“Along with today’s famine and war, we also have to deal with the centuries old grudge that Shenait and Woromir have had towards each other.” Abba had slipped back into professor mode as Ferda ate. “It goes back to when the Davriadi first fell—” His hook was interrupted by one child asking what a Davriadi was, and a second demanding to go to the bathroom. Ferda snorted and took another bite. Kids were crap at the best of times.

There was some shuffling around and the flat door slammed closed before Abba let out a sigh and continued on. “The Davriadi were a large group of people that used to live both where we’re standing now, and in the place where many of your parents, along with some of you, were born.”

“The nearest cluster town’s pretty far away,” commented a student. “How many places did they live?”

“As far as we know, everywhere.” Abba’s seat creaked as he shifted in it. “Each nation has their own tales about the Davriadi and how they disappeared from the world.”

“Did they all die?” There was a rustle among the students.

“The Davriadi didn’t so much die as…scatter. Since they lived everywhere, different places had different ways of living. Once their empire split apart, one group of the Davriadi broke off to become Shenait, while a different group became Woromir.” Abba’s voice had found its rhythm, rising and falling like a litany to draw a listener in; or pausing to draw in questions, as it did now.

“But, if they used to be one people, why are they enemies now?” One of the youngest kids in the group, based on the sound of their voice, carried the flow forward. Ferda scooped a large portion of the meal into their mouth and sidled a little closer to the curtain. Abba was about to get to the good part.

“Though no one really knows why the Davriadi disappeared, we do know that the fight between Woromir and Shenait was started by one man: the king who founded Shenait. Only his decedents, the Shenaise royal family, remember his true name.” This wasn’t strictly true.

During one of the more boring afternoons of their childhood, Ferda had pestered Serai into taking them into the royal library. With how tight that place was locked up, Ferda had been expecting to find gold and jewels in every corner. It was just a room full of dusty old scrolls. Serai had taught them litanies out of dusty parchment, many of which Ferda forgot quickly due to lack of constant use, though they had picked up a few useful tidbits. A sneaky little number called Jahan’s Door was Ferda’s favorite, though it took too much power to use much these days.

Serai then insisted upon showing off records of her family tree. She kept going on and on about king Berzail and how great he was. It didn’t take Ferda long to connect Serai’s ancestor to the king from the stories.

 “This king’s actions still reverberate like a death rattle echoing off cave walls. In Shenait, they call him the last divine ruler, preserver of knowledge and keeper of order. He’s said to have conquered nature to lead his people through the darkest days before unearthing the capital from the sands of the desert. Many of the etched enchantments that you see all around you were created by him.”

“He sounds like a cool guy,” a student broke in.

“To his own people,” Abba huffed. “Unfortunately, he had a nasty habit of bullying others.” Recognizing the shift in the story, Ferda finished their food. If the kids wanted to know more about how the Shenaise saw their first king, there’d be puppet shows on festival days to tell ‘em that. This was probably the only time they’d get to hear their own people’s side of the story. Guess Abba’s lessons did have some use after all, even if it wouldn’t matter in the long run.

Lips twisted into a bitter smirk, Ferda washed out their bowl. Dirty dishes always made Abba pitch a fit, and he’d already be angry once he found out that Ferda had not only eaten his food but also—

Ferda smacked a hand over their face. Eating the food had to be done, that kind of insult couldn’t be left unanswered. But, Divinities above, Ferda was a moron.

The dads would already be several shades of pissed once they heard that Ferda had pulled another job from the Gadflies. It hadn’t even been a job, per se. Really, it was more community service: returning stolen goods to their original owners. Granted, the fact that the thief in question was a powerful Shenaise noble and the owner was an impoverished Woromiran immigrant made the situation a little more complicated. Ferda had been sure that they’d covered their tracks, but rumors had somehow filtered down.

 Though Ferda was fairly sure their prank hadn’t caused any real damage, and had been pulled for a good cause, that wouldn’t matter. Papa was a former peace officer and Abba freaked out at even the slightest hint of attention from the Shenaise government. If Ferda had cooked the dads a meal then admitted their ‘wrong doings’ themself, Abba and Papa still would’ve been mad, but they would’ve acknowledged Ferda’s honesty. Now, Ferda had left themself no way to soften the inevitable shitstorm headed their way once Papa got home from work. Not even the bottle of royal wine Ferda had hidden in one of their many secret compartments at the flat would help them now.

