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malarkay · 2 years ago

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Inside the Wire Chapter 12

During their final battle with the Storm Hawks, Cyclonis is stopped just short of destroying the Dark Ace. Victory, however, eludes them. With Cyclonia fallen, and escape to the Farside cut off, they're forced to confront the consequences of their actions.

In the three days since he arrived at Zartacla, Swift had found roughly half a dozen other problems he wanted to be resolved before he returned to Atmosia, most of them centred around the treatment of the prisoners in Section A. Apparently, Moss believed that higher security prisoners deserved harsher living conditions, a belief that he didn’t subscribe to.

They were kept on a lower-calorie diet than the others. Their regular intake was on par with the punishment rations doled out to misbehaving prisoners in Sections B and C, and their punishment rations were at the starvation level. It was unsustainable in the long run and went a long way to explaining why they had been hit the hardest by the flu that had besieged the prison. Malnutrition would do that. It was a wonder that any of them had managed to stay healthy.

The unit also wasn’t heated properly. That was going to change. Based on average recorded temperatures and humidity levels on Zartacla, they’d be required to ensure that the thermostat readings inside the prison never dipped lower than 18 or higher than 30 degrees. Prisoners would also be issued weather-appropriate clothing. How Moss thought it was acceptable to toss them out into the yard every day without a jacket in the dead of winter, rain or shine, was beyond him.

Moss himself had been uncharacteristically quiet since their encounter in the Courtyard and, despite the air of resentment that tinged their interactions, was complying with the changes he was making. Or so it seemed. He made a mental note to implement regular surprise inspections for the foreseeable future. He didn’t expect any positive changes to stick on their own. There would need to be accountability.

“I just don’t know how you expect me to maintain discipline when you’ve tied my hands so tight,” Moss complained on the third day, his old self finally starting the resurface.

“Productively.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sections B and C have training regimens and work details. Section A has nothing. Of course you’re running into behavioural issues. They’re bored. Put them to work.”

“The only work details that could use more men are outside the walls. I can’t send them out there. They’re security threats.”

“Figure something out. Create work for them. Also, this place is a recreational wasteland.“

“It’s a prison. They ain’t here to be entertained.”

“No, but it’ll make your job easier if they are. Liven up the yards a little. Maybe build a library. If you’re having problems with Cyclonis, that’s an easy solution. The kid’s a voracious reader. I’m sure she’s not the only one here who is.”

Moss scoffed at his suggestions.

“I’m trying to help.”

“Yep,” Moss answered dismissively. “Any idea when I’ll be seeing the back of you?”

“I should be out of your hair in another day or two.” He just needed to make sure the necessary changes were being implemented first.

~*~*~

“How’s she doing?” Swift asked Tross, the medic on duty.

“Fever finally broke. Her appetite’s improving, and she’s coherent.”

“She can speak for herself,” Cyclonis said irritably from her bed nearby, and he smirked.

“And ill-tempered,” Tross added.

He nodded. “All positive signs.” He walked over to her bed. She tried to sit up as he approached, but he shook his head, discouraging the move. “Save your energy,” he said, leaning on one of the side rails. He looked down at her silently until she started to look uncomfortable, and then he spoke. “Out of curiosity, do you remember the last piece of advice I gave you?”

The way her mouth thinned told him that she did. “Let’s hear it,” he prompted.

“Stay out of trouble,” she said grudgingly.

“How’s that going?”

“I’ve been trying,” she said.

“Escaping is your way of staying out of trouble, is it?”

“Before then, I was trying,” she grumbled, trying to cross her arms, but she was stopped short by the handcuffs that secured one of her wrists to the railing. She gave it a few violent yanks out of sheer frustration until he closed his hand around her forearm, holding it down.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he admonished her.

She didn’t try to fight him, and after a moment, he let her go. “I have been trying,” she repeated. “But Mr. Moss has had it out for me since day one. It’s like I can’t do anything right.”

She sounded so bitter that he believed her, and he was unsurprised that Moss would target her. He was the kind of man who, if he had ever felt slighted or disrespected by someone, would repay the favour with interest. And he had little doubt that Cyclonis, either intentionally or unintentionally, had at some point made the man feel small.

“So you decided to give him a reason to have it out for you? You racked up four Level 1, eight Level 2 and two Level 3 infractions in one night.”

“That sounds serious. You don’t think that will impact my chances of someday getting out of here, do you?” she deadpanned.

She made him thankful that he had a good poker face sometimes. This was why he hated the kind of sentencing that the tribunal had handed down to her. When people knew without a doubt that they would die in prison, there wasn’t much incentive to respect the rules.

“It does push back your eligibility for parole by nearly fifteen years,” he answered as if her snide comment had been made in earnest.

She scoffed, as he knew she would. “It pushes back Ace’s eligibility for parole by nearly fifteen years, too,” he added pointedly, and she looked away from him, jaw clenching.

“So?” she said. “They were never going to grant him parole, anyway.”

“Are you sure about that?”

A silence fell between them.

“I worry,” he confessed to break the silence. “I can’t help you here like I could on Atmosia. And you’re not helping yourself, making an enemy of Mr. Moss.”

“I’m fine,” she claimed, a little too vehemently. “And I don’t need your help.”

“You didn’t look fine when I found you in that cramped cell.”

More silence.

“I don’t know if you remember, but you called me ‘Dad’.”

He grinned as she turned red. “That never happened!”

“Deny it all you like; there are some things you can never take back,” he teased her. She groaned in frustration, covering her eyes with her free hand, and his grin softened into a smile. “Speaking of your father….” He took a short stack of photos out of his pocket and rapped them against her hand. She uncovered her eyes, taking the pictures when he offered them. “Medics found those in your pocket. I held onto them for you while you were out of it.” Had they been handed over to Moss, he didn’t think she’d ever see them again.

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem. You want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Whatever was on your mind in isolation. You seemed upset. Something to do with him?”

“No,” she said, not elaborating any further.

He knew she was lying, but he also knew pushing the issue would get him nowhere, so he moved on. “I have to return to Atmosia soon, but you’re welcome to keep in touch with me via letter. If you continue to feel unfairly singled out by Mr. Moss, I want to hear about it.”

“No letter with anything bad to say about Mr. Moss is making it off this terra.”

