When Lightning Falls

Note:

If you would like more context before reading, refer to my theory about the brothers' origins in the second chapter.

⸻

Rhian ran toward Rafal when he landed with a soft thud. His brother had been teaching himself how to fly lately.

Lightning cracked overhead, lighting up the sky and the manor, almost as if it were day.

"Fala, I'm scared." Rhian pressed against his brother hard, and Rafal didn't shove him away. Rhian continued hyperventilating, one breath after another, like the treads of soldiers, constant and quickening.

Rafal held Rhian in his arms like a vise, and squeezed him with a comforting pressure. Rhian's shallow, rapid breaths receded, and his shoulders stopped shaking.

Rhian lifted his head from where his chin had been resting on Rafal's shoulders. "Why do you think the Storian won't let us leave?"

Rafal let go, and brushed his sopping, white hair out of eyes. He remained silent.

Rhian continued on. "School Master says It will let us explore the Woods when we come of age. How old do you think we'll be by then? Not as old as School Master, right?"

"Not as old as School Master. Maybe, as old as the students." The growing brothers almost reached the School Master's waist, but Rafal didn't think it meant much. The School Master was stooping more by the day. Hunched more and more drastically, like he was withering.

"And not as wrinkly, either" said Rhian.

"No, not as wrinkly either. He's probably due to die a couple years down the line."

"How do you come up with these things?"

"Everyone dies. You know that," Rafal averred.

"I know, but I don't talk about dying all the time," insisted Rhian.

Rafal frowned.

"So, why do you think we have to stay?" Rhian asked again.

Rafal glanced around as if he were afraid someone would look over his shoulder, but all the faculty and students were inside the warm glow of the manor. He peered into the nearby windows on his tiptoes, gripping the ledge. Just to be safe, he told himself. Then, he ducked down lower.

Rhian observed him, and furrowed his brow at his brother's classic paranoia. "No one's out here, Fala." Nonetheless, Rhian followed him, and sat on the wet grass, leaning against the wall beside Rafal.

"I'm just making sure," Rafal explained. "I haven't got all the facts yet. But, the last time I was with School Master for a lesson, he looked nauseous. He said that we were growing like weeds, and might replace him one day. His voice croaked, his bones creaked, and his hands shook. But he continued on with that lesson, and it gave me an idea."

"What about? I was with the Dean for Etiquette that day. He says 'Etiquette is what separates Good from boorish Never thugs,'" Rhian recited.

Rafal's expression soured and he rolled his eyes. "Ok, at some point, we have to have a talk about not believing everything you hear." He got back on track. "He told me that once, all Ever kingdoms were more closed off than they are now. The common people were called serfs, and they were bound to the land of their kings."

"Are we serfs, Fala?"

"I don't know. I haven't figured it out yet. Maybe, one day, we'll solve it. Find out what It wants. Leave the School grounds."

"But, the Pen is Good, right? Doesn't It want us to be safe? Can't we trust It? Shouldn't we stay?"

Rafal didn't respond, grimly clutching the soaked knees of his pants.