Unified Year 1923, La Feuillee
Clara Arseneau listened as the radio crackled to life. "When the fight comes, we will fight, today, tomorrow, and the day after that. We will fight in the hills and the forests. We will fight in the land and the sky. We will fight on their soil and ours. But know this, we will fight forever and ever, until we achieve our promised destiny that is a holy victory over the Empire!" shouted the tinny voice.
It was familiar to her and the rest of her family, along with the entire village of around one thousand located on the northwestern tip of the Republic. Gaspard Vallier was renowned throughout the country as one of the foremost public speakers for the pro-war movement that had gained steam ever since the conflict in the North started.
She sighed, picking up a piece of fresh-baked bread slathered with strawberry jam off of her plate, feeling the warmth in her fingertips. Sitting at the kitchen table, the morning sun streaming in through a window in front of her, she munched away at her breakfast. The food was well-prepared but plain and boring, a meal she had eaten countless times, with no creativity or change. With nothing to do, she counted the dust motes swirling in the air.
"Always the same, mother, do we have to listen to this man go on first thing in the morning?" she said, turning towards the kitchen behind her where a blond-haired woman in a plain white dress spun about, humming as wiped down the area with a red cloth.
She was tall, a shade under six feet tall, a trait she had passed onto her daughter, who was around her height. Along with this, sharing the same dusty blond hair and neat features, they looked similar enough to pass as sisters at first glance, if not for the slight wrinkles visible on the older woman's face. Those had appeared after her father's death.
"Oh, don't be like that dear," she said, stopping her cleaning to look at her daughter. "It's important to keep up with the news, especially considering how the Empire has already declared war on the Entente." Even as she chided her, she kept up a sunny disposition.
"There's a difference between news and propaganda," said the teenager. "It's nothing but talk about how we 'must take up arms in the name of the Lord,' or our 'beautiful Republic.' Real reporting isn't like this!"
Ever since the Empire had first turned its fangs on the Entente Alliance, the radio was sure to be playing nothing but patriotic speeches. Clara had enough of her mother talking about God's plan for her already, nevermind having the radio blare the words of a religious demagogue every morning. Somewhat of a precocious girl, she had a natural tendency to dislike authority, preferring to do things her way, whatever it meant to the youth. This led to her current annoyance, having associated religion with the lectures of the strict teachers at the public school she attended in her small village, and the excuse her mother used whenever she couldn't explain anything. She still believed in God, just not the one who cared if she didn't do her homework.
Her mother frowned, "Is our country not beautiful? Should we not take up arms? Honey, he's only speaking the truth. What else should we do about the Empire, sit around and wait for them to take the entire continent?"
"Well, but… it's just so annoying!" she replied, face somewhat flushed. It wasn't like she was a fan of the Empire. "Don't you think it's a little too much, saying that it's some sort of holy war? I mean, what does he know, talking like God has personally visited him…" She trailed off as she saw the look her mother was giving her. It was a face that she had seen many times, when she would return home after it grew dark out as a child, covered in mud and scratched all over, or when her mother learned of her getting scolded for being disruptive in class. There was no arguing against it.
Shrinking back, she returned to her breakfast, chewing in small, reserved bites. Her mother returned to her cleaning as well, humming a joyful tune again as she struggled against the dust and dirt. All traces of their argument were gone, her mother having buried any rebellious thoughts Clara might have had with her usual forcefulness.
Finishing her bread, she stood up. She breathed out in a huff, trying to convey her slight annoyance to her mother. Why is she so stubborn?
"I'm going to go to school now," she said, forcing her face to not show any hint of frustration.
"Have a nice day." There was no sign of her earlier wrath in her reply. "Be kind to your teachers too, I'm sure they'll appreciate it," she said, waving goodbye.
