Monthly Short Story for February: Ilunor's Flying Days 1

Hello Commissioned Pioneers! :D As promised, I’d like to present to you the third of the four owed Bonus Stories! This story, being Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School’s 25th side story!

This chapter was originally planned to coincide with the space and the magical flight principle chapters to kind of act as an accompaniment to Ilunor’s explanations of the three laws! Moreover, these stories — what I’ll be referring to as Ilunor’s Flying Days — are also meant to sort of contrast heavily with the end of Thalmin’s Havenbrockian Intervention series! The casual approach to flight, juxtaposed to Thalmin’s shock and awe reception to said flight, is meant to show both the relationship and the sheer disconnect in both parties. Moreover, it’s really meant to hammer home the disparity in both party’s magical and technical capabilities! :D And also, since this is the first Ilunor POV bonus story, I really hope to explore more of his character and his history here, so I hope you guys like it! :D 

Ilunor's Flying Days 1

Mount Herald of Sacrifice. Secondary Capital of the Vunerian Kingdoms. Executioner’s Precipice. The Royal Academy of Flight. His Eternal Lecture Hall. 

Ten Months Prior to Lord Rularia’s leave for the Transgracian Academy of Magical Arts.

Top-Right, Top-Left… The fleetlord’s words repeated in the backdrop of my mind, set against the crinkling of parchment and the rustling of paper which echoed cacophonously throughout the domed room’s confines.

Central crease, then fold over… The man’s words continued, my eyes transfixed not on this paltry exercise in front of me, nor even this sorry excuse of a lesson, but instead… on the subject of our collective interests waiting for us just outside of this relic of a hall.

The occasional roar followed by a rumbling in the manastreams serving only as fuel to the flame burning within our hearts.

“Might I remind my esteemed pupils that it is the duty of a flier, a rider, and a pilot to place emphasis on the preparations required for one’s journey?” Fleetlord Altaius spoke through a gentle yet insistent tone of voice, the latter aspect of which prompted everyone to redirect their efforts on finishing the final few folds of this infantilizing exercise. “Do not be so inclined as to focus solely on one’s destination.”

We all knew where the man’s aims for this lesson lay.

We all heard through the grapevine the sorts of lessons Shiplord Altaius tended to favor.

The man was an eccentric.

Yet in spite of his questionable character, he remained a Vunerian of the highest caliber. 

A standard-bearer of the Royal Vunerian Flying Service.

A stalwart champion of Vunerian exceptionalism within the maze-like labyrinth that was the Crownlands’ Aerial Ministries.

The man was an eccentric, yes.  

But if that was what it took to achieve the Crownlands dream, to enforce Vunerian identity upon an age-old Royal institution, to take our rightful part of the colorful tapestry of eternal history in this era? 

Then so be it.

The skies have always and will always be the birthright of Vunerian-kind, returned to us by His Eternal Majesty following the dethroning and dressing down of the dragons.

It was the duty of all Vunerians, high and low, to inherit this birthright in one way or another.

It just so happened that at the higher rungs of society, the first step to accomplishing this duty started within the classroom — reinforcing upon us what we have known since childhood.

“The fundamental principles of flight.” The fleetlord spoke through a flighty smile, the commoner’s plaything he’d instructed us to fold held firmly in between his two fingers. “I am certain that each and every one of you have been exposed to its fundamentals throughout your short lifetimes. What I wish to impress upon you is not an act of humiliation, nor an exercise in patronizing discourse, but instead a brief summation in which all of us can be brought into the same fold. Universal truths can be distorted without institutionalized fundamentals. And today, we establish those fundamentals — clearing away any distorted truths otherwise learned outside of official instruction.” A small pause followed as the man shifted his gaze, if only slightly, into something more severe and far more fitting for his station. 

“I understand the frustrations welling deep within each and every one of you. It is understandable, after all, considering that the skies are our birthright. This exercise, nay, this entire lesson may seem superfluous considering what we have inherited. But I need not remind you that this heritage, this second-nature attunement to flight, is not a substitute for the knowledge and skills offered by the light of the sapient mind. Nor is second-hand information and informal lessons passed on by friend or kin capable of replacing what institutionalized tutelage offers. If you wish to consider the contrary, then you need look no further than the dragons who once seemed nigh invincible — brought down to their knees by the collective light of civilized kind.” 

