“We have always had an obsession with our origins. Not to understand them, or to come to terms with them––but to destroy them, and remake our own selves in the remains.”
– Render
I stood before the doors of my calculus class, still unseen by the senile Mrs. Blake. Bypassing the entrance of Isenwood High was easy. I just had to tell Reify to wait outside as the rows and rows of students would see him, sitting in their chairs.
He should wait until I called him.
Well, it was just numbers. I pushed the door open and entered the classroom.
“The integral of 4x^2 is thus 4/3x^3. Any questions?” her voice droned.
I felt like crumbling peanuts.
“Is it integral to our lives?” I said, causing a dropping of chalk and a murmuring among the students. I was holding Moonbeam, or my science project as I’d told the front office, against my shoulder like a sword. “I’m back from the dead, all.”
Laughter. Mrs. Blake looked at me sternly. “Robert, please sit down. See me after class.”
She was even wearing the same polka dot dress.
I smiled cheerfully at her. “The only class that matters is Literature, teach. If we’re gonna learn from dead people, better stories that lie intentionally than facts we can’t understand.” But I went and sat down in the back of the classroom where a few seats were always unoccupied. Our school was terrible.
“Thank you, Robert. Now, back to integrals. By the same rule, integrating 4/3x^3 gives you 1/3x^4. Don’t forget to simplify the fraction.”
Yadda, yadda, yoda. I turned to Chris, a generic studious teenager with unwashed hair, seated on my right. “This is easy for you, isn’t it,” I plied.
He glanced at me, taking his eyes off the three textbooks that lay overlapping each other on his desk. “I’m self-studying differential equations in the 9th grade, yeah. What’s that? Science project?” he asked, pointing to my weapon.
“It’s nothing special. Look, if it’s too easy, why take the class?” I said in response.
“So I can sleep. Now let me do that.” He put on paper eyes over his glasses and put his chin in his hands. I turned to my left.
Isabella, equally uninteresting. She was drawing characters in her notebook.
“Hey! Isabella.” She didn’t budge. “Why do you take calc if you’re just gonna doodle?” Her eyebrows went up, and back down; she was just finishing up a costumed figure. I stood, pushing my chair screeching on the linoleum. I could banter more but where I was going integrals were only derivative.
I eyed the array of windows hanging on the left side of the room. I reached back and before the harpy noticed, hurled Moonbeam. It flipped through the air two times before crashing into, and through, the glass with a staccato of shattering, as the crowd yelped and screamed and backed away, Mrs. Blake included, and the shard fell through. We were on the third floor, but according to my calculations it was not but two seconds later when the air sizzled and Reify appeared through the hole, Moonbeam in hand, fire blazing from his feet, hovering. He reached out with his other hand to touch the remaining glass which shattered as well, and as the wind rushed into the room he whooshed through and executed a perfect landing. I smiled and walked over, taking Moonbeam from his grip.
By now the students were gone, textbooks and drawings discarded.
“Wish you were higher,” Reify said, as the flames died down to flicker around his feet. “Didn’t have time to enjoy the flight.”
“There’s two floors above us,” I replied. “This school’s security is terrible, but let’s put on a show. We’ll head to the roof.”
“Ha! Lead the way, Revé.”
As we left the classroom, the fire alarm rang loudly around us and the putter putter of feet resounded through the empty hallway. “The stairway’s down at the end there,” I said, pointing. The classroom adjoining calculus, world history, met my gaze with another empty set of seats. What use was history if we couldn’t even leave the Lowers? The third one down was psychology. As if I needed to know myself better than I already did. The dull grey steel of the stairway now faced us, and more sounds of patter patter echoed down it. “Just up two flights.” I walked, glad not to hear my own echoes among the rest.
We passed by a class milling down, packed like a group of high schoolers in a school bus. They didn’t seem to notice Reify at all. The teacher gave me a look, but didn’t say anything; we continued downward.
We passed two other classes, hurrying down for their lives as if a serial killer or something was in the building. I wasn’t going to kill anybody. Just a little burning.
