A/N: the last chapter is a glossary of owlish words, lore, and characters, just in case you need it! Hope you enjoy the story, and feel free to leave a review!

Why are there kingdoms with no kings? Some ignorant owls, such as those hailing from the barbaric Northern Waste, naive settlers of the Great Desert, or even the uncouth nomads of the Beaks might ask this question.

In all fairness, it is difficult to answer, but my research had led me to the conclusion that there were, indeed, kings ruling the various Southern Kingdoms up to a thousand years ago, at which time Hoole supposedly united the kingdoms under the Ga'Hoolian banner. This was the Golden Age, which lasted for a shining, though brief, moment.

I have found that the best evidence supporting this lies in the relics of the system still in place. While most kingdoms have dissolved into democratic or oligarchic nations, or loosely governed clans, to this day in Tyto Forest, noble families still dwell in their palatial, ancestral trees and pass down their holdings and honorary titles (their species names) to their firstborn son. The system survived the coming of Hoole, as well as the Grey Ages, thanks to the deep-rooted tradition of our most noble species.

In order to ensure this system for millennia to come, noble owl, I shall provide you with this brief summary of my manual: Train your sons in battle and verse, and in tactics, both diplomatic and martial. If you are presented with a female owlet, know that she will provide an excellent opportunity for diplomacy in marriage into another noble owl dynasty. Perhaps the most important of all is this: always produce at least two sons, an heir and a spare.

-From the Preface of Proper Etiquette and Training of Noble Tytos and Family Registry by Braeden Albainius Tytan, Year 7 of the Age of Enlightenment

It was a quiet morning in the forest kingdom of Tyto. The autumn sunlight fell softly to the pine needle-carpeted floor, gilding the edges of needles and leaves a resplendent gold. High above the ground, in the branches of a massive fir tree peppered with hollows, perched two Barn Owlets. They were both fledged, the younger more recently, as more fluffy down curled out from underneath his honey-colored feathers. The older, larger owlet was much darker, his white face bordered by feathers the color of overturned soil.

"C'mon, it's easy! Just spread your wings, give a flap, and kick out!" the older said, demonstrating. His talons were a deadly blur, leaving six deep gouges on the branch he lashed out at. He smiled at little at his excellent work, but then frowned as he watched his brother's half-hearted attempt.

"Soren, you've got to mean it! This is one of the most basic attacks, and if you can't master this, then just throw your dreams of impressing the High Council to the wind! Now, again, like you mean it! "

Soren squinted hard at the branch, tongue sticking out the side of his beak, the picture of ridiculous concentration. Just as Kludd's patience was at its end, the younger's wings flared out and he screeched, "Hee-YAH!" with a flying kick.

Then promptly ended up on his tailfeathers, the branch before him unscathed.

Kludd passed a wing over his eyes in weary frustration.

When he opened his eyes again, Kludd found his brother turned to him, eyebrows knitted, his huge dark eyes gleaming. Oh Glaux, here it comes, thought the older in exasperation, knowing full well what that look meant.

"I don't see the point, Kludd," Soren whined, his words coming fast. "There's no way I'll ever be a warrior. And even if I were as good as you, as strong as you, Da still wouldn't care." He cuffed the branch with a talon and stared down. Kludd let out a long, whistling sigh, and fought to keep from rolling his eyes. He'd heard it all before, every single day since Soren had sensed his father's disapproval, and no amount of kind, brotherly advice seemed to make it stop. So Kludd had stopped being nice within the first week of their secret daytime training.

"Of course Da would care, wet-poop brain!" Kludd snapped, and Soren jerked back at his sharp tone. "Instead of just one Albayn knight, there'd be two... Even if one is only a spare," Kludd muttered the last line and almost regretted his cruel words when Soren's beak quivered. Almost, though, since he certainly didn't believe babying Soren would make his Da's neglect any less hurtful. "He's just that way, and if you would try harder…"

"You don't think that he favors you?" said Soren, his head snapping up to glare at Kludd. "Look at who gets the biggest share of his prey! Look at who he taught to fly first, to branch first, to fight first!" Soren was working himself into a rage, his feathers puffing up as the words spilled out of his beak. "He'd promise you the kingdom if it were still ruled by our family! I mean, Glaux! You're definitely set to inherit the Albayn Palace!"

The younger owlet glared back at the trunk of the tree, the great familial home of the noble Alba family, and Kludd's gizzard lurched at the sight of Soren's eyes filling with tears. Then Soren's head swiveled back to the practice branch, and in a blur he lashed out, matching Kludd's earlier talon-marks and snapping the branch in two.

They remained silent and dust motes and birdsong swirled through the slightly chilly air.

As the thuff of the branch hitting the gorund far below reached his earslits, Kludd spoke. "Seriously, that's what this is about? You know as well as I do that's it's an empty title," Kludd said, his tone soft, yet disbelieving. Then he scoffed, "The heir of a frinkin' big tree in a king-less kingdom. At least you aren't tied to some moldy thousand-year-old tree forever. After you learn to fly, you'll be gone." Kludd swallowed hard, and then realized what he sounded like: a mewling, whiny owlet, just like his brother! He frowned and quashed the trembling thoughts out.

"That's just it!" Soren burst out, his claws gripping the branch so hard his knuckles lost their color. "It's not about the tree! I don't give a pellet about titles or inheritances or even being called the 'spare', I just want…" He trailed off, and looked up into the canopy above. "I just want Da to see me. I'm not a powerful warrior but I can out-read and out-write even Mum now, and I… I can feel things in my gizzard, Kludd. And I have dreams," Soren sighed, his tension and rage deserting him, and he slumped. "I just want him to see that."

Kludd clacked his beak, words failing him. What does he want me to do about it? he thought, Give him a frinkin' hug and say 'there, there'?

"Get some gallgrot, Soren," he finally growled his father's favorite phrase, cuffing Soren's back with a wing. Then his tone grew lighter."And buck up. Just think: tonight'll be my big hunt, and maybe afterwards you can have your First Flight."

"Whatever you say," Soren murmured, and then yawned. "Or maybe I'll just fly with you on the hunt…"

Kludd churred and Soren's eyes lit up and he laughed too. "I think you've learned enough for today." His eyes strayed to the stub of their training branch, and he allowed a smile. Perhaps these lessons weren't just a waste of time."Whatever happens, we'll need some rest for tonight," Kludd said, and the brothers hopped down a branch and, parting the moss curtain, they entered cool shade of the sleeping hollow.

They crept by their mother- perched on the floor next to a nest containing a single gleaming egg- and past their father sleeping on his ledge, to their own niches just above the floor level. Kludd hopped in.

"Goodlight, Kludd," Soren yawned from his niche.

"Goodlight," Kludd called back softly.

Kludd grabbed his charcoal. With a knuckle, he smeared out an owlet-drawing of a set of battleclaws, and started a rough sketch of the day's training. He drew Soren snapping the branch in half, and just started in on the details when his eyes started to grow heavy. Satisfied with the start, he snuggled down into the luxurious rabbit ear moss and down feather nest, and in an instant, he drifted off in that sleepy daytime air.

No one noticed when five owls circled their tree and then perched in a neighboring fir. Not one of the Albas, even with their excellent hearing, caught the whispered words of the leader:

"When they're out hunting, we move in."