Trarn sighted down the crossbow at the floating balloon as it bobbed on the breeze. A round stone lay on the crossbow in place of a bolt. It was slung into a pouch made into the training crossbow's drawstring. Actual arrows were not budgeted into the Cloudkin military training. Trarn was of age. At year 14, all males of the Cloudkin nation were required to train in the military wings of the Cloudkin Empire for 3 years. Trarn angled the small crossbow uncomfortably and loosed the stone at the floating target.
...
"MISS!!!"
Trarn jumped as the drill leader shouted from the back of the constructed range. The man's voice echoed across the mighty trunk of the great cloud pine on which the shooting range was constructed.
"FLEDGLING TRARN, DO YOU WANT TO BE A CABIN SCRUB YOUR WHOLE TOUR!!!"
"No, Leader."
"SPEAK UP, FLEDGLING; YOUR VOICE MISSES MY EARS."
A few other fledgling soldiers snickered but did their best to stifle their mirth. No one wanted to attract the drill leader's attention.
"NO, LEADER, I DON'T WANT TO SCRUB DECKS!"
Trarn belted out, his hands shaking. My family ship was so much quieter; I hate it here, Trarn moaned internally.
"THEN HIT THE UNDER-SUN TARGET, YOU DENSE, INBRED BEETLE SCRAPER!"
The insults usually involved Trarn's close family being farmers. The drill leader wasn't particularly creative.
Trarn cocked the crossbow's draw lever. At least that was easy enough. He was used to big farm crossbows for bringing down pesky leatherheads or beetle snatchers (a hawk variant that primarily eats large beetles). He loaded another round stone and aimed at the nearest bobbing target. Suddenly, a target far off across the archery range caught his eye. It bobbed in the breeze at the edge of the giant tree branches. At least half an imperial strand away, it looked so tiny from there, but for some reason, Trarn felt like he could hit it if he wanted to. He didn't notice his instructor's sharp inhale.
"What were you looking at just now?"
Trarn nearly jumped out of his pants.
How did he know?
"Uhh, the far targets..?"
Trarn almost questioned his own memory. The drill leader leaned forward past Trarn's right shoulder, pointing towards the target balloon Trarn had looked at.
"Take a shot at that one."
"But I-"
"DID I STUTTER?"
That was more like the instructor to yell. Somehow the roar in his ear had felt less frightening than the quiet focus he had felt moments ago from the man. The other fledglings chuckled; the drill leader must be busting Trarn over for failing his practice, they thought. Trarn ignored them as usual and took aim. He had the distinct feeling that he could hit the target. It was odd, like the assuredness of lifting a spoon off a tabletop or plucking elytra from a brass beetle. It was the feeling of something routine. He pulled the trigger on the crossbow. The stone flew well out of sight, shrinking to less than a speck as it sped over 400 digits in less than a second. But in that time, the target had moved. A little wind buffeted it lightly a few digits to the left. Trarn grumbled internally. What's the point if it’s going to move after I shoot?
Pfup....
The balloon rocked as its canvas skin was struck.
I hit it?
Trarn realized, the rock must have arched a little left in flight, likely due to some spin on the stone when I shot it? But I didn't account for that. Stones never fly straight; even arrows deflect. How did I? He turned around. The drill leader looked at him with a broad grin. The other fledglings looked confused and surprised. Trarn didn't know what this meant, but he had a feeling something was wrong.
Trarn later learned why he had felt unsettled. His military stay was cut short fairly quickly, and he was sent home. Family drama ensued. Trarn hadn't known, but he learned quickly. The reappearance of the cloud king's blessing was rare, especially four generations removed. It was so rare, in fact, that many in Trarn's family just assumed he was the illegitimate offspring of a Cloudkin wing feather or even a talon (designations for nobility in the Cloudkin nation). This sparked drama of the worst kind. Trarn would bitterly remember, multiple times a day, how his father's brother had approached the development.
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Trarn was working at his home ship when his uncle's ship approached from across an expanse of clouds. The family watched the ship with apprehension. Ever since Trarn was dumped out of the military, visits from Cloudkin ships had been less than cordial. They didn't fear pirates in this region. Flying over the no man's land of the northern jungles, the Cloudkin nation moved as nomads. Pirates steered clear for half a hundred strands in any direction when the Cloudkin eyes roamed the clouds (the "eyes" are the dual kings of the Cloudkin nation). The ship docked quickly with their home ship. His uncle was wealthy, and his ship dwarfed Trarn's father's ship by nearly triple. Servants and guardsmen manned the decks and cleaned and maintained the silken balloons of the massive vessel. Cloudkin respected military prowess above all else, and through war, Trarn's uncle had become the 100th feather (though he was yet to receive the cloud king's blessing).
"So," were his first words after stepping off the docking board. He was not a big man, but his presence loomed over the family. His white hair was wild and windblown back behind his head.
"Reeeeeturned, a gift to us?"
He dragged out the "reee," his voice jubilant. Trarn grinned with excitement, stepping forward. Finally, someone excited about his newfound gift! But his father knew better. He spoke up quickly, "Atran, you don't visit your lowly brother often. What do you want?" Uncle Atran feigned pain, his face twisting into a superficial look of dejection.
"Come, brother; I am excited to hear this gift has made it to us, regardless of how it may have happened."
Trarn's joy fell, and in its place, rage burned up hot. He had had enough of the conjecture. His father had bent and taken the passive slights. His mother would object but only passively. Neither dared to show strength to the military, to their relatives, to the agent of the royals who had come to verify Trarn as Reetrarn, the name he had been overjoyed to take.
"You're just envious," he spoke what he felt. Trarn rarely had the courage before, but things were different now. Strength mattered most; his uncle would come to know that!
"Care to repeat that?" Atran looked down at him. Trarn was still not yet 15. His uncle overwhelmed him in reach and strength.
"If you wish to slight my family, you slight me," Trarn spat out the words.
"Trarn, hold your mouth shut," his father tried to run damage control but went silent immediately at a glance from Atran.
"You know the price of disrespecting a feather of the cloud kings," Atran now glared sincerely. Cloud king bone broth was rare. Hunting the bird was the Cloudkin nation's ever-present quest. A sighting of the gargantuan condor in small kingdoms could spell disaster for the inhabitants if the Cloudkin nation heeded the call and swept in on the winds like locusts. Atran might never receive the precious elixir. He could die a feather that was never blessed. His rage smoldered visibly under years of patience and want. Trarn nodded in response,
"Crossbow duel, you choose the ship."
The traditional duel was in his favor as it was designed to support those royals blessed with cloud king bone broth. Strength by birth or strength by merit mattered not to the Cloudkin. "Violence decides who is right; history simply remembers." This is the creed of many a Cloudkin child's upbringing, though not Trarn's.
"My ship at dawn."
Atran accepted without hesitation, surprising Trarn. He exited their ship just as quickly.
"What have you done?" Trarn's mother practically shouted. He only looked at her with rising detest. My father and mother have no spine! This duel was to protect her honor, and yet she still scolds me. Trarn's thoughts turned away from his parents as they scolded him, his resentment turning to ambition. If he defeated Atran, what titles would he acquire? 100th feather was a guarantee, but at his age and with the blessing... why stop there? He could shoot for 50th feather, then 10th... then. The possibilities arose before him. He just had to win this duel!