FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

I open my eyes to the darkness of pre-dawn the next morning, inwardly cringing at how dry they are--I must have cried heavily overnight, judging from that and my damp pillow. I roll onto my left side, staring at the window as the sky slowly brightens to red, then orange, yellow, and blue in quick succession. Did I make the right choice? I stuff my muzzle into my pillow to muffle my growl of frustration--it doesn’t do much. I can’t afford to second-guess myself now.

Nick had spent the rest of the day yesterday trying to get me to snap, as they call it, and use magic, to little avail; it seems they’re helpless to teach me to channel the energy without the tests. “Don’t get upset,” he’d said at the end of the day. “You managed to channel my magic your first time; few students can claim to have done that.”

“It doesn’t matter, not if I can’t figure out how to use my own magic on my own,” I’d responded dejectedly.

The group had sent me off to bed then: even I knew that further training would’ve been more detrimental than helpful, though I’d never have admitted it. But today is different. I feel...stronger today, more present and energized. Instead of instantly expending that energy when I roll out of bed, however, I grab the bolster from my closet and sit with it to meditate.

Something about the meditation today seems different, as if there’s some sort of block. It takes me a moment to figure out that it’s exactly that: a barrier, a part of my mind still sectioned off from my normal self. I can’t figure out why it’s there, which frustrates me, but I let it be for now.

“Damn,” I swear under my breath when I stand twenty minutes later. I still have yet to discover my true capabilities, then. Will I have to wait until the full moon? The thought is frustrating; three days is a lot of time when the humans could be declaring war at any minute. I frown deeply as I put the bolster away, moving slowly, as I wonder to myself if this is the block Ryan mentioned yesterday. If it is, then… I prod tentatively at it. If it is the barrier, then I should be able to break it.

Cautiously, I sit on the edge of my bed, gingerly trying to break the barrier. It hardly budges, but I can feel that it’s weakened. “So I have to use brute force,” I mutter. I take a deep breath, then thrust all of my mental power at the resistance. It holds still, and I frown, standing and bending my knees, assuming a relaxed fighting stance. If I can’t break the barrier, the least I can do is practice the movements themselves.

My memory of Aki-Do is rusty at best, but I begin to slowly flow through the movements anyway. As I had half expected, the training comes back to me as I move through the motions, and I increase my speed slowly, closing my eyes and imagining multiple enemies squaring off against me. I don’t remember all of the art, but some is enough as I feel my breath quicken. My heart rate increases as I blur with motion, fending off invisible attacks and retaliating with some of my own.

I open only my left eye, revealing the Mastigyn, and gasp. Real attackers face off against me, both Servian and human. It takes me a moment of close examination to realize that they’re just an illusion. I shake my head, refusing to break it, just like yesterday in Ryan’s illusion. I settle into a deeper stance, preparing, as the illusions charge. I flow through the movements again, dodging and using their own momentum against them.

Because they’re illusions, the assault never weakens, but after only a few moments, I’m panting hard, sweat soaking my fur and plastering it flat against my body. My ears lay flat against my skull as I squint my left eye, right still closed, tail slowly swaying from side to side. The Mastigyn may help me read their movements, but it can only do so much when my body simply can’t physically move quickly enough. I had to expect I wouldn’t last long, I chastise myself in response to my frustration. I haven’t really trained in years. The frustration, however, stems from the fact that even my True Form echoes such limits. I had thought I would’ve been able to last longer simply because of the enhancements from my heritage.

I curse my lack of attention even as a fist cracks against my muzzle, blindsided by an attacker. Black spots explode across my vision, and one of the other attackers grabs me from behind as I stumble. Before I can recover, a third attacker plants his foot in my gut, driving the air out of my lungs as my captor braces against the kick. How do I get out? Think! I reach for ideas as the one in front kicks me again--or maybe it was a different one and they’re all just rotating. I can’t really tell; even my Mastigyn can’t see past the tears of pain from the blow to my muzzle.

As I get kicked again, an idea strikes me. Before the fourth blow can come, I smash my head back into the muzzle of the Servian restraining me. There’s a cry of pain in my right ear, and the force holding me loosens--which is all I need to rip my arms free and roll out of the knot of attackers. However, the movement causes more pain than I expected, and I’m blinded by more tears. It’s not long before I get restrained again, this time by two instead of one.

I swear vehemently and break the illusion. I fall to my knees as the force holding me disappears, as well as the other attackers and the pain, panting heavily. Sloppy! I say to myself. I let my head hang. The illusions must be designed such that, while I do still get the physical workout, I don’t carry any pain or injury from the illusion back to the real world. I curse again, softly, as I stagger to my feet and into the alcove to clean up a little bit.

