Chapter 11: Sharing The Road
As the journey began, Kir did his best to ignore his problems as he spent his carriage shifts driving and his rest shifts puzzling through how his deadbeat father could shapeshift.
He tried circulating his magic while thinking about shapeshifting, which didn't work, but did make him uncomfortably warm as he focused on his skin, especially around the brand he kept hidden on his chest.
He tried bending light to change his appearance, which worked, up to the point that his still-present wings caught on the edge of the canvas as he tried to get in, which also taught him that he wasn't quite in control of the illusion as he fell out of it. It stayed in place and distorted until he let the spell go with a frustrated huff.
His moms couldn't help because neither of them knew how such magic worked, and because bodily magic at that high of a level was typically considered innate to beings that could wield it. Rare was it to find anyone that wasn't an angel, beastkin, or demon capable of full body transformations.
By that logic, Kir wondered why he couldn't do it innately if he was technically both. He also realized he might be technically neither, but nowhere in history had it been recorded that an angel and demon produced a child.
Morn's moderately mocking disbelief of his heritage didn't make him feel better, but it was reassuring to think she thought he'd been joking with her. The stories she liked about demonkin turned his stomach though, revenge tales, mostly, but she was an excellent storyteller nonetheless.
Lugh's attention, which came in the form of disapproving scowls and angry eyes often made Kir wish to punch him in the face. Mostly they would make eye contact and then glare at each other.
Then there were the anger flashes.
Kir knew he'd been sheltered somewhat by having a good home and no particular desire to cause trouble. But as he'd learned at age twelve, and the night he'd met his father, that didn't mean that anger wasn't inside him.