To begin at the beginning, our town of Fletch was a small one in the deep southeast of Argentia, my mother was an elf, and in the elvish fashion she named me after one of the first things she saw or heard on my birthday. Keiku, which referred to the cry of a hawk overhead as she held me in her arms.
Not long after I was born, it was revealed that I carried the seed of a dragon in my left arm.
According to legend, the golden age we find ourselves in was brought about when the Lances rose up and overthrew the tyrannical Dragon Riders, hunting them to extinction.
However in a town like ours, such things had no meaning to most, strength was strength, what mattered was how well you supported the community.
And so when I was young, my mother taught me how to hunt with a spear, how to move swiftly and silently, to kill quickly and painlessly, to hunt with honor. She taught me the prayer to the Lord of the Hunt, thanking him for the bounty of the day. She also taught me the basics of magic, honing my talent in water and wind. This was evident at a young age, as my hair changed from a platinum blonde to a coppery turquoise, an elven trait. My father is a woodsman, and so he taught me how to fight despite my size and frame, as small and lithe is the shape of a halfling.
Peasants like us cannot carry swords or shields, and no blacksmith is foolish enough to forge one in secret aside from what's requested by the crown. I used a long knife made from a bronze and copper alloy, as due to my fae blood I would burn if I touched iron or steel. Needless to say...it made fighting a challenge, as even a glancing scrape from his axe would leave a burn across my skin, even getting close to it made my ears ring as my vision swam like I was seasick. And so I learned rather quickly how to not get hit, as one hit was all it would take to bring me down.
"Little hawk, today Id like you to spar with Galan today."
At that I couldn't suppress a slight gulp as the head of the woodsmen, a man with a peppered white beard and the stature of a bear strode up to me, maul slung over his shoulder as the head resembled a small anvil with the flat replaced by a blade.
Despite his imposing appearance, my heart betrayed my excitement as I felt a grin spread across my face, drawing my knife and taking a loose, spread out stance like a fencer, left arm behind my back.
I could feel the density of the iron in his axe, even with all these years of being constantly exposed to iron, things like that still make me light headed as I feel a tangible pull, forcing me to tense myself a bit in order to stay balanced.
He wasted no time in bringing that axe off his shoulder into a devastating sweep, forcing me to jump back and nearly lose my stance as I deflected the blade with my knife.
In that instant an epiphany struck my mind, and I did the opposite of what I had been taught, loosening my stance and rising off the ground, levitating into the air and remembering the freedom of flight.
My grandfather was a wizard of sorts, most thought him mad with his erratic mannerisms and riddle laden speech, but he kept small tidbits of wisdom within it all. And he was the one to push me to improve my magic the most, to always question what was impossible.
"Hatchling, find your wings" he told me, after spending a few weeks discussing concepts like "gravity" and "friction".
And so I did, my mother taught me a spell for walking on water, and with a lot of practice...and countless crash landings I learned to walk on air.
"Fledgling, find your claws" Now that part is a bit more vague, and one Im still working on...but I doubt there will be a better time to learn than when a man twice my size is swinging an axe at me!
Even with my ability to walk on air, I cant get seem to stand much higher than three spans...and Galan stands at two and a half spans, meaning I was still in reach of his axe. Which led to the onlookers in the clearing witnessing a grown man swiping at a boy with an axe like he was a fly as he danced around him.
I made a diving swipe at him with my knife, which was blocked by the sturdy shaft of his axe, forcing me to push off his chest to get away and dislodge my knife, putting some distance between us. With that I had an idea as I saw him stumble back from the force of me pushing off...
Magic is known to have 3 origins: Dwarven Runes, Beastial Signs and the Elvensong.
These three were refined into the magic circles and incantations used today, however the original forms are still in use by a few from those ancient clans...
"Look kid, you're going about it all wrong."
I remember hearing those words after walking myself out of the lake after yet another failed attempt at water walking.
"Ya cant force it, let it flow naturally or you wont go anywhere."
I shook the water from my hair and looked up at old man Pike, known to be our best fisherman and water mage.
He puffed a bit of smoke from his corncob pipe, stretched his wiry legs with a few creaks from aging joints and stood up, walking on the water with his bucket in hand.
"Watch me boy, you've always asked how I know when to cast my spells, so here's your answer."
He raised his free hand and pointed up, spheres of water rising all around, each containing a fish as he walked on the water to each one, popping them and dropping the fish inside.
"Its a matter of feeling, not forcing."
With those words in mind, I take a breath and relax again as I glide across the ground and feel a song rise in my throat.
If finding my wings meant adapting the spell I worked my hardest to master to do something I never thought possible, perhaps finding my claws means...yes, yes that's it!
"Rika, mind lending me a hand?"
I named her after the riii and ka of the cicadas and crows that summer night, laying exhausted from a day of training myself to attempt the Air Walk.
"Idiot, you need to gather the air before you push or you wont get anywhere."
Sharp tongued and observant, her commentary has aided me a lot all these years, pointing out little mistakes I was making and helping me improve.
"Oi, Ill lend you a hand once you get your head back in the game you airheaded fairy!"
My smile broadened as I saw Galan's axe wasting no time and coming for my neck as I swung my arms down like wings, a gust of wind taking me up and over his head with the first wild notes of my song the untamed laughter in my throat.
"You have to admit Rika, this is fun! We're finally fighting for real, sparring against father was getting dull, don't you agree?"
"Heh, I wasn't complaining, now lets take him down and give Our Mother a proper offering!"
We gathered the wind and water around our arm, shining rainbow dancing across our skin, forming an edge sharp enough to cut the rocks hurled at us as our foe had a grin of his own. I felt my heart beat in time to the rhythm of our steps, her hum adding to the symphony flowing through us, raw and primal.
"O queen of harvest festivals, bless us with your bounty! O sister of storm, let us dance in your shadow!"
As this prayer sang, twinned voice echoing out among stones split in twain as the ground lifted up beneath us in ribbons of earth to attempt to bind us, our call was heard. The goddess of fertility has many aspects of her nature, one of which is granting a blessing to anything one can harvest, magically increasing the resources removed. We used this to pull more water than there was in the air and ground around us, as dark clouds formed over us, soaking and denting these sheets with rain like cannon-fire.
In response, Galan raised his axe as it was now wreathed in flames, which spread across his body and began to lap up our water, drying the earth as he charged in to meet us head on with axe raised.