We reached the fifth floor. Another empty hallway.
“Reify, take us to the roof from here.”
Reify walked over to the glass windows and, with one touch, caused the whole paneling across the full length of the corridor to shatter. Glass must fall as rain. He looked at me. “You sure you can handle my flames?”
Of course. I wouldn’t be held like a passenger in the back, tied down by my seatbelt for the long car ride.
“Actually, we can start from here. It’s pretty high, after all.”
Reify nodded and peered over down at the people massed below. “Look at them, Revé. Your first audience.”
I walked over, glass breaking beneath my feet. It was a sight. From this height they appeared as miniatures, like toy soldiers in formation on the plastic set. Some saw us and pointed.
“Let’s start.” I stepped away from the broken window and, gripping Moonbeam, walked over to the fire extinguisher held in its alcove. I easily broke the glass myself, hearing no lyric, recalling the swings of my training. I then struck the canister––causing an almost discernible sharp note to ring––as it caved into itself and the white foam oozed out. “We started the fire.”
Reify raised his arms as if conducting a symphony.
A moment later, the hallway floor before him shone, all scrapes and scuffle marks instantly erased, before shimmering and oscillating in waves, which became brightly orange wisps of laminated wood––and it became fire. I realize that Reify is gone, or invisible. The fire––the air is growing warm––climbs to the ceiling as the sprinklers come on, but the water is only swallowed up as well.
I zip up my hoodie. “I’ll head down first,” I yell amidst the crashing wood.
I turn to head back down the stairs.
“Aaaahhhh!!!”
I continue walking, making the first several echoes on the hollow steel.
A hand on my shoulder. I looked back––Reify, fire pillars shining beneath his sunglasses.
“There’s a student left. Are they part of the plan?” he asked.
“I’m not a hero, Reify.”
He frowned. “That person has dreams, Revé. Do you not have one?”
I hesitated.
“A true follower of dreams does not destroy those of others,” he said. “They are in the fire. I shall get them for you.” Reify leaves me then.
I am not a hero. Nor do I want to be. And nor did I have to be, for Reify will be the savior.
I continue walking down the stairs.
The space above the bakery was small, but somewhat comfortable. It felt lived in––the bright rays of the morning illuminated disparate parts of the large one-room living quarters, falling on the bed, neatly made; a window faced the street below. There was also a long couch with tears in its fabric against the opposite wall, beside an armoire in red wood, a low chest, and a small pail containing what looked like several umbrellas.
It wasn’t even a third the size of his bedroom, but Tr’aedis felt like he was in the right place.
The man named Lucas plopped right into the couch, crossing his legs and throwing his arms across the back. “Haven’t been here in a while! Agate’s sure got a nice place,” he said.
Eleanor was frowning. “Wait, she’s actually a baker?” she said.
The one who had restrained them, with the features of an actor, looked at Lucas, who shrugged. “No point in hiding it, Vor. Yep, she owns the place. Works from home, actually.”
The friendly one, Faer, nodded and extended her hand to Eleanor. “I’m Faer! Nice to meet you two. Don’t mind d’Voris, she’s just being careful.” She winked; Tr’aedis made a mental note to stay away from the one named d’Voris; although, her name indicated High birth. He changed his mental note.
Eleanor shook Faer’s hand. Tr’aedis reached out his hand and shook it as well. “I don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Tr’aedis von Hiischklen––my friend’s Eleanor Dorr. We’re visiting from Plent.”
He looked at the actors, waiting for their response. It’d be something like “Oh really? We’re from Might. Which District are you from?” indicating their various levels of Plent and High ancestry; they were scions, after all.
“Pretty names,” a deeper voice remarked. Tr’aedis looked to the other wall, against which leaned the tallest scion, Zefayus. Hearing it again, he realized that the red-haired giant had the slightest accent––not quite discernible enough, but still there, lying beneath his smile. “Prettier than mine, for sure.” He came over as well. Up close, he really was towering, and his eyes glinted, or sparkled––he couldn’t tell which. “Zefayus McFellen. We may not look alike, but I’m Faer’s older brother.”
