Call Me Serian

     The day I changed my name, I remember it well.

     I had just turned 26. It was months after Boochi’s curse was broken by Lisha. To this day, I’m in awe of her magical prowess. Had she told me why she was studying curses when I was still in my child form, I would have fled. Where I would have gone, I have no idea. Back in my younger days, I couldn’t imagine having friendships with someone from Meridell, let alone family. Living under their care was… embarrassing at my age, but my options were few. Thank the Citadel they had no idea who I really was. Not then, anyway. Jeran had figured out I was trained by Darigani, but could never have guessed he was housing an enemy general… but I digress.

     It had been early in my redemption. Neopians asked for aid and we helped them however we could. With my weakened physical state, it took a while to work my way back to being a skilled swordsman once again. My arms quickly grew sore after each practice. Even the pads of my hands needed to get used to hours of drills once again. And my wings? They also hurt with overuse. Accursed curse.

     Kayla insisted on giving me potions for my “owies,” as she still called them. Even though she looked nervous, she was one of the only ones who really cared about me. Not that I could blame the others, of course. Giving out Jeran’s sneak attack plans to Darigan scouts—even if done as a means of self-preservation—was no way to win favour among the Meridellians.

      Lisha was hesitant around me at first, approaching with distant hellos and quiet conversation. After a while, she came to me and read a story or two, or occasionally break into casual conversation, but it wasn’t the same. Not the same as it was before, anyway. Her brother and the other knights… well, a few had to be physically restrained when they first saw me. Some eyed me with disdain, others with curiosity, as one would an out-of-place art piece in a themed gallery. One even spat at the ground where I walked. Surely, Lord Darigan—he had been reestablished as Lord post-haste by the Council—knew this dignitary experiment would lead to some tension. Well, more than some. Yet he persevered anyway.

     For a while, if I grabbed food in the mess hall, I would take it outside and eat in the courtyard where my mother’s statue danced in silence. More than once, I spent an afternoon on the bench nearby. Bird songs echoed like friendly voices. Fragrant roses greeted me, those of reds, blues, and whites. I bent down to smell one, taking in the peace of this quiet place. When no one else was around, I would talk to her about what I had done. Whisper about how I was working to improve our nations’ relations, how I was trying to be a better Eyrie, despite how hard it was. She was always a good listener, comforting me, and telling me that she was pleased with my progress. On a particularly hard day, I held her stone hand in mine and gripped it tightly as if she could reciprocate the action. Like she could brush my face and tell me that I would be alright… such was the way I always imagined a mother should be. Loving. Kind.

     I really have changed, I thought, thinking back to my days under Kass’ thumb when such “lackadaisical” behaviour would have been treated with scorn. If I was not training, eating, sleeping, or attending an event that praised the Lord’s greatness, I was wasting time. And Kass hated wasted time.

      Lisha taught me how to relax. My insides squirmed. Thinking about her tear-stained face made me feel deep shame. Such thoughts interrupted me even at my happiest moments. You’re to blame for her lingering sadness, a voice in my head chimed like a tarnished bell. You’re the reason she almost lost Jeran.

     Such ruminations still plague my nightmares. I doubt I will ever forgive myself.

     “How are you feeling, Setarian?”

     I jumped back, too caught in my own thoughts to notice an armoured blue Lupe’s approach. It was Jeran.

     I could have asked him the same question. He received serious injuries from the fall that left him in bed for weeks. And ever since then, his eyes widened at the idea of doing rounds in the castle’s highest guard towers. He passed off the duty to some underling of his with one excuse or another. But I knew what the real reason was—we all did.

     “I’m well,” I lied, clearly aware of how my mood ring eyes would call my bluff. “I prefer the quiet here to the chaos of the mess hall.”

     “Is that so?” It was as if Jeran could read my mind; there was a turn of his cheek that hinted at his scepticism.

     “Yes.”

     “Well, glad to hear it.”

     He was leaning on a column, arms crossed. Though he tried to hide it, there was strained cordialness in his voice that sounded almost insincere.

     I stood suddenly. It wasn’t often Jeran came to exchange pleasantries, especially since he learned who I really was. “Is there need of me?”

     “There is. We’ve been asked to speak with a member of the local college.” Before I could respond, he added, “he wants both of us there.”

     “Really?” There was a sinking feeling in my stomach that made me feel uneasy. “I see. Where will he be meeting us?”

     He shook his head. “He asked us to meet with him after his lecture is done in an hour.”

     “Ah.” Other than the necessary words we exchanged, the two of us never seemed to know what to say in those days. “I will meet you by the castle’s front gate then.”

     “In twenty minutes?”

     “Sure.”

     I scratched at the top button of my black waistcoat. I wore mostly black in my twenties, or the occasional purple. No wonder a child called me the “scary monster-thing…” and I responded by making a loud hiss. What? I had to amuse myself somehow.

