Wings

[Stare]

mature language

“Aagghhhhh!!!”

The scream was shrill and ghastly. The room, reverberated with ugly thunder. Curtains shivered, books on the shelf shrank away, and the bed - the bed shook.

On it was a writhing mass of black feathers and hard keratin. A blanket was ripped, the covers thrown awry as the creature that was all pain and suffering and little joy cried her heart out. Beak wide open she cried agony to the skies, making the ashes of the fireplace scatter. Any critters in the room fled, any small peace was shattered. The pain was so real, so dominating her small form that it expanded out and encompassed the room, making every inch of dust feel it to the core.

“HHEEELLPPP!”

Truly, she was screaming. Shrieking, calling, fearing, crying, wailing, hurting. All as she squirmed helplessly on the mattress of the bed: her beak open as she gasped desperately for air through the screams; her back arched unnaturally; her whole body wanting to collapse but not able to; hands extended with her claws, scraping at her thighs; her legs curled terribly twisted under her into forms that they had never meant to take, but had had to live with when the agony began. Her head smashed back into the bed, but still her back curved, pushing itself into an ever increasing parabola, the gradient sharpening with each passing second.

BAM!

The door flew open with a tornado of haste. Two feet, banging hard on the floor ran over without any hesitation, ignoring the carefully folded pile of clothes on the floor and heading straight for the creature on the bed - the contorted, feathery beast. He ignored the strewn blankets, the ornate furnishings, the glorious dawn outside that gave a little light to this terrible scene. Nay - his concentration was on her. All for her. Within a span of two and a half seconds he was on the bed, pulling the gnarled, screaming form towards him with shaking hands and wide, petrified eyes.

As soon as he touched her, she howled again, wailing in his ear. It was then that his perceptive eyes could see the sharp, black, jagged shapes that were angling their way out of her back. Forcing their way into existence. Two, pointed new joints that were jutting out of her skin, full of bone, muscle, fat and tissue - and still growing.

His breathing began to accelerate, and he did the only thing he could think of then. Grabbing her head and neck he positioned himself in front of her. Leaning down, he pressed his torso to his and, placing the other hand on the small of her back, began to gently encourage her torso back to being straight.

There was an ugly, brutal crack, and the … things suddenly shot out further. Blood flicked out this time, shooting out of where her skin was being ripped and splattered onto the covers. He closed his eyes as he pulled her closer to him. And he managed it, easing her aching and breaking form into line with his - but it did not stop the paroxysms and the miseries that lacerated her suffering body.

“HELP!” she yelled.

Wildly, his heart beat and he felt his emotions beginning to run amok within him. He embraced her, trying to keep her straight as best as he could. He bound her arms to her side as her talons dug into her flesh, and he opened his mouth to begin to speak in a haunted tone.

Words that never left his lips.

For that was when the crooked horrors urged and obliged their way out of her body again. A fresh howl of discomfort and torment. Fresh tears flowing freely from her eyes. A fresh gasp of air as he stared over her shoulder, down at the things that …

He could see sinews and protofeathers that had sharp, thin fibres akin to that on a fledgling avian. The shape, however, of the apparently newly forming masses was clear. His - the god Vitruvion’s - heart began to now palpitate as his lips soundlessly moved, but mimed words of utter astonishment. And he knew - he knew in that moment that he would let this terror continue in her, however it happened, whatever the genesis. Because this - this was …

Again, a screech. And he saw his hypothesis became confirmed as the new limbs - for they were limbs - pushed out great bone and fresh blood. It gushed out onto the sheets, but by the stars he did not care. Not by the extremely rare ones that had a chance of life in the rotating balls of dirt that orbited then them, not for all the beauty that they shone onto imperfect worlds. Because he saw the separate parts on the whole, the three separate bones, with their accompanying tendons, sinews and flesh. He saw the bend forming under link skin and the feathers pushing their way to the surface to become long, deep black, strong and full of purpose and pride.

New limbs. New features for this most unique of kenkus.

Wings.

“HELP!”

[Stare]

He grabbed her shaking, hurting and terrified form and pulled it back closer to him. Savagely he gritted his teeth and tightened his grip around her as he knew he had to let this last. But what he could do - he had choices. He at least needed to let her know he was here. It seemed that through the agony she did not recognise his presence, possibly not even detect it, because the torture she was enduring was far too great.

“I am here, my precious one,” he whispered, his eyes full of misery for having her here, going through this and allowing it. The words he spoke he only did now, because if she could not understand that he was here, then she would not comprehend or even hear his words. “I will always be here, even if you detest me with all of your soul. I will never let you-”

“FUCCKKKK!” Stare yelled, “Fucking - HELP. SOMEONE KILL ME!”

But he didn't know what death would do now. She would come back, but the wings he could not be sure of. Simply, honestly, this was an unprecedented case. Neither had he seen this form of unsolicited limb generation, nor been this close to a kenku aside from her. Quite frankly, she was the most remarkable one of her kind in history, he was certain, and thus this was an original and novel experience.

But she was asking for death. It was that excruciating right now, that haunting, abhorrent and repulsive. Vitruvion set his jaw, determination forming into his mind. If it was that loathsome, that horrifying … he had endured this type of pain himself. When he had been tortured by his own father, the god of which he was a clone. When he had been reduced to nothing but a spasming, screaming ball of divine energy. When he had been cast away from his home planet in that state, with only a disgraced half-sister to give him some form of comfort …

Swallowing hard he closed his eyes and held her tighter to him. As fresh blood weeped over her back and her shrieks pounded against his eardrum he lifted the barrier between their minds that he had set - set in order so that he would not feel the pain that could translate to mental well as physical. Slowly he breathed, and tensed his body, seeing the frantic, chaotic disaster that was her mind right now. Then he dove with a mental connection into her being. Immediately he felt the twists of agony rippling through her, without any pause. He sucked in his breath and dove deeper still, forcing his way past the initial onslaught to his divine being and forged a way to her heart.

Her suffering, petrified heart. And he slammed his essence against it as new begging for death's glorious release cried out. As he felt the shudders of her body, and his hands became wet with the blood. He heard footsteps, and gasps, knowing that there were others now in the room, but right now he did not care for them. Because he had a task, he had a mission. To protect his own. His most precious of possessions.

“My Stare,” he murmured.

Then he urged his godly being around her core. He separated pain from body, and instead channelled it along golden, eternal cords, into his own form. The pain - truly it was terrible - but he could endure it better than her. He had before, he knew he could again. Letting it flow into him he slammed his teeth down hard together, likely breaking and snapping them but he had no will to let out a single sound. Instead he wrought the excruciation as an experience. A sign of devotion to her, even if she might never know what he had done.

As he dragged the pain from her into his own form he felt her body go limp in his arms. Still, he kept rigid, for it was part of what was keeping him sane. Her cries fell to silence, and instead she whimpered against him. The wordlessness went on, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. Whispers of - “My lord - my lord she has stopped screaming now ...” - but to those he ferociously shook his head.

For he felt a fresh wave of pain, and he breathed deep through his nose as yet again the wings formed. Full feathers now were growing, unnaturally fast and mighty. Ones that could carry her towards new, unknown heights.

He did not answer the suggestions with words - for to open his mouth was to utter screams of his own, and that was beyond the pride of this god.

Slowly hands and words left him. Quiet words of, “Leave them, everyone. Let's … let them be,” were spoken. And that was good. That was what he wanted. Still, he kept hold of his own dear kenku, the one he had selfishly taken for himself for eternity. Close to his heart he held her as the sun rose in the sky, taking all of the remaining pain that should have been hers. He went until he felt the hurt stop, and when it did he still clutched onto her. Into his arms she had relaxed a long time ago, slumped because of the blood loss.

