“Scott! Scott Summers! Wake up this moment!" a shrill elderly voice called from the darkness. "You’ve got a busy a day ahead of you!”

“Mmmngggh…just a few more minutes grams…” the teenage boy replied into his pillow. A short period of silence ensued before the wooden door to his bedchambers was flung open and his grandmother stalked in. She obviously hadn’t heard his plea. Or didn’t care. The woman grabbed Scott’s woolen blanket and, despite his best efforts, yanked it off of his body, leaving him sprawled on his bed in just his undergarments. He did his best to make it appear as if he were still sound asleep.

“I’d love to let you sleep in Scotty, but your grandfather and I need you to run an errand for us before we can celebrate your eighteenth birthday. Now hurry on downstairs and I’ll fix you some breakfast. And don’t you dare fall back to sleep,” Scott’s grandmother warned, staring severely at the motionless boy before leaving the bedroom and stomping down the stairs.

Scott groaned and stretched his arms out over his head before bringing his hand down to rub his left eye. He rubbed at his right eye, but the cloth of the crimson bandana constantly tied around his head served as a barrier. Sitting upright in his bed, Scott considered pulling away the bandana. 

For as long as he could remember he had his right eye hidden beneath a piece of clothe. His left eye was a deep shade of brown. He constantly interrogated his grandparents as to why he was forced to wear the bandana, but their answer was always vague. And it always ended in “If you take off that bandana, you’ll be sorry”. So he didn’t. He simply told the other kids in the village that his eye was infected, which was the first answer his grandparents had always offered.

Scott swung his legs over the bed and stood to his feet, making his way to the opposite end of his room.  He pushed open the shutters to his room, allowing the morning sun to illuminate his modest bedroom.  His dark brown hair was almost as messy as the bird’s nest that sat right outside his window.  He donned the earthy colored tunic he had laid out the night before and pulled on his leather pants before fastening his belt buckle.  He grabbed his silver dagger off of his desk and slid it into the sheathe along his belt, making sure it was firmly in place before heading downstairs.

“Well, look who finally decided to wake up.  Happy birthday Scotty,” Scott’s grandfather said from the breakfast table, looking up from his plate of eggs.  Scott smiled to his grandfather, rubbing the last vestige of sleep from his left eye.  For a brief moment he thought he saw his grandfather frown, but before the expression could register the elderly man had resumed eating.  Scott ignored what he thought he saw and continued into the kitchen, where his grandmother was bent over, peering into the oven that served as a cooking appliance and heater.

“Ah Scott, your cake will be done in a few hours.  In the meantime, I need you to make a delivery for me.  I’m sorry you have to do this on your birthday, but it’s urgent that this package gets to where it’s going,” she said, pulling her head away from the oven and scurrying over to the window, where a small leather pouch sat on the sill.  She picked the bag up in her small hands and brought it hurriedly to Scott, placing the package firmly into a pocket in his tunic.  The pouch was light, so much so that Scott barely noticed it.

“Who am I taking this to grams?” Scott asked, pressing his hand against the pocket of his shirt.  It felt as if there were practically nothing in the pouch.  How important could this thing be if it didn’t weigh anything and felt like it didn’t have anything in it?

“I need you to take this to Stephen Strange.  He should be at his school on the other side of the Westchester Woods.” Grandma Summers turned from her grandson and moved back towards her husband, grabbing a bag of coins off of the table.

“There’s a chocobo waiting for you over at Mr. Braddock’s stables.  This should cover the rental for the day.”

Scott took the bag from his grandmother.  It was a fair deal heavier than he expected it to be.  He tied the pouch to his belt and looked at his grandmother.  “That’s a really heavy bag of coins grams.  You sure we need that much for borrowing just one chocobo?”

“Ah, there’s also some money I owe Braddock from the last time we borrowed some chocobos, when we went to Salem Market.  This money will settle all of our payments.  Now come give your grandmother a hug,” the elderly woman insisted.

Scott smiled sheepishly and went to hug his grandmother.  He was tall, a little over six feet, and his grandmother just barely came up to his chest.  Scott had a wiry frame, but this was difficult to determine once he had donned his tunic and traveling cloak, which was a dark shade of blue.  His grandmother hugged him a little bit tighter and a little bit longer than normal, and he almost swore he heard a sniffling noise.  When he pulled back everything seemed fine though.

“You’re a real fine boy for doing this on your birthday Scott, your parents would be proud,” Grandpa Summers said, running a hand through his stark white hair.  He adjusted the bifocals on his nose and stood to his feet.  Like his wife, Grandpa Summers was a short, homely looking man.  He approached his grandson and embraced him in a slightly more masculine hug.  “You have always made us proud Scotty.  You’ve made the past eighteen years a real joy for your grandmother and I.  Just hurry on home, and be careful.”