     Even my nicer patrolling outfit tended towards the darker side with a spike here and there. It clashed with Jeran’s bright reds and blues. We looked like quite the pair, even more so because I was taller than him—and clearly Darigan.

      We manoeuvred around the city, navigating its many twisting, winding passageways, and found ourselves in front of a large, cathedral-like building: the main hall for Meridell College. When I rose the metal knocker to announce our arrival, the door swung open.

     A Lupe with shaggy brown fur and a wild hairdo waved us in, excitement written upon his features. His dress was formal, neat and pressed. A lock of fur hung directly in front of his eyes.

     “Welcome, welcome!” He bowed three times. “So glad to see you both.”

     Jeran and I traded a glance. This was not the sort of response either of us had expected.

     Thankfully, Jeran managed to gather his composure first. “Thank you, Dr Wilson, for the warm welcome.”

     “I should be thanking you!” There was a brightness in his voice that I wasn’t accustomed to. “Come, come, we have so much to speak about. I put hot water on the kettle for some tea.”

     His grin put me at ease. My shoulders relaxed. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “After you, Jeran.”

     “I insist.”

     Shrugging, I stepped inside. The moment I caught a look, my mouth dropped open.

     Golden arches curved along the ceiling, making the building seem even larger from the inside. Stained glass depictions of Meridell’s history covered the side wall and an enormous chandelier hung in the foyer, illuminating the area. It was almost as grand as Skarl’s ballroom, perhaps even grander.

     “Quite the sight, isn’t it?” asked the Professor.

     Jeran hummed, clearly having been in here before. “Very much so.”

     “It’s… incredible.” I turned in place, taking in every view. “Stained glass isn’t common in the Citadel, and to see so much of it…”

     “We’re lucky that a Brightvalian master craftsman lives in a house.”

     For the first time in a while, I could feel a sparkle of joy. “Truly…”

     We entered a hallway into an adjacent building before wandering through a maze of classrooms, offices, and storage areas. Dr Wilson turned his key into the lock of an old oaken door and pushed it open. Unlike his dishevelled physical appearance, his office looked to be stacked, polished, and organized with mechanical precision. On his bookshelves were psychology textbooks, mathematics, and, oddly enough, a book about Kreludor. A chart of moon phases hung on his wall next to a calendar with a date marked with a red x. There was a large pile of paper in the centre of his desk, perhaps a 3-inches tall. He removed the cover page and held it towards us.

     “This is why I asked you two here today.”

     My eyes flicked down and I read it aloud. “War, Peace, and Partnership: A Case Study of—” I gasped.

     “—General Setarian?” Jeran looked just as surprised as I did. We traded a glance.

     “Of me?” I couldn’t help but strain the words. “But—but why?”

     It was difficult to hear my thoughts over the sound of my heart pounding into my skull. The world seemed to be spinning. I held out a hand against the nearest wall and leaned against it, feeling a sudden sickness in my mouth.

     “Professor,” added Jeran before the academic could speak, “you said this would be about post-war relations.”

     “Yes, quite!” He pulled back two plush chairs and poured two cups of hot water into mugs. “Tea, gentlemen?”

     Jeran took a tea bag from the strongest tea the professor owned and dropped it into the cup to step.

     There were many questions in my head, but the one that escaped my beak was, “What is all of this?” I had a hunch I already knew.

     “Why, it’s research! Seemed like a perfect time to strike while the iron was hot.” Dr Wilson held out a box full of various tea bags. I picked something at random. “Ah, good choice. I’m particularly fond of the rose.”

     “…On what?” I asked again, barely finding the energy to sit in the chair.

     For the first time, the shaggy Lupe shifted a bit in place. “Why, about what you did under Lord Kass’ leadership, who was impacted, how you’ve changed, and what you’ve been doing to improve international relations. You’re quite the interesting public figure, you know.”

     I took a gulp of the hot water and winced as the liquid slithered down my throat.

     “Are there eye-witness accounts?” asked Jeran.

     “Many, yes! Including from your squire, Sir Borodere. Morris was quite forthcoming, you see. I figured you could chime in as well.”

     If I did not place the mug on his desk before he said this, it would have been on my lap. I felt pressure in my forehead and around my eyes, but blinked it away.

     The chair felt like a plush prison that I sunk deeper within. Scrunching my wings tight against my back, I strained, “And you didn’t think to ask me before you unearthed every terrible thing I’ve ever done?”

     “Ah—” the professor took a hesitant step towards me, then thought better of it. “It’s just, your story reminded me of myself.”

     The fur on my neck rose, as did I. Anger welled up inside me like a bubbling potion. “Was it the part about being manipulated by my leader? Doing monstrous things to innocent Neopians? Or it was finding out my entire childhood was a well-crafted lie?!”