When he finally let the connection go he fell down. He kept his eyes still closed as he collapsed down. Unsteadily he breathed, and he felt her slip into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness. Deeply, he swallowed, sucking in and tasting the crisp morning air. Someone had opened a window and a cold wind was now playing across his and her forms. He led one hand nervously and weakly slide over to where he had seen the wings plunge out - and true enough. Full, muscled and feathered wings now protruded proudly from her back.

Quaking, his lips quirked into a smile as he let out a sigh.

“You see what he can do together,” he whispered to the gently breathing woman in his arms. “Together, my dear one, we can conquer empires.”

[Stare]

“What the …”

Quickly, she sat up, staring. She could feel the heavy weight on them - or what had the significance of never having existed before; thus were heavy, even if, respective to similar objects, they were relatively light. Twisting her head around to glance over her shoulder she could see them, unfurled but limp, and their ends laying on the mattress. The mattress … with the covers and blankets all twisted and some torn, seemingly by her very own claws. And in various places, splatterings of crimson stained the sheets. It was elementary to deduce that she had bled greatly, and had been writhing terribly in pain.

Her beak parted in shock and her eyes were wide with disbelief. Slowly she blinked, her words trailing away on the gentle breeze that swirled around the room.

“Ansaldo's balls …”

“Indeed,” came a dull, low voice from her other side.

Turning her head quickly, Stare came to see the figure of Vitruvion leaning against the headboard. Slowly, he breathed, and his snow white hair hung around his face in a curtain. It obscured part of it, for he had his eyes cast down to his knees, which were drawn up. He had a hand settling over them, holding onto a small book. His other hand lay loose on the pillow beside him, and she could swear, as she looked, it shook.

But no. Vitruvion never shook. After all, he was an all-powerful god of everything. Life, death, elements, creation, destruction - all of it. At least, he would be, had he his divine body. Right now, he was trapped with a human form, but that should not mean that he shook.

That was her theory. And it seemed entirely reasonable. Thus, she ignored what she presumed she thought she saw and stared with astonishment, gesturing with great uncertainty at the objects hanging from her back. Those new limbs that she had grown overnight, and remembered something of the horrible agony …

“Vitruvion …” she whispered, “I - they …”

“I know, Stare,” he said quietly, gently. In a voice that spoke of intense understanding.

With her heart racing she glanced back at those wings again, then sucked in a heavy, burdensome breath. “What - how? Why this - just after. Did you - you do-”

The god took a moment, gazing at his book balanced quite expertly on his knees, then he looked at her. She saw an incomprehensible expression on his face, one that she honestly did not know how to decipher. In all the year and more that she had spent with him, never has she seen such a complicated countenance. It was a mystery in itself, as curious as a beast with five legs, or a disappointment that was, ultimately, beneficial.

For his eyes looked tired, and his brow grim. Yet deep in his pupils there was a deep hopefulness and joy. His lips too were curved into the smallest hint of a pleasant smile.

“Not this time, no, Stare,” Vitruvion told her, with a patient tone.

It was surprising. There was no malice, no implication at another intention, which was his usual practise. It made her feel even more vulnerable, in a way, stuck between not knowing his real thoughts and not knowing what the hell was going on with her own body. Her huge black eyes began to waver, tears threatening to bubble to the surface.

Slowly he let out a great sigh. “Stare, for my father's sake, I have no ulterior motives in this current time. None. I have as little explanation for what has occured as you have.”

There was pure serious in his voice. Stare looked down at her lap - her tunic was in tatters and barely covered her. The feathers on her knees, those that were the last before the scaley keratin that covered her feet, were disastrous. Broken and bent many had been pulled out of place, and many more had lost their glossy sheen. Large masses had been carved into disarray as if someone - namely, she - had dragged her claws through them repeatedly. And if that was so then - yes. Numerous red lines could be seen on her deep grey flesh beneath the feathers, where she had brought blood through eager scraping of flesh. All in the cause to rid her of that pain.

Because she - she - had fucking grown wings over night.

“Then how-”

“I am currently trying to research that,” he lifted the book in his hand, waving it in the air before placing it carefully back on his lap. Stare managed to catch just a single word of the title - 'evolution’ - before it was hidden again by the curve of his knees.

Stare shifted slightly, then a look of discomfort came into her eyes as she felt the - the wings - shift. A pause, then she figured that as she moved her shoulder, the wing attached to that seemed to shiver what motion too. With a swallow she tried not to think about them just now as she concentrated back on Vitruvion.

“Is there any way to reverse it?” her next question was.

A look of surprise crossed over the god's contorted face before he suddenly frowned; though the exhaustion still remained in his eyes. “My dear, I am not going to even look into that. You may not want those, but this circumstance is far more wondrous than anything I could have hoped for. More glorious than any of your eye marvels.”

A whimper came from Stare's beak. So he was refusing her outright. Refusing to even look into the possibility of removing these things that, though they did promise something rather spectacular, were not an attractive prospect in this moment in time. Not when she had been immortal for barely a month. Frantically she twisted and grabbed one of the things - though she missed on her first turn as it flopped out of her reach. And she could actually feel the thing shift away from her touch, as if her own body was reacting to her directive.

Then a pale hand suddenly appeared, curling delicately over hers. Glancing up, she found herself staring into the ice blue eyes, which were now only inches from hers. She sucked in her shivering breath, tears now easing themselves from ducts to spill without any hesitation onto the sheets. Carefully the fingers began to pry hers off the wing, and after a moment of fight the kenku relaxed, giving up command as she had done with other facets of her life.

[Stare]

Tightly his hand curled around hers, his expression turning serious. “Stare,” he told her, “They were not of my making, but that does not mean if I had found a less painful way before, I would not have considered it. However, now that this has occurred, we will deal with them. Work with it and-”

Roughly she wrenched her hand from his grip, the tears falling thick and fast. “You are cruel and heartless, Vitruvion.”

“What?” he glowered at her, his mood switching to match hers. “Because I refuse to remove something which is clearly a gift?”

“Many more things than that,” she spat back, but she did not put her hand back on the wing. Instead she held it before her, balling it into a passionate fist. “So many more. The slavery issue for one. I despise that. It's disgusting and brutal and you don't need it. Then there's the fact that you do not appreciate what I do for you. I fucking saved this city in your name, you stupid god, and -”

“You don't think I appreciate that,” Vitruvion shouted back at her, his temper clear. “I told the entire brother council that it was you, and you know yourself, Stare, that they represent the city - in essence the fact I own you - it was a formality born from when I needed for you to understand what power I had - have - over you and -”

“And then there is the fact that you made me immortal without even asking me!”

His hands flew up and he rolled his eyes dramatically, “For ball's sake, girl. Not this again. I explained my reasonings for doing so explicitly to you, and they are not going to change. What I did, I am proud of, because you are mine, whether you like it or not.” He stared at her shaking, frustrated body. “For what length of time are you going to remain irritated at me for that for?”

“A millennium at least,” she snapped. “Because it wasn't fair. You could have asked - could have even told me so I could have time to prepare.”

There was an empty, soundless pause. Then - quite suddenly, laughter as he burst into hilarity. It was done in such a way that he attempted to conceal it, his lips pressed tight closed and a hand laid over them. However, as Stare glared with fury at him, however that only made him laugh harder, raising both his hands again and grinning broadly. He ran a hand through his hair, now finally pulling it away to be behind an ear, as he shocked her into dumbness. All by the simple procedure of out of context laughter.

