Da Capo (I)

Gazing at a flock of pentagonal-winged Crownbill with a thunder of frostic dragons arching over the firmament was not how Korou Kshetriba Koubru expected to start his morning. Albeit, being held against his will at over ten thousand feet was far from ideal. His teeth clattered as he held onto his bamboo staff, a hand-me-down from his master. While Atla, his esteemed, prolific, ethereal childhood friend, sailed over the bleak nimbus.

Korou gulped, his lips quivered, as he kept his vision levelled. Basking under the beauty of Kangleipak skies, he dared not to peek below. It wasn't the flying that got to him, but the altitude. Sailing across the expanse was a frivolous affair in this world or the previous one.

As Atla glided below, the Manadraft-a river of cyan hue howled past them. He closed his eyes and held back a shriek. There were bounces, upwards and down, whenever they got into one. According to the Pneumatica Hirois, a handbook on flying by Megastheles. ‘One must only enter such a draft when they are in a hurry.’ And of that, Korou was sure, they weren't.

There was a screech, and he bit his lips. The winds howled, and they fell. Atla's grip tightened ever so slightly. His satchel flew up, its contents: a journal, a few feather pens, a copy of Lamphi Bestiary and a scarlet urn ricocheted. Out of instinct, he let go of his staff, but paused, as his enchantment based on Odilia's spatial theorem saved it from spillage.

This journey, despite being important, made Korou reevaluate his life choices.

Until last night, he was enjoying a well-deserved vacation. He earned this after years of reading, a lifetime of mathematical computations, mugging up the magecraftian theorems, studying fantastical physics, and a painful medley with classics. His head hurt, eyes bulged out, fingers pained, and stomach churned. It was a torture, of his own design, but a torture nonetheless.

However, it all came together when a month prior to this glacial awakening, the board of Ukiyan higher education sent a gold-coated envelope with a silver lining and Zaüber Royal crest—a crown over a trifecta of a book, a sword and a staff.

It was his letter of acceptance. A prestigious one at that.

It not only flaunted his admission but also illustrated the scholarship he had acquired. It was a remuneration for being ranked third in the meritocratic Pariksha. Thus, his downtime, with nothing but sloth, was valid.

He felt a tug over his collar as Atla tapped her chin over his head. He gazed up, she smiled, lopsided. Korou sighed; she oozed trouble.

Her mouth parted, words barely audible. "We... La....nd."

Korou tapped the staff over his ear and shook his head. Her smile only widened. He felt a lift, then a descent; the mist around them dispersed. The peaks of the minor Meru range were only a breath away. Veiled under a layer of silver dust, conifers hushed in whispers. He was only seven when he last saw this sight, and now, nearly a decade later, its transience still made him reminisce wistfully.

A stream serpented within its gorges, its water paused in a glacial lattice. He squinted his eyes; a shoal of fish had gathered beneath, their head pushing against the ice in an attempt to break free.

Aschahath dolphins. Korou remembered. Fresh water species, needed air, even if slightly. He pointed his staff downwards, his eyes closed. His lips parted in a slow chant. Mana particles, from the draft, pulsated and trailed over the tip of his staff. It made a hiss, and the wind around him changed direction. They were on a slow descent.

His fingers clasped the shaft as he took aim. Atla instinctively brought him closer, bracing for impact. In his hours perfecting the domain and range in magecraftian calculus, with Lagrangian and a whiff of Odilia's imaginary number theorem, this spell was simple to execute.

Like his master always preached, a spell worked optimally when the input was as efficient as the casting.

The beam of shimmering silver blasted past the sky in a calculated arc before hitting the lattice with precision. His gaze was plastered over it, as dust swirled over before dissipating in a glimpse. There were cracks and an elongated cavity. It was enough for the dolphins to breathe again.

He hid a smile, watching the school porpoise in joy. Overhead, he felt Atla rub his hair. A headpat?

Following the frozen trail, an hour later, they crossed the ruins of the Eternan aqueduct. Atla tilted her head slightly earthward, gliding gently through the vaulted arcs over the second arcade. They were close to their destination.

Soon, the chasmed canyon slightly opened up from within the hand-sculpted monolithic mountain pillars. The updrafts relaxed, and Korou could almost hear the Mridangam- a classical drum from the southern Ukiyan island tribe.

