And that was that. They made me stick with the running and calisthenics for three months before deciding I had suffered enough. Strangely, though, I realized at the end that I was enjoying the morning runs with mom, so I kept at it. The calisthenics, on the other hand, I was glad to be done with. I did start joining her for weight training a couple times a week just to spend time with her when she wasn’t away for work, which I think helped me once the swim team’s next competition season came up.
Luckily, I had a new anime to get me through the times I was too sore to do anything else. It was the weirdest thing. It was based on some old conspiracy theories that said that the Fairy Blacksmith was my mother and my father was the armored angelic figure seen during the fight in the skies of New York. But there was a twist. Apparently, according to the anime, it was actually my father that was the half-elven princess while my mother was the angel.
In truth, while still laughable, it was a hell of a lot more believable than the other way around. Mom just didn’t seem like the princess type. But a knight, like depicted in the anime? That I could see. And daddy as a wizard? Well, I doubted it, but it was at least believable.
The whole story was pretty out there. Daddy had been abducted by a hot alien, traveled through space on the back of some kind of Lovecraftian creature and ended up on another planet. The craziest part was that someone had filled in the details by grabbing a module from an old table top RPG that had existed BEFORE daddy’s abduction. It was laughably bad.
It was also really, really cool. And it had information it shouldn’t have. Daddy’s story about the diplomat’s daughter? That ended up in there somehow. When I asked about it, he told me that he knew who the leak was and it was fine. Nothing important would end up compromised. And he said it was too entertaining to be mad about. That whole thing continued for several seasons, finishing around the time I finished high school.
Speaking of school, I should probably talk about that a bit, but there’s one more topic I need to talk about before we get there. My best friend growing up, Blaire, was the daughter of one of my parents’ friends. They had met when father had invested money in propping up the man’s corporation, which had been floundering because of the whole “Civil War” thing. He was the third generation owner of the company and didn’t want to be the one to let it fail. He was already at the reins earlier than planned since his father had died in a drone attack, and the economy during the crisis wasn’t helping. Father’s investment and the assistance of Juiz in helping him identifying trends to capitalize on had saved the company.
Our home, or more appropriately “mansion”, was built on roughly six hundred acres of land given to us by him. It had been a part of his family’s fifteen hundred acre estate, so we were effectively neighbors. Yeah, it seems like a large number when you look at it in acres, but the truth is that it’s only a couple miles away on the main road, really. It’s even shorter if you used the private road directly between our homes.
Blaire and I did a lot together. She was a year older than me, but that didn’t matter too much. At her house, I learned many of the traditions and customs of the wealthy and we spent a lot of time in the activities of the idle rich. At my house, we mostly played a lot of video games and my parents taught us a number of skills. Mother taught us riding, father taught us science. And, of course, we read quite a bit.
Despite that, we didn’t hang out much at school. Since she was a year older, we rarely had periods of time to spend together. And, of course, being around me wasn’t really helpful socially. Which allows me to segue into what I wanted to say about school.
The school I went to was the prestigious Pallas Academy, an elaborate elevator – or escalator, if you prefer – school with a massive campus housing everything from pre-school to graduate school. It wasn’t a school with a long history. In fact, it had been founded when I was two and they finished construction when I was four.
The school offered classes in various subjects, anywhere from etiquette classes to advanced physics, or from business to advanced magic theory. You know, of course, that I took all the magic related classes I could. I would have taken practical magic classes as well, but those weren’t available until after high school, and only if you had received a magic license, which requires being sponsored by a corporation or, less commonly, another wizard.
My parents had always promised we’d talk about it when I was eighteen and never wavered from that line. But I was pretty sure that one of our companies would end up sponsoring me for at least a class B license. If I wanted a Class A license, and with it, access to some of the more badass spells, I’d probably need sponsorship from a government agency. Maybe I could take a job working with the Bureau of Magic. Magical Law Enforcement would be a good place to learn to be a spell slinging badass.
On the other hand, that would put quite a bit in the way of demands and structure on my time. Sure, I’d have magical freedom and access to really cool spells, but did I really want to have to fill out forms in triplicate every time I used one? The more I thought about it, the less that appealed to me. In fact, it sounded awful. And being a corporate mage didn’t sound like fun either.
Which meant I needed a wizard to sponsor me. Then I could find work doing something fun. Maybe become a magical bounty hunter or a PMC/Security kind of thing. I don’t know. I wanted to do something to help people. I wanted to be a badass. I didn’t want a ton of red tape.