“What?” she growled after a minute. “What is so funny? What?”

“A 'millenium’? At ‘least?” he snorted, and his hand fell casually down to rest on the book. The tiredness in his eyes was gone, as was any indication of his shaking - which she was certain now had just been a trick of her mind.

Stare glared, her black intense and vehement. And for a long moment that was all there was - her brooding frustration. That was, until realised the futility of the length of years she had uttered. A millennium was indeed a ridiculously long time to plan for.

Her gaze dropped and she hushed out a sigh. Raising her hand to her brow she rubbed her temples, matting more feathers together in crooked, broken paths. For a while she did that, scratching at herself and trying fervently not to subject herself to temptation and wrench the wings again.

“Stare …” came the whispering voice. “Trying to rip those wings from your form will only cause more damage. They are a fully functional part of you, from your tendons to your marrow. I did an examination and even your nerves are intertwined and connected. To try to remove them now would be idiotic and costly.”

She froze as he spoke, her eyes fixed on a point of dried blood upon the ripped blanket beneath her. Slowly her fingers ceased their frantic movement at her brow and she was still, breathing though still accelerated.

“Stare?”

“Yeah,” she dismally answered.

“This is what it is. I will not take them from you, this you know, but I need you to accept that. I have an acquaintance at the university who may be able to explain more. My books can give little answers, aside from the suggestion that this would be a particularly apt direction for your race’s development.” His tone was soft and warm, intentionally chosen so as not to cause alarm. She listened as she gazed at the blood splatter, and attempted to calm her palpitating heart with steady, even breaths. And - it worked. Once more her breast ended up with a regular beat, a thud, thud of stable comfort.

“His name is Illiu. He is an academic of biology, that is his focus, he-”

Stare suddenly interrupted him, as a realisation of what he had mentioned before came to the forefront of her mind. “You examined me and found nerves? Did you -” her voice went to one of being terrified, “Cut - cut them open?!”

Vitruvion laughed again, and this time it was genuine amusement, without any kind of malicious intent. “My dear, I can see through your layers of skin. Only those who I know well, but you are one of them. If I so choose I could see past your feathers and flesh and gaze at your heart.”

A great pause. Gently she nodded, slowly before she resigned a sigh from her lungs.

“It's not once I often use, for obvious reasons, but I was concerned as to how connected these new limbs of yours were. What I can say is that they are fully attached to your body and thus you should be able to operate them.”

Alarm went into her system, and she glanced at him. “Operate … you mean?”

“Fly, of course, yes,” he answered as if it were the most obvious answer known to kenku-kind. Which, in some manner, it was. “What did you think they were for - swimming?!”

[Stare]

Before them stood the elegant, gilded tower of the magi-biological department of the Istien University. It was a lonesome place, technically part of the Lissilin - healing - school of the university, but far more inclined to research than applied practise. White, made of a solid form of stone and washed over with lime it stood as a proud, but solo, testament to a secretive section of academia. Many who passed by it presumed it was another small observation tower, another hallowed hall to the pursuit of knowledge. Yet, alas, it was almost another school on its own, dedicated to the art of studying the physical form - with a keen interest in the magical possibilities the were kin to it.

Vitruvion strode up the small gallery of stairs that led to the ornate, oak door, the portal that had led them here merging back with reality easily. He was robed in fine indigo, with a smart tailcoat and breeches. At his throat was a ruffle of white silk, matching his ponytailed hair. For a moment he gazed up at the bright blue summer sky, a soft smile playing on his lips, then he twisted his head and gazed back at the exceedingly self-conscious kenku.

With her arms wrapped around her she followed in relative silence. She had now accompanied her usual loose tunic with a cloak. It was a heavy woollen and cotton mixed material, that covered around her shoulders and down to her knees. A perceptive individual would notice the small, but definitely misshapen bulges that were present beneath her shoulders. Her fingers gripped to the edges of the cloak, firm and sure, so that there was no chance of her wings even peeking past.

“My dear,” he said quietly, gazing at her sable beauty beneath the pale blue sky. “There is absolutely no reason to hide them here. No one judges you.” His eyes shone. “If they do then they will have a rather larger trouble to consider.”

However, she refused to look at him, and hugged herself all the tighter. She did, though, stride up the stairs and come to stand beside him, a great breath huffing from her lungs. With a grunt, Vitruvion raised his cane and gently knocked on the front door. As he did he curled his hand around her shoulder, and left it there, but it did not tense. So far in this strange and unfounded adventure he had not once threatened her. He had not once commanded or forbidden her from anything. Instead he had been oddly patient and a good-hearted, taking her frustration and her directed hatred of him, and dealing with it as calmly as was possible.

Today he was similar to a summer breeze, soft and cooling, refreshing yet still with a form of bite when it breathed that little too harshly.

With a defining creak, the door opened, revealing behind it a thin elf with a wispy beard that was knotted around several brass beads. He had a pair of pinz-nez on the end of his long nose and he rose his brows at the sight of Vitruvion and Stare.

“Ah yes? How may I help you?” He had an incredibly aristocratic accent - even more so, if it were possible, than Vitruvion. It seemed as if he spoke through his nose purely, for the notes were rounded, short and with a haughty tone.

“Illiu. I am looking for Professor Illiu. He still teaches here, does he not?”

The exceedingly posh man eyed Vitruvion up and down. “And you would be?”

A small smirk appeared on the god's face. “Sir Vitruvion Elssmith. And this is my steward, Lady Stare Tsukaka.”

Quite surprised at this sudden expression of a title she had never heard of, Stare glanced up with large eyes at him before he hissed in her mind quickly.

Go with it, Stare.

The kenku blinked, then switched the attention of her gaze around to the bearded man at the door. Sure. She would go with it. Why not be a noble for a single afternoon?

Their pleasant conversation partner paused a moment, and he observed with scrutiny behind his glasses, before an extraordinarily graceful smile appeared on his face. “Sir Elssmith,” he curled a hand in an elegant fashion onto his chest, and bowed his head. “Lady Tsukaka. Forgive me. Of course, Professor - Lord Illui will be most happy to see you I am sure. Please.”

And he spread a generous hand in, opening the door wide for them. Bringing a gloriously agreeable smile to his face Vitruvion inclined his head. Then, without warning he reached out and grabbed Stare's hand. It was wrenched with godly strength from her side as he pulled her awkwardly and as forcefully as he could insist without penalty or suspicion from the doorman. As she formed her stumble into a step he swept directly into the tower. She caught sight of a simple round entrance hall, with a desk, chair and many, many shelves. Around the outside of the room was a curving staircase that took the form of a wide spiral. Vitruvion gently but with pressure encouraged her before him as he gave a short and simple incline of his head.

“Thank you …” he tailed off, a querying look in his eye as he directed Stare to the staircase. His energy cast her over a few paces, away from where he let go of her hand. However, then she was stuck, pausing at the bottom step as he waited to hear the name of the bearded elf.

“Therian …’ was the reply.

“Ah. Thank you, Therian,” Vitruvion grandly dismissed the need for him with a flourish of his hand. It left the man blinking, shocked and uncertain of how the situation had abruptly altered to the ‘half-celestial’ being in command. “We can find our way from here.”

A pause. A blink. Then - “Right, then my dear Lady Stare, shall we-”

“You - you would not prefer me to accompany you, sir?” the elf looked puzzled, but Vitruvion shook his head firmly as he strode straight to the staircase. Stare had by now grabbed the side of her cloak again, and when she saw Vitruvion she turned, to begin the weary walk up the stairs. Within seconds the familiar presence appeared behind her.