Someone knocks on my door as I step out of the bathroom, and I check my watch. It’s only eight. My tail flicks in irritation as I pull on a shirt. I can handle myself. The knock comes again, along with Ryan’s voice: “Lestri?”

I throw open my door and frown at the shorter lynx. “What is it, Ryan?” I ask, only a hint of annoyance creeping into my voice.

“Your death,” he says quietly. “It’s done. You made national television...I’m afraid the spell went a touch awry.”

“You’re watching the news?” I ask, pushing past him and starting down the hallway.

“Lestri, I don’t think you want to see it,” Ryan says, chasing after me.

Yet his words of warning bounce off deaf ears as I pop out onto the landing, staring at the television screen as drone footage highlights a section of Louisiana forest. The on-scene reporter relays the details of what they know. It must have just come on. “...where eighteen-year-old Lestri McGuyver fell after his parachute malfunctioned. Police have recovered the memory chip from the camera he was using to film the skydive and released a small clip of it to us just a few moments ago…”

The scene transitions into footage of whoever was acting as me falling through the air. About five seconds into the clip, the filmer shouts something--probably a curse--before beginning to flail. The clip stops abruptly, just before the filmer crashes into the tops of the trees, and fades back to the live footage of the reporter.

“‘Lestri wasn’t usually this reckless,’ his parents say,” the reporter continues. “Apparently, he had been in treatment less than a year prior to this accident for A&D and addiction problems, which many believe to have led to this untimely death. That’s all on this for now; I’m Kailee Karten with A9 News.”

I shake my head slowly, impressed by the dud. “Does it have my DNA too?” I ask as the news moves on.

Max nods as he sits back on the couch. “It should.”

I descend the stairs as Ryan approaches from behind. “Most of our deaths aren’t that dramatic,” he says, coming down the stairs after me. “Someone in power really wants the humans to think you died.”

“Well, duh,” I reply, striding over and sitting on one of the couches.

“What do you mean, duh?” Nick asks, materializing on the couch next to me.

Ryan and Max jump, startled, but I explain as if he’d been there the whole time--which he had been, cloaked by a spell. “That somebody knows how powerful I am,” I say, “and how influential my lineage makes me. They want to protect me...and they likely know which House I belong to.”

“Which means they probably know what you’re capable of--” Max starts.

“--and how to exploit your weaknesses,” Ryan finishes.

“Or it’s just coincidence,” Nick says, holding up a paw to forestall our protests. “While it is possible that a higher-up knows of Lestri’s heritage and the magics that come along with it, it’s highly unlikely that option is the real reason. More likely is that they chose that because they needed to dispel human suspicion of our race.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the former,” I say slowly, thoughts flashing through my head almost faster than I can track them, “or, at least, some combination of the two.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ryan asks.

“When I was younger,” I say, still thinking, “several times when I was...maybe six or seven, up until I was twelve, my dad went on several trips, supposedly for business. Yet when he returned, I never found a single plane ticket, souvenir, or anything. It may be possible that my father is, in fact...no, never mind. That wouldn’t be possible.”

“Why not?” Max asks.

“My mom knew my dad when they were children.” I shake my head. “She would have known that he faked his death, then came back.”

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Ryan says. “Still, he could be Servian.”

“His name is Evan,” I say.

“How long were the trips?” Nick asks.

“A week,” I say. “Occasionally two.”

“About the same length as a Council session,” Nick mutters.

“What?”

“The Council are those that rule our race,” Nick says. “Up until a few years ago, they met every year or so, similar to what the Congress of the United States does. They haven’t met in a few years.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think he is.”

“Nor do I,” Ryan admits. “The one with the closest name is Evalon-Tun, and he’s been on the Council for a long time. If your mom knew your dad when he was younger, there’s no chance.”

“You’re probably right,” Nick says, smiling a bit. “We’re a superstitious lot, though. You’ll come to find that out.”

“I think I already have,” I reply, smiling as well. However, my tail twitches in annoyance as I sit back down. “I’m sure word will get around; if it is my father, we’ll find out.”

“You’re right, of course,” Max says. “Rumors spread like wildfire here.” He pauses. “In the meantime, however, I’ve been looking through the databases for your Houses, by fur pattern. Though I don’t have any results yet, the number is narrowing down quite drastically; you have very distinctive colouring.”

I nod distractedly, leaning back and crossing my legs. “I’ll go finish up breakfast,” Ryan says, then ducks into the kitchen.

