Fifth Wing
Ishaan Prashanth Magadi and Samay Rayapuram
From the minds of two very troubled souls, Happy Birthday Josna
Index
Phoenix
Gargoyle
Fae
Centaur
Cerberus
Phoenix
Simulation #231
B
urning embers scorched the land, syphoning off what remaining life clung
onto this charred earth. Four tombstones stood where four bastions once
existed. Four wings clipped off. What was once a kingdom with a proud
people, was now a barren wasteland. Amidst the rubble stood a husk, the husk of a
failed warrior. They wondered, perhaps to themselves, perhaps to the ghostly
whispers that circled around them, as to what could've gone differently. Maybe four
wings wasn't enough, perhaps a fifth was needed, one that even the Great Evil
could not see coming. Yes, it was time to run the simulation again, this time with a
little twist.
Simulation #232
Dragon pups soared in the azure sky above, as festivities raged below. On the old
cobble path that ranged the entire distance of the hamlet known as Soorehalli, a
group of fresh faces, barely any stubble on their chin marched onward. The villagers
lined the streets, raucously cheering on their future protectors, banners in hand and
pride in their hearts. Though their combined years were small, their vigour in march
was unparalleled, as these men and women walked in a straight file, rarely
deviating from their direction.
Behind them, stood a vintage carrier wagon, filled to the brim with fruits and exotic
meats of all sorts. The wagon bore with it the crest of The Great Queen of Angeline,
draped with the finest silks in the kingdom, proudly shining on the side. Today was
the day new Rider recruits offer their prayers to the dragon god Bahamut, seeking
His immortal blessings. Passing through winding mountains, and villages full of
eager pilgrims, the rank and file are to make it to the top of Mount Rayapuram,
where it is said that Bahamut accepts blessings.
Walking forward with radiant robes, priests of various Orders, gathered around the
wagon, chanting spells and hymns to invoke God. A burly warrior, dressed in
resplendent gold armour swung open the wagon door, revealing a nonplussed sight.
Donning no shirt, one pair of underwear, and a torn fedora, sat a man of modest
proportions, fork and knife in hand, carefully dissecting the peel of the banana. The
hymns stopped, so did the cheering. The air above grew noticeably colder. Amongst
the din of silence that rang over the mountain, the Captain in Command stuttered,
then stumbled forward towards the wagon, spear brandished and grimacing all the
while. “HALT HEATHEN!”, he shouted, and chaos broke over the scene.
“WHO ARE YOU FIEND, STATE YOUR NAME AND PURPOSE THIS INSTANT.” The
mystery man did not so much as flinch at this shouting, instead choosing to calmly
place his silverware down, pocketing the banana peel and rising to his feet,
smacking his head to the top of the carriage in the process. All eyes were on him,
and with the grace of a fairy, nonchalantly stepped off the carriage. “The banana
peel was too old, not enough potassium in it”. The crowd paused, perplexed and
puzzled, looking at each other with abject horror. “CUR, BEFORE I STRIKE YOU
DOWN, STATE YOUR PURPOSE”, yelled the now fuming guard. “YOU FOOL, DARE
YOU SPEAK DOWN TO THE VESSEL OF BAHAMUT HIMSELF?”, shouted the man.
“Vessel of Bahamut? You speak in circles”
“What the hell is a circle”
“Never mind”
“Ahem. As I was saying, ALL OF YOU SHOULD BOW DOWN TO ME! ME! THE ONE AND
ONLY… BAHAMUT!”
Just then, a stray beam of sunlight reflected off of the Crest on the carriage, blinding
everyone unfortunate enough to be in the radius. When they opened their eyes,
what they saw was not a man, but a spectre of the great Dragon himself, towering
above them at 5’ 6”(advik height).
Almost instantly, a once mighty coalition of forces were on their knees, hands
splayed in front of them, eyes cast downwards. “All hail Bahamut, God amongst
Gods”, they chanted in unison. The man(now Bahamut) gleamed with pride, his
loyal subjects were truly subservient.