Keep going, he urged, This is the best place I know to find answers.

I know, she whispered a reply, I just wish now that you had never found me. That I was just Avis, the baker, without any of these powers.

A hand curled around her shoulder, one that squeezed in an attempt at comfort briefly, then acted as a gentle guide to help her up the rest of the stairs.

I certainly do not, Stare, he said, as he gave one last very sickly congenial smile to Therian - evidently the administrator as he took the seat behind the desk. Life is what it is now, however. We continue on. I don't keep you around because you are weak you know.

She grunted. No, because I am stubborn.

And he let out an amused laugh. “That you are, my dearest. That you are.”

[Stare]

“My dear Sir Elssmith …”

Professor Illui was tall and fashionable. With fair hair tightly pulled back against his head and tied in a topknot he took a purposeful step forwards, extending a single hand.

“Professor Illui,” came the unwavering answer, and pale fingers reached out to grasp his.

The two men then shook hands, elf to secret god, small smiles then came to both faces. In that moment there were no words, only an exchange of agreeable glances between them. Eventually, however, the hands fell apart, and Illui’s eyes drifted over to where Stare stood, still clutching onto the sides of her cloak at the edge of the round room and back near the door. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but she stared back at the professor with a mighty will.

“And this …” the fair elf indicated to her.

“Ah,” Vitruvion's smile grew into a wondrous beam. “This, is … my … mine. Stare.”

“Yours?” Illui’s brows rose, as his eyes glided over her form.

How much does he know about you? she asked, as she was modestly scrutinised.

He has always considered the fact I am something more than I claim, but no questions were ever asked.

The Hollow? The other less legal businesses?

A small sigh was uttered by him, but it was internal and mental. He knows about the legal side, we have kept in contact. Others … he suspects. I am sure. But I know for certain of his own illegal pursuits and so ...

So he knows you, and what you are like. Stare grunted, letting out large, long breath before she grew stronger with determination. Rolling back her shoulders, yet still holding to her cloak, she met, and locked, eyes with the professor.

“His steward, technically,” she finally answered him, in a low, firm voice.

“Ah, a technicality!” Illui clearly was no fool. By the exclamation and from the decades of history that he definitely had with Vitruvion, Stare could tell that the professor comprehended something of the possessive nature of the god.

From behind the professor Vitruvion smiled genuinely, before taking a step closer. He was a pale glory against the dark backdrop of the room - which was an ordinary office draped with deep blue hangings. Somewhere between the shades was Stare's tunic and cloak, grey and dull. Nothing like the passion and life that was burning in her eyes. Or of the eyes of the two men.

“Stare is remarkable,” Vitruvion said honestly. “For reasons we have just begun to understand. But something happened last night that …”

Illui glanced around to look at the aristocrat, head tilting slightly to the left, then back at Stare. By the time he was back to looking at her there was a single brow raised, and an inquisitive smile. The kenku’s heart thumped, as Vitruvion nodded at her.

“Stare, my dear. The door is locked,” her god said softly, warmly. “And we've already discussed Illui. If you want an explanation as much as I do then …”

Her jaw tightened, and she peered past both the men at the very firmly closed door. It shut out both the spiralled staircase and the world beyond, leaving just this dark, private office and her company. Not even a window was available for anyone to peer through, for the place was brilliantly lit by a silver chandelier, complete with magical everlasting flames.

“These grew this morning,” she whispered, dropping her eyes then, and finally releasing the sides of her cloak. “Vitruvion said you may be able to explain …”

And she heard a gasp as she felt a firm but careful hand reach up to unclasp her cloak. As the fabric was pulled away Illui’s eyes widened dramatically and Stare was suddenly again aware of the weight of her wings as the cloak brushed against them. But they moved very little, for they were neatly and painstakingly folded against her back and kept there with a series of makeshift leather ties. It was how she had been able to bare coming here, how she had finally given in and agreed to Vitruvion's suggestion. He himself had cautiously collapsed them into place, then applied the harness. It was slipped through rudimentary holes in her tunic that she had cut herself, then united to the strength of her body. For she found it exhaustive to support the weight of the wings, and with Vitruvion's refusal to attempt to reverse the transformation she had needed to carry them for the day. From the mansion, through the portal and to here.

“In-cred-ible,” Illui murmured, a hand extending out, his eyes filled with wonder. “You say they … grew this morning?”

Stare instinctively flinched back away from his hand incredibly uncertain about this, and the feeling gaining with each moment. She breathed hard and flicked a hand down to the hilt of her dagger, fearing as to what someone touching them might do.

Illui paused, then respectively retreated his hand before turning his eyes to Vitruvion. They were on either side of her and she was nearly against the wall. The god could feel the dislike of being trapped and the anxiety burning through her system. It was as if her nerves were on fire, throbbing in her toes, fingers, joints and up her spine - even in her wings. Her muscles thrummed with readiness: readiness to escape wherever was needed, should the requirement be.

“Stare,” Vitruvion said in a low, subjective voice. “Illui needs to look at them, if he to help at all.”

Stare's hand tightened on the hilt of her dagger as he spoke. He frowned a little before he moved his own hand and placed it over hers there. Going stiff she glared at him while his grip got tighter. And tighter. Illui saw the contestation between them, his brows high and his eyes wide as master and kenku, god and subject, noble and servant, fought over wills. Vitruvion's pale knuckles, if they could get whiter, did so. Stare's heart rate accelerated tremendously as she tried to fight against him, to draw her dagger and defend herself, or to do something to rage against his desire - but he was a god. His hold was sure. His domination over her had already been decided. Though silence was the only words between them there was a clear line of communication as their gazes ferociously fought. Slowly, Vitruvion's eyes narrowed, as he left his friend in entire ignorance and at a loss, and concentrated on her.

But things being what they were, he managed to wrench her hand from the hilt of her dagger. Stepping towards her he hissed cynically in her ear. “Stop fucking about Stare. I know you don't trust him, and neither do I, much, but this is it, girl. These things are yours.”

As he stepped back, he pulled the dagger from her belt. Then, placing a hand on her shoulder he pulled her around so her back was to him. As he began to work on the halter, Stare tightened her jaw and lifted her eyes up to Illui.

“Don't touch them. If you want to see more detail he can do it,” she growled, and shoved a clawed thumb at Vitruvion.

Illui raised his hands in innocence, clearly having been affected in some way by the unspoken disagreement between the other two. “Of course, of course,” he said quite openly and happily.

Rapidly Vitruvion stripped her wings of their restraints, using both hand and dagger. Stare felt the limbs become loose and heavy as her back was forced to support them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the black, feathered things drape to either side. Keeping her arms hanging by her sides she let herself be subject to her god's will, as he fully unfurled her wings. Without the habit of having them normally they drooped down, and a line of discomfort crossed her eyes.

When it was fully done Vitruvion curled a hand around the end of her left wing. He made no action to return her dagger, but rather it seemed to disappear as he pulled the thing right up into the air, causing immense uneasiness in her.

“Do you mind?” she snapped.

“Stare,” he growled back. Just her name, but it was a warning.

[Stare]

Illui was gracious enough to wait until Vitruvion nodded. Then a glow of appreciation came to the elf’s face and for the first time Stare could see clearly a colour in them. Copper, like the hue of a simple coin, but bright like a star. Giving her a sure smile he looked over to her wing. At which point he took in an excited breath once more and flourished his hands at it with the pleasure of a child at their first yuletide.