Faer smiled, and again the shadows around her seemed to dissipate. “Plent’s nice! We’re currently in this Levgion,” she said.
“You said you were the Furies, correct?” Tr’aedis asked, looking at Lucas. “Interesting name for a troupe, to be sure. Are you still taking actors? I have some skill, myself.” He stepped to the side, closer to d’Voris, and knelt; taking her hand, which she immediately cast off. No matter. “Reject me you will, but forget me you cannot, your fairness,” he said.
“I’m liking this kid more and more,” Lucas exclaimed, clapping his hands once. Tr’aedis readied his hands for his own hand-clap; perhaps the scion was Alter acting.
––No, they were in the Lowers, they had no Alter. So Lucas was a method actor.
Lucas used one of the hands to point to Tr’aedis. “Eleanor, is he also a Scion?”
The theater troupe turned its attention to her; her expression was, if Tr’aedis had to describe it for himself, conflicted. Yes, he was a scion; she knew that; she would describe his seven generations of engineering lineage, traces back to High families before engineers began living only in Plent.
Eleanor shook her head, slowly; “––No; no, he is not,” she said, folding her arms.
Tr’aedis stood. No, that wasn’t right. “Eleanor, what do you mean, you know I’m the seventh in a line of engineers, the von Hiischklens.” Turning to encompass the actors, he pointed to his shirt, the neck and sleeves lined with their signature alter steel filament. “I am a descendant of families from High; which families are you all descended from?”
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Oh,” Lucas just said, and he was smiling now, but in a different way than he had been before. He was good, Tr’aedis thought. “No, we are Scions of a different kind. Eleanor must not have told you! Not that it would’ve meant anything,” he said.
Well, when Eleanor had arrived in Plent, with her parents, his had acquainted themselves with hers, and they’d learned that the Dorrs had begun in Might, but were able to relocate upwards with the Dorrs becoming Netbankers. So she knew. He was a scion, and so was she, although to only one line.
She was acting, just like––
Tr’aedis smiled.
He was right. Of course, she hadn’t told him, not that he’d have believed her, and the only way to prove it––
Eleanor sighed. The other Scions were exchanging glances, although they were trying to hide it––and d’Voris was, she had to admit, while she could tell immediately after meeting them that, being in Lowers, they didn’t use body-maintenance prescriptions, except for d’Voris. There was no other explanation for why she looked that way.
“That complicates things,” d’Voris said. “Even if he’ll forget, he’s still seen who we are, and Agate’s bakery.”
Lucas held up a hand. “We still have to wait for the boss. And we should ask Eleanor if she’d like to become one of us,” in a very conversational tone, even though Eleanor of course had no intention, she didn’t even know what kind of Scions they were. And… there was the obvious, that these were the very same ‘Furies’ that the Government liked to talk about. But she didn’t know what to think about that.
“Ha! Young, isn’t she? You’re in high school, right?” Zefayus asked.
“Yes, third year,” she said.
Faer threw her shoulder into Zefayus’s. “We have members in high school,” she said. “Don’t forget Glid.”
“And we can’t forget Wisteria,” Lucas. “She’s only, sixteen?”
“Lucas! You can’t just keep doling out information,” d’Voris said sharply. “We won’t be answering any more questions until our leader arrives,” she said. “Zefayus––what’s the status on the others?”
The tall Scion already had his Lowers phone out; but then some footsteps were heard on the stairs, and a gangly man with large hoop earrings and spiky hair walked in. He was some older than the rest, maybe in his late thirties. After fist-bumping Zefayus and nodding to Lucas, who nodded back, the newcomer came face to face with Tr’aedis, who put his own fist out as well. The newcomer obviously didn’t return the bump.
Eleanor shook her head.
