Chapter One: Flying
It’s funny, how legends are forgotten. The older ones have lost their meaning, retold by fathers through personal interpretation from these passed down stories of their ancestors, who, too had gotten word from their fathers, and so on and so forth, indefinitely into the past.
Confusing, isn’t it? How nothing ever stays the same... How change is constant. How the matters we measure by moments become so pertinaciously imperative that they suffocate everything else we perceive, giving no reprieve or forgiving mercy?
When things are passed down, they become distorted, twisted around to match with the most recent norms of society. The original version was still ‘there’, but it had manifested into something that was new, and monstrously different.
I never got it myself, but then, I’ve never tried telling my story either... It’s weird, upon reflection. Anyways, my name is Blackbird, and I’m a pure shadowed griffin. My father says he’s never seen more ebony fur and feathers on a griffin, as dark as night. I was born without a wing, the left one, for the matter of fact. I can solely thank Celestia for that. I’m no lefty when it comes to anything. See, that part of my body is like a drummer who doesn’t play with the tempo, but instead, he’s slower and clumsier. A pointless rhythmic stagnancy that makes no pertinent movement to the hearts that pound within others; a monochrome reminder to how I became so condemned yet was made different with a purpose.
The thought never crossed my mind, what life would’ve been like if I was born with a pair instead of just the one. Would it have made things easier or better? The simplest answer would’ve been: I don’t care, not now anyways. My heart is divided on the subject anyway - what good would it be to be whole now?
Through my younger days, my parents struggled with money, how bits were hard to come by for griffins in Equestria. Growing up, I had no choice but to live on my last legs every day, all night sometimes. It’s interesting, despite growing up practically impoverished, both my parents and I possessed an optimistic view of the world. I always sort of admired them; in fact, I still do to this day. No matter what horrible challenges they had to overcome; just to raise me, their spirit never faltered. They persevered at even the darkest of times.
I guess they’re the reason that I still dream of becoming a Wonderbolt, to perform in front of thousands despite my hefty physical disability. You see, my father told me stories about the Wonderbolts when I was much younger, about how they were the greatest of elite fliers, how they trained other ponies, and slowly decided who honed that great ability of flight to join the best of the best. Usually, though, due to their rule to allow only the best and the brightest, there was only one that made it through. Every so often, you’d see two or three, but that was only once in a blue moon, or so my father had said. At times I questioned his teachings and wondered if I too could become a Wonderbolt, but when I offered the idea to him, he told me they only took ponies. A disheartening fact if I ever heard one, but that wasn’t going to stop me. Why? Because I’m not a Pegasi, I’m a griffin, and griffins never quit, no matter what.
My mother was flat out different altogether, fierce and proud of her son, despite my shortcomings. She was half the reason my father strove to send me skyward, spurring us both on to achieve the impossible or crash and burn in the process. A harsher outlook than what a pony mother would think, but that's the way of things here. After all, if you never try, how can you ever succeed?
I know what one might be thinking at this point: how can I fly without a wing? I need two, not one! The answer was quite simple considering my father’s a mechanic. His name is Diver. He put his imaginative engineering skills to the test, and eventually made an extra light wing for me. For the most part, things would go smoothly, but during testing there would be the occasional mishap: a faulty screw, a spark from the wiring, or the wing getting jammed, they were just a few recurring annoyances that could be easily fixed. It wasn’t easy to make a false limb move as it should, managing only the barest clumsy machinations compared to the genuine article.
This one time, it was especially bad, and I plummeted to the ground nearly ending my lifelong dream to be a Wonderbolt, or really anything for that matter. Looking back now, it wasn’t the best time to have been practicing flying. It was because of this near death experience that I was to always wear a parachute for safety precautions, lest misfortune rear its deformed head a second cruel time at me.
Of course, I told my father the machine was weighing me down, and that its bulk only made flying more difficult for me, increasing my chances of crashing and burning, but he wouldn’t listen. Night after night, he’d research how to make it just right, but it never did work. Perhaps reality was better served with the laws it knew already.
Finally, being impatient as I was, waiting for him to decide when HE wanted me to fly, I snuck out to the cloud shed just as the sky turned into a dim orange, and got his latest invention. This one looked somewhat different from the others.
Curiosity coursed through my veins while I observed this peculiar design. I ran my talons against its sleek, metal surface through eyes that observed each detail of screw and bolt. It seemed to accurately represent the skeletal structure than the previous models. Coated with artificial feathers, this was to be more of use for an easier lift off, cutting through air resistance than the previous, wind-aided parachute material. Why didn’t we think of that earlier?