Coming close, right up close he grinned marvellously as he let his eyes flow over the general shape. Then he started gazing at feathers, tilting his head at some and nodding at others. He began to snake a finger out to touch one, then stopped before glancing at Vitruvion.

“How do they feel?” he asked, happiness plain in his tone. “Soft? Fibrous? Are they as-”

“The ones on the rest of her body, yes,” Vitruvion said. “Stare won't mind you looking at those.”

Stare threw back a dark look at him, as he smirked at her. You have demanded enough, girl. I need you to stop being stubborn, and get over the fact you have wings. I still don't understand your aversion to them fully, but I have been generous enough so far. Now, his hand tensed around her outstretched wing, sending a shiver down her spine. Now, my dear. Do as I say. He paused. Do I really need to make it an order?

She tore her eyes away from his with frustration, but lifted her arm, baring her elbow towards the elf. There, her glossy feathers ceased to grow, and the thick hardness of her turtleshell-like skin began. It was all black, matt and vaguely shiny. Illui bit his lip with intrigue as he moved, then gently pinched the quill between forefinger and thumb. A grin of delight came to his face.

“And the muscle? Nerves? All that?”

“All connected,” Vitruvion replied, “I watched it grow myself.” Or most of it, he thought. For part of the time he had knelt with his eyes closed and his body taking every ounce of the pain. He kept the serene smile on his face, however, back straight as he moved his other hand coming to support the underside of her wing.

“Hmm,” Illui sounded impressed, “So you say it grew this morning? How long did it take, and was it painful?”

“Excruciating,” Stare growled, as Vitruvion internally echoed the same exact notion.

Instead the god answered the first question. “An hour perhaps.”

“I see,” Illui began nodding as he took a step back, eyes running left to right over the span of the wing. Pursing his lips a moment he seemed to muse for a while. “This is rather peculiar, I must say. Not once in my three centuries have I heard of such a sudden growth … not naturally anyway. Pain receptors?”

At the sound of that Stare sucked in a surprised gasp, and then threw a wide eyed glance to Vitruvion. In response he smiled warmly at the professor, then began the process of attentively collapsing back her wing into a folded position.

“We presume so, though we will not test it. If the pain of them growing is anything to go by, then it can an applied assumption that they are.”

A more satisfied sigh left Stare's beak. She rolled her shoulders back and around a little as she felt the weight of the wing collapse back into her lone authority. It made her wince a little and she twisted to begin looking for the harness once more.

“Wait!”

Alarmed, she looked over to Professor Illui who was frowning. Vitruvion also had a brow raised at her. Her eyes flickered between them.

“Dear kenku - Stare,” Illui addressed her directly now, “You should not use them. Your body needs to get used to supporting them yourself. And your wings themselves need to build strength before they can be tested in flight.”

That word again. That idea.

“I've never left the ground,” she said quietly. “I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for any of this.”

“And I never asked for you, specifically, but we put up with each other, don't we, dear,” Vitruvion's hand curled around her shoulder as he moved to stand right beside her. His lips quirked up into a smirk. “So, Illui?”

“Hmm?” the professor looked up at him with bright eyes, tearing them away from Stare's form. “Ah. Well. As I said I have seen or heard of a entirely natural …”

He paused, and held up a hand for a moment before his eyes lit up with a new brilliance. The god arched a single eyebrow and looked with as much curiosity as Stare felt as the elf professor suddenly swirled, excitement and stimulation in every footstep, in every hand movement. He bustled over to the wide array of shelves that he had, beginning to dart down a short row, before he reappeared at the other end. Dancing fingers brushed over spines, drifting eyes flickered from title to title. Moving sure and eager he was clearly practised in this, his kingdom.

After what seemed an age Vitruvion began to open his mouth, his hand finally slipping from Stare's shoulder. Her wings were dropping and loose and it was taking noticeable effort to keep them as closed as she was. It was tempting to ask if she could have the halter again, and she was about to ask at the same time as Vitruvion was preparing to speak, when -

“AH HA!”

Stare jumped. Vitruvion blinked. Both pairs of eyes focused on the professor as he was marching back over to them, a huge book in his hands, and him frantically flipping through pages. The writing on the paper was rough, written by a naturally enthusiastic hand. Possibly even this eccentric professor's.

“I … yes, yes,” Illui was agreeing with himself as he traipsed back to them, his eyes only for the book’s pages. A long finger slid down them. “Yes, here,” he now prodded the page proudly, then began to quote as he came to a halt a metre from them. “Ahem - 'a patient came to me today with a most unusual condition. It seemed that he had, quite unexpectedly, grown a tail overnight. He described the event as “painless” and cited that he had had a dream where the gods had turned him into a monkey of Fallien origin. This being unusual, I thus began research and found that indeed, a rare Fallien god had been known to visit individuals in their sleep, and grant them wishes. I call this phenomenon, “dream evolution” and …’ Well. He goes on,” Illui flourished a hand atop the page as he grinned up at the kenku and god.

An ugly, pregnant pause followed.

“Well, I didn't have a dream and it was not painless …” Stare muttered.

“Bah!” Illui waved her comment away on an unseen and unfelt wind with a dismissive gesture. “The experience is still similar. Clearly this is the work of the gods. You must - the temple, Vitruvion.”

The kenku's eyes immediately widened, her brow ridge rising high against her temples. Swiveling her head she gazed at her employer as the suggestion whispered over their heads and into their ears.

The temple. A temple. Illui wanted them to head to a temple of gods who worked, who answered prayers and were worshipped, gods who were not trapped in human form. A place where subjects could genuinely bring their complaints and pleas and find answers from mouths that truly could tell the future. Confession, sacrifices, offerings - a temple was a place that Stare had not dared to ever go since she had learnt who Vitruvion was. But now, here, Illui was suggesting that they … clearly he didn't know what Vitruvion was, she surmised.

“Perhaps.”

Shock. Utter disbelief, and entire bemusement. These were the emotions that powered Stare as she peered at the one she called her god. Her beak parted and she did what she did best. She stared at him.

“What?”

“Indeed, it may seem untrue, but your cynical master here enjoyed a journey out to the temple back when he was younger,” the professor smiled broadly. “When I knew him, why he was studying magic from books as I was, and despite his complaints about the divine he had quite a passion for visiting the religious houses.”

Vitruvion shifted oddly, huffing out a breath and refusing to look at her as his old friend explained his unusual past to her. The confusion was, why did he need to go to a temple when he was a god himself? And did not he hate the Althanas gods with a passion, for all that they had reduced him to? Why then would he be interested in the workings of a temple when such a place surely brought feelings of rejection and loss? She was surprised, in all honesty, that he had not attempted to take one over for his own use. Or build it.

“Well,” the secret god said stiffly, “As you said, it was a long time ago. A lifetime, some might term.”

“And yet - your answers may ultimately lie there. With a growth of this magnitude, that has not been created by magic, only gods have the answers here.”

[Stare]

Eluriand had once been a great jewel, shining as a diamond in Raiaera's bright crown. With the great glass palace that could be seen to some degree by almost every point at the city, there was a sparkling brilliance that gave rise to fame. Once the entire outer wall had been decorated with frescoes, created by the finest artists and craftsmen. Only the mighty towers of the university and the palace had extended above these walls, extending the glorious light further. It was a place of elegance and learning, philosophy and civilisation, with beauty that championed even the work of the hardiest dwarves and the fairest faerie hand.