A pause punctuated that flighty sentiment, and whilst some seemed disinterested and unmoved by the man’s words, I for one felt a growing sense of warmth. A glowing, burning, red-hot pride that swelled within my chest. 

A pride that transcended the petty squabbles between houses and united all of us under the banner of what we ultimately all were — civilized peoples.

“Now then! With that preamble out of the way, let us begin this exercise.” The fleetlord continued, returning to his more amiable persona while lifting up the crude facsimile of a flying construct born of parchment and paper. “Aethra Primus, Aethra Secundum, and Aethra Tertius.” He continued. Though instead of continuing the lecture by demonstrating the paper bird in flight, the noble instead reached for another bag of holding. Within this, he quickly brought forth a typical bird; a giftless, pitiful thing. 

It subsequently fluttered to life and with panicked and clumsy flaps, promptly took flight. Soaring high within the lecture hall, it brought neither amazement nor wonder to an audience of jaded nobles.

“Aethra primus — flight without flight. A false sort of flight. The ability to soar, glide, and travel through the skies… whilst beholden to the rules which govern beast and commoner alike.” Fleetlord Altaius spoke theatrically, allowing the bird to glide for a handful more seconds before finally calling it to a hover in front of the class.

At which point did he demonstrate to us what we’d learned time and time again.

Colorful interpretations of the winds and the pressures therein were made visible above and below the bird’s wings, reinforcing what we already knew.

Moreover, leypull was quickly illustrated with the use of both arrows and undulating tendrils, marrying scholastic visualizations with a more noble sensibility. 

“To fly utilizing aethra primus is akin to flying while manacled and leashed. Because while flight is achieved, it is achieved at the mercy of this most limiting of flight principles.” 

A collective series of nods and huffy affirmations slowly emerged from within the audience. The fleetlord took this as a cue to move swiftly onwards.

With a sullen coo from that disgusting creature, he promptly brought forth the folded paper construct we’d spent minutes fussing over, imbuing it with magic while quickly returning the bird back into his bag of holding.

“Aethra secundum.” He began as that paper and parchment construct promptly took flight in much the same way as the bird did. “Pseudo-flight. A path to the skies conjured by the objective mastery over magic… but filtered through a mind bereft of imagination.” 

The fleetlord paused as the winged creature soared further, flew faster, and in many ways exceeded the capacity of the primitive animal. 

“Can anyone expound on my words?” The fleetlord directed attention back to us, as Lord Klevanur was quick to take advantage of this shift in dynamics.

“Aethra secundum — defined as magically-assisted flight — utilizes magical means to augment all manner of worldly processes affecting lift whilst not magically interfering with those aforementioned principles.” He spoke confidently.

“Yes. Spoken verbatim if I might add.” The fleetlord acknowledged with a nod, eliciting a few derisive chuckles from the class. “However, I wish for something beyond mere rote recitals. I wish for your own understanding of the matter, and not simply what the textbooks say. Tell me why Aethra Secundum is as limiting as it is. Explain to me why society didn’t stop at Aethra Secundum, and why civilized society didn’t simply adopt it as the primary means through which conventional flight is carried forth?”

I quickly raised my hand…

Only to be upended by Lord Versius a mere half second first.

“Yes, Lord Versius?”

“It is as you hinted at, professor. Whilst technically competent, this field is ultimately a dead end.” He paused before turning to shoot Lord Klevanur a dismissive glance. “Rote learning only begets the same results, repeated, ad infinitum. Moreover, what Aethra Secundum truly boils down to is the recreation of Aethra Primus’ principles of flight, though mimicked and refined by the use of magical analogues to its function.” He paused before pointing at the wings and tail of the paper and parchment construct, electing to also let loose his own paper bird. “Everything you see here was done before by the primitive animal. This is merely a technically competent facsimile. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

The entire class paused, as all eyes quickly shot back to the fleetlord.

Lord Altaius, while nodding in affirmation, didn’t move beyond mere passive acknowledgement.