It was all black, to match the rest of my fur and feathers. There were also two black leather straps that would wrap around my midsection to hold it steady and in place.
As I slipped it on I noticed that it felt much different than previous versions. I’ve put these things on enough times to get any kind of wing on, mind you, but when I had that new one on, it felt different; almost unreal, in a way. It was slightly heavier as well, but not enough to prevent me this flight test. Nothing was going to stop me from soaring today.
That evening, I stood on the edge of my sanctuary, staring at the silver lining of the plush cloud only a little while away. I remembered the first time I tried to actually fly. It happened so long ago. I was so young, and the way I messed up was horrible. A few seconds in the air turned into a plummet of pain. My father swore to never let me ride without a parachute after that day. I crashed, and got one nasty scar on my left eye. It’s small, but still fairly noticeable. The biggest thing that made him go nuts over my wellbeing, though, was because he blamed himself. The wing was what cut me, and ever since then, he’s been working on it so I could fly like all griffins do, without needing to worry about getting stabbed by something that’s supposed to assist me.
This time, I think he did it. I take a running leap from the edge, send my entire torso forward, and feel the puffs of clouds leave my hind talons. As I begin to feel thrust against my chest, I spread both of my wings at the exact same time, just like in practice. This is where the weighting of the machine comes in. If dad designed the wing just right, it should be able to adjust with the air, and set me floating on my way. However, if it doesn’t, it’ll mean it’s broken, and I’ve sent myself plummeting to a typical death.
It’s a fun thing though, falling. You can sometimes take the time, and stare out at the widely expanding Equestria, and bathe in the sunlight setting in the distant mountains, right where Celestia herself resides. Just enjoy everything in that moment, and forget all thoughts about the cold hard ground inevitably breaking your fall. I’ve had two chances in my entire life. One where I was testing dads new wing, and the other was just recently, where he wanted to try the high altitude sustainers of some other model. Luckily, he was there both times to catch me, and save my life... Uh, where was I...? Oh, yeah!
The wings open, and I'm set free into the air, the feeling of being weightless against the sky overtakes me. I look down, and see the clear shadow of the replacement wing fully extended. It’s good to know the thing is in perfect working condition. I take a sharp thrust upwards, and roar right through buff feeling cloud layers. Slowly, as the droplets of water slid off my fur and feathers, I begin to see the stars. Coming to a steady halt, I hovered above the puffy plane, checking to make sure the wing survived undamaged, and I was pleased to say it wasn’t at all that bad. It had performed perfectly. I felt balance, and the wind almost guided me through my path. They worked much better, and I had a sneaky suspicion it was because I left the parachute behind, but it didn’t matter.
I returned home to relax and attend to the chores I haven’t finished yet, and to store the wing back where I found it. I was then going to tell dad about the test flight. I turned my head down as my flight descended back to the ground. It seemed I didn’t need to tell him after all. He had already known seeing how he was watching me from our house entryway this entire time. He stood there with a smile on his face that could’ve warmed anyone’s heart. I landed roughly, but still looked casual, the same as any other landing.
My father thought differently though. He wanted to observe the wing. While he did, I thought about how he’d finally figured out how to get me into the air where I belong. His head swayed over it, observing nearly every little detail. Once he was certain it was perfectly safe, durable and ready to fly, the first thing I wanted to do with it was race the creator. I looked my father in the eye while blue skies began to shade the clouds in the background. Down below, strings of cirrus clouds were casting through the sky tonight. It looked like waves underneath the ocean.
Confidence bolstered by my earlier test, I gave him a wink. “Dad, you wanna race?”
My dad was more like a playfully stubborn genius that can make miracles, yeah, but at the same time he’ll probably be so busy flying, that those miracles will remain waiting to be made. He’s got deep brown fur and extremely shaded purple feathers. His hazel eyes are another thing one would like to note. He’s got one hell of a look when he’s mad. Why, his eyes are almost darker than mine, but at night, my eyes will look so shaded, nopony could ever tell I’d have them open. He glanced at me from where he was engrossed in reading a technical spreadsheet on his clipboard filled with readouts of my very wing, no doubt. “Hmm… right now son? I think not. See, the wing might have lasted the test, but what if--”
I rolled my glossy black eyes and interrupted. “Look, the wing is fine! Seriously, it’s not gonna break on me. That’s the thing about you. You’re too protective of me.”
My father wasn’t one to lose easily, that and he liked to get a good flight in before dinner, his speed and determination could easily crush an opponent who underestimated him. As we take off towards the sun, I revel in how good it feels to fly. Sometimes, fresh air isn’t enough. For a griffin like me, if it isn’t stinging your face, it wasn’t enough. I want to be a Wonderbolt, and usually, I’m not one to let something slip away coyly. I keep at it and perspire through the pain to get what I think I can earn. I am Blackbird, and soon, I’m going to earn my way through to them.