“Take me then…” A dangerous glint shone in his eyes, “...to where they serve Kings
and Gods”. Almost as if a spirit had possessed them, the priests and soldiers
exploded into action, eager to serve their new master with utmost gusto. The man
smiled happily, chewing on the stem of an apple, watching on as the once confident
and proud army broke down in front of him eager to serve. Sitting plush on regal
leather seats that were ostensibly made for the Head Priest of the service. In the
skies, dragons roared and clouds stirred, as it was clear that a new order was upon
them.
In barely an hour, the procession made its way down Mount Rayapuram, and
through the verdant open fields that make up much of the Kingdom of Angeline.
Nearing the castle gates, the Man peaked his head out of the wagon to see what all
the hubbub was about, as by now the music of the trumpeteers had grown to a
deafening crescendo. What greeted him was a sight fit for a Vessel of his stature.
Imposing stone walls lined the face of the castle, proudly displaying the Golden
Crest of the Queen on each one of them. Ramparts, reinforcing the front gate stood
proud, as the the bridges of the moats that connected the grasslands and the castle
itself lowered itself. Guards, some big, some small, dotted the entire landscape of
the front gate, some standing in watchtowers that looked over the vast expanse of
the great kingdom in front of them. Though the guards were understandably
confused as to what all the commotion was about, the sight of an unknown man,
sitting atop the Altar of Sacrifice could only mean one thing. The Messiah is here.
Gargoyle
A
nd The Messiah was…confused. The people around him were…cheering? The
din of worry in his own head was drowned out by the rapturous crowd
gathered by his wagon. A light chill came over his body, as he shuffled
uncomfortably in the linen sheets beneath him. Surely these good people must be
confused, perhaps some corrections were in order. He gripped the edges of the
wagon, leaning over hesitantly to address a crowd now rapidly nearing the
hundreds. “Guys why the FUCK is it cold when I can see the sun right there”. A beat.
Then another. The crowd looked at the Man, then at each other, then at the very
clearly beaming sun right above them. He…was right. It was cold. The sun was out.
What the fuck. Before anyone could logically think through that statement, a
particularly wizened priest stood up, and bellowed out to the crowd. “THE MESSIAH
SPEAKS, JUST AS OUR LAND IS AT A GLANCE, PROSPEROUS AND HAPPY, A
DARKNESS LURKS JUST BENEATH THE HORIZON, THREATENING TO FREEZE US
OVER”. “YEAH, WHAT HE SAID.” The Man had no idea what he said, but the priest
seemed smart enough, besides, at least his words seemingly calmed the masses
down, to an unnatural degree.
The people of Angeline were long suffering, this was no secret. Ever since the great
war against the neighbouring fiefdom of Johann, the coffers of the kingdom and the
rations of the people were slowly being dried day by day. What were once healthy
and well-fed people had their cheeks hollowing out, every morsel of rice akin to a
drop of water in an arid desert. This was especially pronounced in the further out
reaches of the kingdom, in towns like Soorehalli and Magadi. One can imagine, then,
the effect of a Messiah on the general populace. The commoners rejoiced, as for
them the drums of liberation had been sounded. No more must they slave under
cruel masters for meagre portions of leftover food. For the elite of Angeline though,
the news was a bit more concerning.
Rows of peasants, each of their eyes darkened from grief, showered petals on the
incoming procession; they hadn’t smiled in many a year it seemed. In front of them,
clad in far less tattered, far more regal robes, stood a row of men and women. Each
of them sported a small blue badge on their chest, indicative of their status in the
kingdom. “STOP THIS MADNESS AT ONCE”, shouted a particularly stern looking
nobleman, his face sporting a displeased frown. He shifted his stance, now facing
the wagon head on. “You say this man is the Messiah, for what? Because he
allegedly shone light in a clever manner? Because he said something vaguely
philosophical one time? I understand we’re in the midst of a drought but -”, another
noble sprinted in front of the first, rapidly shutting his mouth with her hand. “I’m
sorry Sire”, she bowed profusely “He doesn’t know his place”. Atop the wagon, The
Man grimaced, prompting the crowd to duck their heads in fear. “Varun Soorehalli”,
he said. “I’m…sorry Sire?” “My name is Varun Soorehalli, not Sire”. Another beat,
“ALL HAIL THE MESSIAH VARUN!”, the crowd erupted and Varun slinks even further
back into his seat. What the hell had he brought upon himself. After 10 long,
gruelling minutes the wagon approached the castle.