Korou gazed at Atla. They were now on the final descent. She gave her quick nod, her eyes plastered over the trail ahead and the opening beyond the mist-laden gorge. With a wistful smile, he raised his staff yet again.

Another chant escaped his lips. Slower than last, rough over the edges, words arcane, holding indescribable weight. The world around him slowly crumbled as graphs of three dimensions replaced it. Terrains arranged themself into contour lines with numbers attached to them. Beyond the end, he could see the movement of a hundred men. And amongst them was a lone Avian sitting by the air tower, checking the wind stream.

The staff created a streak of blue light, which ejected itself from its orb. The beam snaked across the gorge, first in a zig-zag, then a straight earthward line disappearing into the mist. Its trail, their landing guide and a call to the other side for confirmation.

Flying, for how fantastical it seemed, was rooted in practicality similar to Korou's previous world. Despite its convenience and quick utility, there were rules that the user had to adhere to. Megastheles, in his work, explained in great detail the protocols that the Mage-Shaman, in this case, both needed to follow.

Korou strained his eyes over the pillared entrance, its roof engraved in gold lining with symbols—a recurrence from his previous life—glowed with a hum. This world lacked the semblance of an ATC, understandably so, but the magic made up for that. Visual cues from the ground guided the flyer. It was critical for a Mage to be able to discern ground airflow while maintaining a steady approach. But to do both was beyond this era's computational abilities. A human brain could only do so much.

A steady green light flashed from over the megalithic gate, as the canyon sculpted in half-broken deities of the Ydalba pantheon, gazed in silence. The crosswind and tailwind were under the safety parameters. Atla, as if in pleasure, swayed slightly, making him clutch onto her arms even tighter. His lips pressed into a pout, making the girl giggle.

There was a sudden increase in her flight, the wall of mist a blur as they entered the syncretic mosaic of civilisation: Wuyakachui.

Despite being over three centuries old, the village champion carried the welcoming drums over his back as the people-beastmen and humans alike gave the duo a hero's welcome.

The landing strip was covered in flowers, silver-moon, as the ruins of a chapel and an ancient rotund Kangleipak temple glistened underneath the Vermillion trails. It was a striking contrast to the cyan of his own home.

Korou took a hesitant few steps, as the people, Feline and Avians, showered them in pink petals. The pebbled pathway, a remembrance of the ancient, was laced with oil torches. A row of incense was lit up, filling their path towards the lake shore in a haze of floral fragrance.

Entering the village centre, a whistle from the bamboo flute followed, with the reverberation of the Mridangam being beaten by the elves. Others, the Canids and Felines, made merry over the shore, while Avians, young and old, flapped their wings, scaling the lake. They sent ripples towards them.

Korou paused, his face illuminated in the amber glow of the lamp. He tilted his head, and Atla giggled. Despite his reservations against the kind, he has never seen Wuyakachui in a jubilant daze despite his four years of Shamanic work. He even theorised that it was an excessive use of hallucinogens. The Shamans from this part of the Province were known for it. But soon discarded, after a gaze in their eyes. No one was high yet.

Atla, besides him, had a smile pasted across her face. Her sword was raised, drawing in shouts of exultation. It felt like a hero’s welcome.

“It’s all thanks to me!” She declared with a sly grin. Her scarlet eyes gleamed with mirth. “This will be the second chapter in my tale of purging Demiurges from this world.”

"Sure..." Korou waved his staff in tandem to ensure he wasn't forgotten. It wasn't a competition. He was sure of that. 

*****

A/N For those who have read the intitial chapter 1, winters in Tokyo, don't worry, I haven't changed the story. After musing for over weeks and some help by a good friend, I decided that it was in my best interest to add a prologue within the Isekai world before delving into the Pre-Isekai. By the virtue of my idea, this story was built upon the foundation of linearity. However, I only recently realized I could have taken a different route. The possibilities are infinite, but the time for this contest is finite. Regretfully I can't make thos big changes now, but after the conest is over, I am most definitely releasing a director's cut Korou Journey Beyond Forgiveness. Aight Happy Reading Everyone!