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A late autumn day on the steppe, the air is bright but the temperature has been dropping steadily, approaching one digit. They don’t need their heaviest fur, but a thick felt coat is a sensible choice. Izuku tugged his collar close and did the highest button. His collar is tall, and if Izuku tucks his chin, he will be guarded against the cold air. But he doesn’t mind the cold air. It is sweet.
Izuku is doing chores, looking after their horses. The company has secured a land with excellent pasturage and shelter for vast herds of camels, horses, yaks, and sheep.
Today, two hundred of the horses are on Izuku's watch, which amounts to one tenth of their company's total. Their horses have to be split up and led to different pastures. They group together, grazing on the grass. It's an idle picture.
Horses are beautiful creatures. Tall and upright. Intelligent eyes and sleek mane. Different personalities, but most of them are willing to let Izuku close and pat the bridge between their eyes and nostrils. You know they are always standing on their tippy toes? Their whole body honed for running, like a construction, a bow pulled taunt, or a water mill kept in circular motion, with no part excessive. The whole steppe population's survival depends on them.
Izuku takes a few laps around, making sure everything is fine, and everything is fine. It's an easy chore. Izuku got the rest of the day to himself. He could have just watched them, but today, Izuku wants speed and movement.
The rosy dawn has just cleared and the day is brighter. Glorious late autumn weather, when everything is brightest and sweetest. Izuku goes for a ride, just for the joy of it. The horse he chose for the job is fast, slender, and responsive under his reign. A chestnut with strong legs and a flowing black mane.
Izuku is riding down hill, free and fearless. The horse knows what to do and Izuku trusts him. He holds the rein loosely, and the horse gallops downhill. Verdant grass under their feet. Short grass like springs, bolsters his steps, and quickly they roll down the slope. Flying and falling and thrusting.
Craning his neck, looking up to the sky. A blue with a tinge of purple: the sky all encompassing. Awe in its height. A vast lake is waiting for him to jump in. The higher it is, the deeper the blue, like a dot of ink on damp paper, pooling then feathered at the edge. Brown eye with dark pupil, or a hook pulling. Too blue. But idle dashes of white cloud sobered him up a bit.
Izuku leans forward, leaning into the speed. As far as the eye can see are rolling, undulating hills. They crisscrossed, intersected, dipping, and rising. A living grid, self-multiplying and endless. A verdant, lively green, got paler and bluer by the horizon. It balances perfectly with the sky, and for a minute Izuku believes that the whole world is the steppe.
The wind dries his lips, cutting by his ears. His shoulders relax with the speed. The faster he runs, the closer and brighter the colors. They are closing in on him and taking him whole. Green. Blue. Cyan. The vibrancy of the in between. He can forget himself, being a part of this green grid, it is fitting, the steppe vast and he is small. He gives himself to joy, grateful for the speed and vastness. The world is all blue and green, and all directions are his to claim.
Most of all, Izuku is happy for a chance to be more than himself. He and his horse, it is. A taller, faster, stronger hybrid of himself, with more limbs. A centaur, maybe. Izuku laughs.
Yet, as amazing as it is, his horse knows how to get a little tired, and after running for fifteen minutes, he slows down. They stop at a deeper and wider valley. The grass reaches his knees, hiding movements underneath. Possibly some jumpy rabbits.
Izuku steps down from his horse. He is taken with the scene, fertile ground, blooming flowers, but soon gets restive. He calms when he is riding: a whirlwind of motions that demands absolute focus. It freed his mind.
Now, standing still, the troubles stir up again. Izuku is sorry he brought nothing to distract himself. A book, a bow. A handheld console that only runs Snake and the racing game. Which has an infinite all-win glitch. But he has nothing. Izuku plucks grass blades to make braids out of. Something for his hands. Yet it is not enough, and his mind travels.
You are new here, so a few basic introductions are needed.
Imagine, a disk. A big serving dish, oval shape would be the best. Porcelain, with its subtle coloring, comes from way down south. The disk stands in for the world. Izuku at the steppe, cities are down one way, and strong founded fortresses on the other.
However, the steppe is the biggest, residing in the north, and taking more than half of the disk. Southeast is the cities, where they cloistered together. Southwest is the stone wall mountaintop fortress, where they keep to themselves.
Each scope gots their fair share of merits and demerits, both equaling intriguing for Izuku. Yet the steppe is vast, and it can very well be all that he knows for all of his life. Not much to complain about.
However, as neat as the delineation is, the world is mostly the same. It is lawless. Oh, there are enough words. Big bounded leather books written a hundred years ago. Memory cards that carry the laws of the last millennium. The code before the fall, some would say ominously. Of course, at any age, a legion of people claimed to know the laws. However, the facts stand that, in this day and age, within the said geographical scope, no one has the drive or authority to uphold laws anymore.
Two hundred years ago, with war and natural disaster and pure destruction. (A hand that dictated worldwide decay). All laws were shattered to nothing and meaningless. Bone dry clay, dropped to the ground, crumbling. What's left is dust and a sense of erosion, and the people of the past had cried for it.