Now, however, the glass had faded and broken, and the frescoes of the walls had tumbled away after too many battles. The towers and other buildings of the university were in disarray, with roofs collapsed inwards and lichen spreading on the brickwork like a virus. The glory of the glass palace had fallen, so that no longer there was a shimmer constantly across the cityscape - yet … yet, the city still survived. Still, the council met in hallowed halls, still the university taught and overflowed, and still there was worship for the gods.

In a portion of the Velice Arta, the seat of the High Bard Council, there was a grand temple. White washed and generous in size it was suited to bring worship to every one of the seven deities of Raiaera. Huge windows, stained glass and plain, dominated much of the wall space. Age had wrought its natural damage, with a growth of thick ivy dominating one entire wall. At the front cracked but stable pillars held up a mighty, fine stone verandah, part of the roof that extended further beyond the ordinary foot or so. Behind these columns was a double, arched, teak wood door that was wide open.

Inside was a vast hall, lit by the vast windows in a multicoloured fantasy of illumination. More pillars, each a white monolith, supported the heavy, peaked roof and separated the temple into sections, each with its own stained glass fenestra. At the end was a generous dais, a set of ten steps leading to an altar.

Between the pillars, disappearing into secret doors and appearing out of known ones, were a myriad of priests in seven colours of robes. Some bore religious icons, others had jewellery with symbolic relevance, and others still had the headpieces pertaining to authority. The vast majority of them were elves, and that was true for the worshippers as well.

Which made the appearance of a self-conscious kenku and a handsome man, who all presumed was born from angels, striding down the centre of temple a very atypical sight indeed.

As they headed for the dais Vitruvion began to slow and he twisted his head slightly to the left, catching Stare just in his periphery. Raising her mentally exhausted eyes to him she waited until he gestured with a point of a ringed finger to the side.

“Wait for me there,” he told her.

It was not a request, and Stare did not take it as one. Tugging her woollen cloak tighter she grunted before halting in her step. She watched as he continued on, seeing him take all of this worship to other gods in his stride - proudly, resolutely, with no shame. In all likelihood he would go directly to a place where he could contact the Raiaeran gods and get an answer. As far as she knew this was the very place he had come to to ask for assistance in making her immortal.

Vitruvion approached the dais and began ascending it with no pause in his step. There were a few murmurs and shocked gasps as he took the few paces to gain to the top, where the holiest of priests usually only were permitted - all with a demeanor of pride and purpose. As he strode closer to the altar a high priest, dressed in deep blue robes and with a circlet of silver resting on his temples looked at him with wide eyes, then hesitantly approached. Stare watched as the man whispered quiet words to Vitruvion, who seemed to smile in his usual, egotistical manner. Then, the oddest thing - Vitruvion was then led away by the priest, out through a side door.

Stare was left blinking in surprise, and stood for a while until she found the ability to shift her posture. Solemnly, moodily she rolled her eyes before skulking over to one of the broad windows.

This one was particularly elegant. It showed an image of a champion on a pegasus - a knight by any other name - with silver hair and a beautiful visage. He lunged forwards with a long, golden-tipped spear, striking down a wild-haired, firey-eyed enemy. One who bore a wicked crown made of bones and talons, and was dressed in the haunting armour of a clear villain. Behind them was a serene sky filled with a bright sun beating back black clouds, with the air full of doves who carried well wishes. As the real sun's rays sparkled through the pale glass fragments of the face hero, Stare was reminded of every time she had truly seen the god behind the icey blue eyes of Vitruvion Elssmith.

“Do you know the story?”

A deep, sudden voice. Twisting around sharply, Stare was faced with a tall and elegant, but bold figure. He had bright skin, as if it had been polished, sharp ears and intense, bright green eyes. Silvery hair draped over his shoulders in a cascade if beauty. As she looked she found him strangely young, with a clean shaven face and smooth features - aside from his eyes. His eyes were ancient and piercing, as if they had lived through the many ages of the world and still survived. In them she felt she could lose her soul, her essence, her every identifying feature into their grass grasp to keep as a hostage until the end of time.

“I asked if you knew the story?”

Quickly, she shook herself, dragging her interest from the realms of imagination and bewitchment. What she realised others must experience when they were under the influence of her own eyes. She saw the thin lips finish off the words, whistling out the last questioning syllable. Sucking in a solid breath she glanced him up and down, taking in the long grey robe he wore, the many golden rings on his fingers and the delicate embroidery upon his collar and hems. Drinking him in she deliberately dug her own claws into her palms to bring herself back to a full understanding of reality.

Only then did she deem herself able to answer, and she gave a short shake of her head. “I do not, no.”

“Ah well, that,” the man raised a finger to point at the hero. “Is Entiri the Rider. He is striking down the Death King atop his steed Valarie. It is a myth, passed down through the Raiaeran people.”

Stare slowly looked back over to the window, taking it in a second time. She found that she could now understand it a little better, given the names of the individuals.

“And it is in a temple?” she slowly asked.

The mysterious man nodded. And he spoke again. This time when he did Stare found it quite mellow and charming.

“The goddess Cuarye, the Swift-Star, is said to have been present during this battle, when he of great power vanquished the Death King. Of course,” the elf dropped his hand and pulled it around his back to cup it closed with its partner. “No records have ever been found of such a king. Some say it happened actually, on another continent altogether, and Cuarye brought the story with her after travelling there. What is truth … well. We still enjoy it as a good tale.”

The kenku paused for a moment before turning her head up to the man. Tilting her head she eyed him, curious as to why he had chosen her to talk to, and not the other gawking worshippers and tourists.

“It is a good tale, nonetheless,” she said slowly. “Some people like those.”

“A good tale can mean the difference between life and death for some,” the elf shrugged slightly. Then he grinned and a gleam sparked in his eternal eye. “Of course, that in itself is a captivating tale. One where a storyteller must speak to save his life.”

“Spin a tale of the like that has never done before,” Stare grunted, following his eyes to look back at the picturesque statement window. She traced the curve of one strand of Entiri’s flowing hair.

A noise of appreciation came. “Indeed! Exactly, dear one. Now, tell me. Do you know of any other Raiaeran legends?”

Dear one? Now that was eerie. Close to what Vitruvion called her, yet not with the same tenderness and months of meaning behind it.

“No, not many,” she admitted. “I only came to this country a little over a year ago.”

“Well then.” The man nodded slowly, his eyes focusing also on the window. “Some might say that is not an excuse to not learn the culture of the country you now live.”

At that Stare felt a mild irritation. Almost immediately she replied, “I have had other things on my mind.”

“Of course you do,” the man smoothly said. “Like your god.”

Stare instantly froze, a feeling like the blood stopped flowing around her body. Her breathing stopped for some seconds as she held it in distress and dismay; a feeling of dread creeping up her spine. ‘Her god,’ he had just said. He couldn't mean - he could not mean Vitruvion. No, certainly, he had to be presuming she was one of the devoted worshippers of one of the gods here. That made far more sense.

Thus, she inhaled again and opened her beak slightly to reply.

“Ah. Ha. No, I mean Vitruvion.”

At that recognition at the name she swerved her head up to stare at the elf. Eyes wide like dishes she remained in that position, watching the smile on his face slowly extend. Gradually grow. And his bright eyes that were as seemingly old as the universe began to shimmer with a deep knowledge. And a hint of amusement. For quite some time he let her wrestle there in shock and uncertain turmoil, as thoughts raged through her head.