Sighing, Clara gathered her things for school, putting them all in a weathered brown backpack, then stepping outside of her house. It was a nice morning outside, with only the barest hint of a fall breeze amidst the warm weather. That was enough to put a smile back on her face. She skipped in her plain beige dress which unfortunately matched with her backpack, looking forward to meeting her friends.
As a fifteen-year-old, it would be her last year of schooling in the village. Since she was smart, she would be pressured to move out of their tiny village and into the city, where she could either find a good husband or try to get a job, although the former was strongly encouraged much to her distaste. So, she tried to enjoy the last classes she would have, and the people that would disappear from her life much too soon.
It was only a few miles down a dust-covered dirt path, and soon enough, she found herself standing in front of the building. Made of rough stone bricks, strewn with ivy that climbed up the twin steeples on either end of the structure, it looked more like a church than anything else. For the size of their village, it was a large structure, one that they were proud of as a community. Her mother always commented about the great 'spirit' of the people who had built the school, although she couldn't see what was such a big deal about it.
She entered, through a set of dark double doors a head taller than her, located next to the side of the road. The entrance was connected to the main "road" by an even smaller dirt pathway. Heading down the high-ceilinged hallway, she walked towards the door where she entered class every day. Opening it, she looked inside.
"Huh?" she blurted, her expression changing as she took in the unusual sight.
Rather than the usual rambunctious bunch of teens, there were only strait-laced students to be seen, faces who either laughed or sulked being serious for once. They were lined up at the back of the room, the chairs having been moved from the desks to allow them to sit up against the wall.
The obvious cause for the strangeness sat in the center of the room. A man built like a wall, dressed in a gray coat that covered his voluminous frame stood next to an ordinary wooden chair. On his head were round, gold-rimmed glasses and an expensive-looking hat, covering what appeared to be a receding hairline. His feet were clad with black leather shoes that gleamed of oil.
However, the most curious thing about the out-of-place man was not his luxurious clothing, but the object in his hands, a device that looked like a bowl-shaped steel helmet attached by a multitude of wires to another strange machine, which looked like a large radio, sitting on a wooden rolling stand.
"Oh, Clara dear, please take a seat in the back," said Mrs. Colette, the teacher that the class all loved, with mousy brown hair and a meek attitude. "Don't worry, Mr. Dufort will explain everything, just sit tight and wait." She smiled, gesturing toward her peers.
Nodding, she quickly took a seat, mind whirling to think of what could be happening. Who is he? Some sort of government official? That must be the case, considering how expensive the stuff next to him looks. The man, Dufort, was now shuffling around, with an irritated look in his eye.
Someone poked her side. "Psst… What do you think's going on?" whispered Vivienne, another brown-haired girl that oozed friendliness, with small freckles on her cheeks and dimples that popped up when she smiled, her best friend since elementary school. She lived on a farm next to theirs, and her parents often sent them gifts of aged cheese and wine which Clara would eat with relish, her mother chiding her for lacking patience.
"Dunno," she replied, examining the contraptions in the center of the room.
"Come on, you have to have at least some idea," Vivienne pouted. "Don't you get the best grades out of all of us for a reason?"
"I'm not a psychic, do you think that being able to do math faster than an idiot like you would help me figure out whatever that thing is?"
"Well, sorry for asking," she said, the corners of her mouth curled up like a cat's. There was no real hostility, Vivienne's bubbly nature ensuring a peaceful friendship. Talking further with her, Clara focused her attention on her surroundings while keeping up the conversation.
Around them, people were whispering, the hissing sound like papers rustling as they tried to not incur the wrath of the official-looking Mr. Dufort, whoever he was, who paid them no attention. The loudest was a group of boys who were cracking jokes, toeing the line of retribution as much as they could. Next to them, squished into the corner of the room, a girl, Anna Vaux, had taken out a book from their schoolbag. She flipped through the pages while trying to ignore the snickering teenagers that sat next to her.
Mrs. Colette walked over to Mr. Dufort and whispered something in his ear. After a moment, he nodded at the nervous woman, gesturing with his hands to dismiss her. She scurried back to her place in the far corner of the room.