With Izuku's generation, they don't pay much attention to it anymore. Lawlessness has been a way of life. They keep on living among the chaos. Each man got a narrow view of what is consider they and their own. People band together into a company, a home, a family, a party. Outside their company is the other, and people had long expected distrust and callousness. It's just how it is.
It is how it is at the steppe, between companies. It is how it is between the bigger powers, on a broader geographical scope. The steppe against the cities. The cities against the steppe. Both of them are against the third fortress, up on the mountain. The mountain had little love to lose. They quarrels and they foray. Big and small, themselves against every other.
However, during the two generations after the laws dissolved, an attempt at communication was reestablished. The commission. A succinct name, yet Izuku cannot put in a good word for them.
Many have said that the commission is just another party with a profundity of glib speakers. Still as selfish as any company, but they lather their actions with glittery terms, you kids, know better, don't ever trust them.
The commission, if we are speaking from the numbers, then fairly, solves little and causes many quarrels in its wake. (The proper term is Attempt for Communication, with all the capital letters. )
However, it gathers a fair number of allies. Many petty. Others opportunistic. Some still hope for peace. A world peace that is even more beautiful than the bygone days. Yet the said hope frequently causes the companies’ ruin.
During Izuku's direct interactions, he fears the rumors are true. The commission's agents come and go, Hawks prominent among them. They just talk too much, most are void and others are lies. They slink behind their institution's name. Saying 'we' even if the agent is alone. Such a pity. Izuku, in all fairness, is a hopeful person. An intuitive one. (Many say he’s stupid). He welcomes sincere talks, but both hope and open talks are denied. Izuku feels like a child with a closed jar of candies.
Well, he is thinking far ahead and away. Why doesn't he look closer, at this bright day and brilliant landscape? The wind blowing, the short grass sweet, and the air wholesome. His company has been having comfortable days lately.
We need a little note on the definition of a company. You know the advent of quirks? That's half a millennium away. We are in the 25th century.
The said advent marked a new age, from the 21st to the 23rd century. Termed modern, new, the rise of the exceptional, all the jazz. Well, nowadays people only call it the era of quirk-oriented law. They used to have heroes, villains, and civilians. Heroes and villains are the heavy hitters. Civilians are minding their daily lives. The villains disrupted the daily life, while the heroes protected it.
Now, there are no villains, just a bunch of heavy hitters and civilians. With fighting a constant, a company is a hawkish entity, with the heavy hitters on the frontline. The civilians inside, stay alive for a while longer.
Well. Not really. Forgive him, he is boiling things down, speaking them short. The civilians don't just survive, and many are content with the little laws. A small social order. A camp in a contested delineated territory.
In some twist of fate, which will be left for another day, his company’s heavy hitters are Izuku and his friends. When they were younger they played heroes, when they were a little older (still kids, Aizawa sensei complained emphatically), they shied away from toying with the title. Yet protecting the innocents makes the most catchy hook, Izuku and his friends are under it.
Last year, over the span of six months, their company fought a decisive series of battles. From which they killed half their members, but proved their authority and prowess. The rich land stretches wide before their eyes. Their closest neighbor is four days away, who had learnt how to speak nicely. Izuku and his friends have leisurely days and easy chores. Should that be enough? That should be enough.
When he is thinking, the grass blade is braided into a cord. A cumbersome thick cord. For now, it looks like nothing and has no function. Izuku looks and he is puzzled, flustered. He connects it into a loop. It was too small to even be a bracelet.
He stands up, even more nervous. Somehow, the short braided cord under his hands seems like a big problem. Maybe he can make a few of those and bind them together into a basket? But the grass is too fragile to hold much... a prototype of a basket it is. He can make new and unprecedented basket shapes. Yeah. Sounds like a plan. Doable and productive.
Without him knowing, Izuku was walking in circles. He is unwinding part of the braid and looking to make it longer. He is jolted from his unnecessary trance by a voice calling.
"Izuku." He looks up, taken off guard.
Shoto is looking at him from the hill surrounding the valley, "What are you doing?" He says, raising an eyebrow. He is not picking faults, just amused. He is wearing a black fur-lined robe, not unlike Izuku's. Yet his collar is stiffer and his belts more elaborate. The blue sky makes his eyes brighter.
Izuku looks down at the creation in his hands, which looks like nothing, and the trail of trampled grass in his freaking out streak.
"Nothing," He says lamely, a blush rising. "Just hanging out."
He crouches down to leave the abstract braid on the ground, "Why are you here?"
He looks at Shoto, who is still wearing some degree of amusement. "Don't make fun of me." His blush is getting hotter.
Shoto turns away to hide his chuckle, but he looks at Izuku again with mostly a straight face. If you ignore the little lift on the corner of his mouth. "You have been restless these days."
"I am not," Izuku says, petulantly.
"Yeah? Well, I am thinking about picking up your chores, so that you can have some time to relax. Go for a hunt or anything. But if it was not the case..."
~~~~~
Needless to say, Izuku caves quickly.
Well, Shoto was plain sweet. If it hasn’t been him, but one of his friends who has the temperament to tease, they would not let Izuku go that quickly. But with Shoto, Izuku just needs to stammer I would like that, thank you very much. And he is free to go with a light price of another chuckle.
