Unspoken

Chapter Five

"Fly... F-flying time?"
Fray's brows were furrowed in that certain way when he was obviously nervous or worried, his gaze averted. As we stood just a few steps outside our house in Extorris, I found myself at a loss for words. No, I thought, please don't tell me...
He wasn't that young, right? He was sixteen, and surely, he knew how to fly... Of course he had to, there was no way he didn't. My ancestors would never torture me like that... Would they
Dear Aeon, please have mercy on me just this once, I don't want to have to teach him...
I couldn't help but look at those vulnerable, sensitive eyes of his. I told myself to ignore the guilt tugging at me, but it was of no use.

Sigh...
I scolded myself for thinking that way and gave myself a good reminder: just because I was exhausted and sore from training so much, that didn't mean I had the right to be crass. Besides, I needed to work on my disposition and improve it, that was clear enough. Why? Because I was tired of Adara prattling about how 'impatient' I was and, how I tended to 'brood far too much at all hours of the day'. Oh, and who could forget that apparently, I had been giving 'scary faces' too much. What did she even mean by that?
"Yes," I replied at last. "Flying, Fray... You know how, don't you?"
Fray gave a hesitant response, his voice wavering in and out of confidence. "Well—well, yes, of... Course I do, I'm just not very good at... at flying sometimes," he paused, his icy gaze flicking to me, then to Adara, then down to his hands. "Or rather, I suppose you could say I am not v-very good at flying... All the time."
Ah, the way Fray spoke was unlike anyone I'd ever heard. Sometimes he'd speed up and get his words jumbled... Sometimes he'd slow down to try and prevent himself from stuttering, though it didn't seem to work very often.
Then there's his lack of a proper accent... But then, I've heard it's the same for some in Cogitare as well. Who knows, future generations may have an entirely different way of speaking. Time will tell, I suppose.
"Fray, please don't say that..." Adara offered. "Just try your best, that's all you can do."
I nodded. "She's right, Snowflake. I don't want to see you looking that way anymore, understood?"
Fray nodded and took a deep breath, determination soon replacing the vulnerability. Seconds later his wings began to form, his icy aura so bright it hurt my eyes. They sprouted from his shoulder blades just as anyone's would, but their mageia kept the fabric of his clothing from being torn or disturbed. This was just the nature of the wings we all possessed, albeit convenient.

I wonder... Have our wings always had that ability, or did our ancestors have to deal with their clothes being torn to bits every time they summoned them?
That was a curious thought, but I couldn't dwell on it, not with something so eye-catching within sight to steal my attention. It was Fray's wings, and it wasn't surprising I found myself intrigued. At first, I thought their color reminded me of fine porcelain dishware, but no... Once I looked closer and saw the short and silky frills branching from the feather's shafts, making up layers upon layers of his wings? Indeed, it was certain to me that they mimicked the appearance of drifting snow. What caught my attention most of all, though? It was how each feather had glints of ice, and how they weren't melting I had no idea. The only reason I'd even noticed something so minute was because they'd caught the sun's reflection. I tilted my head, realizing that when the sun did hit them, a dazzling sort of effect occasionally occurred. I could see hints of other colors in the ice, like a hundred shades of blue and purple condensed down into crystals smaller than a single snowflake.

Certainly a fitting appearance for an Amarinian Prince, isn't it?
I glanced to my right, noticing as Adara passed Fray a hesitant smile, clearly trying to hide how impressed she was at the sight of his wings. Then she swept her hair away from her back so that she too could summon her wings, though I already knew what to expect. When they were fully visible it was no surprise to find a stunning display, because of course my sister's wings were just as perfect as her other features. The wings themselves were medium sized, just a bit smaller than Fray's. Nevertheless, they were incredibly eye-catching, the kind of wings that would no doubt steal anyone's attention in a room of people. Each feather was a soft white but faded into gold just at their tips. This was an aesthetic which had always reminded me of the sky at dawn, when the sun just barely pierces the horizon. Thinking about that made me feel nostalgic, recalling how my sister had always been so gifted with beauty, and how I'd once been jealous. Yes, it was true that her wings were breathtaking, but I didn't care... Not anymore, anyway. We weren't children anymore.