The morning passes both quickly and slowly for me. The conversation roves from topic to topic, not really staying on one long enough to go in depth about it, but I find myself getting more and more distracted by thoughts with each passing hour. Finally, I close my eyes and sigh, rocking my head back on my shoulders. “I need fresh air, guys.”

“Lestri?” Ryan stops in the middle of the sentence, glancing at me in surprise. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m going for a walk,” I say, muscles groaning stiffly as I push off the couch, then repeat, “I need some fresh air. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Wait--take this.” Nick presses something into my palm, and I glance down. It appears to be some sort of smartwatch, not unlike those from the human world. I suspect there’s more to it than just that, though; I am among the Servians, after all. I need to start thinking of them as my kind, I think to myself. “It’s called a ComDev. Basically a watch with a couple extra useful features.”

I nod. “I assume there’s a map?”

Nick smiles. “Of course there is.”

“You wouldn’t have given it to me otherwise,” I say.

“I’ve programmed all three of our houses into it, in case you get lost,” Nick adds.

“An omen if I’ve ever heard one,” I say, half-smiling.

“Go, youngling,” Ryan says, smiling and making a shooing motion. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

I nod again, raising a paw in farewell as I duck out of the large room, into the entry hall. I take a deep breath as I approach the door, then push it slowly open, admitting the light of day into the wide hallway.

The blast of warm air provides a stark contrast to the cool air of the house, and a comfortable shiver lifts my fur slightly. I gaze around myself at the sidewalk, surprisingly crowded--so much so that it spills out into the comparatively undercrowded street. I realize suddenly what’s missing: motor vehicles. I don’t see a single one in the street, much less hear any from nearby. Only the hubbub of conversations from those walking by on the sidewalk. I see a couple of bicyclists, but that seems to be the only form of wheeled commute. The city shines even more brilliantly in the daylight than in the dark, and I barely contain myself from gawking at the downtown buildings--the ones that twist and curve in mind-numbing ways that I noticed last night. The hubbub assaults my sensitive ears, but it’s not as overwhelming as it would have been the other night after Phasing. I suspect it’ll get even less so as I get more acclimated to this body.

As I notice the enhanced hearing, I realize I can tell apart dozens of shades of colour, gradients so slight that my human eyes would never have been able to identify it. The black of the asphalt roads, the white paint on the houses, even the green leaves on the trees all shine with hundreds of different shades of their colour. Everything seems more vibrant, more...alive. The input no longer overwhelms me, either, and I can appreciate everything that’s coming in. The fresh air rushes into my lungs, and I smile at the scent; everything smells clean. It’s a nice change from the polluted streets in the human world.

I spot someone duck out of a house a few doors to my right, and, without the slightest hesitation, leap at least twenty feet into the air. They sail over the foot traffic moving right and land in that moving the opposite direction, on the opposite side of the street from their house. Not ready to do that yet. I turn my gaze to the rooftops, where several Servians of varying species leap from rooftop to rooftop. I notice suddenly that furred Servians, the more animalistic ones, are rare, more so than I even thought last night. There seem to be far more of the other species, some who are Meshinans like Max, others who appear elven, and dozens of other species that I can’t even identify. I wonder if the animalistic species are confined to Royal Houses? That would explain the lower number.

After a few moments of openmouthed gawking--I couldn’t help myself this time--I attach the ComDev to my wrist and poke at it, attempting to turn it on and search for the map.

“You needn’t poke and prod at me.”

I jump and stare at the device. “Was that you?”

“Was what me?”

I shake my head, stammering for a moment. “I was not expecting this.”

“I was not explained to you, then?”

“No.”

“My apologies. Let me formally introduce myself, then: my name is APDAT, or Artificial Program for Data and Technology. You may call me that.”

“Well, um…” I pause, struggling with words for a moment. “Nice...nice to meet you, APDAT.”

“The pleasure is mine, mister…” The device pauses, then makes a disgruntled noise. It seems surprisingly alive. “This is strange. I do not know your name.”

“I-I’m Lestri,” I say, still stunned.

“When is the full moon?” APDAT asks. “This is the first time I haven’t known the name of the Servian I’ve been assigned to.”

“Three days,” I say. “I Phased two days ago.”

“Quite an anomaly,” it muses. Then it seems to snap back to business. “I anticipate that you were poking at me for a reason,” it says, startling me again with the sudden change of topic. “What were you looking for?”