Izuku even got the other's scarf for extra protection. Shoto insisted him taking it, saying the draft on the mountains had been harsher lately. No time for having a cold, with winter closing in. Izuku ceded, and a bright of red lopped over his own muted blue scarf.
He blushes again, touching the red scarf. Izuku must bring back something nice for Shoto.
It was a different kind of joy looking down the valley from a high peak.
On this mountain range, an hour away from their camp, Izuku is at one of the higher peaks. Opened out, beneath his eye level, as a picture book unfolded, are smaller peaks. At this altitude, they are rocky and ragged. At some parts, protruding out like knives, sharp points glinting, and at others, hollowed inward, making little dark pools pulling in.
Scant vegetation take roots on the side and on the top of the rocky mountains. Mostly moss and dry poplar trees. The yellowed leaves provide a scant relief to the white and gray and black rocks. The sinuous trunks are dark scorched amber. Twisting and bending, a serpent caught in time. Some trunks unbending, but whipped leaning down by the winds.
Winds are a constant at this height, and today it is harsh and unyielding. Izuku’s face gets redder with the wind whipping straight on, his throat and nose drier, but he still stays to admire. It’s a grand image, full-bodied and lofty.
One extraordinary joy of the steppe is falconry. The birds of prey for the job are hawks, goshawks, or eagles. The preparation is elaborate: the hunters take female chicks from the mother’s nest, or trap young birds in a net. They took the birds home, raised them, and trained them. When the birds are old enough and sufficiently trained, they are taken to the mountains to hunt.
From the mountain the eagles came, and in the mountain they are at home. Proud, beautiful, and soaring higher than any other, they lord over the wind howling and upright-thrusting peaks. The hunter is to choose a peak with a clear view of the valley below, to locate prey.
When the prey is spotted, (small mammals like rabbits, raccoons, or foxes) The hunter sends the eagle in its direction. The bird jumps into the air, catches the wind, and soars higher. They circle above the prey, closing in, and capture it with their talons. Afterward, the bird would carry the prey back to their hunter. They are formidable, a group of eagles can bring down a wolf.
When the birds reached four or five years old, they became adult birds, capable of laying eggs. They will be freed back to the mountains and live moves on.
Almost two years ago, Izuku was taught how to capture and take care of his first eagle. It’s been a terribly exciting and exhilarating half a year, which Izuku will never forget. Now, Blackwhip (the eagle’s name) is almost two years old, in the prime of her adolescence. She is a beautiful bird, with a curving proud red chest, and gorgeous sheening black wings.
Among other tools, falconry required a specific glove. A thick leather glove, fingerless apart from the thumb, reaching to the elbow. Izuku’s and his friends' gloves are dyed red. A group thing.
He holds out his gloved arm and Blackwhip perches on it. She is heavy, but her weight is a comfortable presence. Her cap, which covered her eyes, is still on. She is calm, but she knows she is back on the mountain and is excited for it. Almost as if she got fuller, fluffier, and her feathers vibrated lightly. Izuku is also hunting. The landscape opened wide beneath him, and he was looking for movement.
He spotted a white fox, which is probably back from its own hunt. Stepping slowly and content, trotting on the valley that dipped gently between the rocky peaks.
Izuku takes off Blackwhip’s cap. Her eyes open, alert. With his ungloved hand, Izuku points out the fox, talking with her gently. Blackwhip follows his pointing finger. She gets the task, she leans down slightly, ready for action, and she is waiting for the signals. Izuku’s arm is stretching out to the side, and he flung it away in a circular movement. Blackwhip takes flight. She soars to the sky, red and black on a bright blue sky.
Izuku looks up at her. When she is flying highest, she blocks the sunlight, and her body is a patch of shadow, outlined by glittering sunlight. She dives down to the jagged mountain ranges, passes the bending branches and the moss, closing in on the thinly covered ground to the fox.
The fox realizes what’s going to happen, but doesn’t have time to react. As soon as it looks, it is captured in Blackwhip’s talon. The fox struggles, tries to tumble, and wrenches out of Blackwhip’s feet. But it is all in vain, the eagle’s grip is tight and unforgiving. The fox soon loses strength and is killed.
Izuku calls her back, standing close to the cliff, his arm held out. "Blackwhip, to me!" His voice travels down the peak.
But the bird doesn’t need any instructions, they have gone through the motions many times. She flies to the peak and perches on his arm.
“Good job,” Izuku cooes, grinning ear to ear, “You did so well. Beautifully done.”
He gives Blackwhip some fresh meat, and when she is done with the treat, he reinstalls her cap. Izuku checks the prey. It’s a young fox, clean kill, with a white coat dotted with black. Would make a nice cap, or the silly arm holder the city people love.
Their company had business with a city party last year. The winter had just bloomed, but the little lady they dealt with acted like it was below freezing. She always shoved her hand in a cylinder fur warmer. It had puzzled Izuku, they lost the recipe for motorcycles, not portable heaters. But after the queerness, the arm warmer was a pretty thing, dark brown-red. The little lady was pretty also, and she had given them a tough deal. However, it was productive and mutually beneficial at the end.
Well, he digresses, but Shoto had been quite taken with the accessories. This hide will do as a gift. It would be nice if there were red, actually, on Shoto’s brand. Izuku chuckles. Well, high chances Shoto would take it amiss, calling it tacky. No matter, such beautiful foxes had yet been seen anyway.
