Moonlark Turned Evil

Inktober Special: Rise

Timeline: A year after Irily's choosing ceremony. Irily is eight, and Eria is eleven.

Totally not me panicking bc I'm busy tomorrow and I'm going to a music festival over the weekend-

The winds remained still and unmoving no matter how hard she tried. Gritting her teeth, Eria punched a nearby tree trunk—and immediately regretted it.

She'd come down from Mehm to practice, unwilling to attempt any sort of training in a place where her mother's eyes lingered constantly, and had taken up a spot in a small, deserted clearing in the center of a forest. It was picturesque and perfectly still, with only the sound of birds chirping and running water to keep her company.

If Irily were here, she might've sat down to meditate, or maybe brought out a brush to write a line or two. She embodied the scholarly grace of her goddess of shadows through and through, from her musical talent to the calligraphy she hung on the wall.

Eria was never the kind of person to follow the old teachings.

Come to think of it, Elif was older than Schivia. It was odd that Schivia would teach her disciples—well, disciple, singular—how to perform such ancient and outdated arts when Elif only imparted knowledge regarding modern things. Maybe it was just a simple difference in personality.

Setting thoughts of the gods aside, Eria knelt on the ground. She was here to train. For once, she would be like Irily, and actually focus her mind on the task.

Closing her eyes, she extended her consciousness beyond her body.

Wind brushed past her, whispering on her skin. It said nothing pleasant, it never did.

Abandoned your sister to curry mama's favour! a northwesterly snickered.

Forever the second choice, a southern breeze muttered against her hair.

Eria squeezed her eyes tighter.

Oh, high and mighty, Princess Eria! an easterly wind gasped out mockingly. Her mother refuses to look at her except when she's using her as a bad example for the Second Princess Irily—

"Shut up," she bit out. "Scram."

You can't threaten me, Your Highness, the easterly continued, wrapping around her. It wound tight enough that she could feel its embrace like fingers upon her, soothing, comforting. You can't even rise a single centimeter off the ground . . .

"When I learn how to control the wind—"

You mean 'if'?

Eria batted out at the air around her face, but the easterly merely dissolved to slip between her fingers, and she slapped her own cheek. The force sent her seeing stars, tears welling in her eyes.

She blinked them away furiously. "Leave me alone, please."

There was a rustling as the leaves in the clearing whipped to life, whirling around her.

Your Highness, you need a teacher if you want to learn how to control the wind, the easterly sighed. You can't be expected to teach yourself.

"But mother said . . ."

Your mother says a lot of things. They're not always right.

Eria bristled. "My mother is the Queen of the Elys!"

Mhm. The breeze seemed unimpressed. I'll teach you what you need to know. You want to impress Ilith, right?

"That's Her Majesty, Queen Ilith to you," she snapped back in response.

Oh yes, the easterly sighed, and repeated the title in a mocking tone. Are you happy now, Your Highness?

Eria sighed. "Are all winds this annoying?" she asked, half serious, half insulting.

The little easterly laughed. No, Your Highness. It's just me. No one else has any personality around here.

Against her better judgement, Eria found herself blurting out a choked noise of amusement at that.

See? I'm funny.

"I never refuted that claim."

Yes, but you implied that you didn't believe it, the easterly snapped, and she was sure that if it had had a form, it would be crossing its arms and glaring at her sideways.

Eria rolled her eyes. "I don't think the wind is supposed to worry over whether or not it has a personality."

And I don't think people are supposed to be expected to train themselves in the path of the god Elif, but here we are.

"Do most people have tutors?" she questioned, leaning forward, as if she could see the wind before her. A ridiculous notion. No one could see the wind if it wasn't moving something to indicate its presence.

Quite right, the easterly said. I don't understand what your mother is thinking, frankly, trying to make you learn by yourself. Ridiculous. You're supposed to be taught by a senior disciple from your branch, or from the god or goddess themself! It's not something that can be picked up without help.

"So that's where Irily has been disappearing off to . . ."

She didn't even tell you?

Eria's gaze fell to her hands, resting on her knees. "It's not like we tell each other everything."

It's hardly a matter of 'everything' right now, is it? Do you even tell each other anything?

"Well, that's none of your business, is it?" she said harshly. "Go on then. You said I was supposed to have a tutor, and since I don't have one, and since you sound like you're offering, I'll settle for you. Teach me, if you're so great."

It almost seemed like the wind was smirking.

What a demanding student. From here on, I am your teacher. You will address me as such.

"Do you want me to call you shishou, or something?" Eria muttered under her breath.

What an excellent idea. Two leaves rose from the ground and tapped against each other lightly, as though the easterly was trying to tell her that it was clapping its nonexistent hands. Your Highness, I expect you to call me shishou.

"You're the most demanding wind I've ever met," she hissed in reply.

And you're the most ridiculous princess I've ever seen. Are we even?

"Not until you tell me your name."

There was a pause as the leaves drifted to the ground, fluttering carelessly.

I lost mine, her teacher told her.

"Then should I give you one?" she asked.

A disciple naming their master?

"The opposite happens often."

Yes, with orphans.

"You could be an orphan."

The easterly sounded positively affronted. I'm not an orphan, Your Highness.

"Alright then. Can I name you, anyway?"

. . . Fine.

Eria smiled as she got to her feet, brushing off the grass clinging to her legs. "I'll call you Azuma, shishou. How does that sound?"

Not bad, Azuma grudgingly agreed. Not bad at all.

Ilith never did comment on how Eria improved her talents despite how she never had a (known) teacher until Jevro Meine came along. There was never a word of praise that didn't double as a barb aimed towards Irily.

But Eria found that she didn't mind as much as she used to. No, it still hurt, sometimes enough to make her want to hurl herself off a cliff, but a lot of the time, it was manageable.

Because Azuma cared.

The first leaf she lifted, the first time she rose into the air, the first time she kicked up a tempest—he was always there.