And, ultimately, even if all I did was get a Class B license, at least I’d be able to learn to fly. And that would be really cool. Only a half dozen or so known wizards were powerful enough to master flight magic, but I was pretty sure I could join their number.
Anyway, tangent over. School and friendships. We had the absolute best instructors and programs of any school anywhere. And I mean anywhere. With what the school paid its instructors, it had absolute pick of the best. Most of even the elementary teachers had doctorates and years of experience. The first year it opened, nearly half of Fortune 500 CEOs had a kid, grandkid, niece or nephew going there.
Compared to many of these people, my family was considered “Noveau Rich”. We were looked down on by everyone whose fortunes had been around for generations, despite the fact that we could have afforded to buy out most of their empires like it was nothing. Not that I knew exactly how wealthy we were back then.
Blaire wouldn’t have minded hanging out with me despite the way many looked down on us, but many of her other friends refused to hang out with me because of that, so I just found other people to spend time with, classmates my own age.
And it wasn’t to say that only rich people went to the school. Tuition was insanely expensive, but there were scholarships available for those who could prove they not only had the drive but also the skill and aptitude to make the cut. My parents even opened a number of businesses and even a factory in town to employ the parents of those scholarship students, though there were also dormitories for those older students whose families couldn’t move to come with them.
I was in a bit of a strange place, socially. Among the wealthy, I was a pariah for not being enough like them. Among those who weren’t wealthy, I was viewed as being “out of their league” and somewhat unapproachable. And aside from money, I was smart enough to earn my place, but not as smart as many who attended what promised to be the number one academy for science curriculum. I only had an IQ of one-fifty, compared to the one-seventies that were common among those on the science track. Which meant I was also too far above to relate to many in the business track, who were all exceptional, but not all geniuses. Considering all of that, I’m amazed I found any friends at all. Still, I managed to join a small social group and fit in well enough.
The school itself was kind of an interesting split. Core classes were held in wings separated by gender, but electives, meals and school events were held in a common wing. Of course, electives weren’t a thing in the first six years of school, but beyond that they became options. I’m sure there were solid educational reasons for the divide, but I’d also be willing to bet that it was at least in part due to the fact that my father – who had fronted more than two thirds of the school’s costs – had watched far too many animes. I’m absolutely certain that’s where the uniforms came from.
Both of my parents are dorks, but, as daddy likes to tell mama, “You think dorkness is your ally? You merely adopted the geeky. I was born in it, molded by it. I didn’t see the normies until I was already a man, by then they were nothing to me but grinding!” It’s a quote from something, but I’m afraid to ask what it is for fear that he’d make me watch it with him.
I wouldn’t put it past them to spend billions of dollars making an amazing school just so they could make sure I looked cute in my uniform is what I’m saying.
School as a whole wasn’t too interesting. I wasn’t anywhere near the top of my class. Solidly in the middle, if I’m honest. Of course, that means I would have been at least salutatorian in just about any other school in the world, but I was only a larger than average fish in a massive pond, to abuse a metaphor.
At the end of my junior year, Blaire suggested that I run to take her place as president of the school’s student council. With her behind me, there was a really good chance I could win, even despite the awkward place I was socially. Actually, that wasn’t that much of a detriment. While there were a lot of people who would never approach me because they feared rejection, that didn’t prevent them from looking up to me and voting for me.
While we’re on the subject of rejection, I should mention that I’ve only ever turned down one guy who asked me out. I didn’t really have the luxury. I wasn’t getting many offers. Most girls I knew were getting asked out once a week, but I was lucky to get a date a month. So I always figured that one date couldn’t hurt. If a guy, almost always one of the scholarship students rather than one of the rich kids, was brave enough to ask, it wasn’t going to kill me to have dinner or go bowling with him. Sadly, no beautiful girls asked me out. Doesn’t mean I didn’t have a few experiences with them, but they were more spontaneous.
Now, before you start thinking I was easy, I only ever went on second dates with two of my suitors, and only one of them got as far as second base. But that’s going off topic. We were talking about rejection. Specifically, we were talking about the only date I ever turned down.
He was one of the most popular kids at school. His grades were good, his family was wealthy and he was on two separate sports teams. Any girl at my school would have loved a chance to have him, but not me. He and I had met a number of times outside of school at social functions that our parents had brought us to, and I knew he was a jerk. When we were eight, Daisuke and he had gotten into a fight during my father’s birthday celebration. He had made comments about me and Daisuke had jumped in to defend me. Both sets of parents decided to just chalk it up to boys being boys and let it go.
