Welcome to Gaia! ::

“Papa — Papa! Look what I found on the beach!” Vazaera, at ten-years-old, stumbled under the weight of the unconscious, infant creature in her arms. She wasn’t precisely sure what it was, but it looked like someone’s young bonded, lost to the sand and storm. Why would someone have left such a young creature to fend for itself, she didn’t know, but knew well enough that it was far too small to survive yet on its own.

Her father Madrynn, however, became instantly wary upon seeing it. “Vaz, darling, put that down, immediately.”

“But—”

“Now.”

Vazaera’s lips thinned, her arms looping tighter around her find: stubborn, protective, and determined. “She’s dying, and she needs help.”

Madrynn grit his teeth, but before he could open his mouth again, his bonded — Liranelle — stepped forward, sniffing at the newcomer. She hummed curiously, nosing it lightly with her snout. “Feral. Just hatched. Too early, too, though not by much, luckily for the little thing.”

Vazaera whined, eyes widening at her father. “Papa, please, she needs our help…I think Abronaxus guided her to us. It’s his will that we should care for her.”

Madrynn snorted, lips pursed. He was potently aware that his daughter only brought Abronaxus into the equation when she wanted to win his favor for one argument or another. Not that he could truly blame her. After her birth mother moved out of the equation not long after her arrival in the world, Madrynn’s exploits had exposed her to all variety of religions and degrees of faith or lack thereof. Now, as for many years, their travelling circus troupe was all the family Vazaera knew, including hybrids alongside outcast purebloods of every stripe. He feared she may never respect his god, their god — the god of their people, for she was pureblood — but he likely bore all the blame there.

“We’ll talk to your mother,” was all he said aloud.

Vazaera’s mother, now, was a pureblood oblivionite woman, a highly skilled beast trainer for many of the circus’ acts, and Madrynn’s mate: Yseirri. Being infertile, she saved the both of them from worries of bearing hybrid children between them, who would inevitably suffer the world’s hatred and prejudice. This, in Madrynn’s mind, was a blessing and a curse. Though he would not wish the life of a hybrid on anyone, particularly not his own children, it pained him to think of never having more, and he knew Vazaera was lonely as an only child.

Together, with Vazaera's find still protectively cradled in her grip, they left to find Yseirri.


An hour or so later, Vazaera sat in a sectioned-off corner of a large tent, silky red cloth making up the ‘walls’ of the room as she pet two gentle fingers down the snout of her newest find. “Ahita,” she said aloud, her father’s bonded being her only company. “I’m going to name her Ahita.”

“He’s not a female, you know,” Liranelle provided, stretching out on her pillow as she watched Vaz with one open eye.

Vazaera blinked, startled, and rearranged the blankets nestled around the infant khehora. “She looks like a girl. She’s pink.”

Lira snorted, shutting her eye and shifting her wings indignantly. “A scent never lies, and my nose can tell the difference. Trust me. That one’s a male.”

Vazaera pouted. “Well, I’m still naming her—” At Liranelle’s look, she rolled her eyes, “—him Ahita.” She turned her attention back to the infant, stroking back up along his snout, following the grain of his scales. “I think it’s a pretty name, and he’s pretty. So, he should have a pretty name…”

Through the cloth of the tent, she listened to her parents debate drag on.

“—and she’s only ten. Feral khehora are dangerous.”

“Then I can train it. She can learn with me. It can be a learning exercise.”

Madrynn scoffed. “Khehora have as much intelligence as any of us, Yseirri, and you know it far better than I. You can’t just ‘train’ it like…like an animal—”

“All of us are animals at our core, regardless of our intelligence. Khehora, like Magescians — perhaps even more so — are loyal, family oriented pack creatures. When it grows it will look for something to latch onto, to call its clan. We can provide that, and what person wouldn’t pay a pretty piece of gold to see a feral khehora performing tricks with a lovely little acrobat?”

“My daughter is more than an ‘acrobat’. She’s a child—”

“Vazaera is my daughter too, Madrynn. You promise me that all the time, with the sole exception of when you are especially concerned. I love her as any birth mother would, and I am looking out for her best interests. You cannot hold that over my head when and only when you disagree with me…”

Madrynn fell silent, and within the privacy of her tucked away ‘room’ Vazaera rested her chin on the pillow Ahita was sleeping on, her fingers tracing invisible patterns down his bright scales.

“I’m sorry,” Madrynn said at length. “I know you love her. I just…what would you propose?”