I flounder for a moment, struggling again with words, before finding my tongue. “I was going to look for the nearest park, the nearest place of nature. I need something to get myself together where I won’t really be bothered.”

“Can you use magic yet?” it asks instantly.

“No.” I pause. “Should I be able to?”

“I don’t know,” it says. “I’ve never seen a Phase between moons before, and any theories that have been put forward on the topic are rather...inconclusive.” Again, its frankness and abrupt response startle me, and I’m left floundering for words yet again. “The nearest nature reserve is about five miles away--just under. Normally that would take about five human minutes, but without magic...perhaps an hour, by rooftops.”

“Wait,” I say, as I turn and examine the house for hand- and footholds. “You said five minutes. The reserve is--according to you--five miles away. I would have to be running at sixty miles an hour to get that far that fast. However, knowing that I’m where I am, I’d assume that it somehow is possible.”

“It revolves around a type of illusion magic appropriately named ‘Time magic’,” APDAT explains. “The basic premise of Time magic is that, when someone steps into the area affected by the magic--depending on the specifications of the spell--their perception of time becomes altered. The specific spell used to create that which you see on the roads, sidewalks, and other trafficked areas slows your perception of time: one normal second seems to be approximately twelve seconds to you, in those spaces. The magic, however, uses your own magic energy to twist your perception, so--although it doesn’t actually use any of your magic energy--it needs to be able to access that energy to work. The spell is dud if you don’t have access to your magic energy.”

“But how do you not come out of it at whatever time it would be normally?” I ask, then frown. “No, that didn’t make much sense. How is it that, if I spend an hour in there real time, but it only seems like five minutes, I don’t come out an hour later?”

“I assume you ask because you see everyone walking at a normal speed on the sidewalks?” it asks. I nod, grunting as I grab a handhold and begin to climb the wall. “They’re not actually. It’s a trick of this Illusion magic. It records an image of the Servians as they pass by at twelve times normal speed, and plays that clip in your mind. As soon as the image passes out of sight, they disappear. It can also predict where they’re going to walk, as the spell is in your head, so most of the Servians are actually projections of where they’ll be and where they’re going.”

“So it’s--sort of like--future telling?” I ask, grunting in each pause as I climb.

“In a way, yes,” it replies. “It will also sense if you intend to call someone who is walking by in the spell and place that person’s image accordingly.”

“Intricate,” I grunt, as I heave myself onto the gently sloping roof. “I should probably let Nick know that I’ll be gone a little longer than I thought.”

“Or we could just sit up here,” it suggests.

I pause, then chuckle, climbing up a few feet from the edge of the roof and sitting. “More logical than running and jumping for hours,” I say, amused. “You’re more logical than I am, obviously.”

“That has yet to be determined, sir,” APDAT says. We both remain silent for a moment as I gaze out across the beautiful cityscape. Eventually, APDAT breaks the silence. “I assume you must be bursting with hundreds of questions for me.”

“You’ve got that right,” I say, nodding as I bend my legs and cross my arms on my knees. “I guess my most pressing one is who are you? You seem far too sentient to simply be an A.I., and I don’t believe you’re just a ComDev.”

APDAT chuckles. It sounds genuinely amused. “How do you know I’m not just a feat of programming that the Servian nation you’re so amazed by managed to pull off? After all, they were almost destroyed by an A.I. at one point, weren’t they? I assume Max told you that?”

“How did you know about that?” I ask, surprised. “You weren’t even there at the time.”

“Nick mentioned it earlier, that Max had told you,” APDAT says. “You really were out of it, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, just a little bit,” I say, thinking. “I have a lot on my mind. Leaving the human world is probably one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make. I had friends, real friends, and real family back there. My goal is, I guess, to try and reunite the two worlds.”

“You know how difficult that will be, right?” it says softly. “Nobody has been able to do that for nearly seven hundred years.”

“See, this is what I mean!” I say suddenly. “You don’t seem, at all, like A.I. You’re too sentient, too emotional, too...caring.”

“Perhaps I’m not. Perhaps I’m some...combination of the two. Of course, if I really am a computer program, how would I know the difference? My programmer could’ve just programmed me to think that way. Maybe whoever it is programmed me to think I’m actually a person, a living being trapped in a device like this. How would I know the difference?” it asks bitterly. I blink, the rush of emotion surprising me. “I’m sorry,” it says, resuming a formal tone. “That wasn’t very professional, was it?”

“N-not really, no,” I stammer, blinking.

“I apologize.”

“N-no need,” I say, flustered. “There’s no real reason to.”