“Thanks grandpa.  Don’t worry, I’ll be home before you know it,” Scott reassured his grandfather, tying his cloak shut just below his neck.  He was about to leave when his grandmother called out to him one last time.

“And don’t fiddle around with your bandana!  Your eye is infected!”

The small village of Westchester is located in the eastern part of Wundagore Kingdom. The spring season was opening on the land, and the green hues of reborn life were just returning to the area. The village square was brimming with activity this morning as the local farmers and tradesmen placed their goods out on tables and underneath tents meant to block out the sun. Often times the female of the house would tend to the stand while the father went and bought the goods necessary for the next week. Life in Westchester was much closer to subsistence living than anything else, although none of the villagers were terribly hard off. 

Scott ambled through the square at a moderate pace, exchanging greetings and well wishes with all of those around him. He was well liked and respected by the adults of the village, although he was only moderately popular with his peers. He was a relatively quiet boy in the village schoolhouse, known more for his eye infection and dagger wielding skills than for being overly social. There had been times when he was teased about his bandana, but the teacher was quick to put a stop to this. And then it simply got to the point where no one tried to make fun of Scott anymore.

“Good morning Mr. Summers! Your grandmother told me you’d be coming by for a chocobo!” Brian Braddock, the local stable owner, said enthusiastically as Scott approached. He seemed a little bit too cheery for so early in the morning. He shook Scott’s hand and accepted the bag of gold without a word, clapping Scott on the back and leading him into the stables.

The inside of the stable was almost as busy as the town square. Several assistants were moving back and forth inside the two-story barn, refreshing the hay and filling up the water containers in each stall. Mr. Braddock led Scott down the center aisle, glancing back and forth across the way into each stall. In each compartment there was a chocobo; a beautiful two legged bird the size of an ostrich with pure yellow plumage and a stark orange beak.  The yellow feathers close to its body were small and more like fur than anything else.  On its rear side the chocobo had a set of long, elegant feathers. Two strong, but rarely used, wings graced the side of each bird. 

It was still early in the morning, and many of the chocobos were still down on their two legs, sleeping peacefully. A few of the stalls were vacant; those were the chocobos that had already been rented out for the day. Those were for the merchants who were making a rare trip to a larger center of commerce; the Iron City of Avalon or Wundagore Castle, which had a bustling town at its base. Of course, the merchants who traveled to these fantastic places regularly owned their chocobos, a concept that greatly fascinated Scott. He had always fancied riding the flightless bird.

“Most of the kids are still asleep; busy night last night. Mrs. Watson swore she saw a demon of some sort out in the fields, and you know how jumpy the militia is around here nowadays. With the increase in monster activity all over the land, every moving shadow is thought to be the start of an evil invasion. Word is King Steven might be going to pay a visit to the Negative Zone, but that’s neither here nor there.” Mr. Braddock took in a deep breath, his small pot belly bulging out a bit as he ran a hand back and straightened his long blonde hair, continuing. “Anyways, the militia came right in and ‘commandeered’ half my stock, just so they could chase down some oversized rabbit! To think, the look on Captain Stacy’s face!” Braddock broke out laughing, his belly still jiggling as he came to a halt just outside a stall near the end of the stable.

“Kweh!” came the enthusiastic cry from the chocobo within. A bird of moderate size, it trotted up to the edge of its pin and nuzzled Mr. Braddock’s shoulder with its beak.  After greeting Braddock, it gave Scott’s cheek a similar nuzzle. It gave another cry and then stood at attention. Braddock grabbed a carrot from his pocket and fed it to the bird before patting it encouragingly on the head.

“This is Kirby; he’s a young one, but loyal and very fleet of foot. He shouldn’t give you any trouble at all Scott. He already seems to have taken a liking to you. All you’ll have to do is give a whistle and he’ll come running. Just be sure to take good care of him, and he’ll stay true by you. And watch out for his talons, they can cut ya awfully deep if the angle’s right,” Braddock warned. He swung the pen open, allowing Kirby to trot out. As if on command, he bowed his head down, allowing Mr. Braddock to slide the reins over his neck. The reins were then passed on to Scott, who gripped them in his hands for a moment, relishing the rough texture of the leather.

“Thank you very much Mr. Braddock, I’ll be sure to get him back to you by nightfall. Just in case any oversized rabbits should show up in Mrs. Watson’s field again,” Scott said with a chuckle, leading Kirby out of the stables. He could just barely hear Mr. Braddock wishing him good luck as the stable doors closed behind him.