Because no-one should know. It was only Raevin, after he had guessed, Ventrua, Vitruvion's half sister who had come with him to Althanas, and herself who knew. With the added exception recently of Nevin, that made only four on this rocky piece of chaos who knew who he was. What he was. His capability of immense, immeasurable power. And that was only in his human-bound form. If he was full god - and a god of literally everything, one had to remember - he would be near unstoppable. It was one of the reasons why the pantheon gods of Althanas had-

The pantheon. Ansaldo's balls, they were the other ones who knew. Knew about him, his world, his past and present - everything. And if this person was - was saying the most secretive information about Vitruvion, was looking into her mind, then they had to be associated with … or even be.

A creator. A god. Right here, come to her. Now. In this, his temple.

Immediately Stare forgot every emotion that she had been feeling. Instead, it was all replaced by a profound feeling of awe. Slowly and steadily her breath continued its pace as the man with the shimmering skin finally twisted his face around to face hers. A young face, but ageless eyes. Ageless because he himself had taken part in the creation of the elves here, gifted them with great beauty, reflexes, extraordinary long life.

She did not know which one of the gods he was - at least, she was sure he was a 'he’ and not a 'they’ - yet, that hardly mattered. All that did was that here was a second holy individual striding into her life, lips now fully curled up into a smirk, silver hair coming alive as it genuinely seemed to flow.

“Come, we shall go see what he wants. After all, he came here to seek me,” the deity said, and he leant forwards to slam a hand into Stare's shoulder.

It was a shuddering gesture, alarmingly sharp and controlling. Stare had a brief moment to look around and notice no one else was watching them at all, as if she and this god existed inside their own pocket universe. Then, the walls of reality were wrenched asunder, and they were there no longer. It was less as a portal of Vitruvion's design, more of a blink in space. Gone was the vast temple, the people and the great stained glass window. Gone was the bustle of noise. Instead these facts were replaced with a small, neat room, quiet, and a much better feeling of warmth.

Only to be punctuated by a very terrified gasp.

[Stare]

“My lord!”

Stare was aware of the movement of fabric. Before her and the god clutching her still with harsh pressure, the same high priest who had escorted Vitruvion away was prostrating on the ground. Face firmly pressed into the knotted rug that served as a carpet, hands flat and spread before him. A moment's pause, and then Stare became aware of the god at her side twist her around to face the other figure inside this sandstone, but otherwise plain room. A chair, a brazier and a long, fully occupied bookshelf served as the only furniture.

“Greetings, friend,” the elf god said in a remarkably cheery voice, as Vitruvion stared back in shock, but also irritation. “You were looking for me apparently, but I thought I would go looking for your pet here first.”

Briefly he released Stare's shoulder, and she felt fast, but short-lived relief. Quickly following his hand was then at the small of her back and shoved her in a brutal manner towards Vitruvion. The strength behind it was uncompromising and unforgiving. She tottered forwards, past the chair, her right foot catching at her left lower leg, causing her to unceremoniously need to stumble. As Vitruvion struck out a hand, she felt a tension in the air around her. Still a metre or so from him he could not reach her, but instead enabled her to right herself with a gentle nudge of force.

When she gained her balance again, Vitruvion began to talk.

“Galatirion,” he said in a low, not amused tone.

Stare's heart took a mighty leap, and she twisted around to stare at the being in the guise of an elf. This was he, Galatirion, the god of immortality, also known as the Sky Father. He had given the high elves the gift of long life, often spanning thousands of years. He was also the one responsible in part for Stare’s bloody immortality - a thing she regarded more as a curse.

“An’s balls …” she whispered.

“Indeed, my dear,” Vitruvion agreed, then he addressed the other god in the room. “I'd prefer you not to call her my 'pet’ Galatirion. Stare is more than that. It is actually about her that I came to-”

Abruptly, the Raiaeran interrupted him, and moved, stepping right over the high priest who was still desperately bowing on the ground. It was like he owned the elf, but in a different way that Vitruvion owned her. Whereas Vitruvion treated her with some degree of respect, Galatirion did not even look at the man. He even stepped lightly on his hand, causing the priest to suck in an audible breath.

“Again, Vitruvion? Her, again? You still owe me a favour for her immortality.”

“This is not a request in the same, Galatirion. More - I need information.”

“Ah but information can sometimes be thought of being more valuable than life itself,” Galatirion replied, sticking a finger into the air. He threw a sickly sweet smile at Stare that sent a shiver down her spine. She found herself retreating back a step, and just as that pace ended she felt a calm hand meet the small of her back.

Glancing up she found Vitruvion had stepped to meet her midway. As he did so his other hand swept down, and ostentatiously slipped, without warning, behind her cloak. Before she could open her beak a single iota he had seized hold of her wing and extended it out to its fullest measure. Quietly she clacked her tongue with distaste against the side of her beak and prepared to pull it back- before he hissed in her mind.

Behave, Stare. Now more than anytime, behave. That is a stern order.

His words stilled her entirely. Heart racing she dropped her eyes to glue them angrily at the kowtowing high priest. I don't like him.

Neither do I, Vitruvion responded in like, dissatisfied tone. But he is a god, and so am I. He curled his fingers tightened around her wing. Respect that. Now more than ever, obey me.

When she made no more movement and spoke no more words, Vitruvion seemed satisfied. Turning back to Galatirion, he continued. “These grew last night, within a single hour or so. I would also appreciate it if you did not look into her mind or attempt to pry into hers.”

“Ah, so you cannot shield her from me. Interesting,” Galatirion mused, as his eyes danced over the length of her wing.

“But I can detect that you are in there, bastard. Get the fuck out.”

The other god narrowed his eyes, focusing them on Vitruvion. A wordless communication passed between them, and all the while Stare continued to glare at the high priest. Upon her wing the fingers began to tighten, and she felt Vitruvion's secondary hand draw up to lock around her shoulder. She also realised that she felt no presence at all upon her consciousness, very similar to Vitruvion was able to do. What he was doing apparently now.

“Thank you,” came a final growl. “Now, I have been informed this,” he roughly and forthwith yanked on her wing. Stare hissed quietly, but kept it at a minimum noise level. “I have been told that a matter similar to it is a near impossible happening, and I demand to know if you, or any others of your kin had anything to do with it?”

“You demand, do you?” Galatirion scoffed, his arms folding against his chest and his mouth a torsion of a grin.

“If there is one creature on this blasted planet that none of you have any right to it is her,” Vitruvion snapped, shaking Stare to make his point. “This is a very clear motion, that all of you agreed upon. And if any of you have done anything to her-”

“No, none of us have, Vitruvion. Not as far as I know,” the Raiaeran god interrupted, scowling as his fun was ruined. “We agree to your right over her, and her race. But not one of us did this. Alright?!”

Time seemed to freeze for a moment - as if it conjoined with the position of the high priest. Silence, space and even the smallest movement was paused with suspense present in the atmosphere. Even a fly that had somehow plagued its way into this hallowed hall, was stiffened and solidified, its wings halfway through a beat. Soft colour sparkled with iridescent colours, a thousand and more, and Stare could see the very veins in the material ...

Then, time began again. One moment it was glaciated and suspended, the next it was spiralling into motion once more. Her body that was held too harshly was eased. The clutching long fingers slowly curled off the end her wing as they collapsed it back into its folded form. As they did she let out a short sigh, straightening and finding this time the weight of her wings easier to endure.

“Fine. Thank you,” Vitruvion spoke in a formal tone. “I might suggest you erase your high priest’s memory of this.”

“He has an enchantment already on him to automatically forget all these types of events,” Galatirion shrugged. “And I might suggest you be gone from here. You have your answer, which I'm sure poses more questions. We did nothing of this, but I do see deitic power having the ability to go such a thing. Who knows - maybe your connection to her accelerated some natural future evolution.”