“Let her keep the creature,” Yseirri said. “It’ll grow up bright, intelligent, and loyal to her. Like a pet or a sibling, however you prefer to see it. Regardless, the result is the same: she’ll have company, and a training partner. Something to talk to, talk with, that will talk back, eventually, and another addition to the troupe. A strong one. No wise woman or man would scoff at the strength of a grown khehora. It’ll be a force to be reckoned with in its time…and there at the defense of our daughter, our family, and our troupe.”

After an extended pause, Madrynn sighed. “We can see how it goes. You make a strong argument, and I do know she would adore the company…I just…” He trailed off. “Perhaps more later. For now, let us be done with this discussion.”

Vazaera smiled, nestling in close to Ahita’s snout and shutting her eyes. “I’ll take care of you, you’ll see. I won’t let Papa take you away…we’ll grow strong together, I promise. And you’ll be the most beautiful khehora that ever lived.”

Ahita gave a soft, sleepy trill, nudging closer to the warmth of the body beside him, and together, they fell asleep.

“Come on, Ahita — you can do it!” Vazaera balanced on her hands as she spoke, toes pointed towards the sky and dark hair braided into tight buns about her head to keep it off off the ground. “I know you’ve got magic in you. Why don’t you show off a bit, hm?”

With a push of her own, newly chosen clan magic, Vazaera looped into the air and upright, a swirling gust of wind coiling around her body as it went to aid and steady her. She landed lightly on her feet, like a bird coming to perch, and Ahita watched with a curious trill, tilting his head and flitting his wings — still too small to lift him anywhere, but big enough to stir up dust. After gaining her bearings, which didn’t take long, Vaz stooped to a crouch and clapped her hands.

“Come on, little thing. You can do it…show me just a spot of fire?”

Just under a year had passed since his rescue that day on the beach, and he grew bigger every day, but could not yet comprehend a word out of the girl’s mouth other than the vague sense that she wanted something out of him. He swished his tail and bounded towards her, nosing at her hand. She sighed, but scratched gently at his snout anyway.

“How am I supposed to teach you to be a firedancer with me like Mama says if I can’t even get you to light a spark, hm? Silly thing…”

On the sidelines, Liranelle — often assigned to keep watch over Vazaera in general, but especially now that she kept the company of a ‘dangerous’ young firani feral — snorted in indignation. Vaz blinked and glanced over to her, oblivious of the snort’s tone as her eyes widened.

“Oh, Lira, you could try to teach him magic, don’t you think? You are khehora too after all, you must know something of it, even if he isn’t your element…and you do seem ever so good at convincing him to do things to begin with.”

Vazaera held Ahita close as she spoke, stroking and coddling him like a much-adored pet, and Lira narrowed her eyes briefly, but then sighed, shaking her head and letting the subject drop before it was brought up as she stood and flit her wings — the only visible sign remaining of her irritation.

“Perhaps,” she answered, eyeing the trilling Ahita with considerate blue eyes. “He is a bit young, still, though feral khehora have a much larger natural reservoir of magic to work from and I know your mother is…” ‘…impatient…’ “ …eager as ever.”

“Oh, yes, Mama can get very excited at times,” Vazaera agreed, flitting back to walking around on her hands. “She even—oh! Liranelle!”

Lira stopped, freezing in her tracks to glance Vaz’s way as the girl hopped back onto her feet. “Yes…?”

“Did I show you what I finally learnt today?”

“I—” Lira barely got to begin her response when Vazaera interrupted with enthusiasm.

“Watch this!”

After a brief running start, Vazaera leapt into one, two flips, and on the upspring for a third, somersaulted midair — once, twice, three times, clearly with the aid of her ayrala magic — before landing back on her feet and springing once more into a handstand. From there, slowly, she eased her pointed legs down to either side of her into a perfect horizontal split, maintaining form, before lowering herself, still in split formation, and glancing over her shoulder to grin in Liranelle’s direction.

“What do you think?”

Lira cocked her head. “Well,” she murmured beneath her breath, “you’ll certainly be highly sought after when you come of mating age. I pity your father for that.”

Vazaera blinked. “Pardon? I didn’t hear you,” she said, standing and dusting herself off.

Lira shook her head. “Nothing, child,” she answered, louder this time. “It was very lovely. You’re improving greatly.”

Vazaera beamed again. “Oh, thank you. I am trying ever so hard. Papa says, once I’ve mastered enough tricks to please Barimir, I might get to place in one of the gold ticket acts. Wouldn’t that be exciting?” Her eyes flit to Ahita, whose attention had shifted to attempting to stalk and catch a small bug. “Oh, yes, Ahita. Perhaps we ought to get back to work on trying to convince him to do some magic.”