“Not if you go through the proper channels. But I know that you get regular visitors who know where to find me and who probably won’t read your letters if you politely ask them not to.”

“You want me to use the Storm Hawks to smuggle contraband letters out of prison?”

“Now you’re concerned about rule-breaking?”

“I’m just surprised you’re encouraging it.”

“Just this once. I recommend you follow every other rule to the letter. I don’t want to have to come all the way out here again because you can’t follow my advice.”

“How did Atmosia even hear about what happened? I doubt Mr. Moss bragged about it to the Council.”

“The Storm Hawks ferreted it out.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “So they know everything?” she asked tightly.

“Everything.”

“Great. Can’t wait to have that conversation.”

“Be glad that they figured it out. You’d still be sick and starving in isolation if they hadn’t. Not to mention that abomination Mr. Moss had hidden away behind his office would still be standing.”

Her hand stilled, and she opened her eyes. “It’s gone?”

“It’s gone,” he confirmed. “Thanks to them. So I think you can survive one embarrassing conversation with them when you see them again.”

“I’d rather not,” she said, coming dangerously close to sounding whiny.

He grinned. He hadn’t completely forgotten what it was like to be her age, how much more important the opinions of his peers had seemed compared to those of the adults in his life. He understood her humiliation over them knowing about her failure and the punishment that followed, and he could use it. “Good. Hold onto what you’re feeling now and remember it whenever you think about doing something stupid. Ask yourself, ‘Will doing this give the Storm Hawks ammunition they can use to mock me with?’ And then assume that the answer is yes.”

“You’re not funny.”

That just made him grin wider. He knew she had an unhealthy habit of dwelling on things when she wasn’t kept busy, and while he’d usually try to discourage that tendency, it might do her some good in this case. The Storm Hawks were good kids. When they heard about what happened in the Courtyard, they were horrified. However she was picturing the conversation with them going was almost certainly worse than the reality. But he kept that opinion to himself. Let her sweat over it for the next few days. Maybe it would make her think twice the next time she thought about escaping.

“My son keeps telling me the same thing, but I think you’re both wrong. Anyway, I have more work to do. And you should get some more sleep; you still look like death warmed over. I’ll check back in before I leave to say goodbye.”

~*~*~

“You’re getting sent back to your cell today,” Alba told her two days later. “You should still take it easy until we’ve fully cleared you, though. Rest. Stay hydrated. No going out in the cold.”

She didn’t argue with those instructions. She still felt tired all the time. And weak. She had been allowed to shower the night before, and even that had felt like a challenge.

“But before you return to your cell, you’re scheduled for a visit with the Storm Hawks.”

She stifled a groan. No. Why? She wasn’t ready to face them yet.

Piper was probably dying to give her another one of her patented talking-to. And Aerrow doubtlessly had some cutting remarks to throw her way, too. As humiliating as this meeting was sure to be, she figured she could handle whatever taunts and lectures they had planned. Her mind had helpfully supplied her with all sorts of possibilities while she tried, and failed, to take Captain Swift’s advice to sleep. And while she wasn’t looking forward to any of it, it was better than the alternative: pity. If she saw even a shred of sympathy from either of them, she would lose it.

Is that why they had gone to the Council? Why Captain Swift was sent here and the Courtyard dismantled? Did they feel sorry for her? She realized she was grinding her teeth at the thought and forced herself to relax.

She was Master Cyclonis. She had been, at least. And there were certain feelings a Master of Cyclonia, even former ones, should invoke in others. Awe and loyalty. Fear and hatred. But no one should ever feel sorry for one. That implied weakness, and that would not do. Her grandmother had taught her that. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of her, but she swallowed it back down. She has been feverish and confused. Those nightmares she had had while in isolation were just that, nightmares. Not memories.

She sighed. She was just so tired. She didn’t want to deal with the Storm Hawks today, no matter what kind of mood they were in. Maybe if she were standoffish enough, they’d take the hint and keep their thoughts and feelings to themselves.

And maybe then hell would freeze over. Fingers crossed.

~*~*~

She and Aerrow had been sitting in the visiting room alone for ten minutes. They had requested to see the Dark Ace along with Cyclonis today, but so far, neither of them had materialized.

A minute later, a guard appeared. He was also alone. “No Dark Ace,” he told them.

“What do you mean no Dark Ace?” Aerrow asked, sounding more tired than surprised.

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Can’t you force him to come?” No matter how much confirmation Aerrow got that the Dark Ace was still safely imprisoned, he still wanted to see it with his own eyes.

“Not really.”

Aerrow crossed his arms. “Okay. Any idea how much longer we’ll be waiting on Cyclonis?”

“Should just be a few more minutes. It takes some time to get discharged from the infirmary.”

True to the guard’s prediction, it was only a couple more minutes before Cyclonis was brought in. Sitting, she rested her outstretched arms on the table. She didn’t look directly at either of them, instead focusing her gaze somewhere behind them. “Let’s just get this over with.”

She didn’t look well. Between suffering the fallout from the escape attempt and not yet being fully recovered from her illness, Piper wasn’t surprised. She also wasn’t surprised that Cyclonis wanted to get right down to business. But a lot had happened since their last meeting, and she wouldn’t pretend it hadn’t.

“So-“ she began and was immediately cut off.

“I don’t want to talk. Just inspect the cuffs and go.”

“Cyclonis-“

“I said I don’t want to talk,” she snapped, her expression hardening, though she was still looking beyond her instead of at her.

“Hey, how about you pout over still being here on your own time?”

The look Cyclonis gave Aerrow could freeze a Blizzarian. He did an excellent job of appearing unbothered by it. “I’m not pouting.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But I promise that we didn’t come here today to judge you, lecture you, or tease you about anything that’s happened. So will you relax?”

Cyclonis sighed but finally looked at her. So she had expected them to light into her. Well, given their history, that fear wasn’t unfounded.

Maybe if she was nice, she could make her feel bad about her uncharitable assumptions.

“How are you?”

She was wrong because Cyclonis got all defensive again. “I don’t need your pity,” she said harshly.

“I’m not offering it,” she snapped back. She wouldn’t spend the entire visit tiptoeing around the other girl like she was in the middle of a minefield. If it were a confrontation she had come here expecting, she’d happily give her one. Then hopefully, they could move on without all this awkwardness. “You think I feel sorry for you? Ha! I reserve those feelings for victims of circumstances outside their control, not troublemakers who cause all their own problems. What did you think would happen when you tried to escape the inescapable prison, genius?”