Instead, he shot a finger back towards the construct… changing it in mid-air into something completely foreign.

Its flapping wings were instead replaced by a long and angled surface. Its body now resembled a tube, almost mimicking true aethra ships but in an aesthetically displeasing manner. 

Moreover, its tail was extended, replaced instead by three flat surfaces that jutted out in 45-degree increments.

A simple speed enchantment was placed on two conical structures beneath both of its wings, as it now moved faster than ever before, flying in stiff and obtuse patterns that were as unnatural as its design.

“Tell me, Lord Versius. Has this design transitioned into the realm of Aethra Tertius, or are we still beholden to the principles of Aethra Secundum?”

“The former, Fleetlord.” The turquoise and blue noble spoke confidently. 

“And why is that?” The fleetlord raised a brow.

“Because we are no longer mimicking the flight of a primitive animal.” He explained simply. “Stilted wings, angled flat tail, and most of all, artifices beneath said wings generating power instead of the flapping of wings — they all point to an evolution of design principles. Though perhaps a bit simple for true Aethraships, what you have demonstrated with this… conical construct is still the shift from the natural order to a completely sapient one.”

The fleetlord nodded slowly, before turning towards the rest of the class.

“Does anyone object?” 

It was at this point that I raised my hand confidently, garnering a quizzical look from half of the room, and the glare from Versius.

“Yes, Lord Rularia?”

“I disagree wholeheartedly.” I announced firmly, confidently, and with a sly grin.

“Explain yourself.” The fleetlord commanded.

“It is quite simple, really. You are misconstruing a drake’s color for its temperament.” I quickly pointed at the construct. “While its design on the surface may indeed resemble what one might find from aethraships following the principles of Aethra Tertius, this construct is ultimately still beholden to the natural limitations of Aethra Primus.” I quickly turned to the turquoise and blue Vunerian who glared daggers in my direction. “Yes, its form is unconventional. Yes, its wings are entirely unnatural. And yes, its manner of generating speed and power is entirely magically-driven… but couldn’t the same be said for the flapping of wings using magic?” 

That latter statement caused Versius’ face to go pale as he soon realized his mistake.

“The construct exhibits no spells, enchantments, nor magics that directly alter the limiting principles of ‘natural’ flight. It merely follows it and bends to its whims to the most logical extremes. In short, it has altered both form and power. Indeed, it has even altered some important dynamics of wing-driven lift. But it has not qualified for that which makes Aethra Tertius truly unique.” I paused for dramatic effect, raising both arms wide by my side. “The bending of those limiting principles themselves.”

A striking silence descended on the room following my gambit, as I turned to the fleetlord for any sign of affirmation.

None came.

At least, not in the way I’d thought.

Because instead of anything verbal, the elderly Vunerian’s affirmations came instead in the form of the paper and parchment construct hovering overhead, before folding itself into something resembling a crown.

My heart fluttered in that instant as I grinned widely, while the paper crown soon found its home upon my noble head.

“Very good, Lord Rularia. Very good…” The fleetlord acknowledged with a series of firm nods. “You have seen past the superficial, and demonstrated an intrinsic understanding of the truth.” He took a moment to pause, to pierce deep into my very soul with those old yet sharp eyes. “Always play the skeptic. Never take things for their face value and you will forever be a step ahead in both court politics and academia.” He drilled with severity, causing me to bow deeply in his direction. “Yes, Fleetlord.”

With a few hushed words of jealousy exchanged under hushed breaths from the crowd, the fleetlord continued unabated, bringing out a new construct this time around.

The decorated veteran reached into his bag of holding to produce a large bottle with what appeared to be an aethraship stored within.

The vessel itself was magnificent, a triumph of artificing and enchanting and a marvel of Nexian supremacy.

It was a 10-decked masterpiece, with each deck holding within it a litany of enchanted weapons that could rain hellfire upon even the most well-defended and fortified realm. Each deck was wrapped from bow to stern in a cladding of manasteel, each bearing a different color denoting its difference in both grade and enchantment.

From the bottom most pink, to its central green hues, to its top most red and blues… the vessel was enchanted with protections from every possible form of battlemage counter-offense.