Izuku packs up and starts his way home. They have gone quite far, it will be sundown when Izuku reaches their camp.
~~~~~~~~
Izuku has been speeding again, and he reaches the camp before the light turns warmer and deeper. His nerves frazzle the closer he gets back. He has just left, but he has started to miss the high peaks again.
The camp strewn wide before his eyes, on a higher hill, with their cattle and their horse on one side. They are a lax lot, their hierarchy not too tight, but from afar the highest peak one see is the commander's yurt, with smoke billowing. (A yurt is a substantial round dwelling made of thick felt supported by a collapsible wooden frame, with a smoke hole in the center of the domed roof.) (If you don’t know)
Huh. Did Aizawa sensei meet someone this late? His lips twitch. Probably a foreign party too. The other, like we just mentioned. They don't always come belligerently, but more often than not unpleasant. Hard to make friends with others, is a lesson they repeat at the young age. Stick with your own is the other half of it.
As Izuku is closing in, he is stopped by a person who was waiting for him. Purple hair and a pale face. The light made his face fairer.
"Shinsou!" Izuku says, surprised. He steps down from his horse, face-to-face with Shinsou. Always a certain degree of unimpressed, just his style. But today a little tug on the corner of his mouth. Probably from the said hypothetical guests.
"You slinked your chores," Shinsou says, not harshly, but Izuku tucks his head, ceding.
"Sorry. Shoto said I can go, he agrees to help me with my work."
"Alright. Not a big deal. Aizawa sensei wanted you for an errand. But I only found Shoto on the grazing pastures, so Aizawa sensei sent him out instead. As good as any, he said."
Izuku smiles, "A little better than me, if you ask. What is it that Aizawa sensei wants me to do?"
"The commission's agent is coming, so Shoto left to bring them here. They are going to arrive tonight. Probably late evening."
"Really." Izuku says, unimpressed and equivocal.
Unimpressed and equivocal has been the company's attitude towards the commission. Well, they used to have a better working rapport. In the camp, Izuku is not the only one idealistic. But two weeks ago, things changed.
Now, people turn unimpressed and equivocal. Kirishima is straight up hostile. He called the commission a horde of cowards and liars, and rest assure he doesn't use those words lightly.
"Yes. You are to accompany Aizawa sensei tonight, anyway, when the agent arrives. You should go to him now."
"Alright. Thank you." Izuku darts his eyes around. He is about to ask a question. A no will be the answer. Yet he wants to ask and wants to hear it. Maybe today is the day.
Shinsou notices his mood, and he deals the finality quickly, which is the closest thing to comfort.
"No." He says, looking Izuku in the eyes. Izuku can feel his face fall, stricken like the first time he heard it. Yet he has heard it a hundred times the past two weeks.
"Bakugo has not woken up yet."
That the slap the commission has dealt to their hopeful peace-wanting law-aspiring company.
Three weeks ago, Hawks the commission's agent and a personal friend, came.
He came to ask for cooperation. He is a glib speaker, he told a tale of a grim world and urgency. A demon lord rose, he has been gathering strength and robbing. Savage laws, a strange mind, and a thrill of destruction. A puzzling lord, some said he has lived forever. Other bolted it down more precisely, he had been living for two hundred years.
If his power is left unchecked, the world will be ruled by a terrible law. Oh, but don't you see the silver lining? People only banded together for a common enemy, and this one, the most powerful since the day all laws dissolved, can disrupt the tiring balance. A needle pulling through a taut thick leather, but we can make use of this chance to pull through.
What are the good laws you propose? What's your vision of world peace, instead of these endless mosaic forays between atomic units? What do you think of the old laws? He had asked Aizawa.
Kacchan had been close, and he was quite taken with the idea. Aizawa agreed to send him. Izuku was supposed to follow with a handful of others. They were young but they have proven their strength and are famous in battles. That's the reason Hawks had come so far, to the edge of the steppe, to ask for their help.
Kacchan has been eager. They went to the commission’s closest allies. Another aspiring world-ruler, who probably got a good set of laws to propose.
Hawks urged moving with speed. He had come to them in the morning, before sundown, and Kacchan left with him. Hawks' wing is speed itself. He carried Kacchan and boiled a four-day journey into half a day. That pair of wings always makes people envious. How convenient is it? Izuku had been dreaming of wings. Mass transportation vehicle, buried with dissolved laws and dust. But that's a detour.
Izuku can imagine what happened at the ally’s camp. Hawks would do his lips service again, he is good at that. The commanders would do lots of squatting around looking at maps and weather charts. Eastward they must go, to spread the words and preach the cause. However, the road is dire, and they have one pair of wings among a hundred people. They have to go by horses and pack animals, both costly and need to eat.
The steppe is mild enough, but further, they will have mountain passes, shooting up fifteen thousand feet, to negotiate. Afterwards was the sandy basin with deserted towns and dry wells. The new lord is said to live on the side of the Yellow River.
Kacchan, and a few others, are recruited as the defense line. Well, no need to sugarcoat. The facts show that the most powerful heavy hitters around were quite young. They are a precaution for raids on the way, the new lord is a robber. Not only him, really, but the other companies also don't shrink from robbing. It’s a lawless world.