“I am supposed to help you, not take out artificial feelings on you,” it says. I still detect that hint of bitterness in its voice. “Please, just accept the apology.”

“O-okay.” I shake my head silently, resting my muzzle on my forearms silently. I stay quiet for a moment, thinking to myself. “You’re not A.I.,” I say finally.

“No?” it asks. “Am I not?”

“APDAT, stop screwing around with me,” I say. “That bitterness was fake; it was what a real A.I. would say if it was as intelligent as a person.”

“It wasn’t fake,” APDAT says. “It was genuine. Just, perhaps, for a different reason than an A.I. who’s bitter at their programmer.”

“So you’re not A.I.,” I repeat. “I repeat my question: what are you?”

APDAT stays silent for so long I fear I might’ve insulted it. Right as I open my mouth to utter an apology, though, it speaks again. “That’s a hard question,” it says. “One of the most difficult you could have asked, aside from seeking my past. See, my kind swore ourselves into the service of the Council long ago, before even the Fall, and part of the contract was to act as these devices, as these A.I. No one would ever know the difference.”

“But...you’re not?” I press.

There’s another long pause before it responds to me. “You’re one of the few I trust to keep my--our--secret,” he says finally, “so I’ll answer honestly. No. We’re not just ComDevs. As I said, we agreed--no, swore--to the Council that we would never again reveal ourselves to the world. We are, in fact, one of your so-called ‘Royal Houses’; before the Servians fell, we were considered by most to be the most powerful House. Now, only the oldest members of the Council remember.”

“And what of your House?” I ask. I’m coming to think of the sentient being as more of a person, and less of a computer. “None of the Council members are your House?”

“No.” It makes a sound akin to a sigh before continuing. “Alas, as a part of our contract, all of us were...ah, what’s your word for it?...morphed into these A.I. No one has any inkling that we could be truly sentient beings, save the Council...and now you.”

I pause, my mind struggling to wrap around its words. Eventually, I dare to ask, “So this is all that’s left of you? A consciousness, trapped inside of a computerized device?”

“No again,” APDAT replies. “But it’s a good question. What you must understand, sir, is that there wasn’t only magics lost in the Fall, but also technology. There are questions even I can’t answer. When the humans angled for my House, we were efinieg--transplanted, morphed--into these devices. The technology to get us back out was lost, destroyed by the humans, and until that can be retrieved, we are stuck. However, our physical bodies are preserved in here, long, long strings of code and data, just like our minds.”

Silently, I lay back on the roof, staring up at the magically transported sky. “APDAT, I…” I pause, thinking. “I don’t know what to say. That’s terrible… I can’t comprehend how irritating of an existence that must be.”

“Please, call me Teg’Neír,” APDAT says. “It’s my real name, though I risk much in telling it to you. And it is. It is a very difficult existence, especially when I have tasted freedom before being transported in here.” Quietly, he adds, “It’s been nearly seven hundred years…”

“Teg’Neír…” I say quietly, lifting my arm so I can look at the ComDev it’s trapped in. “I don’t know what to say…”

“If that’s all for now,” Teg’Neír replies, “you should probably head back. It’s been over an hour.”

“You’re kidding!” I exclaim, checking the time. “Well. So it has. Thanks for the notice. And...thanks for telling me this.”

“Of course, sir,” it--no, he--says.

“And drop the formal act,” I say. “You’re a person; talk to me as such.”

“I…” For the first time since I’ve met him, Teg’Neír seems to be at a loss for words. “Thank you, Lestri,” he finally whispers.

I almost respond flippantly, but rethink my words. “Of course,” I reply in a quiet voice. Then I stand and peer down over the lip of the roof. “You’re a Servian, too, just like me; you deserve the respect that comes with it.” Then it hits me what he said: he’s a member of the most powerful Royal House! I flatten my ears and bow my head in respect, as the others did to me yesterday.

Somehow, it seems, Teg’Neír senses what I did. “Please, Lestri,” he responds. “As the Heir of Mekin, you’re nearly as high-ranking as me. Don’t bow to me.”

I straighten my head, lifting my ears. A small smile creases my muzzle. “Teg’Neír, I can’t not bow to you,” I say. “You are more high-ranking than me, and I will observe proper respect occasionally.” I pause, then smile wider. “Even if I don’t follow it all the time.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat--it sounds like amusement. “Very well, then,” he says.

“Now,” I say, peering back down over the ledge. “How do I get down?”

“Didn’t think of that when you climbed all the way up, did you?” he teases.