Liranelle shook her head. “Yes, yes, ‘we’ should get back to work. My apologies. So silly of me to get distracted.”

“It’s alright,” Vazaera said with a smile, the sarcasm flitting overhead like a bird miles out of sight. “It’s not as though we really have a time limit. Besides…” Her eyes brightened as she watched Ahita wiggle and pounce. “Isn’t he adorable when he plays?”

“Mm, yes,” Lira agreed. “Children have to be charming in some way so as to trick adults into bearing their presence long enough to rear them.”

Vazaera blinked, staring at her uncomprehendingly. “What?”

Lira ignored her and approached Ahita. “Come, little one,” she said, nosing him. “Enough play. Time for training.” Stooping to catch the nape of his neck in her snout, she lifted him like a cub and trotted away from his ‘hunting’ grounds to an open patch of earth without anything nearby likely to catch fire should he get overenthusiastic. He squirmed, mewling at first and pawing at the air, but eventually lay still, relaxing limply in her maw until she set him down and released her grip. When she did, he purred, looking up to her immediately.

«More play?» he asked in the broken draconic expected of one his age. It seemed to have come easier to him than the language of Magescians, which was no surprise, though his grasp of it was still imperfect. «Lira…» He nuzzled against her. «Play. Critterbugs.»

«Not yet, child. First, we’re going to play a different game,» Lira instructed. «Together, we’re going to learn a magic trick, and you’re going to summon fire. Do you understand?»

Ahita’s lilac eyes lit with curiosity, his tail swishing and brilliant red scales gleaming as his full body wriggled. «Magic fire. And then critterbugs? Hunt.» He demonstrated a pounce, tackling the empty earth.

Liranelle hummed and watched him with a restrained smile. «Perhaps, yes. Then critterbugs. If you’re very well behaved.»

Trilling happily, Ahita turned excited circles around himself, doing several loops as though chasing his tail before sitting appropriately and doing his best to look obedient. On the sidelines, though, Vazaera whined, and he glanced around, puzzled.

“Why are you always making noises like that with him? When you do, I can’t understand you…” She pouted, and Liranelle curbed the urge to snort.

“Because when I speak this language, he doesn’t understand. And he’s the one needing a lesson right now.”

Vaz’s brow furrowed, her arms folding. “Why did he learn your language first? That’s not fair…”

Liranelle flicked her tongue, a spike of genuine anger rippling through her. ‘He learned ‘my’ language first because it is HIS language, you insolent little nestling. It is the language of his and my people. It comes naturally to his tongue, of course he learned it first.’

But she kept her fuming to herself, tail jerking back and forth sharply in her agitation. She knew Vazaera didn’t ‘mean’ anything by the things she said, but it didn’t stop them from being ignorant and thoughtless. Liranelle had not asked to be made bonded — no egg ever got that choice — and she, like so many others, had been sold into it, purchased for Madrynn from a young age. Now, while she did not dislike him as a man, she still to this day wondered constantly what it would have been like to be her own self, free of the bind and powerful as a feral. And his daughter often edged those musings on. Because of her bond to Madrynn, she was looped into protecting the girl, watching over her, and seeing to her needs, but it seemed the older the child got, the harder Lira found it to get on with her peaceably.

«Mama…? Magic?»

At the gentle nuzzling from beneath her, Lira pulled out of her frustrations and frowned, glancing down as her tension seeped out. «I have told you I’m not your mother, little one. It’s alright. Give me a moment and we will practice your magic.» She gave the crown of his head a soft, encouraging lick before turning her attention back to Vazaera. “He will learn your tongue soon enough, Vaz, I am sure of it. He is only an infant yet and barely speaks draconic. You must be patient with him.”

Vazaera sighed and flopped onto her back on the earth with a mumble of, “I do ever so hate waiting…” But other than that, she seemed to be placated for the moment, so Liranelle turned her attention to her newest charge.

Together, they worked on drawing out his magic. First, she demonstrated herself, using raw magic, empty of her element, to simply tease him with the feel of it — the push, pull of naked energy — and he seemed to grasp the concept to some extent. After an hour or so of dancing around the subject, Ahita was managing to create small, random, uncontrolled baubles of fire as he hopped around, as well as occasionally sneezing it out his nostrils. By the end of it, he was playing with the concept purely to chase his own magic and attempt to pounce on it.

When his attention was entirely distracted by that, Liranelle considered further study to be hopeless, at least for the present moment, and dubbed the exercise a relative success. Vazaera, if nothing else, seemed to find it highly amusing, and took quickly to tunneling his fire sparks with her wind, teasing his play along all the more. The rest, Lira supposed, could wait for a later day.