Clara thought for a second, rubbing her chin as she tried to guess what the whispered words had been about. She closed her eyes, ignoring the suppressed chatter around her and Vivienne's gaze.
"Ah, that's it," she said, turning towards her friend. "They're waiting for the last person. We're still missing someone."
Vivienne smiled, "Now, finally, you start using that brain of yours. Although c'mon, even I probably would have figured that out."
"But you didn't," she replied, smirking.
Just as she finished talking, their last classmate, Marin Nicole, a blond-haired boy with freckles that dotted his face like poppy seeds entered the room. He gazed at Mr. Dufort, then rushed over to a free seat in the corner at Mrs. Colette's explanation, his eyes darting around every which way as he walked.
After he managed to tear his eyes off of the man dressed like a wealthy gangster and the mysterious machines next to him, his gaze went to the girl that was reading, shooting furtive glances at her.
Clara snickered, it was a fact known to most of the girls in the class and some of the more observant boys that the freckled teenager wasn't good at hiding his interest in the slightest. The small girl, whose gaze was better suited toward being a drill sergeant in the army than reading the books that were always attached to her person had no knowledge of his infatuation either, making their daily interactions hilarious to watch.
Suddenly, the grey-coated man clapped his hands, the room growing quiet enough to hear a pin falling on the rough wooden floor. "Attention, students of the Republic, as you know, my name is Mr. Dufort. I was sent here by the government, in case any of you were wondering who I was," he said, tone and movements graceful as if he had practiced his introduction. "Since I dislike people who waste my time, I won't waste yours." He pointed to the gleaming metal helmet. "This is an electric magic power converter, EMPC for short."
The small girl, who hadn't stopped reading even when he had introduced himself, stopped flipping through the pages, her eyes like porcelain plates as she looked up towards the man. Clara and the freckled boy had similar expressions of shock, although their mouths gaped open as well, a sign of their weaker powers of restraint.
"Magic power converter?" said one of the girls. "Is this some sort of demonstration?"
"Dunno," someone replied. "But at least it's going to be more fun than class, whatever it is."
"But why would the government haul out some fancy machine to the middle of nowhere?"
Yeah, that must be it. What else could it be? A man from the government, a fancy machine, magic power, getting all of the oldest students. Clara bit her thumbnails, frowning as she thought. But some things don't make sense, unless...
Vivienne caught her friend's strange look. "Hey, what's wrong?" She tapped her shoulder, more curious than concerned.
"...The war's closer than I thought…" she mumbled. Then, snapping out of her thoughts, she said, "Vivienne, they're testing our magic potential. That's what that device does, and why the government sent a man to our village. Some of the boys might even get drafted here and now."
"What?" She looked surprised.
Before she could say anything more, Dufort, who had been fiddling with the myriad switches on the radio-like device spoke up, "Now, in conjunction with each other, what these two machines do is measure the content of mana within a person. Thus, we can identify whether or not someone is a mage as well as how suitable for combat they are, through this piece of Francois technology."
He looked at the row of students, taking time to look each of them in the eye. "Simply put, the Republic is looking for young, talented individuals full of fighting spirit such as yourselves, and searching for the aerial mages among you who can contribute great things to our army. As I'm sure you all know, our current geopolitical situation requires military strength to defend our Republic."
Shock pervaded the students, flashing through them as they sat upright at his words. Then, excitement bubbled up on their faces, as the dream-like idea of being confirmed as an aerial mage came up in their thoughts, tantalizing and real. One of them could be chosen, identified as someone with superhuman abilities that could fight for their country. In the boring life of the village, there was the urge to do something meaningful in their hearts.
Except for some people. The girl who had been reading said, "Why are the girls here then? I thought the Republic didn't accept female soldiers. And aren't we too young for combat?" Fighting was considered a man's job in the minds of the romantic Francois people, even in the field of magic where gender made little difference.