     I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. “Setarian. They’re bright blue.”

     Before I said anything else I regretted, I bit my tongue. Jeran had paid enough attention to notice when my eyes displayed certain emotions, in this case… fear. This little display had set off every alarm bell in my mind. I wanted nothing more at that moment to burn his report in the gently purring hearth behind him.

     “A-ah, oh dear.” A bit of tea had spilt from the professor’s cup—his hand had been shaking. He grabbed a napkin and wiped at the spot until it was clean. ”I meant no disrespect…”

     Despite seeming interested in the topic, Jeran looked frustrated. “You really should have asked first.”

     The professor sighed. “The project just seemed so alluring, is all… and as someone who also deals with a curse, I just thought that—”

     “What?” I shot daggers at him, steadying my breath. “You dealt with Boochi, too?”

     “Boochi?” He waved his hands in front of his face. “N-no, more like…” he gestured to the wall scroll and calendar, specifically to the thirteenth of October, a Friday. Both of us craned our necks to get a closer look. “I have a condition that affects me every full moon, one that’s made me do, well, ghastly things.” He pulled at his pressed collar. “These days I’ve found ways to manage it, but…”

     “You’re trying to convince everyone you’re not the monster you once were.”

     “Exactly, Setarian.” He swirled the tea in one hand, then flicked his gaze to me. “It’s not easy.”

     “Says the distinguished professor to the fallen general.” As soon as I said it, I clicked my tongue against my beak. Chains and daggers. I said the first thing on my mind again. “Apologies, that was blunt.”

     “It’s quite alright.” Dr Wilson placed the teacup on a coaster with a crescent moon. “I wanted to show my colleagues your progress… with data. To prove that there is hope for our war-torn lands. That there is a chance at peace. I’ve already spoken with professors from Brightvale Univ—”

     “That’s all well and good,” interrupted Jeran, “but how is this going to make it better?”

     “Isn’t this just going to scare them more?” I echoed. While they were speaking, I took the liberty of shuffling through a couple of pages. One of them was about a village that had to be evacuated after my ranks and I set the houses aflame. Another was about a child whose father was captured and sent to the Citadel dungeons. I curled my talons inward and gripped the centre of my hand so tightly that it hurt. “Seeing all this just shows me why my name is synonymous with fear here. And I can’t… I can’t blame them for seeing me as the monster I was raised to be.”

     The professor’s ears fell back. “I was going for the opposite. To show that, well, if someone like you could change, that anyone is capable of change.”

     My mouth opened, but no words came.

     “You’re boiling him down to some reformed villain archetype.” Jeran was scowling—he really seemed angry for my sake. “I’ve seen his progress since he’s lived here. He changed because he was given the opportunity to change.”

      There was something about seeing Jeran defend me that I found almost comical. I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath… or maybe that was just the shock of the situation. “Aw… you do care.”

     “I—” a creep of redness came to Jeran’s cheeks. “I just speak the truth, that’s all.”

     “Sure, that’s it.” My smirk faded quickly. I cleared my throat before continuing. “I’d like to read through all the research in your stack.”

     “And I would like to read about his contributions and see if there is anything else I can add.”

     I flicked my gaze over towards Jeran. Despite our complicated relationship, he still readily defended me…

     The professor separated the topics into piles.

     “I’ll take to reading this,” I said quietly, picking up my own mistakes. And as I lifted the stack of papers in my hands, I could feel the weight of it pulling me down.

     With work to do, I set to organizing everything into times when I was following direct orders, when Neopians had been indirectly affected, and when my cruel actions caused pain for others… the more I read, the more I saw names and faces. No longer were they just “the enemy,” but other Neopians with hopes, dreams, and lives that I saw fit to damage because they were deemed lower than me. I added the occasional comment, but for the most part… it was all true. Jeran was busily scribbling down notes on the professor’s writings, discussing in a hushed voice what we had been planning with Lord Darigan and the Council.

     More than halfway through the list, I slumped in my chair. The unread pile was resting on my lap.

     “You can’t blame yourself anymore, Setarian.” Dr Wilson uncovered a metal tin from beneath his desk that was full of desserts. “You’ll eat yourself alive if all you think about is the past. Cookie?”

     I held out a hand and shook my head.

      “You know,” He let out a soft sigh. “There was quite the uproar when they first hired me on as an instructor here.”

     I sunk deeper into the chair, but didn’t lift my head. “Oh?”

     “’A werelupe on staff? Think of the students!’ or my favorite, ‘he’s a monster! You saw what he did to that farm—they’re still reeling from the damages!’”

     My brow rose, as did my gaze. “A Werelupe?”

     “Yes.” He rubbed his sleeve cuff absentmindedly. “I was a bit as a teenager. But instead of treating me with kindness, Neopians ran away and left me all alone… and so, I let the rage consume me.”