She hoped she sounded convincingly scornful. Judging by the insulted look on Cyclonis’ face and the shocked amusement on Aerrow’s, she had.

“Are you done?” Cyclonis asked.

“No, that wasn’t a rhetorical question,” she said, twisting the knife a little. “Answer it.”

“I-” Cyclonis began, caught off guard by the command. Her surprise didn’t last long, though, and a scowl quickly replaced her uncertainty. “Just shut up and check the cuffs,” she demanded.

“I’m not doing anything until you answer my question. We can sit here all day.”

“I thought we’d succeed,” she said through her teeth. “It was a sound plan.”

“Obviously, it wasn’t. Stop trying to weasel your way out of paying for your crimes. Every time you’ve tried, you’ve made things worse for yourself.”

“Now are you done?” Cyclonis asked, trying to sound huffy but just sounding tired.

“Yes.”

“What about you?” Cyclonis asked, shifting her gaze to Aerrow. “Anything to add?”

“Nope, that about covers it,” he said, just cheerfully enough to annoy Cyclonis, judging by her frown.

Piper took one of Cyclonis’ hands and began inspecting the cuff. “How’s Dark Ace?” she asked, figuring it would give Cyclonis an oblique way to open up about what had happened to them.

“I don’t know; we haven’t seen each other since that night. Why don’t you ask him?”

“We wanted to, but he declined to meet with us.”

“That’s an option?”

“For him, yes,” Aerrow said. “For you, no.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, this isn’t exactly the highlight of our week, either,” Aerrow agreed, drawing a fleeting smirk out of Cyclonis.

“So, how good a job did the foil do?” she asked as she continued scrutinizing the first cuff. Cyclonis had had a lot of time in isolation to tamper with them, and she didn’t want to overlook anything. “It couldn’t have been easy getting full coverage around the cuffs. Or keeping it in place.”

Cyclonis’ smile was less fleeting this time. “I did run into some integrity issues with the shields, but they exceeded my expectations. Going in, I just wanted them to work well enough to stop the Leechers from interacting with the heliblade. But they were so effective that I was able to handle some crystals. To a limited extent, anyway. I didn’t want to push my luck.”

“So what happened? What went wrong?” She’d wondered how Cyclonis’ plan had fallen apart since learning about the escape attempt. She, more than anyone, knew how difficult it was to beat Cyclonis in a fight when crystals were involved. And yet Mr. Moss had pulled it off?

Cyclonis’ smile faded, and she looked embarrassed. “I, uh, did some math wrong.”

“Math?”

“Yeah. I miscalculated the amount of energy I needed to overload an engine crystal. They were of higher quality than I realized in the heat of the moment, and I went a little too far. It was supposed to blow up in Mr. Moss’ face and take him out, but it exploded too soon. I got caught in the blast, and things went downhill from there.”

So she had been right. It had been sheer dumb luck that prevented Cyclonis and the Dark Ace from escaping that night. Cyclonis didn’t often make such rudimentary mistakes. A knot formed in the pit of Piper’s stomach at the thought of how close they had come to succeeding.

“What would you have done if you had escaped?”

Cyclonis regarded her with a look that reminded her of how dangerous she was. “I don’t have a lot of options, do I?”

“There are always options.”

~*~*~

Cyclonis’ cell was a mess. It had been tossed while she was gone, and all her things had been strewn about and left to wrinkle on the ground. She did a quick inventory and discovered that the leftover scraps of foil she hadn’t used and her extra blanket were missing. The page that Piper had torn out of her notebook was also missing. She figured it must have been confiscated and thrown out rather than handed over to Piper, or else she would have mentioned it. That was too bad. She had laid some strong groundwork for that project.

Surprisingly, her radio was still where she had left it. She had expected to lose that privilege and was pleasantly surprised she hadn’t.

She turned on the radio and nearly jumped out of her skin when the aggressive, bass-heavy music Snipe favoured blared out of the speaker at maximum volume. She turned it down and stormed over to his cell, stopping in the doorway. “Snipe! Stay out of my room and keep your hands off my things,” she ordered.

“You’re back! Ace told us you were really sick. Ravess thought you were gonna die.”

“I never said she was going to die,” Ravess called over from her cell next door. “I said I hoped she would.”

She rubbed her temples. She’d been back in the cellblock for two minutes, and she was already getting a headache.

“Snipe, did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep my hands off your stuff. I don’t see what the big deal is. You weren’t using it, and I was sick of listening to Ravess’ dumb violin.”

“Where did Ravess get a violin?”

“The Storm Hawks.”

She closed her eyes briefly and sighed, at a loss for words. Turning around to return to her cell, she stopped short when Snipe spoke again. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

She turned back to him, probably looking as confused as she felt. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, it’d be weird if you did.”

Shaking her head, she returned to her cell and began cleaning up. A moment later, she felt someone watching her. She turned toward the door to find Ace standing there and froze. What was she supposed to say to him? How was she supposed to apologize for colossally screwing up their escape attempt? An attempt that should have gone off without a hitch but instead had ended so horribly.

They stared at each other for a moment, then he stepped into her cell and picked up one of her jumpsuits, folding it before placing it neatly into her locker. She relaxed. Fiddling with the radio, she tuned it to one of those classic rock stations he liked, and together they got her cell back in order.

Once done, she plopped down onto her cot. Ace pushed her legs out of the way so he could sit. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, listening to the radio.

She waited until the station cut to advertisements before speaking. “Ace-” she began, but he cut her off.

“Third time’s the charm.”

“What?”

He opened his eyes to look at her. “We’ll make it out next time.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, even though she wasn’t sure there’d be a next time. Worse, she could see that same uncertainty reflected in his eyes. They’d blown the best opportunity to escape that they would ever be given, and they both knew it.

~*~*~

The following week passed uneventfully. Mr. Moss only made rounds through their cell block once the entire time. His hand was in a cast, and he glared at her when she asked about it, claiming that he had injured it while working on Bessy. She could tell he was lying but decided it was in her best interests not to press him.