With slow, ginger steps, Varun stepped outside the carriage, a fair maiden holding
his hand to help him down. He looked forward towards the towering monolith in
front of him, all Ashlar and Cobblestone, with the flags of the 4 Wings waving
proudly in front of it. Red, Blue, Green and Yellow; how boring. A dash of pink there
would be nice. Maybe with an image of a red ribbon tied on it as the insignia.
“Perfect”, Varun thought, a Pink flag would simply be perfect.
Fae
F
or Astrid, life was one big monotonous slog. Sure things happened in between,
her father died of leukaemia; her school burnt down in a raging fire; her left
eyeball was gouged out by rabid owls, but these were all smaller monotonies
that simply made up the larger grind of life. She had dropped out of school, and
joined the Imperial order in hopes of bringing some energy to her life, but her lack
of an eye meant she was relegated to being a janitor at the castle. Another tedious
detail, she thought.
Which is why when about 43 Royal Dragoon level guards stormed her quarters while
she was counting the nails on her floorboard, demanding that she get dressed at
once to meet the “Messiah”, she was slightly taken aback. Just slightly. Still though,
she didn’t own a dress that didn’t have a hole or two, but the yellow one had to do
for now. She smoothened out the wrinkles, washed her face, and briskly jogged
down to the Main Chamber, where this “Messiah” was said to be.
Clad in magenta hues, gold scarf wrapped around his neck, sat a man with an
undeniably regal aura around him. He turned his defined features towards her, eyes
glinting with mischief. “Ah yes, the woman with that strangely specific name I
summoned for no particular reason, greetings”. Astrid was confused, to speak
nothing of the shocked gasps from the room around her. “You see M’lady”, spoke
the old Royal Maid from across the room, “Lord Varun said he specifically wants
someone with the name Astrid Losteye to be his personal assistant and guide in the
palace”, her face glowed with reverence. “We think you’re divined by Bahamut
himself, because how else would he know your name?” Ok Astrid, this is normal,
there is now a Messiah who somehow knows your first and last name and has
specifically called for you. This is fine.
“Completely random guess by the way, I would’ve left this castle if you weren’t
real”.
“I’m sorry my liege, could you repeat that again?” Astrid asked, voice decidedly
monotone.
“They asked me if I wanted a guide and assistant to help me adjust to palace life,
and I said that I’d only agree if it was a 5 foot 8 inch blond haired Magadian woman
who goes by the name Astrid Losteye”
“Ah ok, got it”
“Awesome”
By now, she had given up on deciphering what the hell was going on, and was
instead focused on the task at hand, to guide this mysterious man through life at
the castle.
“My lord, all warriors such as yourself pledge allegiance to one of the 4 Wings.
Rider; Healer; Scribe or Infantry.” For a few agonising minutes, Varun pondered. His
eyes darted across the mosaic above him. “Lover”, he said, the word escaping his
mouth with the ease of a breath. “I’m sorry, Lover?”, she asked. “Yes, for the 4
Wings are but arbitrary, meaningless notations created to specialise forces into now
outdated categories, that pale in comparison to the multitalented, all purpose
troops that exist outside our nation. For us to be strong, we must embrace all 4
wings into a new, multifaceted 5th wing.”
Silence rang through the hall, the advisors and Astrid taking a moment to process
what they just heard. Just who was this man?
“Also five has one more letter than four so it’s better.”
No really who the FUCK was this man.
“Well uh, I’m just a janitor, but I’ll try to talk to the General about establishing a Fifth
Wing. In the meantime, I believe it is time for you to perform the Bonding ritual.”
Varun stood up, gripped Astrid by the shoulder, and gave a wide grin. “Dative
Bonding”, he said. It would seem Astrid had a long, long job ahead of her.