Here is the crux of the issue, which made the commission unpopular: Kacchan was injured on a mission. One too important for him and nobody knows why he is there.
It was a recovery mission (recovery of what Izuku does not know). He met with raids on the way, and heavily wounded. Smashed with a club, a head blow. He managed to retreat, but he lost too much blood and passed out on the way. It was luck itself that he was even retrieved.
Kirishima, ever valiant, cleared four days road in two, killing two horses in the process. He came to the allies' camp to jab a finger at their commanders' faces. He faulted the allies for being careless. He faulted them for sabotaging, murdering even.
What’s the sense in letting Katsuki go on the said recovery mission? It is too dangerous, too important, it was not the deal. Why did he possibly jumped by thrice that number? Are there any precautions, discretion, or is it impossible? Is this a band of rats that know how to toot?
Kirishima had been hot-headed, he was yelling. Needless to say, the allies' commanders did not like the accusations. Hawks had to pull him back, speaking softly in his ears. Maybe his words had been too sweet and comforting, so Kirishima punched him in the face.
Kirishima sent words (short-distance radio signal) and started for home. Izuku arrived a day after Kirishima, and they carted Kacchan back, in a pathetic state. The travel had been slower and more difficult. Took a week to get back home.
Katsuki’s condition has been on everyone’s mind ever since. He was set up in his room, their doctors came and checked up on him. They linked him to a machine, it beeped lethargically. Old civilization lost, they got to grind leaves and gall and sweeten it with honey for Kacchan to drink.
But it’s too late, they do not know what’s wrong. They said to wait. Izuku has been restive with wait. Each day seems longer than the last.
Shinsou knows what’s going on in his mind, looking at Izuku stood straight and stiff. Like a book closing, he turns a little businesslike and stony.
He glances at Izuku sideways, a little shy, “You can go check on him. It’s fine. Aizawa is restless, he wants you as soon as possible, but a few minutes should not make a difference.”
Izuku turns to look him in the eye. Shinsou ducks his head and looks the other way. Izuku can feel himself bloom open, well, he can't help it, his friend is sweet. He smiles, a little rueful, “Maybe not.”
Shinsou looks at him funny, expecting some elaboration.
“I don’t want to see him." Izuku says, "It made me feel—” he peters out. Flustered, again. “It would make me angry. I should keep cool in front of them.”
“It depends, really.” Shinsou says, coolly. Unimpressed and equivocal.
“You can be angry. It’s disrespectful what they have done.” He tests the word, and find disrespectful too mild.
Shinsou calls it what it is, “A betrayal, really, we're over with speaking nice. If Hawks is the one showing up today, then the commission is truly brazen.”
"It's always Hawks, though." Izuku laughs dryly, "He is the cream of their crop."
"I'm tired of it." Shinsou says.
Izuku smiles, wryly, “ Yes. I heard. Many people are. Causes that were branded just are always catchy." Izuku sighs, "But we only have so much patience."
Shinsou says. "They just never delivered." He is not a cynic by nature, but by experience. They are young, but the time compels them so. Izuku sighs, but keeps silent.
"Well, all good that you want to keep a cool head. You can be an anchor for Aizawa sensei. He is angry, and he intends to make it clear.”
Izuku excuses himself, and he goes to the commander's yurt. The company’s leader would hold court in his tent, which could accommodate a hundred men. There are numerous other tents erected around it, but the main yurt would be loosely in the middle and conspicuous.
The yurt is lavish, they are not poor. Thick wool rugs cover the walls and floors, overlaid with finer silk carpets. The large cushions laid out along the walls of the tent are covered with the finest woven silk and brocade in red, green, blue, and gold. The armrests are made of sanderswood decorated with gold, camphor wood, and stained ivory. Furs of every description are heaped around—sable, ermine, spotted hare, and purple-dyed deerskin.
Aizawa sensei is not sitting up on his raised platform, but dawdling at the cushion lining the tent. Both legs stretched out and he leaned against the short backrest. He was in a bad state. Bloodshot eyes, and his manner is even more unkempt.
Well, he is lashing out, really. He is the last one standing so the pressure is on his shoulders. They used to have a legion of heir apparents, (days that started feeling foreign), now, it's only Aizawa sensei, who hated this yurt and its raised platform. It was responsibilities that kept him there, and his students. Izuku, Katsuki, Shoto, Shinsou...
Aizawa is nervous, grim thoughts keep him awake at night. Oh, they won battles. They have chastised their neighbors and gotten famous. But what will the future bring?
He thirsts for a kind of stability. A law. Not even good, just sensible. A dire thirst he got, almost a need. Hawks cajoled on it, making him send Katsuki out, but what came back was an unconscious boy.
“Izuku,” the man says, sluggish. His medicine makes him drunk. His chronic pain requires a large dose of painkillers every day. When the medicine just kicks in, his mind is clouded.
“Are you alright? Are you not hurt?” Gasping from his haze.
“I’m fine.” Izuku comes to Aizawa, intent on lifting him or letting him lie down. He is putting stress on his lower back and neck like this, “I was out in the mountains. Shoto wants me to go and get some fresh air.”