"Due to certain factors, the Republic has changed those policies for the aerial mage corps," Dufort replied without hesitation. "Both males and females will be allowed to join, from the age of fifteen onward. You all are lucky, if any of you were a year younger, you wouldn't be able to be considered for this honor."
Clara, Marin, and Anna all frowned at his statement. Are they that scared of the Empire's mages before the war has even started? Or do they just want a quick victory that badly? Drafting from the young was a short-term maneuver, and teenage troops would do little to help the war effort.
"Woah, this is kind of insane..." said one of the boys who had been laughing earlier. He shook off his surprise. "Watch this, I'm definitely gonna be an aerial mage, unlike you scrubs."
"In your dreams, someone like you?" replied another member of the group. "It's gonna be me, hands down."
In the opposite corner of the room from where the students were sitting, Mrs. Colette looked somewhat faint, her smile too forced to be natural. Her eyes seemed to be disappointed like she was grimacing on the inside.
"No way," interrupted one of the girls. "None of the guys here could possibly be good at anything."
"Hey, what did we do to deserve that?"
As her classmates talked around her, voices fast and shrill, Clara sat with her head in her hands. Her stomach felt uneasy, the jam and bread of the morning much too heavy. Why are they so excited? It's a draft for war, so why are they acting like it's some sort of cruise around the world? Can they not feel fear, or are they just stupid?
She could hear Vivienne saying something to her, but she ignored it, as memories started popping up one after another. A present, a beautiful white dress that shone in the candlelight brighter than all of the stars in the winter night above, a hushed conversation heard through a tiny crack in the door, light streaking in on her face, and the letter, the letter that was plain and undecorated, one which she wasn't allowed to touch or else something bad would happen.
More and more thoughts that burst through a thin iron wall, the looks she got, pitying and apologetic, the first winter after the letter, full of gifts and lights, but also empty, hollow like the air pockets in the bread her mom made.
After a deep breath, she took her hands off of her head. Giving an excuse to Vivienne, she said, "Sorry, my stomach felt weird for a second there."
Catching back up to what was happening, she looked at Dufort, who was now guiding Marin to the chair. He put the metal helmet on his blond hair, then fiddled once again with the switches on the other device. After a few seconds of the man mumbling to himself, there was a whirring sound as the machine buzzed to life, lights flashing. The boy looked nervous, a few drops of sweat glistening on his brow as he glanced towards the book-wielding girl a few more times. A few seconds passed, a kaleidoscope of light and cacophony of buzzing.
Then, everyone gasped, except Mr. Dufort who looked pleased with himself.
"Woah…"
Against the wall where they were lined up, two of the desks were floating, only by an inch or so off of the ground, but it was floating. They wobbled in the air, tipping from side to side as if balanced on an invisible fingertip in the air, but never falling.
The man looked at a readout. "Excellent! This class must be lucky, getting a B-class mage in the first go, eh?" He straightened his grey overcoat, then walked over to the wonder-struck Marin, removing the helmet. "Now, you on the right, come here."
One after another, the children were placed into the chair, some nervous, some excited, and some trying their best to look apathetic. However, when none of the first few students had even the slightest molecule of magical output, the wonder in the atmosphere fizzled out, each negative result dousing their dreams of glory in combat.
When it came to Vivienne's turn, she shot a glance back at Clara before going forward. Helmet on, switches flicked, and the procedure was over. She looked somewhat disappointed at her result, a C-class mage unfit for combat, but she brightened up when she walked back over to her friend.
"I was so close," she said. "Really, I looked at the meter that guy was staring at, and it was practically at the next little tick-mark-thingy! Just this close!" She put her thumb and index finger together as she talked.
"Uh-huh, like that matters," she said, having shaken off her unease. "It's better off that you didn't have enough magic potential. What's the big deal about fighting anyway?"