Centaur
K
ing Xaden was a pathetic ruler, that fact was abundantly clear to him. The
Throne of Angeline had been one of ruin of late, anyone sitting on it doomed
to a rule of disappointment. This is precisely why he had given up trying to be
anything other than what he really is : a failure. Xaden trudged onto the dressing
room, watching with resignation as his servants prepared his robes. A lush velvet
coat, that seemed to prick his skin in just the right way; polished leather shoes that
made each step feel like a quicksand swallowing him and the ‘crown’ jewel of them
all, a large gold diadem, adorned with the finest gems available in the land. Jewels,
mind you, that were harvested from the blood and sweat of poor miners with barely
a morsel to eat. He deserved none of it, and yet here he was, all because his fool of
a father just had to mess around with a courtesan.
Today was a particularly busy morning it would seem, it was Bonding Ritual day
after all. Maids and Servants hustled around the castle, some of them carrying
meat to feed the eager dragons, while some others were busy cooking up the post
ritual banquet. Not that Xaden cared, they’d all forget about this moment in a few
years, it’s all ephemeral. When he was but a wee lad, his own ritual had gone
horribly wrong. The sleek, muscular black dragon in front of him roared with rage
upon making contact with him, flying away in an instant. It was the first time in
years someone had failed to bond with a dragon, let alone a royal member.
But it didn’t matter, the public was fickle, they would forget. It didn’t matter that the
Messiah was finally here, and the kingdom was finally hopeful for the first time in
decades, they would fall back into melancholy soon enough. As Xaden shuffled
forward, he caught the first glimpse of the Messiah. Pink robes were certainly… a
bold statement. Next to him strode a particularly nonchalant looking woman clad in
a dusty yellow dress, perhaps this was his scribe, or maybe his partner.
“Greetings Lord Varun, and welcome to Angeline,” he bowed a deep bow practiced
hundreds of times over, it still made his stomach churn sometimes. “I hope your
stay in the capital city of Maximus has been pleasant.” Varun looked around for a
moment, before returning Xaden’s gesture with an awkward bow of his own.
“Arigato Gozaimasu.” “I beg your pardon?” Varun shoved his hands into the pockets
of his trousers, “You’re the King, not a beggar. Begging isn’t your job.”
It took Xaden a moment to understand what Varun just said. He wasn’t a beggar, he
was a King. Could this man see through his insecurity that fast? Just how perceptive
was he? Maybe being the Messiah came with some strange powers, maybe it was
pure luck, but either way, the first sentence he had spoken was already a bullet
straight to the heart. Before he could utter another word, a stocky man of average
build hustled over to the king, and whispered in his ear. Xaden visibly stiffened up,
eyes darting over to Varun. “It is time then, Messiah.” “The time is 6:30,” responded
Varun. It was 2:25. Xaden stared into his eyes, before and turned to walk away to
where the ritual was to happen. He couldn’t let idiotic distractions like this one fail
him again. If this bonding ritual was another failure, Xaden had his courtiers prepare
a bottle of poison. An ultimatum was now upon him.
Cerberus
A
long shadow was cast over Banani Passage , the tortuous afternoon sun
beating on the convoy below it. A group of maybe 20 men, along with the
king and his escorts marched towards the opening of the chasm in front of
them. Varun ran his hands across the jagged walls of the chasm. Every few inches,
his hands would sink further into the wall: deep scars left from the whims of beasts.
Xaden shuddered behind him, he never liked entering the chasm, even when his
father took him to practice. The heat was always unbearable, and if he stayed silent
enough, he could feel the very ground beneath him quake. Fighting back the urge to
flee the scene, he turned away from the charred walls and focused his attention on
his companions behind him. Astrid walked with a sort of detachment that was
uncharacteristic of someone walking into the maw of beasts, perhaps she was
experienced in this, Xaden thought. Beside him strode Varun, this so-called Messiah.
He seemed to be trying to lick the lava that flowed near the edges of the chasm,
and being pulled back by Astrid whenever he did. This one was definitely going to
die, Xaden was sure of it. People train years to tame the dragons and fail, let alone
this country bumpkin with but a lick of common sense.
They trudged deeper into the Passage, until the seer accompanying them stopped.
Shushing the convoy in the process. He uttered a spell, a strange mutterance from a
bygone era, before throwing his staff into the darkness that now stood before them.
