First Clash

My father came to visit me in the hospital often. Always, he thanked the nurse that led him to my room, bowing deeply his gratitude. He would replace the wilted flowers in my room with a fresh arrangement and refill their water. He would sit on a stool while he sifted through his bag of goodies, introducing each one as he placed them on my bedside table as if he were a chef at a 5-star restaurant. His voice was loud and boisterous, but I wasn’t going to complain. His visits were lovely, one of the only times during each day when I felt seen. However, I could never get over how he ended each one.

“I can’t wait to see you on your feet again,” he said once. “Your mother wants to take you to a new favorite restaurant of hers!” Then, he jabbed his thumb at the door. It was a dull blow, like a book from the middle shelf slipping off its place. Whenever he talked about mother, he’d always gesture to the door, and yet she barely ever came in to see me. Only once, when I was first hospitalized. She didn’t say a word to me, even though it was the first time she had seen me conscious since the accident. She covered her mouth first, then her eyes. Then she left, and I haven’t seen her since.

Why? Was it because she hadn’t been there when it happened? But father hadn’t been there either. What did she see when she looked at me that was so horrible she had to close her eyes?

***

"Did you hear? About Cygnus?"

"Of course, who hasn't? Can you imagine, they said he can't even use magic anymore!"

"Poor boy. And he was going to do great things, too."

"Please, don't tell me you believed all that. There's no way he was actually going to the Capital—"

Brant cuts off the two middle-aged women with his withering glare. Upon being confronted by the subject of their conversation, they smile at us awkwardly and scamper off, muttering apologies under their breaths. With his dark wings and hair, that effect is expected. Honestly, he even scares me sometimes. I was surprised to find out that he's actually my younger brother, though only by a few months.

"They think they can just mouth off all they want," Brant says, his glare still lingering on the gossips' backs. "They don't even stop to think about what they're saying."

I laugh weakly to show him that it isn't a big deal; honestly, I didn't even recognize my own name at first. However, he's already brushed past me. For some reason, he seems to be in an irritable mood.

Our parents have sent us on an errand to buy some fresh produce from one of the neighboring islands: fruit, vegetables, that kind of thing. Our little village is far enough out of the way that the only marketplace is too long a flight away for them to make. Or at least, that's what my parents told us to get us out of the house. In reality, though, I know they're uncomfortable with having me around ever since I seemingly lost my memory. Their greetings are short and they can never seem to meet my eyes. Brant is the only one in the house that still talks to me normally, so I'm grateful to have him around, even if he is a little brooding.

As we make our way to the edge of the island, I feel my stomach clench a little. Looking down, I can barely see the ocean I fell into just a month ago through the clouds. It's terrifying to think about now: how far I fell, how close I came to death. By some miracle, I managed to walk away completely unharmed, though that's probably not how it appears to everyone around me.

"Still need help?" Brant says to me.

"Oh. Yes, please."

I feel the air whirl around me, tickling my feathers. I still haven't gotten used to having this spell cast on me. It makes my body feel weightless, when I'm so used to it feeling like lead. Honestly, it's a bit eerie, like I'm afraid my body might fly off on its own when I jump. The reality isn't quite so dramatic, though. Even with the wind supporting my weight, I can just barely fly at all, and anything beyond a walking pace is too much for me.

The two of us take off, flying side by side towards the marketplace island. If he were on his own, the trip would probably take around 10 minutes. With me by his side it's bound to take at least twice as long, and even longer once our we're weighed down by our purchases. At first, I thought I'd be able to fly if I just worked on controlling my wings, but it turns out it's not that simple. In truth, the wings aren't strong enough to fully support the weight of a person. As such, the inhabitants of this world have to use magic for additional support, and that is where I fall short. It would seem that everyone here is naturally born with an aptitude for magic such that even children can fly. With further training and study, one can then increase their magical ability. However, as someone transported from another world, I have no innate magic whatsoever, and need to rely on someone else to support me.

To make matters worse, Cygnus was actually something of a spellcasting prodigy. Not only did he show a strong aptitude for magic even from a young age, but he also studied hard to attend the prestigious Royal Academy, hoping to be the first person from our village to leave and make it in the Capital. He had even succeeded, receiving an invitation letter to attend just a few weeks before the accident. Of course, with me now in the driver's seat, those hopes have been all but dashed. There's no point in me attending a magic school when I can't even fly on my own.

Not that I care about any of that. Of course, it would have been nice to go to a prestigious academy to learn magic, but I'm more than satisfied with being able to move around on my own and the occasional accompanied flight. It's leagues ahead of what I used to have, and it's more than enough to satisfy me.

