“Father.” Ira grudgingly bowed. Of course, he had to jump in once again. 

He placed his arms firmly behind his back, sneering. “I was unimpressed by that display of yours. However, you’ve proven to have improved on your manipulation abilities,” he paused. “I expect a cleaner act next time, got it?”

“Next time, I’ll be better.” Ira’s head bowed. Her glamour vanished as her wings tucked behind her back, its black feathers grazing over her shoulders. He’d be proud of her next time. She’d make them all proud of her. 

“You should. I didn’t climb my ranks just for an insufferable offspring to stain my name.”

“The moment I was created, you already considered it stained,” Ira murmured under her breath, hands clenching on her sides. Suddenly, a hand wrapped around her throat and pushed her against the tree. Ira sputtered, feeling her wings shake as her elbows grazed the rough surface. Her fingernails scratched over his arm but to no avail.

Ira gasped, feeling his palms warm against his grip, the steam rupturing from his skin as he continued to hold her. She flinched. Her father leaned in, red eyes now black, and he grinned–his sharp teeth glaring before her. “Do you feel that, Ira?” He said, voice soft–like a father lecturing a child. Ira suppressed a shudder, glaring back. “You’re burning–proof that you’re nothing more than a disabled faerie, a faerie not worthy of carrying her sect’s name. Watch your words, or you’ll be dead in a second.”

“Le–let go!” She choked out, and he released her. Ira collapsed, gasping for air as her eyes morphed into a darker shade–pupils disappearing into a pool of maroon.  She growled, finally able to stand up. “You want to kill me?” She spat out. “Then do it, but you won’t. You wouldn’t dare.” 

Ira stared at him steadily, but the smack didn’t come. Instead, her father leaned back against the tree thoughtfully. My sin may be anger, but I must not let it conquer me–a line every Prihan must say in their first two faerie years. She wanted to knock him out, shovel him to the dirt, yet she held back. He was her father, the greatest Prihan general ever to have lived. Even if she wanted to, dreamt to, she wouldn’t dare. 

“You might do well after all,” Her father straightened his stance, his sneer replaced by a scowl. He raised his hand, motioning up to the sky. “Come. The Vestimortis is starting–we mustn’t be late.”

Not bothering to respond, Ira looked up at the sky. It was decorated with fiery flames, glazing and merging forever with the night’s blackness–a dome-like surface over their world. Ira stretched her wings–its feathers ruffled, highlighting dark red stains–a trademark that every Prihan faerie had. Soon, the two of them began to camouflage into the darkness. The air blew on her pale skin, and she grinned, relishing the little seconds of freedom.

This was her favorite–flying. It was a chance to feel as if she were above them all, soaring through new heights. It was as if she was ruling them, looking down on them, and not the other way around. A few seconds later, she could already spot a few more faeries joining them, flying in the same direction. There were some Initium her age, who cackled and laughed at the fire that twirled from their fingertips. They were unsteady–she could tell from the way they brightened and dimmed as they flew. They needed more practice. But it wasn’t like she was an expert on those types of things. Ira looked away. When she neared them, their fires shone even brighter as they bowed at her–the general's daughter. 

“Ira,” One of them greeted–Calix, that was her name. Ira suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. They were all the same to her–snobbish and discriminatory behind her back and honey-sweet to her front, in hopes of their parents to scale higher in their ranks. But she knew what they whispered–how a particular general’s daughter shouldn’t even try to compete in the Vestimortis because of her… 'incompetence.’ “Are you excited for the Vestimortis?”

“As always,” she replied stiffly. 

She smiled politely, but even Ira saw how it had strained. “That’s lovely. Do you think you’ll be ch–”

“Ira!” For the first time, her father’s call sent a surge of relief through her. Finally. With a shrug and a dismissive nod, Ira moved closer to the flying figure, noticing how he was given a respectable amount of space around him. “I’d suggest you tone down your chit-chat. You do not need your allies today.”

Allies. Was that what she was supposed to call them? As if she’d spend time with those bastards. “Of course.”