination at the sight of her flock’s worry. Was she really going to let Celine control her? “Sorry. It’s just—I’ve barely ever done it before.”

But it wasn’t just Celine. If her friends found out about her—

She couldn’t even imagine how they’d react.

A bat didn’t belong in a flock. A bat belonged in a colony.

Zoey sprung to her feet, wings beating excitedly. “Then we’ll do it with you!”

Mira glanced at her, alarmed. “Um. We will?”

Rumi couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You will?”

“Absolutely,” Zoey said, her words punctuated with tiny excited chirps. “And I think I know exactly where to go. Come on, come on!”

With that, she threw herself out the door, taking off and winging away without bothering to stand around waiting for her friends.

“Maybe we can just watch her do it,” Mira suggested drily.

“I can’t see that going too well,” Rumi said, amused. “Hurry up or we’ll lose her.”

Pushing her way out the door, Rumi unfurled her wings to the wind. The breeze ruffled her hair and feathers, and she couldn’t help but feel a tiny wave of joy. No avian could resist the excitement of a flight with their flockmates by their side. When she was up in the air with Mira and Zoey, Rumi could forget, if only just for a little while.

She could still see Zoey’s silhouette in the distance, little wings blurring as she flew, bobbing gently up and down with the wind.

Determined to catch up with her, Rumi launched herself into the air, catching a thermal and rising sharply. Beating her wings rhythmically and pushing her level flight speed to its maximum, she soon found herself closing in on Zoey.

Mira wasn’t too far behind, but of course she couldn’t match the speed of a falcon. Rumi threw a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she was there before overtaking Zoey, causing the budgie to miss a wingbeat in surprise.

“You can’t follow me if you’re in front of me!” Zoey shouted at her over the buffeting winds.

Playfully, Rumi whipped around suddenly in midair. Zoey promptly collided with her, sending the both of them spiraling down in freefall.

A few moments later they both regained their wings. Adrenaline surging through her veins, Rumi let out a giddy peregrine screech, and Zoey reciprocated with a mimicked falcon cry of her own a second later.

The brief interruption had let Mira catch up with the two of them. With Zoey in the lead, they fell into a messy, miniature V-formation, letting Rumi regain a bit of the energy she’d just spent by coasting off of Zoey’s updraft.

Rumi could guess where Zoey was taking them long before they reached their destination. A massive rock formation, with a flat top perfect for cliff-diving, towered dauntingly in the distance.

Sure enough, Zoey angled her wings and dipped down sharply as they came up upon it, followed closely by her flockmates. The three of them touched down, unsteadily regaining their footing and breathing hard.

Zoey folded her wings neatly on her back and turned to Rumi, eyes glittering. “You ready?”

Rumi smirked. “You two can just try and keep up.”

The trees dotting the rolling hills of the landscape below them were no bigger than puffs of fledgling down. Rumi stepped up to the edge, beating her wings to keep her balance as she stared out at the horizon.

She tamped down the sudden wave of nerves that slammed into her. Shoving her fears to the side, she took a single deep breath and dropped.

She pressed her wings to her back on instinct, creating a perfectly aerodynamic, almost diamond-like shape. She was cruising dangerously close to the edge of the cliff on her way down, but somehow, she didn’t care.

She would have had it coming if she smashed into the rock.

Rumi had no way of knowing whether her friends had followed or not. All she knew in that moment was the wind roaring in her ears and the ground rushing towards her.

For a fleeting moment, she thought of letting herself fall.

***

The girls returned that evening, drunk off a day of flying. Zoey stumbled off to her nest almost immediately, while Mira flopped down on the couch, flipping on the television. Even an exhausted owl couldn’t resist the allure of staying up until all hours of the night.

As hard as Rumi squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her wings around herself, trying to fall asleep before she could feel anything, the familiar ache returned once she was alone.

She thought of the ground rushing up to meet her, of how easy it would have been to just close her eyes, relax her wings, and let everything leave her in an instant.

She hated herself for even having those thoughts. Her flock needed her. Celine needed her. She couldn’t just go.

But Celine would have been happy to see a demon die. And, Rumi was sure, so would her friends, if they knew what she really was.

The tiny pinch of pain as she plucked out another covert was familiar, and almost soothing, in a way. Stressed avians tended to pluck out their feathers, sometimes nearly to the point of being unable to fly, but Rumi had to be careful with it. After all, the more feathers she pulled, the more bat she became.

Piles of Rumi’s own tiny feathers littered her nest, covering up the smattering of Zoey and Mira’s naturally-shed ones.