“No.” I spot balconies on both the third and second floors of the three-story building, separated by a manageable distance. “Thankfully, it looks like there’s an easier way down.” With a whoosh of breath, I drop onto the third-floor balcony bannister, which appears to be made of white marble. I teeter for a moment, unbalanced, then turn on a hindpaw and leap to the second-floor balcony. This one has no such bannister, so I hit feet-first, then tuck into a roll. The single roll carries me off of the edge of the balcony, and as I rotate through the air, I splay out, controlled, using physics to slow down the rotation. I land on the front lawn--thankfully feet-first--and tuck into another roll, popping up to my feet at the end. I let out an exhilarated whoop of pure joy.

“Brilliantly done!” Teg’Neír exclaims.

“Thank you,” I say between pants. “The feeling of freedom is the one and only reason I ever took up parkour as a practice.”

“I can see why,” Teg’Neír responds.

I smile. “Thanks again for indulging me with your tale,” I say, as I duck back into the house. The piebald corridor dazes me as I step in, and I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

He doesn’t get a chance to respond as Nick calls to me. “Welcome back!”

“Thanks,” I say, making my way into the circular main room and sitting next to Nick. The television still plays, but it’s muted now. I assume they were talking about something important, but I don’t ask what.

“Did you get much exploring in?” Max asks.

I shake my head. “Kind of hard to, without magic,” I say.

“Ah, right,” Max says. “I forgot about the Time magic.”

Ryan leans forward. “You know about the Time magic?”

“Some of it,” I say, shrugging. “Te--” I stop, then choose caution. “APDAT proved to be extremely helpful in that regard.”

“That’s why we can have such an expansive city without using motor vehicles, you know,” Nick says. “When you can travel at over sixty miles an hour just walking, cars get somewhat redundant. It isn’t worth trading clean air to most Servians.”

“I figured,” I say, relaxing into the couch. “Are we going to train at all?”

“Not today,” Nick says, shaking his head. “You can practice in your room, if you want; just call the word ‘proof’ and start fighting.”

“Yeah, I kind of did that this morning,” I say. “Without calling ‘proof’.”

“Strange,” Ryan says.

“I suspect the Mastigyn,” Max says a moment later.

“What?” Ryan asks, startled.

“The Mastigyn,” Max repeats. “Since Lestri revealed it yesterday, I’ve been looking through the databases to see what info we have on it. Turns out it’s technically its own type of Illusion magic. My guess would be that, since the Mastigyn is activated, Lestri was able to create his own illusion with it.”

“I thought the only illusion the Mastigyn can create is Nightmare,” Ryan protests.

“That’s the only one that’s commonly known,” Nick says, nodding at Max. “However, compared to what we don’t know about the Mastigyn--just like with all Lost Arts--we know relatively little of them.”

“He’s right,” Max says. “This is going to be as much trial and error for us as it will be for Lestri.”

I wait for a moment, then ask, “Hey, Max. You said you were looking up all these things. How did you do it so quickly? You’ve only been out of here for maybe a night and a half.”

Max smiles. “It’s one of my House’s magics,” he says. “It’s called Archive. It’s basically a computer inside my brain, and by tapping magic energy to fuel it, I can essentially look up anything I want to. As soon as Archive finds it, it inserts itself into my mind, and then I have that knowledge. That’s how I’m looking up so many things so quickly.”

“That’s a useful type of magic,” I say quietly, smiling slightly.

Silence reigns for a few moments while we digest the information. Then it extends into a companionable silence, similar to that when everybody in a room is reading but still aware of those around them. Eventually, Ryan slips over into the kitchen alcove to prepare dinner, and Nick switches on the volume on the television. The news is still hooked on my supposed death, saying that they found the reason why the parachute didn’t open. I force myself to watch through my family’s testimonies, knowing that I’ll have to live with the knowledge that I’m dead to the world above. It soon switches over to more normal news, and we start to chatter through the noise, again roving through topics as they come to us.

I excuse myself shortly after dinner, explaining that exhaustion from the past few days finally is catching up with me, and retire to my room. Contrary to my words, however, I’m still bubbling with energy as the door to my room closes behind me. I lean back against it, the cool material soft against my back. “Hey, Teg’Neír,” I say suddenly, as a thought hits me.

“What is it, Lestri?” The Servian-turned-computer seems to have been lost in thought, startled out by my words.

“You could teach me magic, right?” I ask. “Considering you’re Servian and all.”

“About seven hundred years ago, Lestri,” he adds. “I’m rusty at best.” After a short pause, he says, “Well...perhaps I can give you a few tips.”

“Should I activate Ryan’s illusion?” I ask.

