SEVEN YEARS AGO

A pioneer came to a new city with a measure of prudence, apprehension, and if daring enough, a sense of auspiciousness. This was opportunity for growth, or for amputation; at least this was true in the old days, when most of the civilized world was self-employed and territory was defended by an unofficial fief lord wielding wisdom in their left hand and a powerful gift in their right. Kids these days had it easy. Anyone could prove themselves now with standardized tests and systems and leaderboards. The world was different now; laws protected people as much as gifts. But the roots of the old world were deep and very much alive, albeit invisible to fresh eyes. Either way the sight of jagged fields of steel, glass, and concrete ought to cow any migrant.

“What an amazing city.” Leucilis Linnaeus’s voice had a singsong cadence. It was soft and easily drowned beneath innocuous conversation. So wherever she went usually became a quiet place indeed.

This was, however, not their ancestral land of Godwinson’s Divide. This land was a democracy. Not that this meant anything changed. They must simply pretend they were no different than the other citizens here.

“Millions packed like surströmming,” Amelia said. Her nose wrinkled. Her brow stitched together as it usually did. She was unimpressed. Repulsed, even.

“I am sure you will learn to love it here,” her mother said.

“It smells even through the car.”

“Now you are just being melodramatic.”

Which was true. The filters in the family Bentley was keeping the outside at bay. An inch of glass separated the rabble from her. But she would not be able to hide forever. She would have to leave the vehicle, pretend to be strong, stoic, and ready to be alone.

“You were always ready,” Leucilis said to her through the open door of the car.

Amelia stood on her own two feet in front of the giant pillar of the condominium. Its imposing dimensions dwindled into the blue sky, where the odd white cloud gently scrolled past. A promising beginning. If only it had been under better circumstances. But then again, no circumstance would have made her glad to leave. She would say that she hated the changing times, but in reality she simply hated the fact that it happened on her generation.

“Goodbye, mother,” Amelia said.

“Goodbye? It only takes me a few hours to fly here. Maybe you ought to join a theatre club.” And then the door was closed. The car drove off, leaving her on the side of this unsavory road.

The noises, by God, there were so many. Taxi’s honked at each other. People chatted on their phones, bumping into each other and starting altercations. Giant screens on top of buildings and on street corners played loud media. Sometimes they updated the viewer on who was doing the most good. She saw names that had made their way to Europe. Names of power like Victory and Giantsbane and Peregrine, greats among greats.

“Hey! People are walking here!” A voice startled her. Rather than flinching she simply turned her head. But the source of impatience had already walked around her, grumbling in annoyance.

“My apologies,” Amelia muttered to herself. She left the sidewalk and finally began to walk to her new home. Back in Godwinson there wasn’t a soul who would dare speak to her that way. It would take her a while to understand that people in this city were not rude out of a lack of respect to her, but rather a lack of respect in general.

The big city did not promote order or manners, it gave a certain kind of behavioral freedom that allowed people to be whatever came easiest.

Uncivilized.

The family had procured board for one. The accommodations were fine. Clean, at the very least even without regular attendance from servantry. Barely audible waves of cool air slipped into the flat from the well-hidden A/C system. Amelia stood in the center of the living room surveying the place. Everything seemed so far away, despite the place being dense with sofas ready to be sat in, side tables with coasters already prepared, bright lamps with fresh fluorescent bulbs. Their mansion back home was far larger. She remembered the feeling of fluttering through its halls as a toddler, with women in black dresses and white aprons in desperate chase. Avoiding her tutoring appointments had been fun for her, but no doubt a nightmare for her caretakers, and the halls were filled with her laughter and their attempted cajolery. This condo was infinitesimal in comparison. Yet it felt huge.

Schooling came with a more obvious dread.

The Langshir Collegiate of Higher Responsibility did not usually allow new students outside of their order of progression. One had to have begun schooling in America in order to be matriculated. Yet there she was. She was tall for a middle-schooler, likely an effect of her combimorphic gift. Her whole body was sleek, her joints were defined, and her shoes had to be specially made to fit claw-like toes. But the most prominent part of her had to be her two pairs of wings which flowed down her back all the way to her calves when folded. They caught the light like a dragon’s hoard. Sometimes, at the end of a school day, she would find obscenities written on them with marker. Her wings were indestructible, but not immune to her schoolmates’ creative mockeries.

Sometimes she sat in the center of her living room in the dim evening light, her phone sitting in the cradle of her hands. Her mother’s number was highlighted in her contacts, but she would never press ‘call’. How was she supposed to make a name for herself here if voices behind her back and vandalism was all it took to bring her back to mommy?

Had there been a better way to have handled this treatment? Maybe she could have given those cruel kids at least a little reaction. Because the more stoic she behaved, the harder they tried. Until they ambushed her in the washroom.

One of the girls stood sentry by the washroom’s entrance. Three waited for her by the mirrors so they appeared twinned against the surfaces, as though she was facing six of them at once. The scene seemed so strange in retrospect. There they were, calm, convinced as to what they were doing, donned in the suit, skirt, and tie of the collegiate. Why did children do this to each other?

“What is it this time?” Amelia said.

“Go home,” the leader among them said. An equally tall girl with crystalline eyes and hair, called Wurtzila. “You’ve known this, we’ve all known this. You don’t belong here.”

“…I know.”

“Then leave.”

“I fail to see why you need this so much. We do not have to interact, ever. Yet you people choose to consort with me.”

“How did you get into this institution?” Wurtzila asked.

“I-”

“There’s a process to this. Our families founded this place, not just to breed heroes but to create outstanding pillars of society. Even the ones who don’t get into M.A.G.E are distinguished. You did not attend elementary here. You did not begin here.”

“And?”

“You do not bear the standard.”

Amelia eyed the coat of arms woven into the left side of their suits’ chest.

“For a hundred ninety-nine it seems anyone can,” Amelia said.

A girl to the side of Wurtzila stomped forward one step, her veins aglow with fiery energy.

“How dare you-” She began.

Wurtzila cut her friend off with a wave.

“This place was built on deep roots,” she said to Amelia. “We all know why you’re here. To import the Linnaeus name. Our standards would clash. Your mere being here and excelling is a violence.”

Amelia should not have smiled, but her lips formed one all on their own. It seemed to agitate her peers more.

“I thought this hemisphere was alien,” Amelia said. “Not as much as I thought, it seems. Those are the old ways where I am from. Families butting heads over territory to defend. I thought this land thrived on fair competition, but it is good to know where we return to when faced with outsiders.”

One of Wurtzila’s followers had had enough. “We could also do without your general smug attitude!” She shouted, rushing at her.

Amelia’s fist was already balled. She had waited for this for so long, so patiently, perhaps ever since she had shed her first tears while scrubbing ink off her wings. Just once. One good punch. That’s all she would need. Then she would go back to being a proper Linnaeus.

A crash sounded at the washroom entrance. The girl standing guard had been shoved aside and she was yelling out in alarm. All eyes turned to look at who had just barged into the washroom. It was a girl with big, emerald green eyes. Her head was dense with hair barely restrained by flowering vines.

“Uh… hi,” she said, a corner of her mouth lifted in a nervous, clumsy smile.