“Well boy, looks like we best be going,” Scott said, patting Kirby on the back. He ran his hand along the bandana, lightly touching his covered eye. His fingers lingered over the eye before snapping around to the back and tightening the garment. He checked the essentials; bag of coins, dagger, and package. He pressed his hand firmly against the pouch. For the first time in his life, he was more curious about something other than his hidden eye. What was in the pouch that had no weight or shape?  And why was it so important?

Noon was approaching when Scott and Kirby entered Westchester Forest. The forest was a vibrant shade of green, populated by mid sized perennials that cast a net of shadows down on the forest floor. There was a path worn into the forest, the most well traveled route from Westchester to the Strange Academy. But there was no one on the path as Kirby’s footfalls carried the two through the forest. Clouds had huddled around the sun, casting the forest into a limbo between light and darkness. A subtle wind had picked up across the land, and Kirby’s formerly steady pace had turned into an uneasy trot. Scott, for that matter, was now glancing anxiously to the walls of the forest on either side of the path. It felt as if there were countless sets of eyes gazing down on them from either side.

“Let’s go a bit faster boy…” Scott said quietly to Kirby, whispering as if he hoped to avoid stoking the anger of the forest. He kicked his feet lightly against Kirby’s sides, urging the chocobos to go faster. The bird began to speed up, occasionally uttering a soft ‘kweh’.  It too cast its beady gaze to the tree trunks and shrubbery that lined either side of the forest path. Scott the gripped the reins tightly in his left hand even as his right hand slid into the folds of his cloak, reaching for the hilt of his foot-long dagger. His fingers wrapped around the sturdy metal of the hilt just as a small shadowed form began to descend towards Scott from the left. He yanked his arm from the interior of his cloak and stabbed his dagger outward, slashing at whatever was flying towards them. 

As soon as the blade connected, the mass of darkness, which had resembled an owl, exploded into plume of black smoke. Scott was watching the smoke filter into the treetops when he heard the flutter of wings to his right. Without hesitation he brought his arm back across his body, flicking his wrist and slicing through another shadow bird. The steel blade sliced through the inky darkness of the bird’s chest, causing the creature to burst in another puff of black smoke. The sickening sounds of wings fluttering began to increase around Scott, and he knew it was time to go. Kirby shared the sentiment, and began sprinting down the path, even as the increasing number of shadow owls began to dive-bomb the two adventurers. 

At first Scott attempted to fend them off with his dagger, but they were moving too quickly now, and there were simply too many monsters. He wrapped his arms around Kirby’s neck and leaned forward, keeping his eye on the path ahead of them, which was becoming increasingly darker with the swarm of owls. The darkness became so thick that Kirby eventually came to a screeching halt, flapping his wings anxiously and screaming ‘kweh! kweh!’ as loud as he could at the wall of black before them.

“Easy boy…easy…” Scott said, finding his advice to be somewhat hypocritical.  His voice was trembling even as he uttered the words to his traveling companion.  He clenched his fist tighter around his dagger, drawing his other hand from the reins long enough to wipe away a trickle of blood from his cheek. One of the shadow owls had come close enough to rake its dark talon across his face. It was odd though; the owls were no longer attacking them.  He turned his head to glance behind them. 

There was a second wall of darkness behind them, preventing their escape from where they had come. He turned once more, preparing to urge Kirby forward, when the owls ahead seemed to part, allowing a figure to pass through. It appeared to be a man, wearing a long, flowing black cape over his body. The cape ended just below his neck, revealing a ghastly pale color of flesh. His face was equally pale and hosted a bloodthirsty smirk and gleaming yellow eyes. A disorganized tuft of black hair gave the man an even more haunting appearance, and he bridged half the gap between the wall of owls and Kirby.

“Ooh, a two course meal for the Owl and his pets…how delicious!” the man’s eyes seemed to shimmer even brighter for a moment as he cackled. He drew an arm from his cape to rake at the air. The white flesh was in stark contrast to his black garment, and his hand was gnarled and deformed, with a cruel and warped talon at the end of each knobby finger.  He took a step further, preparing to swipe at Kirby, when the chocobo snapped its beak out, its beady blue eyes narrowing on the creature before them. “Nasty little bird…but your flesh will satisfy my hunger, oh yes.”

Scott didn’t need to hear anymore. Simply looking at the man made him sick to his stomach with fear and disgust. He yanked the reins and turned Kirby towards the side of the path, leading off the trail. The bird needed no more prompting, sprinting into the brush and the trees, slipping nimbly through the thickets and bounding over the portions of the forest floor covered in roots.