“Do it; this could get messy,” Teg’Neír says. I get the feeling it’s a warning as well.

“Proof!” I call, half-smiling. I feel a subtle shift, just like I did yesterday, as the illusion settles into place.

“All right,” Teg’Neír says. “When enemies appear, don’t try to anticipate their movements, nor plan moves; let the Mastigyn guide you. It can foresee your enemies’ attacks as they’re making them, and influences your body’s movement; if you let it, your body will know how to move.”

“O-okay,” I stammer, surprised. He seems to know a lot about the Mastigyn. I sink slightly, into a defensive stance, watching as two opponents appear in front of me. I crush the natural instinct to begin planning moves as they charge me, leaving my mind empty. Sure enough, my body knows exactly how and when to move, at exactly the right time, and both of their attacks miss, by just a fraction of an inch.

“Halt!” Teg’Neír shouts. I freeze, before realizing that it was a command to pause the illusion. “The first part of unlocking your magic, for you,” he says to me, “is embracing the magic which you already have.”

“I do,” I say, a little irritated, as I slip out from between my attackers and move across to the other side of the room.

“It’s also much easier to fight using the Mastigyn’s precision--it expends less energy,” he adds. “However, once you have a basic grasp of most magics, I would recommend learning to fight without their help; there are spells that can block it, and as I’m sure you’ve experienced, simply closing your eyes will block its abilities.”

“Interesting,” I say slowly, mulling that over for a minute before slipping into another stance. “I’m ready.”

As soon as I speak, Teg’Neír commands, “Release!” The illusory assailants finish their attack and turn toward me, not wasting even a second considering how I seemed to disappear before leaping again at me. And again, I slip out of the way just before their attacks land.

Teg’Neír lets me fight, simply sitting and listening--and perhaps, somehow, watching--as I become more and more comfortable with the Mastigyn’s abilities. I tire far more slowly than I did earlier, but eventually, I do become exhausted, fur plastered to my body by sweat, breath coming in quick, short bursts. “Halt!” I cry finally, then slump over, paws on my knees, panting.

“Release!” Teg’Neír shouts. A blow cracks across my muzzle, knocking it sideways, and as I dodge two more attacks, he says, “We will not stop until I say so.”

I nod, gasping for breath as I continue to weave, ducking and dodging blows that should have landed. I can’t summon words through my panting, so I simply keep dodging. I take a few open-handed blows to keep the illusions at bay, but I might as well be moving through molasses for the good it does. Not a single one of my blows land, and I grow increasingly frustrated, lashing out more and more until I gain a sharp rap on my back after overextending on a strike. I growl breathlessly and leap away from the attackers, panting heavily as I stare at them. We remain motionless for a short few moments, and anger bubbles in my chest. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. Then I open my eyes and flick my hair out of my left eye, exposing the Mastigyn.

My two opponents hesitate, glancing at each other. Then they charge again. When they do, however, I feel a massive rush of energy, so much energy that my hackles raise and my tail poofs. My vision shifts again, and I shiver with power. I move with newfound speed, dodging both of their blows and giving each a sharp rap on the back of their heads. Those blows are luck, however; I don’t have the training in martial combat to land any more, though my agility allows me to dodge their attacks more easily. “Use it, Lestri!” Teg’Neír cries. “Use it!”

I leap away from my attackers, staring them dead-on. In a voice a shade more powerful than my normal voice, I boom, “Nightmare!”

A wave of energy rushes through me, then out of me. The landscape around me changes to red and black. All of our colours--fur patterns, clothing, even eye colour--shift to high-contrast black and white and bright green. In my surprise, I release the new force, and the surroundings return to normal. “Clear!” Teg’Neír calls.

The illusion ends, and my hair falls back into place as I stagger to my dresser, leaning against it for support as a wave of utter exhaustion washes over me. “My...God…” I wheeze between breaths. It feels like I’ve run three marathons in a row without training. My tail hangs limply, dragging across the floor whenever I move.

Slowly, I become aware of Teg’Neír cheering. “Well done, Lestri!” he exclaims. “You have full control over your Mastigyn now. And, more importantly, you can use magic!”

I chuckle quietly, letting my head hang. “At an extraordinary cost,” I mumble.

“That is the drawback of Nightmare,” Teg’Neír admits. “It uses an extreme amount of energy. It should only be used when you are certain your opponent is alone, and when you do not expect to be attacked for many hours afterward.”

Suddenly, the door to my room bursts open. Ryan stands in the doorway, breathless. “What was that?” he asks, panting, ducking into the room so Nick and Max can enter.