“On the mountains?”
“Yes, looking down the valley. Near the Talas watershed. I went with Blackwhip. The bird, I mean.”
“Oh.” Aizawa says. He must have been prescribed a strong dose. Every day, he is a bag of pain. His phantom limb acts up. His ruined eye is no comfort either. “That quirk of yours. Does it still hurt?”
“No. It hasn’t hurt me for a long time.”
“It’s a sick, damned gift.” Aizawa scoffs.
“It’s nothing like that. I’m happy to have it. Blessed, even.” Izuku says. Aizawa is unresponsive. Izuku sweetens his voice, saying, “I have never felt healthier lately.”
“That’s good. That’s good. Listen.” Aizawa says, eagerly. He is short of breath. He wheezes.
Izuku tries to help him up again, but his hands are swatted away. “You must be well, alright? I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want any of you to get hurt.”
“I know. Thank you. I know you have been worrying, I’m sorry for that. I’m getting stronger. We are all getting stronger, actually. So that you can rest.”
“No. Kid. I’m sorry for what happened with Katsuki. I shouldn’t have. Hawks is coming today. I let him come so that I can fucking kill him.”
“You don’t mean that.” Izuku says evenly.
“Oh. I do. Laws are no more, we must make even ourselves.”
“Sensei. Kacchan is—“ Izuku hesitates. The machine beeps. It tells them that Kacchan is breathing like this, and his heart beats like that. Numbers. But little more.
"Alive," Izuku says. "He is alive still, and Shoto claims he got stronger every day. It’s going to be fine. You don’t mean what you just said. You will regret it. You know Hawks, he is our friend.”
“But you are just kids.” Aizawa laments, a pitiful sound.
“It’s alright. We are getting older. We know what to do and how to fend for ourselves. So it’s fine, it really is fine, sensei.”
~~~~~~
Aizawa sensei pulls himself up quickly. In the evening, three hours after their little chat, when their guest arrives, Aizawa is back to be as cool and level-headed as ever.
Well. His lips pull tight and his shoulders taut. His eyes are unfriendly. But it is not the drug-addled confusion and hatred. Izuku will take the win.
Aizawa sits on the raised platform. He is young himself for a commander’s post. The burden is heavy, too many lives in their company, and Izuku knows he loves his students a little too well.
Would the throne on the raised platform dwarf him, like a gift bitter to bear? Izuku takes a good, long look, and sees his teacher lanky, but solid. Izuku sits close to him, on one of the cushions lining his left side. Assured. It's going to be fine.
Hawks arrives. He is their personal friend, but he has been a commission’s man forever, and finds it hard to leave. It’s his life tragedy.
Raising his arm, he flaps the tent open. He ducks his head and glances up at them. He might want to keep up his conman charade, but one look at the room tells him to drop the plan.
His wings, usually spread wide in greeting, are pulled close to his body. He looks at Aizawa sensei straight on, while Izuku looks at them. Hawks knows the task at hand: he has to be sincere. He would sigh, he is lousy at being sincere. He walks to the middle of the yurt.
“What brings you here?” Aizawa sensei says, harshly, “You came to pay? Do your people acquiesce to the one-for-one rule?” A life for a life. Oh, it's not serious, Aizawa sensei is not a savage. Izuku frowns minutely. This is all talk, but unproductive talk.
“I’m afraid my life was a poor price for the boy’s.” Hawks smiles wryly, (can't help it), “I came in haste, I was not aware. Did Bakugo—?”
“He is still alive.” Izuku says, “Unconscious. But still.” Aizawa glances at him, not sure of Izuku’s intention. Well. Would be hard. Izuku is in the dark about it also.
“What brings you here?” Izuku repeats Aizawa’s question. All eyes are on him, but he sits still, looking at Hawks, and willing him to hurry up. Dwelling on Kacchan would frazzle Aizawa further, and he would love to have Hawks come out of this alive.
“Same old grim news, my heroes.” He grins. Wrinkles on the corner of his eyes, but it means nothing.
Izuku winces. As he said, the theatrics are integrated. Heroes are outdated title. Hawks keeps up the tittering, “We know that we would be more welcome if we came with good news. We tried, but despite all our efforts, we are a murder, a bunch of crows.”
“Go on, please,” Izuku says before Aizawa reacted. Well. Word smithing is at the top of what Aizawa finds appalling.
“The old demon lord, my hero. The same old villain.” Another outdated title. “I was sent to round up like-minded companies from this side of the world, but as you can see, it turned out to be a fiasco. I was summoned back with haste, I cannot come to apologize until now. I’m greatly sorry for it.”
“The point, please.” Izuku repeats.
Hawks looks at him funny, and looks at Aizawa. He said. Positively meek, his eyes and expression open, “We are calling talented heroes to gather under the commission’s headquarters.”
Aizawa’s binding cloth came quickly. He glares, he is erasing Hawk’s quirk, but the other does not make a move. Can’t. Just improper, when the commission sends him here to beg.
Hawks looks at Aizawa evenly. He will fall on the ground if needed. However, everyone knows it amounts to nothing. Hawks does not stake his honor. He doesn’t even acknowledge it.
Izuku stirs but sits back down. It is not yet his turn.