“You cannot run!” the Owl shouted. His eyes flashed once and the shadow owls that had been blocking Scott’s path took off after him, leaving the demon standing alone in the center of the path.  His fists clenched and he dropped to his knees, growling as body twisted even further. A pair of thick, furry wings sprouted from his back, and the flesh and bone of his arms seemed to merge into the wings. His legs caved into his body and his feet shrunk into the talons of an owl. While his body had transformed into his namesake, the Owl’s head remind hideously human. Where there had once been a humanoid, there was now a horrifically large demonic owl. Dust and dirt kicked up beneath his wings as he took to the air, gliding after his dinner.

Scott had just barely heard the Owl’s threat, not knowing of the transformation that had just taken place. He kept his body pressed closely to Kirby, having nearly lost his head to a low-lying branch early in their escape route. The flapping of wings grew increasingly closer despite Kirby’s nimble maneuvers through the maze of tree trunks that populated the forest.  Scott didn’t dare look backwards. Was this out of fear, or concern that he would be hit by something in front of him if he took the time to turn around. All of this and more was running through his head when Kirby’s foot got caught in the roots of a tree, sending both of them tumbling onto a small slope. 

Scott and Kirby slid and bounced down the bush and tree infested hill, mercilessly avoiding slamming into any tree trunks. Scott hit the ground hard, slamming down on his left shoulder. He grimaced and stood quickly, clutching his left shoulder with his right hand. Kirby was on his feet only a short distance away, his feathers a bit ruffled and matted with dirt.

“Come on Kirby, let’s go,” Scott said hurriedly, preparing to hop onto his chocobo’s back. It was then that he noticed one of Kirby’s legs was badly wounded. Scott had been riding chocobos for several years now, and he knew Kirby would no longer be able to run, let along support Scott’s weight on his back. Scott frowned but wasted no time in grabbing Kirby’s reins, leading him into the small clearing at the bottom of the hill. He halted after a few steps, turning his ear to the wind. He heard the Owl’s approach just in time to push Kirby to the side and duck his head down. Kirby screeched briefly in protest before returning to Scott as he stood back up. 

The Owl landed several feet in front of them, resting on the ground for a moment before transforming back into his humanoid appearance, the midnight feathers that lined his body melting together into that inky black cloak. He turned to face Scott and Kirby, smirking as he noticed the wounds both of them had sustained rolling down he hill.

“You’ll make a wonderful meal for me and my pets…” came that scratchy voice. The din of fluttering wings returned as a wave of darkness passed overhead, the swarm of shadow owls collecting once more around their master. Small pairs of beady yellow eyes began to appear in the flock of darkness, and Scott swore that the owls appeared hungry, despite the lack of any features on their darkened bodies besides the yellow eyes.  The Owl raised a mutated hand up in the air, as if preparing to signal an attack. The flutter of wings began to increase in anticipation. The Owl’s finger twitched, ready to feed his pets. Scott drew his dagger and held it firmly in front of him, knowing it would do him and Kirby no good in the end. This was the end of the line.

The staccato sound of several small explosions filled the air. It sounded strangely similar to the cannon fire Scott had heard in the distance during the Mage War several years ago. The sound of these small explosions, these loud popping noises, was relentless, and the monsters surrounding the Owl’s outstretched hand began to explode in a symphony of smoke. The first wave of smoke had reached the treetops before the Owl and his minions knew what was happening. Scott turned on his heels, looking back at the slope behind him, where the sound was coming from.

There was just enough light for Scott to make out the form of another man. He stood perched next to a large tree trunk, holding two smoking pistols in each hand. Scott had heard of this innovation; a hand held cannon, so to speak. The pistol used explosive powder to propel small metal spheres out of a barrel at high velocities. These were the spheres that were cutting through the shadow owls and sending them up in smoke. 

The man wore a long, ominous looking black trench coat that ran from his neck all the way down to his ankles. The coat was closed over his chest, preventing anyone from getting a good impression of his body. But the man was tall, and had broad shoulders. Scott glanced upwards, hoping to get a glance at his face. But a dark black hat sat on his head, and cast the features of his face into shadows.

A clicking noise emerged from each pistol, signifying that each firearm was out of pellets. The man was ready, and in one deft motion reached into his jacket and produced a slightly larger gun. The barrel was longer thicker, and this device required two hands. Even as the man produced the nasty looking shotgun, his jacket parted for the briefest of moments. Scott got a brief glimpse of the man’s chest, which was clothed in a sturdy black cloth shirt. The shirt bore a large white symbol on the chest. It was a skull.