Evolution. The same word that had been in the title of the book Vitruvion had had in his hand when she had first woken up this hell of a day. It was a word she had learnt from his science lessons, that spoke of the very gradual adaptations which occurred within a race over thousands of years. Was that really the answer to what was going on with her? That her wings were simply the next rung in the evolutionary ladder. She was already rapidly advancing with thousands of years of unused kenku magic, so could this just be an unknown force of Vitruvion's godhood?

“It wasn't me,” Vitruvion snarled, but he nodded to Galatirion once before dragging Stare around to his front. With his strength and her sensibility of knowing what a situation with two gods in the room entailed, she complied, preferring with all of her soul to be with the god who had some care for her, rather than Galatirion who seemed more monster than beauty. Vitruvion cemented his two hands over her shoulders.

“But we will go,” he hissed. “Though before we go there was another query I had. I want to know if you are associated with any demons in Tular.”

As he spoke outwardly Stare felt his heavy presence on her mind. Can you see his aura? he asked. His chakras too?

Stare paused, her body currently a wreck from all the fear and twisted emotions she felt, but she did what he requested. Focusing her eyes on Galatirion, as the god began to laugh, she let the strength of her alternative sights flow into her.

What she saw, however, she would never had imagined. Like the blood that falls from a warrior's fresh wound Galatirion’s aura was a rich bright red. For Stare, that showed her the his intentions were good, but his methods in achieving what he desired had a repetitive chaotic theme. His personality was volatile, liable to change, and Stare reckoned that explained part of the reason why the Raiaeran gods had taken something of an afterpart in their relationship with their people.

The colour of his chakras were less surprising - pulsating white, and thus divine, thrummed through his systems. What was intriguing, however, was the fluid flow of one chakra into the next, suggesting a harmony of emotions, and a being who knew how to control himself. For a while she gazed at it, all the time as being dimly aware of the conversation continuing between the two gods. She knew that Vitruvion did not suspect any connection between his still unnamed brother and the other gods, thus the question was likely a simple diversionary tactic. One to give her time to see -

A flicker in his heart chakra, where love and grief were present. It was not an alteration of flow however, not what she had seen many times before. Instead - instead she was confused to see it swirl and then, Ansaldo's balls forbid, open up. Open up to reveal a shimmering pool, like a mirror. As she focused harder she began to hear a sound of soft cheering on the air, and within the mirror a golden, shining crown, marking Galatirion out as a king among men, a king among gods … this was a god's soul she was seeing!

A shot of pain at her shoulder caused her to suddenly come catastrophically crashing back into the physical reality that all other immortals (and of course, mortals) shared. Vitruvion was sharply curving his nails into her, and she let out the lightest gasp. She was aware of Vitruvion hissing some angered words. Then - as she peered up at him, and saw the narrowed, dark eyes the air began to shift again. The world shimmered, and a glow of blue energy was beginning to run from Vitruvion's form. Knowing was was to happen next, Stare sucked in her breath.

And the room began to spin. Without another word Vitruvion slid a hand down her body to wrap around her waist. From there he hoisted her right off her feet and into the air. Then he took a solid step forwards, stepping from the temple in Eluriand …

[Stare]

… into the orchard of the mansion in Beinost.

Rows of apple trees spread out before them, in neat rows like soldiers on parade. Amongst them bobbed the brown head of either Fain or Celedro, and a snip, snip could be heard of the gardener steadily cutting back foliage. A glorious blue and lilac dusk with a setting white sun shone down. It was peaceful, as of yet another day of administration, housework and business management.

Except it wasn't. He was still holding onto her, and this was still a day when she had woken up with wings. Clacking on the inside of her beak, Stare tried to raise her hands to begin to struggle. But his hold had pinned her arms to her side, as well as her wings to her back. Growling deeply now she kicked her legs and twisted her head around to glare at him.

“Put me down!”

With a grunt Vitruvion released her. Landing on the ground she found her unbound wings instinctively unfurled somewhat. Her breath was ragged and fast but she gathered her wits rapidly back together. For a while she kept in that pose, crouched and staring frantically around.

“Stare?”

Quickly she stood and spun around to look at him. Look into those eyes that had brought her before before a truly powerful god. One whose soul she had seen into fully, displayed like a playground paradise before her.

Calmly, as aristocratic as ever, Vitruvion leant forwards and fixed his blue eyes on hers. She ground herself and stood her ground proudly as his head moved to the side. And then he was eyeing up her relaxed, gaping wings, her cloak pushed to the back and tangled in a rugged way around her shoulders.

“For the next few days, we will begin to look at what you can do,” he spoke as he extended a hand to run over them. As he did she felt his warm touch on the feathers, and a spark shot down her spine, as if his fingers were alive with electricity. “Raphael was her for too long, and we still have the problem with the trade ship attacks. But for now, you cannot go as you are.”

Rolling back his shoulders he straightened before nodding. “For now I can offer the ships to make harbour elsewhere so we avoid the piracy. Pride, too, can wait until you are better. Right now,” he laid a hand on her shoulder, “You are my greatest concern. You and your strength. We need to get you used to those wings … and understand what you saw back there.”

She tightened her jaw, and grumbled. “So you agree with him? That my wings are … part of some next evolution.”

“My dear,” her god lifted his shoulders and shrugged a little. “I do not know what they are. What I am more determined about today is that you are mine, and no other being will ever have any hold over you. No other god, person, race or thing.”

A sense of resignation came over Stare. Her life was then, truly escapable. From the irremovable cuff at her wrist that connected to his ring, to the fact he was her deity, Vitruvion had his hand on her life. Even if the cuff was not in existence, or even if he did not have a piece of paper that made him the legal owner of her, he would always have a degree of power simply as being her god. When the day came that he was allowed to be worshipped - with the sort of determination he had, Stare was sure it was bound to happen - she would be there still, by his side and ultimately the one who was centre of the practise.

There was a soft sigh as he shook his head as a wordlessness extended between them, born of her querying mind. “That is not what I mean Stare. These words are meant as a possessive term - though admittedly, I do see you as something of my property, but that statement … the core of it is the fact that you will never be beholden to anyone but myself. I plan for nobody to ever have the power to manipulate you, bribe you, have power over you in any way, aside from me. This includes not being captured in any way, and I will work to my fullest extent to fulfil that promise.” Seriously, he looked at her. “Do you understand that?”

Slowly she blinked, drinking in his words. So it was not just the need for power, it was also to protect her. The same reason that, he claimed, he had made his legal right over her. All for her safety, her conservation. The safeguarding of her body and the defence of her soul was his prerogative. That in it had some comfort, and sounded better than the dominating connotations of a possession.

“Damn you, girl,” he muttered as he took a small step forwards and extended his arms. Stare stood still as he wrapped them around her and dragged her towards him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fain - for it was she and not her brother - pause and peek from behind a tree to watch. Vitruvion bent his form around her, embracing her tightly and reverently. He bent his head to rest his chin on top her head, and a smile flickered into life on his face as he too saw the gardener.

“Let the next few days and maybe weeks be you learning to fly. Then, we will set about dealing with the threats at our doorstep. After this, we will see what we can do to expand the business and from there … eternity is waiting.” He breathed into her ear as he tightened his grip around her. Stare felt the pace of her heartbeat stutter and become heavy and fast. “You are quite a miracle, my dear, and have come a long way since Avis was in that room, begging to be released. I am sure that neither of us expected that it would become … this.”