"Come on, aren't you supposed to say something like, 'Yeah, you're right! Demand a redo! It was probably a bug in the machine anyway!'" she exaggerated.
"Whatever," she said, standing up as Dufort gestured her forward. "See you in a bit."
Walking over, she took a seat, shrinking back at the touch of the cold steel on her head. The buzzing like a hive of bees started, as Dufort did the same routine as he had done with all of the other students, only one of whom had gotten any meaningful result. Closing her eyes, she couldn't see the harsh flashing lights that she had looked away from when everyone else had done the test.
Slow seconds passed. Silence. Shouldn't it be over by now?
A bad premonition came over her. After another moment of silence, she thought she had to do something, anything to know what happened. So she opened her eyes, looking with light brown pupils at her surroundings.
She sucked in a breath.
"Very nice," said Mr. Dufort. "A-class mages are quite rare, you should consider yourself lucky."
All around her, desks, chairs, the wires on her helmet, and even some of the students, wide-eyed and awestruck were floating. They all felt connected to her like the objects were marionettes to which she was holding the strings. Her classmates poked and prodded each other midair, then turned toward her.
"Wow, Clara, way to show off," Vivienne teased, the first one to speak. "You're making the rest of us look bad."
The others started to congratulate her after she broke the silence, some genuinely happy and others trying to hide jealousy. She didn't hear much of it though. Emotions swirled around in her, as she tried to sort out her thoughts to no avail. Me? I'm an A-class mage?
Having decided that he had given her enough time, Mr. Dufort removed the metal helmet from her head and shooed her away. When she got back to the row of seats, some people clapped her back, to which she gave a weak and confused smile. Her brain was overloading on the bundle of emotions; happiness at being praised and congratulated by her friends, unease at the idea of having to join the military, and pride at being special. This can't be real.
She sat and waited for the testing to end, the events in front of her flowing into one another like a whirling river, as she was unsure of how much time had passed. At the end of the stream, she saw that somebody else had been identified as a mage, the bookish girl, Anna, who was the last person to be tested. There was less fanfare when her results came out.
Two A-class, one B-class. Dufort looked pleased with himself as he reviewed the results of the day, wringing his hands together with a grubby smile on his face. Then, he called out the three of them who had been identified with magic, ushering them out of the classroom as the others looked on.
Vivienne gave her a grin as she walked out, holding two thumbs up. Clara waved back.
When the group had walked far enough away to not hear the classroom that had burst like a dam full of noise, Dufort looked at them. He had on a sincere smile, the first one he had shown. Its contrast between his normal expressions showed just how much he had practiced it.
Towering over them, he seemed to envelop everyone in his presence. "Well now, I trust that everyone here is willing to fight for our Republic?" he said.
There was no immediate response from the group. She was too nervous to speak, cowed by his demeanor. No argument was to be had with his eyes, a deep vortex that betrayed only what he wanted to be shown. Overwhelming pressure, the harsh undertone instilled a sense of obedience for the first time in the rambunctious girl. Don't ask if you already know the answer!
But she still didn't speak. Next to her, Marin looked like he wanted to flee from the situation, but had just realized he couldn't, his gaze looking at anywhere except the grey-coated man. His feet bobbed on the floor, his weight shifting from one foot to another.
As for Anna, she didn't move. Stone-faced, she stood tall without a word.
"Then, I'll make all the proper arrangements." He sent them off, pushing them outside of the brickwork building whose two steeples shone in the blazing midday sun.
They went back to their houses, still awestruck. Talking to their families, the anticipation and anxiety started to take root, as they questioned what would happen. Packing up their things, the emotions came in one after another, a hurling barrage of wonder and worries, waves of nausea rolling throughout them.
But when the time came, they all met up at the assigned point. Then, being shipped off like cargo, Dufort said his final words to them, as the three young mages started to move away from their homes.
Is this real?
"Now, glory to the Republic, and may you serve it until your last!"
On the train that only went East.