In the other room, the story continued. “Even though they used to be united, the king was quite harsh to the people who would become Woromirans. There were some who objected to him leaving the larger group with his followers. So, the king used his power to tear holes in space, scattering our ancestors in the winds.”

“Like the portals?” A child asked. “One showed up in the park yesterday. My bordog, Babka, almost ran through it. I caught her, though. It looked like there was a huge lake on the other side, so big I couldn’t see the shore!”

“That would be the ocean you saw.” Abba’s voice was warm. “And, yes, I do mean that the king created the first randomly occurring portals. The incident is known as Shattering Night. Lots of knowledge was lost that night, and it took us quite a long time to find each other, much less organize ourselves into the network of clusters that Woromir is today.”

 Was there a way to salvage this situation? Did Ferda even want to? They could just leave the remaining bowl in the icebox to cover their most recent fuck-up and run. That’d be easiest. Maybe Serai would let Ferda hole up with her for a few days. Ferda always had trouble falling asleep there, and it always presented a risk of being seen by the wrong people, but it’d be better than staying around their parents. An old urge to bunk down Taras’ family rose in Ferda, but they shoved it down. That hadn’t been an option since the salt-sugar-switch incident. Raphi would probably let them crash at his place, since he let them store their stolen goods there, but Veridis could pop in at any time.

“Afterward, a small group of Woromirans ended up settling in some lands that the king wanted for himself.” Abba scoffed. “He forced them further and further out, until they reached the edge of the dead-zone. Then, he demanded their unconditional surrender in exchange for the privilege of living in his territory. He professed it better to live under the oppression of a tyrant than be devoured by mutant beasts. Yet, our ancestors refused.”

Or, Ferda could steal another portion of meat, cook it before Papa got home, and leave it in the ice box to cool for a while. When asked, they’d give their dads a receipt for two servings of meat and no one would have to know that a third ever existed. There would be a danger of Abba looking in the ice box after he’d eaten his lunch and calling out Ferda’s lies, but he would probably see that the device’s light was on and want to preserve the chill inside for as long as possible. As long as Ferda was quick and careful, they’d pull their ass out of this fire.

Ferda glared at the ice box and cracked their neck. “Round two.” They smushed their thumb against the symbols and hissed out a breath. Anger made Ferda’s mind buzz even more than usual, but it also lent them a destructive focus to cut through the maelstrom and snatch hold of that glowing shoot. They tugged the yellow light upward and a tiny thread of essence began to flow from Ferda’s fingers and into the enchantment symbols. A soft hum emanated from the ice box as the device refined Ferda’s raw magic into ice that would coat the walls inside.

It took its sweet time with it too.

 Ferda tried to pull more light, but the white mesh squeezed tighter around their core. Lightning spiked through their muscles. They jerked away from the ice box with a pained grunt, snapping the connection. The thief pressed a hand over their abdomen and took a shuddering breath.

This was the third time this month that Ferda’s magic had rebelled against them. Stuff like this had been happening more and more often since they’d gotten their legs modified for silent movement. They knew the symptoms of essence overdraw from seeing them in every corner of the slums, but Veradis had assured Ferda that their core wouldn’t be over capacity. Ferda wasn’t looking forward to the talk they’d have to have with the Cleric. Whenever they got tangled up with Veradis, they always ended up further in debt to the Sanctuary. Always another tweak, always another job…

“Ferda, are you all right?” Abba’s shout shook Ferda from their thoughts. “I heard you cry out.”  The thief blinked in surprise, then took another breath.

“I’m fine, Abba.” Their eyes flicked around the kitchen for an excuse. “Just working the lid off a jar.”

“Alright then.” Concern laced Abba’s voice and he paused for a minute before shuffling in his seat again. “Now, as I was saying, children. Our ancestors fought back against the king in the Machalne uprising.” Ferda sighed. As pissed as they might be at Abba, it was shit like this that kept Ferda from actually hating their father. And here Ferda was, about to lie to him.

Eh, there was nothing for it.

Ferda blew out of their lips as they slid the remaining meal portion in and checked the light on the ice box. Enough symbols were lit up to last until late this evening, which meant that Ferda didn’t have to try powering it again. After breathing a sigh of relief, Ferda plunked their bowl in its usual place in the cabinet. It sounded like Abba was about to finish up with his story, so Ferda climbed on the counter and reached to the highest shelf for the kids’ reward.