“You made sure you weren’t followed, Porte?” d’Voris asked, and Porte grinned, flashing a set of clear white teeth. Still not as clear as anyone’s from Plent though. “Since day one,” he replied. “Kelit and Valha’ya are downstairs, with Glid's bot. Can’t let the newbies meet everyone on their first day, can we?”
d’Voris was shaking her head. “As soon as the leader gets here, he can take a look at the high schoolers. One’s a Scion––" she inclined her head to Eleanor––“and according to Lucas, possibly Element’r.”
Porte’s eyes widened, and he smiled even more broadly. “Well, well, well! What’s your name, miss?” he asked, coming closer and looking at her intently.
“Eleanor. Eleanor Dorr.”
“A strong name, Eleanor. You’re not from the Lowers, are ya.”
“That’s right, we’re visiting students from Might,” Tr’aedis quipped.
“I won’t ask why or how you came to us, but I think I’d like some confirmation. You’re Scion Element’r? Can you prove it to us?”
Eleanor immediately shook her head instinctively. He frowned. “You can’t?”
I can’t. The thought came to her reactively, but firmly. She’d been trying not to think about it. Being able to look at the other Scions and wonder about their traits. But not her own. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I don’t know my trait––I just know I’m Scion Element’r.”
Porte snorted. “And I’m Scion Magy’cal.” She put a hand to her mouth, for his words had come in her voice, exactly as if he had just replayed it via receptor––but he wasn’t wearing one, and she’d never heard of the word Magy’cal.
The other Scions smiled at her reaction, even d’Voris. “Porte can replicate voices,” Lucas said from behind her. “Super useful, isn’t it.” He stood up from the couch, hinges creaking, and came over. “I’ve shown you my power, Eleanor, although I won’t use it again on you,” he told her, almost sheepishly. “I’m Scion Ab’maluk.”
“Zef and I are both Scion Ligaerya,” Faer said, and her eyes glowed again––actually shone. And Eleanor realized that they’d been producing their own light, like haloamps. “All I can do is make some light with my eyes, but my brother can do it with his hands, and much more,” and Zefayus nodded. They then all looked at d’Voris, who shook her head again. “I can wait until the leader arrives.”
Eleanor thought that it had to do with her appearance––unless d’Voris wasn’t from the Lowers like the rest.
“Ha! Your trait is obvious, d'Voris.” Porte nodded to Eleanor. “It’s exactly what you’re thinking. d’Voris is Scion Emulus and has reaped all the benefits.” Zefayus and Lucas grinned at that, although d’Voris herself looked rather indifferent to their praise. “Now that we’ve all shown you our traits, Eleanor, it’s only courtesy. Scions know their traits as soon as they manifest themselves, or when they’re triggered––and at your age, it’s very likely done so. Now––" he held up a hand, as Eleanor struggled to form words together––“we are not asking you to join us. Not yet. But, as Scions, we are few and rare in this world. Meeting another like us is a gift! Isn’t that right?” He looked around at the others, who all smiled and nodded, each in their own way.
Eleanor shook her head, firmly. Lucas came over and put a hand on her shoulder; she shook it off. “Eleanor, we don’t want to force you––it’s special to you, after all. Take your time,” he said.
“That’s right, Eleanor,” Faer said. “No two Scions have the same trait, so whatever it is, we’re excited to see it! As d’Voris has been reminding us, when our leader comes we’ll decide whether you join, and only if you do, since you’re still in school and all, then please, feel free to show us.” The light from her eyes somehow extended to her smile.
Eleanor nodded, and the Furies relaxed. Lucas walked back to the couch and Zefayus began toying with one of the umbrellas. “So is this method acting or––" came someone’s voice, when the door opened, and a man wearing a chef’s hat walked in.
“Nodari!” Lucas exclaimed, and the Scions backed away, or gave the newcomer some space, either out of fear or respect or both. Eleanor felt the twange again, hotter this time, and the man named Nodari looked at her, and something passed between them. It was indescribable. But Eleanor knew, she just knew, that he was also Scion Element’r, and whatever his trait was, it was much more potent than hers.
