Young Ezekiel’s focus drifted to the back of his mind as the blows continued to rain down on his scrawny frame. He tried desperately to ignore what has happening to him, but involuntary cries slipped from his lips every third strike or so. His limbs unconsciously tried to protect his skull, but at least one layer of his increasing nausea did not come from his abdomen. His bow—broken in two—lay nearby, as his clothes and wings were dirtied with soil and blood.
Something changed nearby and the blows ceased, though Ezekiel wasn’t in any state to notice. If he had, he would have seen a muscular, tomboyish young lady wrestling one of the bullies, while the other two were pinned down by the golden glow emanating from a young lad’s hands. When Ezekiel did finally start paying attention, a pair of hands were gently laid on him as a warmness suffused his body, contusions and lacerations fading away and sealing up. When the swelling around his eyes settled down enough for him to open one, he saw a pair of kindly, if mischievously excited, sky-blue eyes, as a tousle of plum red hair framed a handsome face.
Ezekiel rolled over onto his knees, only to wretch on an empty stomach, before coughing up a spot of blood. There was talking in the background, but again, Ezekiel couldn’t find the concentration to pay attention. With a flap of his wings, he managed to get himself up onto his feet and stay balanced, as he saw his two rescuers conferring—now more quietly—over something.
“Thank you—” Ezekiel wiped the blood dribbling down his chin with the back of his wrist, as he gave a deep bow. “—thank you, for that. My name *hic* is Eze- *hic* Eze-kiel.”
“Ohhh! He’s so cute!” the young man squealed to Ezekiel’s surprise. “Can we keep him?”
The young lady guffawed. “Maybe we’ll both latch onto him.”
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In their first year at the Celerion Military Academy, Machidiel the [Cleric], Adoel the [Bulwark], Ezekiel the [Ranger], and two other classmates finished 16th out of 87 teams in the first year finals competition.
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“Alright, who’s next,” Adoel asked as she cracked her knuckles, looking at the bench of twenty-two other first, second and third year students. Adoel stood lightly on a “tree” in one of the Academy’s training arenas which, given [Celestial’s] ready flight, was a three-dimensional area with a large flat ground and multiple abstract vertical structures. Her previous opponent, a third year male [Swordsman] lay panting on the ground seven meters below her.
As her eyes drifted from face to face, the students squirmed, uninterested in facing a relatively fresh Adoel so early in their practice session. One close-cropped head looked sideways at the other students in confusion, then sensing Adoel’s attention, raised his voice, “I’ll take a go.”
“Oh, a [High Sky Warrior],” Adoel exclaimed with some cheer. “That’s (very rare), isn’t it?”
“Ha! A fighter and an academic,” the [Warrior] said with pride and amusement as he flew to the other side of the arena. “That is right, Miss Adoel. My name is Araqiel,” he saluted and gave a quick bow. “May we fight well.”
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Adoel returned the bow. “May we fight well indeed,” she returned the customary greeting then tacked on: “Survive five minutes. Araqiel and I may have an offer for you. Please do not let my hopes down.”
For four hundred and thirteen seconds, the rapid rat-a-tat of training weapons echoed around the arena.
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In their second year at the Celerion Military Academy, Machidiel the [Cleric], Adoel the [Bulwark], Ezekiel the [Ranger], Araqiel the [High Sky Warrior], and another classmate finished 14th out of 85 teams in the second year finals competition.
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“Why are we sneaking into the girls’ dorm?” Machidiel finally asked. The stairway was dark, as were the hallways. But even though it was two in the morning, it was hardly quiet, what with half the students—male and female alike—out and about pulling pranks this night.
“Because,” Araqiel whispered back at Machidiel and Ezekiel, “we’re going to steal their underwear.”
“What!” Ezekiel shout-whispered from the rear.
“You do know that Ada is like my third cousin, right?” Machidiel asked calmly with a raised eyebrow.
Araqiel glanced back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow in turn. The moment stretched out interminably as the three paused their sneaking. “Fine! We’ll skip her dresser.”
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In their third and final year at the Celerion Military Academy, Machidiel the [Cleric], Adoel the [Bulwark], Ezekiel the [Ranger], Araqiel the [High Sky Warrior], and another classmate finished 13th out of 84 teams in the third year finals competition.
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Two years later.
The sun had already risen to mid-morning. Golden shafts of sunlight penetrated deep into an austere bedroom in Celerion Ranger Station 9 in the western portion of the Celeri Empire. Military and camping gear were strewn about on the floor. Dust oscillated lazily in the still air.
The room was just starting to heat up in the late autumn sun when the door slammed open, booming twice—first with the boot, then colliding with the wall. A tall female [Celestial] in full-plate strode into the room as panicked surprise in one of the two hammocks led to a dark-haired [Ranger] (L39) awkwardly landing on his face, ass-end up, and naked as the day he was born. In the same hammock though, lazy nonchalance led to the golden-haired [Cleric] smoothly flipping out of the hammock, and with an automatic flap of his wings, gracefully landing on two legs. “Ada,” he stated neutrally.
“Mack,” she replied, keeping a firm eye on his face and not Mack’s third leg.
Ezekiel, heart rate still over two hundred, just looked at the two in their silent staredown.
Finally, Mack giggled for just two seconds, before breaking into a wide grin. “Okay. That was pretty funny,” then, schooling his face, “Deployment orders?”
“Just came in. We’re covering from Loveless Lake to Pine’s Prairie. We leave after lunch.”
“Best meal of the day,” Mack replied, the grin popping back up again. Then he gave the other floor-bound occupant a funny look. “Put some pants on, Zeke,” he said in mock seriousness, waving a hand in Ada’s direction. “We have a lady here.”
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