at this rate, part 10 is going to be posted in 2050 provided climate change hasn’t destroyed the earth but enjoy!
Luxa doesn’t need her as much anymore and Aurora tries not to let that hurt. After all, her bond is queen now and her people never stop calling. Aurora helps where she can, but her flight is hindered as age aggravates old injuries and some things are not meant for old bats with broken wings.
Outside those rare moments together, she keeps to herself mostly, training and thinking and remembering. She doesn’t leave Regalia unless Luxa has need of her, memories of crashing in a far-off jungle still fresh. Sometimes, the young ones ask her to tell them stories, but the words catch in her throat and she ushers them over to the blusterers, the Howards of the world who love nothing more than imparting their history upon those fortunate enough not to live it.
But today, there is one who will not listen to her, a small girl who reminds her of Luxa when her bond was small, all big eyes and an expression far too serious for her years.
“Go with the other children. I am sure Howard will tell you a wonderful story.”
She shakes her head. “He always tells the same stories. And they’re boring.”
Aurora can’t disagree with her, at least about the first part. Howard, dedicated as he is preserving their history for the next generation, refuses to lie, which she admire. But the stories he chooses to impart to this youngest generation hew as close to fairy tale as possible, with clean lines between good and bad and no mentions of chemical warfare and genocide. Though he tells them well, there’s only so many that fit the criteria and Aurora herself tires of the Reemergence of Ripred on a weekly basis.
“Then go find your parents.”
The little girl shakes her head. “They’re right over there.” Two women near the hand-to-hand sparring ring notice she’s pointing at them and wave. She returns the gesture before turning back to Aurora. “Now, will you tell me a story?”
“No.” She sounds so much like Luxa in that moment, it hurts. “He can’t tell me about the black bat.”
She nods, holding out her arms like they’re wings. “The big black bat. The one who died. My mommy told me you were friends with him.”
Aurora looks back at the two women, no longer paying attention to their conversation. She doesn’t exactly want to kill the woman, never mind she’s not sure which one it is. But many people have tried to talk to her about Ares over the years and the conversations always go the same way. Most of them try to get her to admit to his nefarious deeds, despite the fact he proved himself to be the opposite through the moment he died. She just doesn’t speak of him anymore; it hurts too much.
The little girl pushes on, apparently not noticing her silence. Or not caring. “I want to be him when I grow up!”
“You are a human. Not a bat.”
“Don’t be a silly. My mommy told me that he helped the Warrior all the time and saved the world and flew everywhere in the Underland and was really, really, really cool!”
Her heart skips as the little girl keeps talking about all the things Ares did, truth painted in the varnish of a fairy tale, rather than lies dressed up as horror stories. Eventually, she interrupts her. “Would you go get your parents please? I have a question for them.”
A short conversation and a few effusive promises of safety later and Aurora and the girl (Aurea, she learns. Aury for short) leap into the air above Regalia, Aurora ignoring the faint ache in her wing as they make their journey.
Eventually, she finds her way back to his cave, muscles remembering what her mind has long forgotten. Aury leaps off her back as soon as they land, big eyes growing even wider with fascination as she takes in her surroundings. “What is this place?”
“This is where Ares lived, before he died.”
“Why didn’t he live with everyone else? I thought he was a hero.”
Aurora nods. “But not everyone agreed with that.”
“What does that mean? Heroes are heroes. Everyone knows that!”
She gestures to the stone beside her with her aching wing. “Come, child. It’s time for me to tell you a story.” So Aurora does. She speaks for hours, everything she remembers about the bat that had once been a dear friend. Aury listens raptly and though it hurts in more ways than one, it’s nice to feel needed again.
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