“Hello, all.” Nodari’s voice was crackly, like the sound tea leaves made when crunched by the fingers. “I’ve come up here to let you know that the boss wants to meet the new Scion.” He had brown hair, color unchosen, which crept out from under the chef’s hat messily. He was wearing, in deep contrast to the hat, a T-shirt spotted with pink flowers and shorts of deep blue. His eyes were taking in the people in the room one by one, skipping over Tr’aedis, and they were incredibly bored.
Eleanor took a step back. In all respects, other than his power, he was like one of those introverts back at school who used their parents’ wealth on the wrong clothes. But something about him was off.
“Before that, though, the leader wishes that she be tested.”
Faer gave a gasp, and Porte looked almost afraid, but didn’t step in. “Look, she’s not interested,” Zefayus started to say, but Nodari with one glance at him silenced the tall man. “I won’t apologize, it’s orders––” and Nodari raised his hand, and––
Mother was fully human. She didn’t mean to do it. It wasn’t her fault. But Mother was in flames. They rushed towards her. They weren’t vast or great but she turned away, the heat enveloping her body but she wasn’t burning. She wasn’t burning and Mother was screaming. Telling her to get away so she got away. The room grew hotter and hotter. Mr. Tupil coming in and talking about CEO crisis on Laconica error in House system protection failure from flames. Burns. She closed her eyes and wished for it to go away. All away. Trying and trying to block. But the wall came crashing down, parapets facing the tears through her fingers and spurting out. Father wasn’t at home but she wasn’t to worry, Mr. Tupil told her, she couldn’t run away as he stepped into the edge of the fire and pulled Mother from where she was lying unconscious not speaking “Nodari, stop!” came a voice, and the fire vanished, she was being wrapped in an alter steel beam falling on Mr. Tupil, yelling in pain as the little girl watched as he strained and lifted Mother and came over raggedly, asking if she was hurt and she was “completely fine. She uses fire like me,” Nodari said matter of fact. “That confirms it.”
“Nodari!” d’Voris said again, and it was d’Voris who carefully removed the blanket from her shoulders and Eleanor was, as they said, unhurt. A bit warm, but the fire hadn’t even touched her. She wiped her eyes. Tr’aedis was silent for once and no one was laughing, only silent. Lucas looked away.
“Eleanor––I’m sorry. We didn’t know––we couldn’t know. I’ll take you to our boss.” Porte gestured towards the back, and motioned for her to lead the way; Eleanor relented, not looking at the Scion who had seemed perfectly comfortable using the power she had tried to forget for the past eight years.
I slowly emerged from one of the side entrances, the one bringing you directly to the place where the children fought each other in their colored uniforms. I could hear the clamor of the unblooded around the front––they'd be taking pictures of the whole thing, their terror overblown by their Montag coming down like an angel with the son in his arms. He'd love it.
The students were milling, their phones held open and emitting the invisible light that allowed them to capture life. Teachers attempted to sway the crowd still. Reify was nowhere to be seen; not on the roof. I looked around the grass and cars parked.
Then the air went cold. Holding my sword, I turned to the source, and Reify was there; the surface of Moonbeam paled, like someone breathed frost onto it. Reify was zipping up his vest.
“Whew! Now that’s cold, Revé––I’m not your enemy.” He was with a girl I didn’t recognize, wearing a backpack and looking sullen. Her hair was short, only barely passing her ears, and a deep black. But she didn’t look fazed by the fact that they had manifested from thin air, and that patches of ice clung to Reify’s shoulders. She was wearing a sweater, though.
I then saw that her jeans were partially burned away, revealing splotches of red skin on her legs. But the splotches were shrinking, dissipating like puddles of water on a sidewalk after a summer rain. I stared.
The girl met my eyes briefly, but didn’t say anything. Instead she pulled out her phone and proceeded to message somebody, face bent low over the screen. I slowly lowered Moonbeam. I looked at Reify directly. “Who is she?” Her legs are now fully healed, as if they had never been burned.