There had been some noticeable improvements made that she figured they had Captain Swift to thank for. It wasn’t so miserably cold at night, for one. And while the food wasn’t any better, there was more of it. She didn’t get hungry again an hour or two after meals anymore. Even Snipe complained less frequently than before, though he hadn’t given it up entirely.

Unfortunately, ‘uneventful’ gave her more time to dwell on her fever dreams. The more she tried to push them out of her mind, the more they popped into her head unbidden. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that they were real memories.

There was a simple way to test that theory. She could find that book her father had mentioned. If it existed, if an ancestor had written it, and if it was about what he had said it was about, that would certainly lend credence to the idea that those dreams had been real memories. Not incontestable proof, of course, but it would be compelling nonetheless.

But did she want to know? What good would it do? It would just poison the feelings she has for her grandmother. She had raised her. She had taught her everything she knew. She loved her. Why was she even considering this? Better not to think about it.

She lost a lot of sleep that week not thinking about it.

~*~*~

Monday morning brought an unwelcome change to their routine. After breakfast, instead of being led back to their cellblock, they were brought down to the main yard. On the far side of the yard, a cyclone fence had been raised, forming a separate enclosure bordered on three sides by the existing walls. Along one wall sat a giant pile of sand, a stack of empty sandbags, and two shovels.

Mr. Moss was waiting for them, Hamish at his side. He looked pleased with himself, which didn’t bode well. “It’s been brought to my attention that idle hands do nothin’ but stir up trouble,” he said without preamble. “So I’ve decided y’all need something to do with your time here. That’s why from now on, you’ll be out here Monday through Friday, moving that there pile of sand. You’re gon’ fill these sandbags, haul ‘em to the other side of the yard, and build a wall three meters long by two meters high. When you’re finished, one of the guards will measure it to make sure it meets those specifications. Once it does, you’re done for the day. I reckon it should keep y’all busy for about eight to ten hours. Longer if you dilly-dally. If you think sundown will bring an early end to your day, you’re mistaken. The guards up there,” Mr. Moss said, pointing to the watchtowers to either side of them, “will be keeping an eye on you. If you’re still working when it gets dark, they’ll provide you with light so you can see what you’re doing. Then tomorrow, you’ll empty the bags and start all over.”

“I think there’s been some mistake. I understand how these two have earned this assignment,” Ravess protested as she gestured to her and Ace. “But Snipe and I have done nothing to deserve this.”

“There’s been no mistake. All y’all have been nothing but trouble. An honest day’s work may be just what you need to keep you from getting into any more. Hamish! Give ‘em their work gloves.” Hamish dutifully handed them each a pair of leather gloves. “You best get to it,” Mr. Moss suggested.

They paired off. “This should take roughly four hundred bags to complete,” Ace calculated. “To keep things fair, each team should fill and move two hundred. Snipe and I will fill our share of the bags first while you two build the base of the wall,” he said, nodding to her and Ravess.

“Or you and Cyclonis can build the wall on your own since you’re the reason we’re all being punished,” Ravess suggested. “That would be fair.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ace said. “Do you want to be out here ‘til midnight?”

“I don’t see why not,” Ravess shot back. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Did I forget to mention the most important part?” Mr. Moss spoke up from where he was still watching them. “If you don’t work, you don’t eat. So maybe you should try Ace’s plan. Anyway, we’ll leave you to it,” he told them as he and Hamish left, closing and locking the gate behind them.

Ravess glared at her and Ace. “Let’s just get this over with.”

They went with Ace’s plan. She held the bag open as Ace shovelled sand into it. Once filled, she hauled the bag to the other side of the yard and added it to their wall. It was dirty, tiring work. The bags were heavier than she thought they’d be, and with her just having been cleared by medical the day before, she was only a little embarrassed to find herself struggling with the task as the morning wore on. Ravess was doing better, but Ravess hadn’t spent the last three weeks being sick, she justified.

Guards offered them regular water breaks, and once they were halfway done with their task, sack lunches were brought out to them. They were given as much time as they wanted for their lunch break, but they didn’t take advantage. None of them were eager to draw this out any longer than they had to.

They traded places after lunch and, as it turned out, filling the sandbags wasn’t any easier than carrying them. Snipe was the only one whose mood seemed to improve after lunch. He’d wait until Ravess had filled five bags before hoisting them up and carrying them to the other side, going on about how this was going to help him get back all his lost gains. He even challenged Ace to race him a few times. When Ace didn’t play along, Snipe labelled him a spoilsport.

They finished just in time for dinner.

The next morning, she woke up sore and not looking forward to the day ahead. This was going to get very old, very fast.

They were brought back out to the yard after breakfast. Ravess stopped in the middle of the yard and stared at the sandbag wall with an unreadable expression. Thinking nothing of it, she went to the wall and pulled down one of the sandbags. Dumping out the sand, she turned to toss the empty bag onto the ground and got sucker punched in the face. She stumbled back, hitting the sandbag wall before the throbbing pain in her cheek and the realization of what just happened hit her.

She was grabbed by the front of her jumpsuit and held against the wall as she looked up into Ravess’ snarling face. “I told you we weren’t done.” Ace came up behind Ravess, grabbing her by the shoulders, ready to pull her away. “Get your hands off me, Ace; this doesn’t concern you,” Ravess spat at him.

She nodded to Ace, who backed off. She and Ravess needed to sort out their differences on their own.

“You’re still mad that we didn’t include you in our plan?” she sneered at Ravess.

“Oh, there is so much more than that to be mad at you about. You’ve had this coming for a long time.”

Ravess drew back her fist. She broke the hold she had on her and ducked under the blow. Grabbing a fistful of sand, she pushed Ravess away from her and flung the sand at her face. Ravess turned her head and threw an arm up to shield herself, which protected her from the worst of it. Still, it was enough of a distraction to allow her to tackle the other woman to the ground.

“It’s not my fault you’re here,” she said, struggling to pin Ravess down. She’d never thought about how much upper body strength an archer must have until now.

“The hell it isn’t; we’re all here because you failed to be the leader Cyclonia needed!”

“Well, you’d know all about failure, wouldn’t you? You excel at it. That’s why I banished you, and that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? What do you want from me, Ravess? To tell you I was wrong?”

“Please, we both know you would never. So I’ll settle for making you bleed.”

