The Wings of Storm

3.2- The Very Weird First Quest

February 1. Fourteen and a half years old. Saishuu Riku.

The alarm rang in my little apartment in Heikisato.

The noise pounded my brain, each ring like a weighty hammer. I buried my face in the pillows and twisted them around my ears, but still, the noise persisted. Alright, alright! I slammed an arm around until it hit the buzzer. Finally, some peace and quiet. Sleep folded over me like a blanket, and I hugged my pillow tighter. Remnants of my dream flickered in and out. Something about a quarrel. Not the best kind, but anything was better than waking up. Just five more minutes.

Then I remembered what day it was.

My eyes snapped open, all the grime around it moving in to attack. I rubbed them and swung from the bed, swaying like a drunken man. After all this while, today was the day. A huge grin ran across my face.

Today I'd join a squad.

As I pranced across my room, grabbed my towel and entered my citrus-scented washroom, I could hardly stop hopping on the spot. I'd dreamt of this ever since I stepped foot in Heikisato. Euphoria lightened me, and I'd have sworn I could fly. For all the embarrassment I'd had with being in the same class with people four years younger, this was worth it.

Most people who joined general training were six, but I was already ten when I'd begun. After graduation, the others had left to do special training with a mentor, something outsiders weren't allowed. So I'd been assigned a squad instead.

I was a bit nervous about meeting my new team, though. Even if I were only a replacement. Unfortunately, only outsiders recommended to or by the Minister were allowed to be permanent members of a squad.

I hurried to the closet, swung it open and pulled out my outfit. The coarse cotton of my red jacket wrapped my fingers. Taking each piece of clothing reverently to the board, I ironed them. They must be perfect. Even the tiniest crease must be wiped out. I smiled and wondered what my mum would think if she saw me do all this housework.

At the thought of my mum, something shook my very core.

My iron dropped. It missed my pants by a thread but seared my fingers on the way. I sort of remember rushing to the bathroom and running cold water over them. But most of all I remember the images, the memories that flooded in like on the morning after a busy day. No matter how much I'd wished, both my selves had been separate, like two different, but the same people connected by a thread of consciousness. Yet today I felt what my other me was feeling. All in one second, I was excited, then anxious, then distraught. So angry and so afraid.

I stumbled back into my room, my knees shaking. A pungent smell of burning fabric met my nostrils while I stared out my window. Fluffy clouds ran across the fiery sunrise sky that enveloped the town, the colours glinting off the crystal glass dome of the HQ.

It didn't matter what would happen to Ahio in the manga. I would save him anyway, even if he wouldn't need it.

My mum couldn't control me here.

In less time than I would've thought, I took off the iron, my clothes were on, my sword was strapped, and I was out of the apartment. Then I ran, up the street, down another, past shops and street vendors, their cries of trade falling deaf on my ears. Ran so fast I was surprised I didn't barrel into anyone. Soon, in front of me was the great oaken door of the headquarters, with its weaving mosaic patterns made by a more delicate hand than mine. I raised my arm to open it, then stopped.

This was it. If I told them--if I told everyone, I would never belong here. I'd forever be pressed for more details, at least until the manga reached its course and I didn't have any more useful information. I'd be watched, or worse, be shut in a holding cell somewhere.