I couldn’t see his eyes through his sunglasses. “This is an extraordinary person, one who withstood my fire. I do not know her name, but she now knows mine. What say you, Revé? Does she join us on our quest?”
I shuddered. “So there are more of you?” I said aloud. Reify nodded, then shook his head. “More of me? I doubt it. There’s only one Reify, you know?” The girl paused in her messaging but so briefly I almost missed it. “But I don’t know her name. What’s your name?” Reify asked the girl, who said without looking, “Jane.” He nodded again and snapped his fingers.
All of the ice on his clothes turned to water.
“Ah, shouldn’t have done that, now I’m wet.” He took off his sunglasses and shook them, water droplets sprinkling to the ground. Put them back on. “That’s better. See, she’s not a Reify. That’s me. Jane, Reify, Revé. Now.” He turned to Jane again. “I have my blade, but I need a sheath that can withstand my fire. You can do that, can’t you.”
The girl called Jane shook her head and put her phone in her pocket. She then looked away from us and towards the parking lot. Pointed to a nondescript car pulling up to the curb nearest where we stood. It parked smoothly. The door opened and a man stepped out. He was dressed in working clothes.
“Jane, let’s go,” said the man.
Jane nodded, and walked somewhat quickly over; opened the door in shotgun and got in. I couldn’t see her through the window but something like a purple potted flower was sitting on the dashboard. Reify started to follow but the man took a step forward. They made eye contact, and Reify hesitated. “I’m picking up my daughter, sir. I’d advise you to get home as well”––the man nodded to the commotion up ahead––“before it gets even crazier.” He walked back to the car. Got in. It backed away, reverse turned, and drove out of the parking lot. Reify looked after it.
“I’d like to know his name,” he said, and I could only replay every moment of the encounter in my head––my hands went to my earbuds, still nestled in my hoodie pocket––for I had seen a man come from fire and ice, a girl recover from his burns, and another man do nothing other than look back at Reify with his eyes. The sirens of the armageddon began to ring in the distance and I instinctively touched the thin cords of my earbuds. Though rarely spoken, we still proceed A sort of weapon lies on the ground.
RIN FAMILY AWARDED TOP PRIZE AT EXHIBIT, Tristan read over his father’s shoulder at the Energetic V-book held firmly in his father’s hands. His father was nodding as he read, and said to him while using his eyes to scroll, “Good work, son, you managed your stand well.” Tristan beamed––he’d practiced every morning in front of the mirror, reciting his lines as he avoided the airnanos chasing his bangs to make them straight. “Thank you, father.”
“Besides the fact that you left your booth unmanned past GAT regulations, you only needed to improve the One Fleet.”
Tristan opened his Thoughtnote via receptor. “The wind strings held it well together, but the cohesion was altogether strained,” his father said. Good structure on wind strings, Tristan recorded. “They’re planes, Tristan. Planes yearn to fly.” His father now indicated the composition with his hands. “Imagine the One Fleet, Tristan. They are not separate entities. They are ten parts of the same group, without a commander present, yes, but a single group that will soar the skies.” One Fleet, not One Body. Commander of the fleet. His hands drifted like leaves, imitating the alter darts. “With less tension on the wind strings, there is no inertia. The wind is an outside force, not part of the inherent work, but still essential to the constant and nonconstant motion.” Wind part of the fleet. “Imagine it now, Tristan. The alter darts––moving together to a destination we do not know.”
Tristan smiled and nodded his head, inputting a reminder via Thoughtnote for two hours later to review. “I’ll command them well, father.”
His father put down the cup of coffee which he had picked up. Spread his hands out towards him. “There is no commanding in techistry, Tristan. Only order. Lack of rule, yet controlled. Now go, show it to me before dinner, OK?”
Tristan nodded. “Thanks, dad,” he said as his father returned to Energetic, sipping the coffee that Tristan had brewed by hand earlier that morning. That gave him nine hours to give the alter darts freedom. He left his father and used the nexus tube to enter his room on the eighth floor, in which lay the One Fleet scattered with wind strings unconnected to their alter darts.