Nothing was heard for a few seconds; Astrid tapped her feet impatiently. Her foot
shook a little more than it should have. She continued to tap it. Gentle thuds began
reverberating around the scarred walls around them, growing with intensity the
longer they waited. Varun began losing his balance, as did the rest of the group as
the rhythmic thumps became full fledged shaking. They gripped onto each other for
support, some holding on to the protruding edges around them, until for just a
moment, the shaking stopped.
Just as a momentary reprieve seems to have been reached, as Astrid could catch
her breath, did her eye widen in shock. Two black streaks shot up into the sky above
her, the maelstroms from their ascent pushing everyone back a few feet. Roaring
into the skies above, two dragons swirled in perfect circles. Xaden and Astrid craned
their heads upwards, both of the dragons seemed to have their eyes trained on the
pair below them. Xaden gulped, and instinctively shuffled a bit closer to Astrid, who
seemed to hold her position firmly beneath the piercing gaze of the dragons. The
other knights who accompanied them seemed to be distracted with dragons of their
own, some having to put their shields up to protect themselves, while others threw
chunks of cooked meat at the creatures. Dragon taming was a notoriously fickle act,
though with enough practice and research, it seemed to have been brought down to
a science. Even so, as with Xaden, the dragons would occasionally prove their
elusiveness by rejecting the odd warrior. Told in more hushed tones though, were
tales of outright cruelty, dragons who maimed and ate their tamers, reserved for
only the most unworthy.
Which is why when Varun Soorehalli was sighted walking straight into the opening
of the Chief’s cave, every living creature, dragon and human, stared in collective
shock. The Chief was, as the name suggested, was the top dragon. Marred by battle
and hardened by conflict, the Chief rises to the position with raw strength and
bloodlust. Nobody, in the history of Angeline has dared tame a Chief, let alone a
random person from the middle of nowhere.
Varun swaggered up to the cave, the tips of his magenta robes catching fire from
the embers bouncing around the place. Clearly he wasn’t dressed for the occasion.
He walked straight into the Chief’s Lair, and the first thing he did was smack the
side of the wall with his fist, shaking the unstable structure enough to cause rocks
to fall down, effectively blocking the entrance to the Lair. The Knights screamed,
begging for the Messiah to have some reason, but their cries were naught but
whispers to the distant ears of Varun.
The Chief stirred. Her name was Hydra, given to her after nearly dying and coming
back nearly 10 times to defeat her enemies. Her steely azure gaze could level
armies on its own, not to mention her daunting size compared to the other dragons.
Varun stood right in front of her wing, having to completely turn his head upwards
to see past it. “I’ll give you 25 bucks and a 5 star if you become my dragon”, he
said, fully earnest. For a moment even Hydra was confused. Hydra’s nostrils flared,
her breath causing a gust of wind strong enough to make Varun's hair stand on end.
Her razor-sharp talons scraped against the stone floor, a subtle yet ominous sign of
her mounting irritation—or perhaps curiosity. No one had ever spoken to her like
this. Not since the ancient wars had anyone dared approach her with such casual
confidence, bordering on absurdity. She had tasted the blood of heroes and kings
alike, their resolve crumbling before her might. But this human... he did not fear her.
In fact, he seemed wholly unaware of the danger he faced.
Meanwhile, outside the cave, the scene had descended into chaos. The entrance
was sealed off, blocking the view and cutting off access to the lair. A thick,
impenetrable barrier of stone now stood between the onlookers and whatever fate
was unfolding inside.
The knights screamed in panic, pounding on the rocks, their voices echoing through
the now-closed passage. "Messiah! Can you hear us? Get out of there!" shouted
Xaden, his voice frantic as he struggled to see through the dust.
Astrid stood frozen, her one eye wide with disbelief. She had known this man was
reckless, but walking into the Chief’s Lair and sealing himself inside? It was suicide
—or madness.
"We have to get him out!" one of the soldiers yelled, rushing forward with a pickaxe,
but the rocks were thick, dense, and gave no sign of budging. As more soldiers tried
to dig their way through, Astrid caught herself wondering, not for the first time, just
who this so-called Messiah truly was.
