I Am A Flyer

II: Game of Flags

Floating serenely in midnight sky, the half-moon cast its silvery light upon the camp below, creating long shadows and pale colors. A cool breeze sung throughout the air, rustling the loose canvas flaps hanging off the tents. It was silent, and still.

Jett took a careful step out of his tent, wary of alerting anyone to his presence. He spared a glance over a shoulder; none of the flyers inside stirred, being caught in deep slumber. Good. Then he should be able to find a quiet spot where he could practice, undisturbed by any prying eyes.

He stepped fully outside. With a soft sigh, he closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and let the cool wind tickle through his hair, rustle his clothing, caress his skin. . . A soft smile came, lingering as he thought about home.

Jett reluctantly brushed those thoughts aside after a moment, focusing instead on his task. Practice. With his ascension to a flyer just around the corner, he needed to grow as strong as he possibly could. His stomach twisted uneasily, reminding him of one small problem.

There was no way that Troit would let him, as their flyer, run about and help the common people as he saw fit. From what he had seen so far, Troit only cared about itself, and its mission. It would not step off its straight and high road for anything, even if innocent people were dying in the ditch beside the road. Troit did not care about the people, and would not bother helping them unless it was necessary.

How ironic. These flyers and their council – they founded Troit for the very reason to protect everyone and prevent another war. So why do they not even bother helping those who suffer even now?

They were blinded by Ra'Skevvor and the Kairg, Jett decided darkly. Warmongers, all of them. Whatever. It was time he got busy – the night didn't last forever. So he continued on, heading for the training area.

He didn't get very far.

A shadow detached itself from a nearby tent, oozing sideways to block his path. Jett stopped, staring at the dark form in bewilderment. What. . .?

"You are not allowed to leave your tent," a familiar voice came from the shadowy figure. "You know this, so why are you out here?"

"Lante!" Jett breathed, relaxing as he recognized the shadow to be another human being, and not some weird figment of his imagination. Then the flyer's question sunk in. "Uh. . .I couldn't sleep. . ."

The Twelve didn't even blink. "Go back to bed, Jett."

A little put out, the teen lifted his chin slightly. "Why? It'd be useless, since I can't sleep anyway. Can't I go do some practice drills or something until I'm tired?"

Lante just gazed at him silently, only the whites of his eyes showing from within the shadows. It was more than a little creepy. The flyer finally dipped his head in some kind of acceptance. "Very well. You may go – but I will accompany you."

Jett balked. "Huh? Why?"

"Have you forgotten already? Because of your foolish stunt, you cannot be trusted to remain inside this camp. Isn't that right?"

"But that was just because Iern needed help," Jett halfheartedly threw back. Even as he said it, he knew it was useless. There was no point in trying to argue with the Smoke flyer. I guess practice won't happen tonight, then. There's no way I'm letting him watch me. "Fine. . .I'll go back to bed."

The red Twelve watched him. "Weren't you going to train?"

Oh boy. "Well. . .um. . ."

"You don't want me watching?" Lante correctly guessed.