What happened next was unexpected, yet played to the man’s strengths — his theatrics. As he quickly uncorked the bottle, causing the ship within to extrude out almost like a slime, before reforming in the classroom at a size thrice of what the untrained eye might have expected. 

Soon enough, it began unfurling its four-tiered wings and its ten towering masts, allowing even the most uninitiated and enthusiastic of those within our ranks to immediately recognize its designation. 

It was an Aetherclad.

The workhorse of the Royal Flying Services, and four steps down from the grand ships of the line that would otherwise signal the apocalypse for any adjacent realm.

Despite lacking the grand designation, the aetherclad was still a ship of the line in and of itself. With many likening it to a grand aethraship in every conceivable way, save for its ability to reign apocalyptic levels of destruction.

Indeed, this made it more tactical, more maneuverable, and indeed, more practical for war against both battlemage and aethraship alike.

The fleetlord soon let loose this masterpiece of model, as it now floated ominously, mightily, and most important of all — defiantly in the air.

“Aethra Tertius.” The fleetlord continued. “True flight. Civilized flight. Or as the textbooks would say, Lord Klevanur, magically-driven flight. Given Lord Rularia’s explanations, I believe all of you shall be able to derive meaning from this form of flight by process of elimination and inference. However, for the sake of curriculum and protocol, I will make it known out of principle.” The man took a deep breath, pointing at the vessel with his walking stick. “According to all known natural laws of flight, namely through Aethra Primus, there is no way in which an aethraship could fly.” The fleetlord paused before committing to something that caused my heart to drop.

The aethraship, floating magnificently above the class, suddenly came crashing down.

A cacophonous SHATTER sent the whole room into a newfound silence, as all eyes were immediately drawn to the disaster that unfolded before us.

“However—” The man paused before casting spell after spell to repair the stricken and shattered vessel, reforming it into its original form in less than a minute. “—an aethraship, of course, flies anyways.” He spoke as the vessel now rose back to its original height. “Because instead of being reliant, being shackled, and being bound to whatever ‘natural’ principles that may exist, the aethraship instead chooses to follow its own path. It is the ultimate expression of Nexian exceptionalism, the rejection of reality, and the substitution of our own reality. It is the purest expression of noble will, second only to the practice of magic in and of itself.” The fleetlord beamed, his wide grin causing even the most frustrated or slighted among us to break out in collective pride.

“Now class, are you ready to get into the thick of things?”

“Yes, Fleetlord!” We all responded in unison, matching the elder Vunerian’s excitement.

“What was that? Either my old ears require the tending to from a healer, or perhaps there seems to be a distinct lack of enthusiastic commitment from this year of would-be fliers…”

“YES, FLEETLORD!” We all shouted collectively, far louder than before.

This garnered a massive smile from the elderly Vunerian, as he chuckled in a satisfied grin. 

“Very well. Let us start the lesson in earnest then.”

=====

Mount Herald of Sacrifice. Secondary Capital of the Vunerian Kingdoms. Executioner’s Precipice. The Royal Academy of Flight. En Route to the Drake Pens. 3 Weeks Later.

Ten Months Prior to Lord Rularia’s leave for the Transgracian Academy of Magical Arts.

The three weeks passed by like a glint in the eye of a soulstealer’s unrelenting gaze.

Which was to say, it went by fast at first before reaching something of a miasmic crawl that only a slime could be proud of. 

As unlike the preamble of a lecture, the subsequent lecture was an insightful dive into what was known but annotated. Pieces of information absent from the texts were supplemented by Fleetlord Altaius’ own experience. From the optimal placement of a Vunerian’s foot within the reins of a drake throughout a flight, all the way to the often overlooked yet intrinsically vital techniques in in-flight repositioning of the rider in question; the decorated veteran brought forth small but independently significant insights into the art of flight.

These were the aspects of the lecture that were the aforementioned glint in the soulstealer’s gaze.

The subsequent crawl however arose when we delved into the pure theoretical studies.

Moreover, following said lectures into the man’s personal insights came the long and arduous climb towards formal accreditation.

A long, meandering, and frankly off-putting series of theoretical studies that were clearly written by elves… or at the very least, heavily edited by elven hands.