At least they were well enough away from anything they could accidentally burn to cinders. She kept her own peisio magic readied, however, as they played. Just in case.

“Again. Three this time.”

Vazaera winced just briefly enough for Ahita to spot it, but quickly covered the look with a smile. She was getting better at that. He frowned as he watched, shifting his tucked wings restlessly, but staying still as he was told, snout on his paws and tail coiled around himself in resting position. An observer only, that’s she’d made him promise he’d be before she convinced her ‘dancing’ teacher to allow him in.

She had switched to a new one recently, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday as a gift, and an opening for her to begin learning more advanced performances. Or, so the idea had been. The instructor, Arlin Caligari, made Ahita’s scales itch. He did not like the way the man looked at his growing miss, didn’t like the way he made her upset sometimes, and hated the expressions he made when lessons called for his guiding hands on her body. Of course, Arlin knew of Ahita’s distaste and had expressed matching or greater distaste of his own from day one for what he called ‘that wild red pet of yours’ to Vazaera’s face and his.

It pleased Ahita, though, to watch his miss dance. Not to mention, little as he liked the man, he less liked the idea of leaving her alone with him. So, he held his tongue and his position, and watched with keen eyes as Vaz flipped through the air. Hops and pivots. Somersaults and mid-air twists. Her ayrala magic made her an amazingly capable acrobat, even at such a young age. But there was more to the kinds of performances they put on than an extra push of magic. To look truly fluid and pull off the stunts she did and would learn in the future, hours, days, months, years of practice went into it, and Ahita appreciated the growth each step of the way.

“Good. Again—no, wait.” Arlin turned, notching his head towards where Ahita lay. “Tell your pet that the spectator portion of the lesson is over.”

Vazaera’s brow pinched. “But—”

“Now.”

When Vazaera opened her mouth a second time, Arlin arched his eyebrows.

“Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

Ahita pushed up off his haunches to a full stand, tail flicking behind him. “You told my miss I could watch, so long as I kept quiet.”

“And is that what you’re doing now?” Arlin asked, tilting his head.

“You promised—” Vazaera interrupted, just loud enough to cover the soft growl in Ahita’s throat.

“I promised nothing. I said the animal could watch. It did watch. Now I’m saying that the time for that is over. Send the creature out, now, or your lesson is over for today, and perhaps the next, and even the day after. I am being paid to teach one young girl to perform, not to put on a show for wild beasts. Do I make myself clear?”

Ahita stretched his wings — not to a full spread or a full beat of them, but enough to make himself impossible to ignore when he flicked them and stepped forward. “If you think—”

“Ahita, stop.”

At Vazaera’s voice, Ahita did as instructed, attention darting over to her. He tucked his wings back towards himself, folding them away even as the tip of his tail flicked, his expression pinched and uncertain. “But Vaz—”

“It’s alright,” she said, cutting him off and shaking her head as she moved towards the tent’s exit. Her cheeks were hot. Anger or embarrassment? Ahita couldn’t tell. “Come, just do as he says. I’ll see you shortly when we’re through. It won’t be long, I’m sure.”

Ahita hesitated, scales rippling with irritation as he glanced back to her instructor.

“Ahita.” Vazaera’s tone tensed with her shoulders, a small ripple of wind disturbing the edges of the tent. “Come. Now.” A moment of hesitation, and then, quieter, like a whisper on the breeze: “Please…”

Ahita’s posture sank, but he followed over to his miss, nosing at her hip on the way past.

“Ahi…”

He paused.

She reached out, stroking her fingers gently over his snout and giving a small smile. “I’ll be out in a moment. I have something I want to show you when I do, alright? A present. I do think you’ll like it. Until then, perhaps you can go find Liranelle for a flying lesson. You are getting close, aren’t you?”

After a curious, puzzled moment, Ahita nodded. “Yes, miss.” He nosed forward with his snout, nuzzling her palm in a quick show of affection before departing as asked. As the cloth of the tent shut behind him, he made a point to not hear the next words out of Arlin’s mouth. Instead, he focussed on finding Liranelle.

He was looking forward to another flying lesson.

Ahita spent more time than he intended to pondering Liranelle’s words to him. He had known — or at least inferred over the years, as he’d grown and matured enough to begin understanding finer nuances in interactions between her and the rest of those he considered family — that Liranelle had some strong opinions about what it meant to be bonded and what, conversely, it meant to be ‘feral’ as he was. She got on well enough with her own bonded, fiercely loyal to Madrynn and his girl, and the troupe as a whole. But, all the same, Ahita got the sense that she still held private aspirations — regrets, for things that would be forever out of her reach.

