Zèklè

Zero was on another adventure- an awesome adventure, one with rocks and ocean and lava and maybe whales and definitely getting hopelessly lost. He'd thought he was going to the Heart Caves - planned on it, actually - but as the topography got rough and jagged, inky black and molten red, Zero began to suspect that he'd somehow overshot.

Not that he was upset or anything. Overshooting unfailingly led to excellent adventures.

Zero discovered the Veins with his usual flair for drama and awe, taking it in through sunbeam eyes and then painting an exaggerated picture in his mind. There was a narrow winding path stretching into the ocean, backlit by lava and looking suspiciously treacherous. Wind whistled down the trail, howling his name, kicking up small rocks and scattering sand off the looming peak. Far below dark waves crashed against the molten earth, sending billowing clouds of steam into the air around him: dark, deep, and full of secrets. For a minute Zero stood at the head of the trail, head tilted in curious wonder, silently debating the benefits of traveling up this mysterious path.

(But not really. There was never any question, really, because come on- this looked great!)

Squishy arrived on the boy's heels just as he took that first, tentative stride. He imagined himself an adventurer, discovering a new land for the very first time; he imagined what it would be like, to come home and tell Ma all about his forays into the wild. Bolder, brighter, his steps grew quick, small body picking up into a trot, lopsided grin plastered squarely on his face. How awesome was this? He let his mind an imagination run wild, imagining the adventures he would have, chatting with Squishy, running-

He stopped. Someone else was there.

Someones else, actually- two someones, dark figures in the not-so-great-distance, looming impressions of limbs and bodies shrouded in the eerie light. Curious but undaunted, Zero continued walking, drawing closer to what he could now tell must be other boys. Bigger boys. Older boys, boys who must be so cool, boys who no doubt didn't get lost or play imaginary games or think about telling their adventures to their Ma's and, without really deciding to, the lightning boy drew himself a little higher, stood a little straighter, pulled his wing tightly across his back and put on his best almost-kind-of-an-adult air. Inside him he could feel a sudden, desperate desire to impress these boys, to befriend them and learn about the intricacies of manhood, which they no doubt understood.

From his position behind them Zero cleared his throat.

"Hey!" The lightning's son called out, willing his voice to be deep, willing himself to seem non-chalant despite the excitement that trembled his tailfeathers and the grin that threatened to overtake his face, "Hey, guys, watcha' doin'? I'm Zèklè." Zèklè, he said- because suddenly he felt a stinging desire to be taken seriously, to impress these children with his real name, not his baby nickname, Zero.