I think that's the hallmark of our people. We never give up, even if we end up dashing ourselves against a wall of unrealistic expectations.
As we flew along, I looked over at my dad. He flew casually, gracefully, gliding on the cool breeze. With my own wing, graceful wasn’t quite as easy as a task. Lacking some of the proper muscles for ordinary flight, balance was a little harder than it would be for most griffins. My father soon noticed my troubles, however.
He looked over at me after catching my gaze. “Something to say?” he asked with a quirked brow.
I gave him a little smirk. “I’m just wondering how embarrassing it would be. You know, to get beaten in a race by your own son.”
He snorted and gave his wings a powerful flap. “We’re not racing, and even if we were, you would never win.” There was a definite playfulness to his voice, one that appeared rarely. I flapped my wings in response, feeling the mechanical appendage on my left reply in the manner I wished it to. I felt ready. Every inch of my being just wanted to let loose and fly, to give it all I had for possibly the very first time. The wing felt sturdy, almost like my real one, but not quite. My instincts just seemed to tell me it could handle anything I dished out. I flapped harder, instantly gaining speed and catching up to my father.
“Come on,” I protested, flying a little bit ahead of him. “You have to take pride in your own skill. This wing is your work; it’ll hold.”
Speeding up to catch me, he matched my pace. “I do trust my own work, but I don’t want to take any chances. You’re my son.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “So, you’re scared to race me. Is that what you’re saying?”
“In a way, yes.”
“Because you know you’re gonna lose?”
He heaved a sigh. “No, because I’m afraid for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, don’t be.” I flew a little bit ahead of him. “Come on, just one race isn’t going to hurt anything.”
He got that thinking look about him, and I could only assume he was playing the odds out in his head. After what seemed like half an eternity, he breathed another sigh. “Okay... One race.” I swear I hadn’t smiled like that for a long time. Beating my wings a few times experimentally, I readied myself, adrenaline shooting into my bloodstream. I looked over at my dad, who sported a light smirk. He stretched his wings as he flew, eyes half-closing in exertion as he readied himself. “You wanted a race, you've got one!”
In a flash, Dad was racing for the horizon line in a flurry of feathers, which fell glossily and lightly in the shimmering golden hue of the sun. The cheater. Confidently, I chuckled, and both appendages of mine, one mechanized and one gifted to me by birth, wasted no time in starting to beat together in unison.
“Let’s see where you boys can take me,” I said, reveling in the sport, the competition that I had dared to place myself in. I felt alive, something rare for me to feel in my life. I pumped my wings even harder than I thought was possible. It was the most effort that I had ever exerted upon this curious pair of wings, but I found myself blazing through the sky in mere seconds, as if I had been discharged from the barrel of a gun. Push on, Blackbird. Push on. Faster and faster I went. It was an exhilaration unlike any other I had experienced before, the wind swam round me and pressed my feathers tightly into my skin. I lowered my head to become more streamlined, and I tucked my front claws up into my chest. My wings, ever beating, found the audacity to beat with more ferocity than I thought them capable of. By degrees, by slow but steady degrees... I was catching up to my father.
“Cheater!” I screamed ahead, partly to, yes, scold my competition for cheating, but also because I wished to convey to him that I felt fine and that I was gaining.
“You’ve got a long way to go, son!” I heard him holler back. With this, he turned the jets on. He probably had the largest wingspan I had seen on any griffon, and so I should have guessed that he was not racing to his fullest of potentials.
This only spurred me on. “Come on, baby,” I sweet talked myself, “you’ve got this!” My wings quickened the pace. I began to feel a thick sweat form over my brow, which I had to brush away deftly before it had the chance to roll down into my eyes. I acknowledged a slight pain spreading just under the spot where my artificial wing was connected to my body. I ignored it. I had to go faster. Once again, I was gaining on my father. This would impress him, I thought. This would change his mind on my dream of being a Wonderbolt.
My eyes were tearing up in the sheer speed by which I was traveling at, but through the wind and water I caught while coasting through, I found myself laughing. For the first time in my life, I truly felt... free. I could nearly touch the feathers connected to my father’s tail. I smiled, and extended a claw forward to reach them, to pester my father, but out of nowhere, any feeling I had of glee was completely eradicated by an intense pain that shot up my left side. A terrible screech of metal filled the air, followed by a black splattering of oil.