What precisely, Ahita couldn’t begin to guess. As he had honestly put to her, he often wished he were bonded to Vazaera. More so, even, than he had let on to Lira, given that it was such a touchy subject for her, and he was loathe to upset her.

So far as he could tell, had he bonded to Vaz as an egg, he would have escaped many of the difficulties he faced now. No one would second-guess or challenge his relationship with her, his loyalty to her, his trust in her, or — to an extent — even his dependency on her. No one would be afraid of him, accuse him of growing too large or eating too much, being dangerous or uncontrollable. No one would walk on eggshells in regards to the topic of him, and Vazaera wouldn’t have to continually defend him: “He’s not dangerous, I promise!” “He’s very well behaved. He wouldn’t hurt anybody…” “He’s my friend. Of course I want him around.”

Even her own father and Liranelle’s bonded sir, Madrynn, still treated him with a fair amount of wariness, and it seemed that no matter how Ahita struggled to prove himself — prove he was worthy of protecting the man’s daughter — he was always a step behind, always finding a way to mess something up. He sighed as he plodded towards Vazaera’s tent. Perhaps when he began training with his internal magic properly, that would appease the man. Ysierri was certainly eager for him to get a proper hold on it. They wouldn’t put him up against anything or expect him to fight until he had grown into his body, of course, but the anticipation of it terrified him just the same.

He didn’t want to hurt anything. To protect Vaz, he supposed he would, but practicing his magic with the primary purpose of using it to turn him into the very thing he didn’t want to be — ‘dangerous’ — made his stomach curdle. He shook his head and stretched his wings, attempting to usher the thoughts away. Perhaps a year yet, he promised himself. A year to grow, learn, and attempt to get a better hold on his magic in peace without fear of having to turn it into a weapon. As he approached Vazaera’s tent, he gave a warning trill before nosing his way inside.

Behind the shield of thick, bright red show curtains, Ahita could hear the rumble of the waiting crowd. Gossip. Cheers for the current in-progress but nearly-over performance. And a whole sea of general chatter passed from ear to ear. He shut his eyes, breathing out and shifting his weight, trying not to flit his wings in a show of nervousness. A gentle rub of fingers along the back of his neck startled him and he glanced around to focus on the source: his miss. Vazaera grinned up at him.

“You’ll be fine, Ahi, mm?”

He blinked, and then felt his scales heat lightly as he nodded, rippling them in agreement. He would be fine. Or, if he wasn’t, all would know soon enough. Vazaera darted away, over to her opening position, and Ahita readied himself as the preceding show closed and the next — his and hers — was announced.

“And now, ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, and everyone and everything in between, we bring you — from distant dark lands unknown, a beast among beasts, a wild thing among wildlings who has walked the soils of all the continents there and back again: a live, unshackled and unsubdued feral khehora!”

Ahita stamped down the uneasiness in his gut at the introduction, insisting to himself that it didn’t matter. The uneasy murmuring of the crowd didn’t matter. It was all a show — that was what mattered — and it was a show to put on for entertainment, for the people, with Vazaera.

“…and who to have tamed such a ferocious creature? A warrior of ages, you might say? Perhaps a trainer of equally ferocious spirit? But nay! I present to you the fierce feral firani — Ahita! And the tiny, agile mistress who tamed his untamable soul: Vazaera M’dridi!”

At his cue, Ahita moved forward, stepping into the glowing lights of the stage and feeling his adrenaline flare at the boom of the crowd. He felt huge. Too huge. But equally thrilled. This — here — before a crowd, basking in their reactions and their energy: that was where he belonged. Thus, despite all his nerves, as soon as the show was properly underway, Ahi soon forgot everything but the performance. He was the stage and his fire and a performer with his mistress, moving to the beat of the show, tracking many-times-rehearsed actions and balancing off of her as naturally as breathing.

For all of the crowd’s initial uneasiness, they warmed to the two of them quickly, eventually highly engaged in the dynamics of their show — Vazaera’s lightfooted, air-dancing acrobatics and Ahita’s fireweaving dramatics — and by the end of it, they were awash in cheers, Ahita demonstrating his ‘tameness’ to his miss by bowing low, snout to the stage floor as she stood over him and both of them soaking in the approving roar before them.

So their performance went, night after night, town to town. It became so routine, Ahita’s fear of walking out dwindled to an afterthought and he grew to anticipate performing with eagerness.

Unfortunately, as fate would always seem to have it, no good thing could last forever.