Before we reach our destination, however, I hear a swoosh from right behind me. A force like a strong gust of wind knocks me back, sending me spiraling through the air a good distance before I can recover and right myself. Brant clicks his tongue as a blur of dark brown closes in on him. Instead of being knocked away like I did, however, he braces himself for impact and manages to stop the assailant in her tracks, their hands locked in a struggle of strength. She has black feathers and hair just like him, except her seems to glisten in the sunlight.

"Looks like they don't call you a star guard for nothing," the stranger says with a grin. Brant merely grits his teeth and heaves, shoving her away.

"Corva. What are you doing?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to get some fresh air," Corva snarls. "What do you think, dumbass?"

Brant grimaces. If she's picking a fight, then it's looking bad. Even if there are two of us, I can barely even fly on my own, so Brant has to focus on protecting me as well as himself. He has probably realized this too. Still, he holds his ground.

He puts his hands together, fingers interlocking and instantly I feel a shift in the wind. Whereas before the wind swirled around him in a loose circle, generally keeping him afloat, now he is drawing it in more tightly around himself. I can almost see the wind gathering around him, until it becomes a tightly packed blur around him, howling furiously to be let loose but held firmly in place by his magic.

"The legendary wind armor," Corva whistles sarcastically. "You didn't have to bring out just for lil' ol' me."

"You're about to wish I hadn't," he snarls “Brother, stay close to me.”

I comply without complaint. Then, what comes next happens so fast I can barely comprehend it. Corva extends both of her arms outward as if she’s preparing to snatch a bug out of the air. At first, nothing happens, but then I’m suddenly jerked forward, sending me crashing into Brant’s back. Brant is more prepared, firmly holding his position, though with some noticeable consternation. Then, Corva launches herself forward, wings folded back and fist poised to strike. Except, she’s not aiming for Brant. She jumps upward, sailing straight over Brant before diving back down for me.

Brant only manages to throw himself in front of me in time, arms crossed to take the blow. The slug hits him with a dull thud, the impact to both parties clear. His defense is successful though, and Corva retreats to her original position. However, the assault is not over. Corva reinitiates her attack, this time throwing herself at a different angle to get around Brant. He manages to block the attack again, but she just attacks again.

After several more exchanges, the true nature of the situation dawns on me. Corva isn’t just launching herself each time; she’s voiding the air between herself and Brant, creating a vacuum and riding the inrush of air to propel herself. And with this realization comes the understanding that Brant can’t keep this going for much longer. With each attack, a little bit of his wind armor—and his resistance to being pulled in—is being ripped away. He’s being pulled in almost a full meter at the start of Corva’s attacks now, making it harder for him to intercept in time, though he keeps doing it anyway because I can't defend myself.

Finally, Corva launches her final attack. It starts out the same as the previous ones, with a blind rush toward us. However, at the last second, she creates a vacuum to one side, pulling Brant out of the way. At the same time, she twists her body and spreads out her wings to resist the pull of her own attack. Then, with her obstacle removed, she goes straight for me and punches me in the face.

It stings. The previously turbulent airspace is perfectly still all of a sudden, as if the whole world is holding its breath. No one speaks, and it’s perfectly silent. I can almost hear birds squawking below the clouds, the waves crashing even further down. Corva pulls her hand back and examines it. Her knuckles are bruised from punching Brant’s wind barrier over and over again. Her anger is gone, evaporating just as quickly as her bursts of speed.

“I...did it,” she breathes. Then, she winds up to hit me again.

Brant rockets in from the side, his fist extended, and lands a blow square on her stomach. She doubles over in pain, tears forming in her eyes. She sweeps a glare over us both before turning tail and flying away without another word.

I float, stunned and motionless, until Brant grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me violently.

“What are you doing!” he shouts. “Why are you just spacing out?”

“I—I don’t know. What could I have done?”

“What?” Brant asks, baffled. “Defend yourself! Fight back! Even if you can’t use magic anymore, don’t just sit there and let her hit you!” He groans, hanging his head and covering his eyes with a hand. “What happened to you? You taught me to never take injustice lying down, and now you’re—forget it.”

“You’re really not going to the Royal Academy, are you?” he asks suddenly. He’s still facing away from me. He won’t even look at me.

“No, I’m not. I—I can’t.” It sounds lame even to me.

For a while, he’s silent. Then, finally, he says: “Let’s get going. We still have time to pick up the vegetables if we hurry.”