“You!” the Owl seethed, pointing his twisted finger at the figure on the slopes. By now, all of his minions had fled or gone up in smoke, leaving the demon to fend for himself. This was the first time Scott had seen anything other than a sick grin on the demon’s face. “How did you follow me here?!” he asked, outraged at what this man had done.

“Your stench… you reek of death and corruption,” a low, guttural voice came from the shadows of the man’s face. He slid gracefully, if it was possible, down the rest of the slope, landing on his feet at the base. His gun never left the Owl. He ran his left hand back and forth along the bottom of the shotgun, and Scott heard a loud cocking noise. The shotgun-wielding man moved forward, stepping past Scott and Kirby without a word. No sign of concern, no offer to help. He just walked right by them, gun trained on the cloaked fiend in the middle of the clearing. “You’ve killed innocent beings. For this crime, you will be punished,” the man said to the Owl.

“Your puny man-made weapon cannot hurt me,” the Owl screeched. He made a step forward, preparing to swipe at the man in the coat with his talons. The man responded calmly, not even flinching as he pulled the trigger. The sound of an explosion resonated throughout the clearing. The gun had a great deal of kick. The man had braced himself, and was still forced back several steps.

This surprised Scott, although what erupted from the barrel of the gun was even more surprising. A column of brightly colored crimson light emerged from device, streaking forward and catching the Owl on his side. A blood-curdling scream filled the clearing around them as the Owl gripped at his side and dropped to his knees. The portion of his cloak covering his right side, and the majority of his right side for that matter, was gone. A large chunk of his right abdomen was simply missing, revealing the disgusting black innards of his body. Scott swore he saw an organ fall out of the demon’s body.

“Aaaaa…damn you! That weapon… it’s been enchanted by the Destiny Force!” the Owl seethed, glowering at the weapon in the man’s hand, even as he tried to hold the inner workings of his body in place with his hands.

“Damn expensive enchantment, too. But it means I can punish scum-sucking demons like you. Can owls survive with their heads cut off?” the man asked before bringing the shotgun to bare again. The device kicked back once more, causing the man to grunt in a bit of discomfort as the shot of red light came again. This discomfort was nowhere near what the Owl felt thought. 

When Scott looked back to the demon, he was missing a head. What was left fell back down onto the ground before exploding in a putrid display of black smoke. Scott watched the smoke travel up through the canopy of trees above before being blown away by the wind.

“W…what was that? Who are you? How’d you do that?” Scott asked in a rapid order, turning his attention to the man after the Owl’s smoky remains had vanished. His left eye was open wide in disbelief as he tried to get a closer look at the magnificent weapon the man had been wielding.

“What are you doing here kid?” the man asked succinctly. He didn’t answer of any of Scott’s questions, simply posed his own. He didn’t look at Scott; he simply returned his weapon to the inside of his jacket and stalked back towards the hill. He didn’t even turn to make sure Scott was following him.

“I was on my way to the Strange Academy when that…thing, attacked me. Was he a demon?” Scott asked, leading Kirby back to the base of the hill. Both of them were still a bit shell shocked from what had just happened.

“Yeah he was. Listen, I’m no baby sitter, kid. I’ll take you to the edge of the forest. But only ‘cause I’m headed that way, and only if you promise to stop asking questions,” the mystery man said, beginning to work his way up the slope. There was no hesitation, no pause to his words. For everything question, there was an instant response.

“Sounds fair I guess…” Scott muttered. He was a bit upset that this man was being so cold, but he had no room to complain. The man in the coat had just saved his life, and was offering to escort him out of the forest. After this last encounter, the last thing Scott wanted to do was wander the forest alone. So he did what any other eighteen year old who had just survived an attack from a demon would do. 

He followed the mysterious looking man with the big gun.

The rest of the trip through the forest had been a silent one. Kirby had occasionally cried out in a bit of pain from the injuries to his leg. But there was no further interaction between Scott and the man. The man walked several meters ahead, with Scott keeping his distance at all times. The travel took slightly longer because they were on foot. So by the time they arrived at the edge of the forest, night was falling. 

Scott sighed. It had just occurred to him that it was still his birthday. He certainly wouldn’t get home in time to celebrate with his grandparents, and they were probably worried sick about him.

“The Academy is right over there kid…stay out of trouble,” the man in the coat said before turning to head off in an entirely different direction across the plain-like landscape. Scott stood at the exit to the forest for several moments, watching the man go off. It wasn’t until Kirby nudged him on the shoulder that he remembered he still had a package to deliver. He glanced down the road towards the rather large estate the man had pointed to. There were luminaries of every color bathing the exotic looking buildings in light. Scott let out a tired sigh and started walking. What a birthday this had turned out to be.

NEXT ISSUE: The Strange Academy for the Magically Gifted!