Sensation

Flight is an interesting experience. Needless to say, there are a myriad of feelings that are naturally associated with flight: the sensation of rising and the sensation of falling most prominent among them.

Of course, these sensations are not just limited to flight.

At one time, I suppose I might have considered myself lucky to have possessed any sort of magical aptitude. In the same respect, at a different time, I might have considered myself similarly unlucky.

The draft came for me like it did for… Well, all the others with that sort of significant magical aptitude. There aren’t that many, after all. Young. Old. Or perhaps at the standard age of majority. For a mage, especially one with a magical aptitude like mine, the draft doesn’t care much. Mages aren’t beholden to those sorts of limitations. After all, a simple formula can protect its caster. Strengthen the body. Sharpen the mind.

Guide a shot.

It wouldn’t matter whether I was sixty or sixteen - nineteen or nine. Though perhaps being drafted at nine would sound ridiculous. And, truth be told - it is. Even the most cold-hearted of recruiters would balk at sending a child to war. Only the most heartless of individuals could be party to such a cruel upbringing. And indeed, there never was a child drafted like so.

After all - She volunteered.

I can seldom remember the number of times I had become acquainted with falling. But if I were to name at least a vague few - when I was first trying to memorize the formulae for flight. After I had botched an artillery spell that knocked me off my feet. When I dove out of cloud cover as we began an operation. As I decided it would be better to fly low to the ground. The time I landed to protect the ones in the trenches. The moments when my magical reserves bottomed out and I fell, tumbling through the spinning sky, darkness creeping at the edge of my vision, to the ground below.

The nights when I lie in my cot, trying to sleep. In dreams where I see my fellows disappearing into flames. Where I cry out to them, helpless to save them. Where I find myself falling as well. Where I reach out toward the distant sky. Where my flight equipment falls to pieces around me. Where my own breath is slowly siphoned away from me. Where I don’t quite make it out.

And the feeling of falling out of sleep, unsurprised, well rested as could be for the day ahead. The feeling of falling into a routine. The feeling of the scales falling from my eyes. The feeling of knowing that I would eventually fall like so many others I had seen. Like those that I had caused to fall. A fall to accompany every hard fought victory. A fall to punctuate the sentence that might happen to include my name in a history book.

I am intimately aware of the sensation of falling.

But for a different reason.

And, as familiar as I am with falling, I am just as familiar with the sensation of rising. And to do my best to remember a few moments - when I first learned that I had the aptitude for flight. As I dusted myself off, proud that my mage shell had held against my own botched spell. After that first operation ended and I was instructed to observe my handiwork. As I feinted above my opponent to come in behind them. The time I saved the ones in the trenches and they thanked me for what I did. The moment that I looked up after crashing -

And saw Her.

The nights when I lie in my cot, wrestling with my nightmares. But in that haze, I see Her breaking through the flames. Where She catches me. Where I find myself rising as well. Where we take back our skies. Where my flight equipment becomes unnecessary. Where I finally learn to breathe again. When peace returns.

And the feeling of rising from my bed, unsurprised, steeled for the day ahead. The feeling of rising to an impossible challenge. The feeling of warmth rising through my chest. The feeling of knowing that I would rise where others would fall. Just like when I watch Her rise. When She turns Her head, expecting to see me rise as well. I am, after all, Her wing - and She is mine.

I am intimately aware of the sensation of rising.

But for a different reason.

In truth, She had terrified me at first. And in that way, I was just like so many others. She had a penchant for warfare. She was vicious. Even now, She is the most deadly soldier I have seen, friendly and enemy alike. The way She fell upon those who opposed Her, and rising above the remains of Her prey. I could understand why they could have called Her rusted.

It was a chance conversation that opened my eyes.

A comment She made as She looked upon the field with those piercing cobalt eyes. A jaded tone to Her words as She pushed past any prior assumption. A trail of crumbs in Her grimace that led to Her secret: A quiet but desperate desire to be away from it all.

It’s good that war is so miserable. The fewer people who like it, the better.

Something She couldn’t often say: She was the ideal soldier, after all. Unwavering in Her loyalty, without hesitation for Her duty. To say it often would be to cast doubt on Her abilities.

I hadn’t noticed it then, but that was the moment I started to fall even as I rose. I fell as I rose to the challenge put forth by that ache in my chest. I fell as I rose through the flak-blackened skies to keep pace with Her. I fell as I rose past the haze in my eyes, forcing my body to push past my imagined limits.

And all at once, she was gone.

A parting conversation. A recommendation for the officer’s course. An encouraging smile, a humorous exchange - and that was all I would see of Her for the rest of my days. I was free from the frontlines - for a time at least. But I had a chance to change the course of my life.

Or at least, that’s how it was supposed to be.

But in the din of pencils on paper and the rumble of shoes in hallways, that sudden, quiet image of peace slowly became grating. Not for love of war - far from it. How happy I could have been if the war had ended that very moment. But beyond that -

I realized that I might never see Her again.

She had become someone that I couldn’t bear to lose.

And with every class I took, with every answer I gave, with every flawed score, and with every barely passing grade, that desperation took root. I didn’t care if I was an officer. I didn’t care if I had to endure a few more years of a nightmare made manifest in the waking world. I didn’t care for life nor limb nor any gift that I could have been bestowed.

I fell as my heart screamed for me to rise to take my place by Her side.

The place that should belong to me and me alone.

I wasn’t lucky or unlucky to be possessed of magic. More than anything, I was both blessed and cursed. I was blessed to rise to heights that I could only ever see at Her side, just as I was cursed with a willingness to fall upon the Fatherland’s enemies for Her sake. I was blessed to meet Her who could make me want to rise to exceed Her expectations, just as I was cursed to fall ever deeper into that aching longing to make Her proud.

She, who volunteered while wasting away in an orphanage - the youngest soldier ever to hold the frontlines. The most elegant mage ever to dance across the skies. And even then, she hadn’t doubted me when I stated that I was drafted. Who hadn’t doubted my loyalty. Who thanked me for my service, even when she hadn’t yet to see me fight.

I had accepted that I would fall for my country, whether I wished it or not. And I did fall. An unceremonious fall from the sky when I had grown just a bit too tired to keep my flight formulae in place. And I would have died then and there, if not soon after. I should have died.

But she descended for me. And she offered me a look of disappointment. That I was giving up so soon when she knew I had so much more to offer. That she wanted me to see something that lay beyond this war. A war that didn’t belong to us - but a war we were beholden to fight all the same.

And when she ascended once more, I rose at her side.

And as I rose, I fell for her.

And until that day comes that she finally receives her wish - a life of peace, a life without war, and a world that would never descend once more into that madness - I will be by her side. And I will stay by her side, ever ready to bear arms against anyone who would destroy that peace.

After all.

I am White Silver’s Wing.

And she is mine.