I swallow audibly past my pants, wetting my dry throat, before speaking. “Nightmare,” I say, slurring the word.

“House Mekin’s secret magic within the Mastigyn,” Nick whispers. “Can you show us?”

“Pardon me for interrupting,” Teg’Neír says from my watch, “but I believe it unwise to ask Lestri to push himself farther tonight. Nightmare requires an extraordinary amount of energy. I suggest you train him with magic and increase his magical strength before asking him to perform it again. If he doesn’t know his limits, he may well hold the spell beyond what his body can handle--and without sufficient magical strength, that time is short indeed.”

Nick, who seems surprised by the sudden interruption, hesitantly nods. “You are, of course, correct, APDAT. I will heed your suggestion.”

Ryan nods as well, then turns to Nick. “Since he now has full use of magic,” he says quietly, apparently trying to prevent me from hearing, “I can take over his training.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Though Nick’s voice remains upbeat, I notice how his face falls, almost imperceptibly.

I’ll still take lessons from you, if you’d like to instruct me.

His gaze flicks over to me briefly, and though he doesn’t smile, I can sense his amusement. In secret from Ryan, of course, he replies.

Of course, I say, my own amusement trickling across to him.

“Let’s let the poor guy rest,” Nick says. “Tenir knows he deserves it.”

Ryan nods. “Sleep long, Lestri,” he advises. “We begin tomorrow.”

As do we, Nick adds with a mental grin. Then, just as suddenly as they appeared, they’re gone.

I chuckle quietly, shaking my head. “They’re a han--pawful.”

“So it seems,” Teg’Neír says slowly. After a brief hesitation, he says, “I should tell you something.”

I sit on my bed, ears perking up. “What is it?”

“The Mastigyn can, by some individuals who have mastered them completely, be used as a type of Copy magic,” he says. “It takes very little energy, and you retain the magic as long as you desire. It’s the combination of a Lost Art called Dying Breath and the Mastigyn’s Illusion magic.”

I shiver, hackles rising, as the revelation hits me. “I could use every magic known,” I whisper, eyes wide.

“I don’t impart this information to you lightly, Lestri,” Teg’Neír says, quietly. “In the wrong hands or paws, this knowledge could lead to the deaths of millions. By telling you this, I’m putting faith in you, that you won’t abuse the potential powers that come with your Mastigyn. You could, theoretically, become stronger than the Council themselves in a handful of weeks if you discovered this ability.”

I glance down at the watch that encompasses my new friend. “I-I understand,” I reply, just as quietly.

The silence that follows seems to weigh down on me, a physical representation of the gravity of the responsibility I’ve just assumed. “As it stands,” Teg’Neír says after a while, “you have full control over your Mastigyn. While they use a minimal amount of energy, I would recommend simply using your normal vision around the clock, unless you are in battle or expect to be attacked.”

Frowning, I focus on the small amount of energy flowing out of me and try to stem it. It takes a few tries and tips from Teg’Neír, but I eventually get it, and my vision feels...different, somehow. Yet it doesn’t feel like it’s completely back to normal, as if I’m halfway between the two. A quick glance in the mirror tells me that my left eye is still in Mastigyn. “Why is my left eye still stuck?” I ask.

“Strange,” Teg’Neír says, sounding thoughtful. “I have no idea. I’ve never known anyone to not have full control of their Mastigyn if and when they discover them. It may be because of the way and the date you Phased, but again, I’m not sure.”

After a short moment of considering that, and once I adjust, I ask, “How do I activate them again? In case I need them?”

“Until you get used to switching between the two, you’ll have to tap your magic and say the name, similar to with Languitic magic,” he answers. “Once you’ve done it enough to grow accustomed to it, however, you’ll simply be able to switch by tapping into your magic and...it’s hard to explain. Willing them into existence, I guess.”

“Interesting,” I reply simply. After a moment, I say, “Teg’Neír...who are you? Really. You’re not just a ComDev.”

There’s a long silence, similar to his pauses on the roof earlier. “I can’t tell you that,” he says finally. “For your safety as well as mine.”

I frown again, troubled, but drop the subject. “I’m going to hit the hay,” I mumble, as the lights dim. “G’night, Teg’Neír.” I feel slightly foolish saying goodnight to a wristwatch, but I mentally chastise myself for that thought about a half-second later. He’s still alive!

“Rest well, Lestri,” he says warmly as I lie back in the bed. A smile spreads across my muzzle.

I’m still smiling as I drift off into sleep.