     “I see…” I simmered over the words for a minute before I continued. “But your ‘condition,’ as you call it, wasn’t a choice. I made the decision to follow Kass, to hurt other Neopians and call it justice.”

     There was sadness in his features. “Was it really your choice? Or were you doing what you had to for survival?”

     I rubbed my temples and let out a slow exhale even as my heart fell like a stone. After a long pause, I managed a few words. “How did you move on?”

     He leant his elbow on the windowsill of his office. It had a stained-glass window of Meridell’s crest. “With forgiveness.”

     “Towards them?” asked Jeran.

     “Them, too, yes,” the Werelupe started quietly, “but also myself. For when you have that much anger, that much hatred for others, you also hate yourself.”

     The chair made a screech as I pushed it back, tossing the unread sections across the table.

     “Are you hungry, Jeran?”

     Jeran took one look at me and agreed. “Very. We trust this is sufficient for now, Professor?”

     Dr. Wilson hesitated, keenly aware that he struck a nerve. “A-ah, yes. I thank you for your—”

     “Likewise.” The door was more than halfway opened as I slipped out. Jeran followed shortly behind.

     “I know the way out,” he said to me. Before the door closed, he spoke to the professor. “For all of our sakes, I hope that this Tri-National Summit idea pans out. It would be good to see more international cooperation.”

     The Professor was already stacking the papers back into neat piles. “… I hope so, too, Sir Borodere.”

     ~x~

     Neither of us said anything at first. My brooding was clear as day; any Neopian who saw us took a long way around. When there was a break in the crowd, Jeran spoke.

     “That couldn’t have been easy.”

     I shook my head, feeling suddenly drained.

     “We’ve seen what you’ve been doing. You’ve been consistent for months now, so maybe—”

     “They’ll still hate me. Once this reaches the light of day, I’ll be put in a cell next to the Court Dancer to live out my days in chains.” I let out a shuttering breath. “You have no idea what it’s like to be in my shoes, Jeran. You’ve had a loving family, good role models, and—”

     He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m far from perfect.”

     “You’re close enough,” I shot back. “I’m just…” I looked for a word, but settled on, “Setarian. Kass’ marionette who cut his bindings but still drags the strings that are left behind.”

     Jeran sighed, then gestured to a small city park and a nearby bench. I obliged, leaning forward on my elbows and cradling my head. Based on the way his lupine ears twitched, Jeran seemed to catch at least half of what I was muttering to myself.

     “You’re not ‘evil’ and not ‘just Setarian.’ To us you were—or are, I guess, Serian. Lisha’s…” under his breath he added, “and my… adopted little brother.”

     There were a few seconds of silence.

     “You mean big brother,” I said with a sad smirk. “Still older, remember?”

     He huffed, pretending to be offended. “You won’t let me forget it.”

     As much as I hated the days when I was trapped in a body that felt wrong, I yearned for a time when I could live without care. When I was just another Neopian and not… me.

     I stared at a Petpetpet that was crawling between the cracks of the path, dipping and dodging its way to safety. “I’m surprised to see you talking with me again. You know, more than you have to.”

      “It seemed like…” Jeran scratched absentmindedly at his ear, “You really needed it.”

     I opened my mouth and closed it again. The sky looked blue that day, with hardly a cloud in the sky. We both watched the sky until it turned orange-red and dyed the buildings in darkening hues. In the distance, the Citadel floated like a stray thundercloud.

      “We should probably head back.”

     “Right,” I agreed, but before either of us moved, I added, “Hey, Jeran?”

     “Yeah?”

     “I did some thinking and… I have a favour to ask.”

     Jeran turned towards me, his face suddenly serious. “That depends.”

     “… Call me Serian.”

     He tilted his head in confusion. “Why?”

     “Because…” how I wish I had a glass of water then; my throat felt like sandpaper. “Because I’d like to make a name for myself based on how I’ve been since I came here, not who—or what—I was before.”

     “That’s…” There were a few seconds of tense silence. “That’s going to be difficult for me. You… understand that, don’t you?”

     “I-I know. And I’m sorry for how I hurt you, how I hurt Lisha and her friends, how I hurt so many Meridellians, but…” I felt as if my accursed eyes would remove all my remaining water. “I don’t want to hate anymore.” I let out a gruff sigh. “I don’t… want to hate myself anymore.”

     Jeran sat for a long while, watching the first specks of moonlight over the horizon. “We should probably check in with the others, Serian. They might be worried that we’ve been gone so long.”

     It was that night that I told them—told all of them how I wanted to be addressed. Some responded well, like Lisha and her friends (Lisha already referred to me as Serian anyway), while others… still call me by my old name. Some, I gathered, would never change. But at the very least, if nothing else, I found a new identity to lean in on, one that I hope will continue to restore our lands for now and for the future.

     The End.