“You wants more of our kids to be sent out for slaughter?” Aizawa seethes, anger bubbling through his teeth. “You, your mission— injured Bakugo. He is not even a week away from home. You said you would protect him."
“But what kind of mission is it? It’s too dangerous. He got jumped by thrice the number. Villains," Aizawa parrots Hawks' tone. It comes out shrill. "You said. I say they are just like you and me.” Sucks a long breath.
“Your party design his fall. Are you going to put the other kids in the same fate? It’s inane you got the nerves to ask. Go away. Don’t ever come back. We will sit out of this foray.” He heaves, his words hot and rushing, over the limit. Izuku looks at him worried, but as quickly as it came, Aizawa’s outburst wanes.
He relaxes his hold on the cloth. Allowing Hawks to move. But instead of stepping down, Hawks moves forward. Izuku stirs again, ready to jump, but he keeps silent. Aizawa tightens his hold.
"Forays." Hawks mocks. "It's been long past a foray, I'm afraid. You know that. Maybe you worry about the kid's ears." He glares at Izuku, pity and disgust? Maybe not. Too quick to tell. But his smiles disappear.
“It is a war, Eraserhead.” Bounded by the cloth, Hawks is forced to stop, but he looks at Aizawa straight on.
He is not challenging, not yet, not his style. He speaks evenly, but solidly. Weighty words, a little cumbersome. “It’s on the other side of the world, but soon it will come to your door. The enemy is indiscriminate. If you don’t join the fight now, you will find yourself alone.”
“We have been alone.” Aizawa scoffs. “Everyone has been for themselves the past 200 years, if you don’t notice.”
“We would like to change that.” Blurt out, quickly. The commission’s most catchy hook.
“Are you talking about that again?” Aizawa seethes.
“You must think I’m stupid. Law. The good law I propose, you said. You show yourself as a liar, and I say you are lying again.” The anger makes him short of breath. Aizawa stops a beat, swallows. It seems painful.
He pressed on, saying. “There’s no prospect for a law ever again. Don’t let the commission fool you. I think they are also indiscriminate.”
“Yes.” Hawks laughs, bitterly, it sounds more like a cough, “I’m aware of that, but thank you, Eraserhead. Are you looking out for me? That’s awfully kind. It must be because you are—“
A schoolteacher. But that's surely gonna flip Aizawa sensei off, so Izuku shakes his head. Lips pull tight. Come on. The commission is doing badly by its name.
Thankfully, Hawks takes the hint. He clears his throat, “I don’t trust the commission, that’s for sure. If they manage a lever for a law, it would be the laws they propose. They been educating legislators rather than heavy hitters. Doesn’t make them any more benign, I must say.”
“Don’t ever ask me to send the kids to a lair.” Aizawa says, stony. His cool returns with his one rock-solid stance, “And don’t talk about their talents.”
“It’s hard. Their talents are staring us right in the face. Right, Izuku?” Another smile flashing. All teeth. Yes, this one carries pity. Bone-deep pity, like they are on the same boat.
“Shut up.” Aizawa tugs his binding cloth again. Hawks stumbles a step forward. He is not putting up a fight.
But he presses on with words, “I’m sorry for what the world has come to. We all are.” Sober, “But it is what it is, Eraserhead. The silver lining we said still exists, even though both the commission and the demon lord are insidious. I know you aspire to be good.”
“You overstayed your welcome.” Aizawa sensei stands up, walking toward the yurt’s entrance, “I will see you out.”
"Wait," Izuku said. Aizawa turns to look at him. He is not surprised, Izuku got a stubborn streak. He narrows his eyes, giving Izuku a chance to shut up on his own account.
“You said the commission sent you, but claim you do not trust them. Then what brings you here?” Izuku keeps on. Well, he was taught by the same man to always finish his sentences.
“I’m here with express permission from the commission,” Hawks says, a little puzzled.
Then, a quiet understanding takes place. Said quiet, because he is incredulous about it also, “But I’m also here on my own accord. I believe that—“ he peters out, seeming a little out of depth. “I think— it’s possible that.” Would he continue with ‘from a young age, I always…’?
Izuku must be looking at him funny (and a little mean), because Hawks fumbles his landing. He says lamely, “It’s a puny feeling.” He stares at Izuku, then at Aizawa. Wide eyes, deer in headlight look.
“Enough, Izuku. You can go.” Aizawa says, evenly. Compare with the show happen, his tone is straight up gentle. Well, it’s not a secret he spoils his students.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot go yet,” Izuku says mildly. “I would like to hear him talk."
"Leave. We are all done for the night."
"On the ground of the power I was given, I should hear him speak. Not parroting the commission nobody ever know. His own words.”
“This man can’t talk. He is a liar. You see what he did.” Aizawa sensei is flushed once again. Because Izuku mentioned his power, and subsequently toeing on Kacchan.
Izuku pushes, but his tone mellows, “Yes. But I think I see him. He is reaching, but he wants to speak what is true.”
“He doesn’t know what is true. He termed it ‘a puny feeling’, for the sake of whatever is left of this earth. Enough, Izuku. I won’t allow it.”
“Please.” Hawks says, “Trust me.”