In the weeks before he asked me out, I heard rumors that he had broken up with his girlfriend. Then it had gotten all around school that he was bragging that he was going to get into my pants. Idiot was planning to make a trophy of me. Look, I’m generally a lot more willing than most girls, but I do have self-respect. So when he asked, I turned him down. I believe my exact words were along the lines of “go fornicate yourself with a rusty pitchfork”.
After that, I paid it little mind. He spread rumors that he had in fact done the mattress mambo with me and I responded by mostly ignoring it, though I did let the words of my rejection slip. But mostly, I was busy with student council elections. Actually, I think it may have helped my campaign. One of my friends put an image of a rusty pitchfork on some of my campaign posters and many people started rallying around the idea that “Lyriana doesn’t take shit from anyone!”
Where Blaire could be compared to a graceful swan, people started thinking of me as a honey badger. We even adopted that as my campaign mascot.
My parents coached me on speaking techniques and I gave a fiery and impassioned speech to the student body about the usual bull crap that every student president talks about, punctuating it by holding the microphone at arm’s length, dropping it and stepping off the stage before anyone could react. Backstage, I could hear the thunderous applause and raucous cheering. I gave Blaire a high five and began waiting for the election results.
Voting was held the next day. The day after that, winners were announced. I had done it! I was going to be the new student council president. I really wish I could end the story there, because I’m really not a fan of what happened next, even if it was one of the most important events of my life.
The next day, Blaire took me with her to the council meeting so I could learn the ropes. During the meeting, someone dropped by with a note saying that one of my teachers wanted to talk to me. Blaire told me to go take care of it, so I thanked everyone and hurried off.
In the hallway, I found my opponent in the election waiting. With her was the girlfriend of the guy I had turned down. They had gotten back together after I had shot him down and I could tell just from looking that she was pissed because she believed I had slept with her man. They had brought two other girls with them. Outnumbered, I opted to make a retreat, but two guys got between me and my planned exodus.
Aside from them and me, the halls were empty. My protective detail spent their time securing the building while I was in school, allowing me my freedom. So there was no one to come to my aid when they attacked. One of the girls produced a bat and struck me several times. I struggled to defend myself, but against that number of armed attackers, there was little I could do.
“Please, someone help me,” I thought, unable to speak.
I heard one of the girls, my opponent from the election and one of the most popular girls at school, tell someone to “Alright, that’s enough. Zap her. We’ll strip her and post pictures of her all over the internet.”
I struggled, trying to get up, and heard the sound of a stun gun. Then I felt a sharp pain as someone jabbed it into my side and turned it on. But I didn’t feel any shock. “That’s strange,” one of the guys said. “It didn’t work.”
“It probably didn’t go off. Hit her again.”
I felt him strike me again with it and once again, nothing happened. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think it was because of my mutation. When I was six, we learned that I could see perfectly in the dark – albeit in black-and-white – up to about sixty feet away. When they checked my eyes, it turned out I had a new kind of structure in them, unlike anything anyone had ever seen.
My DNA was likewise odd. When they did a test on my parents, they found that my mother shared the mutated DNA, but not the adaptation. The doctor told us that, due to the extensive nature of the mutations, it was likely that I had other abnormalities, but he was at a loss as to what they would be. I suspect that it’s why I don’t have any problem with cold weather and it’s also probably why the stun gun did nothing to me.
“But even then, it’s not like I have any options,” I thought ruefully. “I don’t have the power to stop this. Six against one and I have already been beaten within an inch of unconsciousness.”
Time seemed to slow down, until everything froze. I heard boot steps and the jingling sound of armor like that worn by my parents when they went to Society for Creative Anachronism meetings. I saw the boots come to a stop before me and the person bent down, unfazed by the apparent stopping of time. I, on the other hand, couldn’t move.
She was wearing a black cloak and a hood that obscured all but a small part of her face and a few strands of her blond hair. But even with what little I could see, I could tell that she was incredibly beautiful. And there was something very familiar about her, though I could not place my finger on it. “You’re wrong, you know,” she said, crouching over me.
“What?” I replied.
“You do have the power to fight this, and perhaps even win. It has been lying dormant in your blood since you were born. And as I’ve watched you grow, I’ve also seen your power grow too. Soon, it will awaken on its own. But perhaps now would be a better time?”
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