Ravess grabbed her collar and yanked hard, unbalancing her and giving herself the opening she needed to flip their positions and start pummeling her.

She tucked her chin and put her arms up to guard her face, protecting her head as best she could while she worked her way into a position that would allow her to get out from under Ravess. Getting the leverage she needed, she rolled, throwing Ravess off her and scrambling to her feet.

Ravess was up at the same time and went right back on the offensive, taking several swings at her that she was able to dodge or block. It didn’t take long for the other woman to become visibly frustrated. It made her sloppy, and soon Ravess took a wild swing at her, leaving herself open. It was just the opportunity she needed. Stepping in, she landed a solid blow to her temple. It didn’t knock her out, but it did disorient her. She disengaged, taking a few wobbly steps backwards before dropping to one knee and raising one hand in a ‘don’t come any closer’ gesture.

She dropped her guard. “Impatience always was your greatest weakness,” she said, smirking.

“And arrogance was always yours,” Ravess answered as her other hand came up to hurl sand and dirt at her. She reacted too slowly. Some of the grit made it into her eyes, temporarily blinding her, and she didn’t see the punch coming. Ravess’ fist connected with her nose with enough force to knock her flat. Sharp pains shot through her entire face, making her eyes water, and she could taste blood.

Blinking her eyes to clear them, she saw the blurry form of Ravess standing over her with a vicious little grin.

With a snarl, she lashed out with a kick aimed at Ravess’ knee. Ravess dropped with a pained scream, and she leapt on top of her. Straddling her, she grabbed the front of Ravess’ jumpsuit, holding her down while drawing back her fist, ready to repay her for the punch to the nose.

“That’s enough,” Mr. Moss’ voice rang out. She hesitated but didn’t drop her fist. “Don’t be stupid, Cyclonis,” he spoke again. “You know I’ll happily make you regret it. Now put your hands behind your head.”

She hesitated a moment longer, glaring at Ravess as her blood dripped onto the other woman. “Go on, hit me,” Ravess dared her. That galvanized her to act. Scoffing, she put her hands behind her head. Mr. Moss was there in an instant, grabbing her by the back of the collar with his non-broken hand and hauling her off of Ravess. He shoved her toward Ace before turning back to Ravess. “Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

He offered her his hand, jerking her to her feet when she took it. Ravess remained standing when he let go, though she had to shift most of her weight to her good leg.

“Pinch your nose as hard as you can tolerate,” Ace told her. Wincing, she did as he advised, tilting her head back. Gently, he put his hand on the back of her head and tilted it forward instead.

“My men tell me you started this fight,” Mr. Moss told Ravess. “That true?”

“Yes,” she answered, sounding unrepentant.

“I hope it was worth a week in solitary.”

She looked up as he spoke to gauge her reaction. Ravess watched her with a smirk that only grew when their eyes met. “Oh, it was.”

“Well, alright,” Mr. Moss said.

~*~*~

Ace and Snipe were returned to their cells while she and Ravess were escorted to medical.

An examination confirmed that her nose was broken. The good news was that nothing looked displaced, and she could successfully, albeit painfully, breathe through it. Tross taped it and gave her an ice pack before moving on to Ravess.

Ravess’ knee was sprained, and the hit she took to the temple seemed to have caused a mild concussion. She was being admitted overnight to the infirmary for observation and, if no complications arose, would be moved to solitary in the morning.

An hour after being brought to the infirmary, she was back in her cell, and they spent the rest of the day locked down.

The following day, they were sent back out to the yard, where it became apparent that Ravess’ punishment was a punishment for them all. Although they were down a man, they were still expected to build a sandbag wall to the original specifications. What had taken them ten hours before was now taking them over twelve.

On Friday, it rained the entire day. That brought a whole new dimension of misery to their work, and it took them even longer to complete the task. Mr. Moss had had a good laugh at their expense when they finally trudged back into the prison, muddy and soaked to the bone.

All in all, it had been a very long, exhausting week.

On Saturday, the Storm Hawks visited. Since her Fridays were now spoken for, their visit date had been officially moved.

“Come with me,” she told Ace at breakfast that day.

“No.”

“They asked to see you last time.”

“I remember. I refused then, too.”

“Ace!”

“Whining doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not whining.”

“Really? Because you sounded the same way when you were seven, and I was teaching you how to handle getting knocked down without crying about it.”

She frowned. “I still think that was a messed up thing to do to a 7-year-old.”

He shrugged. “It’s one of the first combat lessons every page who hopes to become a Sky Knight learns at that age. It’s important. Besides, I couldn’t hold off any longer, even if I wanted to. You were bored doing nothing but running drills and wanted to move on to real sparring. You needed to be prepared for the reality of what you were asking for.”

Before she could respond to that, Snipe spoke up. “If Ace doesn’t wanna go meet with the Storm Hawks, can I come? They brought me food that one time when you guys were locked up. D’you think they’d do it again if I asked?”

“I don’t know, Snipe. Do you have any other information they want to bribe out of you?” she asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then no.”

“I don’t wanna go, then,” he said, turning his attention back to his breakfast, and she looked back to Ace.

“Please, Ace, do you know how insufferable they will be when I walk in looking like this so soon after the last debacle?” She gestured to her face, at her broken nose and the bruising that had formed across her left cheek.

“You didn’t have to fight Ravess, you know. I could have handled her for you.”

“Of course I had to fight her. I would have looked weak if I hadn’t. And it only would have postponed the inevitable.”

He tilted his head, conceding the point.

“I feel like I’m under a microscope when I meet with them. It’s Aerrow’s fault. I don’t know why he even bothers tagging along anymore. You’d think he’d have better things to do with his time.”

“So you want me there to distract Aerrow? Why? What are you up to?”

“I have a favour to ask of Piper. She’ll be more likely to agree if she doesn’t have him by her side, coming up with a hundred and one reasons why she shouldn’t.”

“Why? Is it illegal?”

“No.”

“Unethical?”

“No.”

“Then why would he have a problem with it?”

“He doesn’t like me. He’ll argue against helping me on general principle.”

He thought that over.

“It’s not a bad plan, bringing along someone he hates more than you.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Just this once.”

~*~*~

As she had hoped, Aerrow and Piper were caught off guard by Ace’s inclusion in the meeting.