I screamed out in an agony that I hadn’t quite experienced before. It was white hot, like a dagger being jabbed repeatedly into my side. My vision faltered. My wings started to beat out of rhythm. As I looked to my left side, one of them wasn’t beating at all, but instead was smoking and sputtering, having been sorely overworked. Pushing through the air in a forward, slow dive, I felt light as a feather, but a sudden sinking feeling overtook my mind. Things became blurry due to the pain I felt within my left wing, and the falling sensation.
Sooner than I expected, I was looking at an upside down land, filled with green trees, and colorful plants. Just at the edge, there was the water, but it looked more like a long, squiggly line thanks to the blood running through my head. At that moment, I couldn’t quite think about what I was doing or what my identity could've been. It slowly... disappeared, as though nothing else existed anymore, and I know why this was. I felt it; the grip of fate. She was the judge of all life. This wasn't the first time she'd graced me with her presence. She’s the goddess that comes to mortals like me in alicorn shape, but if you’re one who’s intentions were cold and impure, her whole look changes into something demonic. I know, because I’ve seen her. She was there when I got my eye cut, and she was gaining on me while I was falling as well.
And she was here now. Strangely, all that I remember feeling before I passed out was of bitter disappointment, of failure. That, and the pair of midnight black wings that enveloped me, saved me from my free fall; they were a pair of wings that I’d never seen before in my life. As if the end had given me a pillow to lie upon, through the inevitable, dulling nothingness, I thought fate had claimed another helpless soul.
They say, when looking into fate, the cold mistress that cuts the strings keeping all the world’s beings alive, never blink. It’s because you’ll never get to see her more than once. While finally sliding into unconsciousness and feeling my shivering body loosely sway in someone’s grip, I could... I don’t know; see her form in my head. The more I closed my eyes, the more I opened them inside the dying world. She was there. Her golden, almost flaming mane coated the night sky while her eyes glared at me. Her bow extends, aims at me alone... and fires. I duck, something I thought was impossible to do at this point, and feel the bed under my body break my fall. Looking around for those bloodshot eyes, all I see is my room, and all I feel is my wing, bandaged with blots of redness seeping through the layers of coverings. I hear my father talking in the other room, and wonder what’s going on.
Outside, my mom and father are chatting with an unfamiliar voice. “Please, miss,” my mother says, “Isn’t there some way to perfect the device?”
“No. It’s not that the thing won’t work, it’s the fact that your husband didn’t take into account of the kick screws in the back might not agree to such poor quality fuel and oils. Thanks to your brilliant shopping choices, your son almost became permanently grounded.”
My dad then explained, “I didn’t know he’d sneak in and just start using it, and besides, the thing seemed to be in great working condition. I just... lost control of myself. Look, maybe we can work together to help him.”
“No. I work on my own projects. I may be a Metal Gear Merchant, but that doesn’t mean my talents can go towards anypony.”
“But... You were so fast.” And that’s when I realized something. In the haze, I saw my savior’s wing. Chrome and smooth, like my mechanize one. Could it be there’s another like me, with a robotic wing? Or even better, one that could build and repair them? The door opened, and my mother showed our guest in. My mother’s tanned fur was barely visible in the dark, but her slightly darker fur was more detectable than anything else. She wasn’t like other griffins and didn’t really enjoy flying. Still, she found herself opportunities to worry about my air time. Behind her, the griffin that saved me stood with light dancing off her steel wing.
“He looks like he needs it, but I’m low on materials. Not to mention, it’s never the same, not like the real one that you’re born with. It can’t guarantee him his dreams, but it can, probably get his sorry excuse for a racer in the air again.”
My mother perked up and asked, “Then you’ll do it?”
With a claw, she moved some feathers out from her eyes and said, “Yeah, I guess... but like I said, this here will be one of my personal experiments. He’s my test subject, and you two must put your trust and attention into me. Especially you, Diver.”
My father said, “Understood completely, Daisy.”
As they walked out, the girl who’s name, by the way, I liked a lot turned before closing the door, walked up to me and checked my wing. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, we shared this really funny, dull and emotionless stare. Her blue eyes matched her feathers while her fur, being a casual brown shimmered lightly in the room. As she left, I saw her wing extend, the right one; the one that was robotic. Every single feather seemed to be made efficiently into a small, metallic substance ten times more lighter looking than anything my father ever made.
I rolled over to my right side and fell asleep, too exhausted to be anywhere near excited about finding someone so relatable to myself. Naturally, I’ve met girls before, and enjoy their company, but Daisy was different. The aura I got from her was so unique. Like, it was as if I completely knew she had a very good heart, and that she could be trusted easily.