It felt like a gauntlet in and of itself, making us crave the dangers and uncertainties they so often warned of, if only to provide some sort of a break in between the seemingly unrelenting torture.

Mid-week assessments along with the end-of-theoretical examinations drained all semblance of excitement from what should have been an exciting endeavor.

But I endured.

Indeed, we all endured.

Because despite what my personal reservations may be on my noble peers… we were at least united in our love, our passion, and our calling for the skies.

We each knew that three weeks would be a worthy sacrifice.

We all understood that this would be but a blip in the story of our lives.

And indeed, by the end of it, we’d each receive our Academy Accreditation.

Or at least… a preliminary one, in lieu of the Royal Accreditation to be earned at a later date.

Because first… we each had a drake to break in.

We emerged from the lecture hall, hats held high as fire and flames singed and then rendered each silly piece of garment into ash and soot.

Following which, we each lined up towards a stage, climbing stairs that ascended towards a podium positioned ridiculously high up. 

It was there — what felt like ten stories above the gathered crowd of family and kin — that we were each offered our first rider’s helmet.

I was positioned first.

Either out of random chance — or more realistically due to my first impressions and consistent performance in class — I was poised to receive the first helmet.

I did everything I could to maintain my composure following the long climb.

Indeed, I was running on pure ecstatic fervor at being the first amidst peers, especially as I now glanced back towards the gathered crowd of the other families present… especially when considering how from up here, my own kin were barely visible. 

Do not conflate the wealth of numbers for the wealth of coin… I kept reminding myself, attempting to assuage the growing jealousy incurred by the mere presence of some of these larger houses.

More mouths to feed… that’s all it is… a waste… I kept trying to remind myself, channeling the words of my late father through every open chamber within my mind.

However, I wouldn’t have to endure that sense of… whatever it was for long.

As Lord Altaius, dressed in his finest regalia, held within his hands the signature helmet that defined the Royal Vunerian Flying Service — a half-helm of fine manasteel, tapering towards a petal-like flare that protected the wearer’s shoulders and necks, as much as it did provide an anchor point for a series of frills and fabrics.

I held my head low, in a rare act of submission towards a better, as the senior Vunerian placed atop my head this most auspicious of items.

…

I felt my fate sealed at that moment.

Indeed, the rush that I felt was so otherworldly that I couldn’t help but to grin inconsolably for what felt like minutes as the man read through the vow of the rider.

The distant howling  of the winds felt louder than the fleetlord’s words for a moment, as it felt like I was riding high atop a drake already!

I quickly glanced towards the crowd once more, attempting to catch sight of both mother and brother, as each seemed glued not only to me, but to the fleetlord’s words.

I locked eyes with mother for a moment.

And with what little I could discern from the angle, I saw her mouth out a short but heartfelt sentence.

I’m proud of you, son.

… 

… 

It was at that moment… that I felt… complete.

I… I couldn’t imagine anything else but this moment.

Even the breaking of the drakes felt so far and distant now, despite how ironic that may sound.

Thankfully, and perhaps more pointedly however, my mind returned to me once the fleetlord reached the final few phrases on the vow.

“Do you, Lord Rularia, accept these vows? Do you swear to hold yourself true to your title? Do you promise to answer the call of the rider if or whenever the need may arise?” 

I took a deep breath, maintaining that lordly composure that came naturally to me. “I do, your lordship.” I bowed deeply.

“Then you may rise. Rise, Lord Ilunor Rularia, prospective Drake Rider of the Vunerian Flying Service.” Altaius spoke warmly in the way a father would, causing my heart to swell to even greater heights.

However, one word dominated my thoughts more than any other. A word that clouded the brightness of the day and brought forth a concern that felt so far all throughout the past three weeks.

Prospective Drake Rider…

There was still the matter of the drake itself I had to worry about, and the closer I got to the pens, the louder I heard the beasts within screaming and bellowing.

“We may have won much of the battle, Lord Rularia.” Another voice suddenly spoke, as I turned around to face Lord Klevanur who looked just as equally nervous as I imagined myself to be at this point. “But there’s still the matter of a drake to break in.” He spoke ominously, as the sounds of screams, caws, and powerful flares rattled me to my very core.