“Dark Ace,” Piper was the first to speak once everyone was settled around the table. “We, uh, weren’t expecting you. You look different.”

Aerrow smirked a little, adding a sarcastic, “Nice haircut.”

She’d gotten so used to his shorter hair that she didn’t notice it anymore, but judging by Ace’s scowl, he hadn’t quite gotten over the change. “I didn’t have a say in the matter,” he said to Aerrow. “What’s your excuse?”

The smirk dropped from Aerrow’s face. “What’s wrong with my hair?” he quietly asked Piper.

“Nothing,” she reassured him.

Aerrow looked back at Ace with a mistrustful frown before looking at her. The suspicion shifted to bemusement.

“What happened to you?”

That drew Piper’s attention from Aerrow to her. “Were you in a fight?” she asked, exasperated. “Who’d you tick off this time? And how are you still finding time to make trouble? Mr. Moss said he gave you guys jobs.”

Ace leaned in closer to whisper in her ear. “I see now why you wanted me here.”

“If you have something to say, Dark Ace, say it to all of us,” Aerrow challenged.

“I was just remarking upon your navigator’s uncanny resemblance to an angry mother hen.”

“Hey!” Piper exclaimed.

Aerrow jumped quickly to Piper’s defence, and Ace nudged her. With Aerrow’s feathers ruffled and his attention solely on Ace, now was the perfect time to speak with Piper.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked Piper, nodding toward one of the empty tables.

Piper looked suspicious but stood, and they moved to the other table. “Okay, what do you want, and why did you think you needed to distract Aerrow to get it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do I look stupid to you?”

She grinned. “Brave question.”

“Good talk,” Piper said, standing.

“Wait! You’re the least stupid person I know. Now sit down.”

Piper rolled her eyes but sat. “You must really want whatever you’re going to ask me for to say that.”

“I need a favour. I promise it’s nothing bad.”

“If it’s nothing bad, then why the subterfuge?”

“Because I want to keep this between us. I didn’t even tell Ace what it’s about. I need you to locate a book for me.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay. What’s the book?”

“It’s called The Great Myth.”

“Who’s the author?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’m working off some pretty old memories here, Piper.”

“Okay…well, what’s it about?”

“It’s a history book. The Terran Library of Atmosia might have a copy,” she suggested. “That’s where I’d look first.”

“So what’s so important about this book?”

“Nothing. Someone once suggested I read it.”

“Wow, you’re doing something someone asked you to do?” Piper joked.

“Very funny.”

“They must be important to you,” Piper said more seriously.

“They were.”

Piper nodded. “Okay, I’ll see if I can track down a copy for you.” Looking back over to the other table, she said, “We should get back over there before they find a way to kill each other. But first, seriously, are you okay?”

She shrugged off Piper’s concern. “I’m fine. It was a one-off fight,” she said. She hoped. “And I didn’t start it, by the way. Your lack of faith in me is offensive.”

“You haven’t done anything to inspire me to believe in you. Any time you want to try and change my mind, feel free.”

“That sounds like a fool’s errand.”

“I thought you never backed down from a challenge.”

She smirked, and they rejoined the other table, breaking up the argument the boys had been in the middle of. There was no further conversation between them while Piper checked the cuffs, and they mutually agreed to end the visit immediately after.

“This was fun,” Ace declared as the Storm Hawks stood. “Can’t wait to do it again soon.”

“You’re coming to more of these visits?” Aerrow sounded agitated, and Ace’s eyes lit up with amused malice.

“Perhaps.”

“That went well,” she grinned as they returned to their cells. Ace’s answering laughter made him sound like his old self again.

~*~*~

Piper’s heart sank when the elderly librarian furrowed her brow in confusion upon hearing her request. This couldn’t just be easy, could it? Nothing about Cyclonis ever was.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard of it, either. Sorry for wasting your time,” she said, turning to go. Maybe she would have better luck on Terra Rex.

“Wait, my dear, I’ve heard of it,” the librarian said, and she turned back to her hopefully.

“You have?”

The librarian broke out in a delighted smile. “Oh yes, I did my dissertation on it. I was surprised to hear someone your age ask to check it out. It’s one of the seminal works of non-fiction we have in our archives, offering unprecedented insight into the early days of the Free Atmos. And I know what you’re thinking, Terra Rex has the market cornered on early Atmosian historical artifacts.”

She wasn’t thinking that, but she nodded along anyway.

“But not,” the librarian said, dramatically pausing before continuing. “From a Cyclonian perspective.”

“No offence, but I already know what the Cyclonian perspective is on the formation of the Free Atmos.”

“Do you?” the librarian asked, her brown eyes twinkling.

“Don’t I?” she answered hesitantly. The librarian just smiled, and she went on. “What I don’t get is why I’ve never heard of this book until a few days ago. If it’s such an influential history text-”

“Ah, that’s not precisely true.”

“I was told it’s a history book.”

“It’s a memoir. You may never have heard of it, but you’ll find mentions throughout the footnotes of many of our history books. Of course, so few people read footnotes these days.”

“A memoir? Whose?”

The librarian clapped her hands before clasping them to curb her excitement. “I am so glad you asked.”

She looked at the librarian expectantly.

“That’s one of history’s great unanswered questions.”

“The book was published anonymously?”

“Oh no, it was published under the name Canton I. Scylla.”

“You think that’s a pseudonym?”

“I know it is. One of the few things we know for certain about him is that he went by a fake name.”

“No one knew his real name?”

“No. But there are theories. Nearly five hundred years worth of theories. Would you like to take a seat, dear? This will take a while.”

“Oh, no, thank you. I just need-”

She cut off as the librarian ushered her to one of the tables and pulled out a chair for her. With a pained smile, she sat.

Over the next several hours, she was given a comprehensive crash course on The Great Myth, its mysterious author, and the various academic theories surrounding both.

The book, which she decided she’d read before she handed it over to Cyclonis, sounded fascinating. From what she was told, it painted a nuanced and thoughtful picture of the sociopolitical landscape of the Cyclonian Empire before, during, and after the Free Atmos broke away.

Not much was known about Canton besides being a Cyclonian, born and raised somewhere within the Empire’s Core. That was the nickname given to those terras that would remain a part of the Empire by those that would soon break away from it. The ones that took more than they gave. The ones blind to the suffering of the terras on the outskirts of the Empire, whose food they ate, whose crystals they burned through, and whose young men they pressed into service to protect the Core from their increasingly desperate brethren.