He seems flustered, he is not used to vouching for himself. “I can do it.” He is testing the words on his tongue. “I want to be good also.”
“The world doesn’t know what’s good anymore.” Aizawa sensei says.
“I know.” Hawks says, “And I think you know too. Even if it’s out of reach. I think we can have it. Will be able to. We can have it back, get it better even. Fair and lofty and good.” His words roll, he is speaking louder. The words are sweet and vigorous, and the tone sure, even though he just learn how to speak those. His eyes are bright.
“Please, stand with me. Not the commission. Not only against the demon lord. I will stand with you. We are in this—-“ people have been shying off this word, “Together.”
“You would be ashamed when you hear yourself again.” Aizawa sensei seethes, full of contempt. Hawks is shorter than him, and he is hunching down, so Aizawa looks at him like looking at a pebble on the ground. His disgust is open. Hawks simmers down.
Aizawa turns to Izuku saying, “And you, Izuku. Keep quiet.” His tone leaves little for argument. Izuku bites his inner cheek. Not before Hawks, but they are not done yet.
A radio left close to the door, simple stuff, only sending and receiving one signal. It meant to call the guard on duty reporting in. Aizawa jams it with a fist. Probably Shinsou would show up. Aizawa kicks Hawks out. He pulls Izuku’s wrist, a nervous tick.
“You are driving me crazy.” His eyes glare, he is using his quirk. Red and intense. Not offensive, just something to show for his nerves.
Maybe he is also surprised by the glare. Aizawa closes his one working eye for a few seconds, and when he opens it, it is black and sober again. He looks at Izuku searching. They know what each other wants, and for what reasons they want it. What’s left is a battle of will.
Izuku bites his lips. He can hardly stand that look, but it’s no time to cave and apologize, not yet. A plea made its way, though. "Please." It is throaty. Damn he.
“No.” Aizawa sensei is affected by his emotion, but he bites down saying. Final like clenched teeth, a hammered nail, “Never."
"You are going to be killed.” Izuku can see Aizawa swallowing his anger. He wants to speak clearly and even, words final with a scientific ice. “You can’t—- I can’t.”
Swallowing, then the verdict, “That man can’t talk. Don't be foolish. He is not strong enough for anything.”
Despite what Aizawa wants, Izuku is affected by his teacher’s emotions. He feels watery and guilty, but presses on saying, “Maybe. But I got the power, maybe I can help him. I should. This has been going on for too long. You—.”
“You can't change it.” Another scientific ice, textbook-text, “Whatever power you are blessed with.” He said blessed like it's gravel on his tongue.
“Many people have tried. They all fail."
“Kacchan also trusts him. That’s why he goes.”
“He has a hole on his head to show for it,” Aizawa says, his rock-solid stance re-emerged, the final fortress of his sanity. Izuku wants to slam his head into the ground. Phenomenal time to mention Kacchan. So much for giving Hawks a dirty look all night.
“It can't be like this," Izuku said, half a threat. ( Wetness on his lower eyelid) Nothing stops him from going rogue, he is the most powerful person here. But he wouldn’t sullied them like that. He retorts to asking nicely. He will wipe his eyes and nose, he wants to talk evenly and fairly.
“By all that All Might entrusted to me, you should let me go.”
Aizawa is willing to stake his bet, “The day they push me on that chair is the day I swear to keep you all safe. You have to listen to me.”
They look at each other in the eyes, an unintentional staring match. Aizawa is cold. He reserves his hot anger for the other, but not his own students. He regards Izuku evenly, like waiting for him to realize a tricky problem. His mouth quivers, and sweat lingers on his face. Yet Izuku holds his ground.
“You two are looking funny,” Shinsou said, flapping the tent open.
“Hitoshi.” Aizawa sensei said. “You show Hawks out. Use your quirk if needed. Tell him he is not welcome ever again.”
“Well. Alright.” Shinsou says, exasperated. Whatever show just happened here, he probably thinks it could be resolved more efficiently and quietly. Less water-work on Izuku's part, and less stress on Aizawa sensei.
“I will get to that, but there’s something you should hear first, you will be delighted."
He leaned against the doorpost, sighing, but his words are slow and enjoying.
"Bakugo just woke up, and he asks to see Hawks. He is quite delight the man has already by his front door, or else he plans to ride out himself. Hawks are about to fly him away, really. So do the order still stand?”
~~~~~~~~~~~
“There is no rest for the one of intellect and refinement in his locality, so leave your homeland.
Travel, and you will find a replacement for that which you left, and exhaust yourself for therein is the sweetness of life.
Verily I saw water become putrid in its stagnation, and become sweet when it flows.
And the lions would not be fierce if they didn’t leave their grounds, and the arrow would not strike if it didn’t leave the bow.
And if the sun stayed in its place in the universe, people would have grown tired of it,
And if the moon did not disappear every now and then, the anticipating eye would never spare it a glance.
And raw gold is as good as the dust that covers it, and the staff covered in dust is mere firewood.
In leaving your destiny will change, and in emigration you will become precious, like gold.
And Allah knows.
IMAM AL-SHAFI’I, 767–820 AD / 150–204 AH”
Excerpt From
Life along the Silk Road
Susan Whitfield