And it had been blindness at first. Canton spoke with poignant nostalgia of a youth spent in blissful ignorance and of an Empire unaware that it was about to collapse in on itself. He was happy, after all. Everyone he knew was. They wanted for nothing. The thought that their experience was not universal never crossed their minds.

But as he grew, so did the outer terras’ discontent and his awareness. It became harder to ignore. He wrote, sometimes scathingly, of how the people of the Core, from the average citizen up to the Master himself, had tried. And he wrote of the harsh measures taken once ignoring the problem became impossible.

Then the outer terras began to break away, and the real problems started. The Core quickly discovered how reliant they had become upon those lost terras. Resources dwindled, and people who had never known hardship began to experience it for the first time. There was suffering and loss and anger. Eamon Cyclonis, the Master then, quickly directed his people’s anger toward those terras who dubbed themselves the Free Atmos. They had broken the Empire. They had destroyed the prosperity they had all so recently enjoyed. They were the enemy.

And Cyclonian jingoism was born.

Canton left the Empire soon after, eventually settling on Atmosia itself. He was an enigma—an academic with more than an academic knowledge of Cyclonian history and politics. Theories abounded. He was Cyclonian nobility, forced to flee the Empire after being accused of being a Free Atmosian sympathizer. He was a member of the Master’s inner circle, exiled for some real or imagined failure. He was a servant who had heard too much, who ran before the Master decided he needed to disappear.

“I don’t think that last one is very likely,” the librarian told her. “Canton was clearly very well educated. A scholar with the soul of a poet,” she sighed, then scoffed at herself. “Oh, listen to me! I sound like a schoolgirl with a crush.”

She grinned. “It sounds like he wrote one heck of a memoir.”

“That he did. I’m afraid I’m not doing it justice. You’ll see.”

“So, who do you think he was?”

The librarian grinned. “Oh, I subscribe to the most controversial theory of all.”

She waited, but the librarian didn’t offer up an explanation. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“You seem like a smart girl. I want to see if you can figure it out. Go on; it’ll be fun.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Then I’ll get you started. Embrace your inner conspiracy theorist and ask yourself, ‘What’s in a name?’”

She stared at the librarian for a moment before smiling. “No….”

The librarian raised her eyebrows and slid a pen and paper her way. She wrote out the name Canton I. Scylla. “You think it’s an anagram?” she asked the librarian as she wrote.

“There's a compelling reason to believe it is.”

She looked at the letters, mentally rearranging them in her head. It didn’t take long for one name to jump out at her. She crossed out the C, the O, and the N. She crossed out the I. She crossed out the S, C, Y, and one of the L’s.

Underneath, she wrote ‘Cyclonis.’

The librarian sat back with a satisfied hmph.

“Eamon had two sons,” she explained. “The eldest, Alaric, became Master after his death. The youngest….”

She pointed to each of the five letters that remained.

“Altan?”

“Records are fuzzy about what became of him. Full disclosure, we don’t know much about Cyclonian history following the formation of the Free Atmos. They started guarding their secrets as jealously as they guarded their resources. It’s possible that he lived out his life on Cyclonia, doing whatever it is those spare Cyclonis scions do. Or….”

“Or he defected to Atmosia and wrote a book denouncing his own people.”

“Just so. Of course, Canton denied that he was Altan to his dying day. One can hardly blame him. I have heard that he confessed on his deathbed to never marrying and having children to avoid perpetuating his ‘poisonous bloodline.’ As you can imagine, that tale is apocryphal. All verifiable accounts say he died suddenly in his sleep. But it’s a fun story.”

She laughed uncomfortably. Fun.

“Okay, but if he was Altan, why not stay on Cyclonia and try to fix things? He saw the road they were heading down, and he knew what they were becoming. He could have stopped it. He could have at least tried.”

“Everything I’ve read about Alaric suggests that he was his father’s son in every way. He would never allow himself to be steered off course by anyone, not even his brother. To make any meaningful changes, Altan would have to become the Master of Cyclonia. And that…well, as I said before, he was a scholar and a poet. I don’t think he had it within him to do what needed to be done to make that happen.”

Piper sighed. She wanted to be angry at him for not doing what needed to be done. But at the same time, she could understand not wanting to cross certain lines. He had been between a rock and a hard place, and she wasn’t sure what she would have done in his position.

“Is there some sort of study guide that gives an overview of all these theories I can borrow alongside The Great Myth?”

“You’re in luck; I have just the thing. I even know the author personally,” the librarian said with a wink, and Piper laughed. She’d certainly come to the right place.

~*~*~

Cyclonis learned of Ravess’ release from solitary when the woman showed up in the doorway of her cell after dinner.

She was on her feet in an instant. “Are you here to get yourself thrown back into solitary already?”

Ravess chuckled. “Don’t get your hackles up; I’m not here to fight you.” She limped further into the cell, scoffing a little when she noticed her noticing. “Credit where credit’s due; you’re scrappier than I expected you to be.”

“Why are you here, then?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“I’ve had time to think things over, and I forgive you for not including me in your escape attempt.”

It was her turn to laugh. Was she serious? “Thank you, the guilt has been eating me up inside,” she said sarcastically.

Ravess sneered. “What I really mean is that I wouldn’t want to include you in my escape attempt, either.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Not because I believe that you deserve to rot in here forever,” Ravess continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “But because I’m starting to think you believe you deserve to rot in here forever.”

The small amount of entertainment she was getting from this conversation evaporated. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked as Ravess smiled, pleased with herself.

“You tell me. You’re the one who botched two escape attempts. You, who came within a hair’s breadth of conquering the entire Atmos, can’t break yourself out of prison? You must not want it badly enough.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and that’s saying a lot.”

“There are only two explanations,” Ravess went on, unperturbed by the insult. “Either the Atmosians succeeded in making you feel guilty, or you don’t want to go back home. Maybe a little of both? Hmm? I can’t help but notice that you’re not arguing.”

“Where’s all this coming from, Ravess? What’d I ever do to you?”

“You mean besides leaving me stateless? Thanks to your stupid little war, few neutral terras were left when you banished me. Exiled from Cyclonian territory, not welcome within the borders of the Free Atmos, where exactly did you expect me to go?”

“My stupid little war?”

Ravess rolled her eyes. “Of course that’s what you fixate on.”

“I never heard any complaints from you about the war back in Cyclonia.”

“It wasn’t my place.”

“As one of my top Commanders, if you had any concerns, it was your job to voice them.”

Ravess’ laughter was incredulous. “You are severely overestimating your own reasonableness. You tolerated dissenting opinions as well as you tolerated failure.”

“That’s not fair. I was very patient with your and your brother’s failures.”

“While we were useful to you. And the moment you thought you could get the job done without us, you tossed us aside. All I ever tried to do was win your stupid little war,” Ravess needled her by emphasizing those last four words, “as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

“To help restore the Empire to its former glory.”

“To go home and focus on my music.”

“Really? If you hated fighting so much, why did you go right back to it after the war ended?”

“To liberate Cyclonia after you sold it out! I couldn’t very well go back to Bluster with it under Atmosian rule, could I?”

“You’re telling me you never cared about us conquering the Atmos?”

“Why should I? What difference did it make to me if you ruled all of the Atmos or just half of it?”

She scoffed. She couldn’t believe this. How many other Cyclonians felt the way Ravess did?

“Well, I’m sorry you were so miserable furthering the interests of the Empire and its people.”

“So were you,” Ravess said as if she had a revelation.

She shook her head in denial.

“Yes, you were! Half the time, you treated ruling the Empire like a distraction that was taking you away from your real work. It all makes sense now. You just wanted everyone to leave you alone so you could play with your crystals, didn’t you?”

“That’s not true,” she frowned. She didn’t appreciate Ravess questioning her dedication to the Empire. So what if she hadn’t always been happy dealing with the minutiae of the job or the pomp and ceremony of state affairs? She’d seen them all through, hadn’t she? No one could accuse her of shirking her imperial duties.

“Of course not,” Ravess said, her tone falsely placating. “I’m sure you’d go back to the Empire and pick things up right where you left off if only you could escape….”

“I didn’t sabotage those escape attempts,” she said, growing more annoyed by the second.

“Maybe, maybe not. But one thing is for certain. If and when I stage my escape, you won’t be a part of it. I want mine to succeed.”

“Best of luck, now get out,” she said, pointing to the door behind Ravess. She half suspected that Ravess was trying to goad her into throwing a punch now, and she wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Gladly,” Ravess said with a smirk before turning and limping back to her cell.

~*~*~

Piper set the book down on the table in front of her, watching Cyclonis as she did so. After reading the book, she had a hard time understanding what Cyclonis wanted with it. It directly contradicted everything she claimed to believe about her empire.

Even stranger, Cyclonis looked at the book as if she saw a ghost. Glancing over at the other table, where the Dark Ace was once again serving as a distraction for Aerrow, she judged that she had time to ask a few questions before handing over The Great Myth, along with the librarian’s book of theory and analysis she had borrowed with it.

“You didn’t think this book existed, did you?” she accused her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cyclonis said, reaching across the table to take the book. She slapped her hand on top of it, preventing her from claiming it.

“Who asked you to read this book?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You made it my business when you asked for my help. Who told you about this book, Lark?” she asked, hoping to goad her into answering the question.

“That’s not going to work,” she said, seeing through her tactic.

“Fine. I guess I’ll take this back to the library, then.”

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

“Because I burned an entire afternoon getting a history lesson from an overzealous librarian about this book and then even more time reading it. And now I’m curious who would be daring enough to recommend it to you.”

The look Cyclonis gave the book this time was less ‘seeing a ghost’ and more ‘confronting a Saharran spitting viper.’

“Is it that bad?”

“Answer my question and find out for yourself.”

Cyclonis still wasn’t forthcoming with an answer, and she was just about to shove the book back into her bag when the other girl’s shoulders slumped as she sighed. “My father.”

That was not the answer she had been expecting.

“Weren’t you really young when he died?”

“Yes.”

“You can remember stuff from that long ago?”

“Bits and pieces. And I had a very vivid dream while I was sick. I wasn’t sure if it was just a dream or a memory.”

“And now that you know this book is real, you think it was a memory.”

Cyclonis seemed reluctant to answer but finally said, “Yes.”

“It doesn’t sound like it was a very happy one,” she said sympathetically. Cyclonis shrugged, but she could tell from her expression that she was right. If this book played a key role in it, she wasn’t surprised. While the author didn't demonize the Cyclonian Empire, per se, he didn’t pull his punches when it came to criticizing it when it was deserved, or its ruling family. She couldn’t understand why Cyclonis’ father would recommend this book to anyone, least of all his daughter and heir.

“You said before that you had no idea who wrote this book. You sure about that?”

“Canton Scylla,” Cyclonis answered, reading the name inscribed on the cover.

“That wasn’t his real name.”

Cyclonis didn’t look surprised, which she found suspicious. She knew, or at least suspected, more than she was letting on.

She pulled the other book out of her bag, setting it atop The Great Myth before passing both books over to Cyclonis. “You should read the top book first. It offers up some interesting theories about who Canton was. And I think you’ll get more out of it if you know who wrote it first.”

~*~*~

Cyclonis didn’t read the first book so much as skim it. She already knew what she was looking for: proof for or against The Great Myth being written by an ancestor.

It didn’t take long to find it. Altan Cyclonis. She didn’t bother trying to deny the theory to herself. It made too much sense. She remembered her private history lessons. The ones taught not by her tutors but by her grandmother. She recognized the name. He was her many times great-granduncle from the time of the dissolution of the original Cyclonian Empire. And the family’s greatest disgrace.

He had been jealous of his older brother’s ascension to the throne but too weak-willed to usurp his power. And so he had betrayed the family in the worst way possible. He had defected to the Free Atmos. Even there, he failed to become anyone of note and died in penniless obscurity.

Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned him writing a book. Given the memories she had uncovered, she wasn’t surprised. She wondered what else her grandmother had failed to mention about him or outright lied about.

With much trepidation, she opened The Great Myth to the first page.

#storm hawks #storm hawks fanfic #master cyclonis #dark ace #storm hawks ravess #storm hawks snipe #aerrow #piper #inside the wire

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