Veritas Virumque/P2E3

"At the beginning of my imprisonment however, what I found most difficult was that I had the thoughts of a free man." Fairyland is not a singular entity.

There are places scattered, known as Fairyland everywhere, just as Alexander the Great scattered the name ‘Alexandria’ onto cities he conquered, just as names from the British Isles proliferate through the Commonwealth.

Fairyland, at its most fundamental, is not a place name that holds any specificity. It is but a description: the land of the fae.

Stepping into the Fairyland that the portal dragged him in was like stepping into a giant magnetic field, where the forces of fae magic pulled you strongly in all directions, that everything cancelled out and felt like nothing at all. Turnus would, typically, feel the force of a fairy if one approached him on Earth, but here, in Fairyland, because the magical forces around him were so great, he scarcely felt their presence at all. Was this how most people interacted with the world?

Fae Security had informed him that he’d be under surveillance, but he was permitted to make a home for himself in Fairyland if he so wished. Turnus asked about his time of stay. The answer was only one word ‘indeterminable’.

He wasn’t sure what he did. He was very sure he didn’t deserve this.

The Fairyland was a town enveloped by a dense forest that served as a Faeraday’s Page, caging the town from external signals. That meant Turnus’ phone signal was out, so there was no chance for him to go on his parents’ offer to go back to Canada.

Turnus knew enough rules about interacting with the fae. Don’t eat their food. Don’t give your name. Don’t accept any offers or deals without an equal exchange. The fae were all about equal exchange. It was a finnicky line to draw. He could offer favours, but the reaction towards a favour would depend on whether the interpretation was goodwill or sneering charity.

“Where would I live? Sleep? What if I go hungry?”

“There’s a place that we call the Nursery, we’ll take you there,” responded the nondescript fae security. “You’d find that time passes more quickly than you’d think.”

The answer to the food question was addressed at the Nursery.

Thankfully, Feiynman was not fond of the idea of their hosts dying under their care. That would be most irresponsible. In the Nursery, the changeling owned a dedicated pantry, with a note that use phrasing explicitly to state that the food was not a favour, it was not a gift, but an hexpectation. Take the food you wish, cook the food however you wish, use the utilities and apparati provided, and do not regard it as a favour. It is an expectation. When you are under the care of Feiynman, it is not because of charity.

~*~

Turnus lives. That statement is fact. He is fantastic at many things, and one of them is survival in an unaccommodating world.

~*~

Families with magical heritage have an additional milestone: the appearance of one’s first magic.

Brutus was a late bloomer, and his parents worried. But at age eight, the first signs of magic started to show, and by eight ten, he was out-performing all his peers.

Around that time, Turnus Wyllt was about to be born.

At age three, a toddler Turnus Wyllt once clapped his hands, and remnants of magic left them, black and glitter-like, and hovered around him like a thundercloud. Around about the same time, three magical devices in the house broke that day.

Contrary to being angry, his parents were spellebatory. There was no need to worry about a son who could not do magic.

But how wrong they were. Every other instance of involuntary magic Turnus showed got increasingly weaker, and despite being trained on voluntary magical hexercises, he could produce nothing on command. By the time Turnus turned five, they opted for a magicless primary school as they did for Brutus’ early schooling career, hoping that lack of deviance would prevent bullying.

Perhaps, by age eight, Turnus would have become like his brother.

By age ten, they had given up.

Tutors tried and failed. Mage summer camps had come and gone, but Turnus had such a miserable time one year that he would absolutely refuse to go again. Magical consultants were hired. He was sent to medical mage professionals, in hopes of finding a source to this “dysfunction”, some scientific fundamental hexplanation.

To no avail.

“Whatever,” said Turnus, who was young and found other things he cared about more. Board games, for one thing, and books, for the other. During his visits to the doctors, he would do his maths problems, and once he got to talk face-to-face with the medical professionals who investigated him, would tell in great deal about all the mathematics competitions he was participating in.

“Very proud of you, young Wyllt,” the medical professionals would respond. “You’re such a smart boy, I’m sure you would have whooped my ass in any school you went to.”

“Maman says you shouldn’t swear,” he said, then added, in a lower tone. “Ass.”

I’m bringing my girlfriend home to meet Maman and Papa for Thanksgiving, Brutus hexted Turnus one day. Our favourite boy was thirteen then. Please please please please please be on your best behaviour, I trust you lots!!

Sofia Wares was a favourite of the family instantly. If being loved was a job offer and her presence was her resume, she would have been hired on the spot.

Turnus had recently picked up a new hobby, and he became obsessed with it. It was an inexpensive hobby: all one needed was a deck of cards and the resilience to practise and practise. He could not do magic, but Turnus Wyllt learnt to love magic tricks.

He was intent on impressing Sofia with them. He knew that Brutus only ever dated other wizards - his older brother’s studies were too important and meaningful for his significant other not to be someone on par with him. Also, the magic tricks served as a litmus test: if any SO mocked him or demonstrated some degree of pity, Turnus would greet them with scorn, and ensure that Brutus knew.

A few tricks in after dinner, and Sofia Wares was already skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not magic?” she said in a voice that could be both serious and joking. “Let’s test that out.”

She never left her house without her bag full of magical devices. One of which was a sensor. It had a working radius of 1m, and cast a warm blue glow over any magical spells or effects that were cast. As the sensor acted on a passive subject, it could still be used on Turnus.

She put it down below his hands. “Do it again.”

A magician never repeats a trick, but Turnus was earnest to impress.

“I see now!” said Sofia, when Turnus was halfway through the trick. “You flip the deck at this point, so the card on top is now at the bottom, then you shuffled without disturbing the order. Very subtle, I’m impressed.”

“Oh,” said Turnus, who was a little miffed though impressed. “At least you didn’t work out the rest.”

She didn’t. But Turnus was so impressed that he told her how it worked anyway, and after handing her the deck of cards he was using, she had mastered the trick by the end of the evening.

Sofia was, quite possibly, the best girlfriend that Brutus Wyllt ever had. Turnus adored her. When he had a new magic trick on hand, he would show her and then teach her. Not even his own brother was cool enough to be part of his “magician’s circle”, Turnus thought. Only Sofia and his mother were.

~*~

“You can go home now.”

The fairy guards stared Utility Feng right in the eyes.

“You’re kidding,” said the witch. They, and the guards with them, were all gathered at a small table in a creperie in this Fairyland.

“No, we’re adulting,” said one of the guards. “This is part of our job, I’m forced to deal with emotional labour to convey this information. We’re not kidding. We’re adulting.”

An overworked employee came out with their crepes, and conversation was temporarily halted so that they could all say ‘thank you’, obtain a ‘you’re welcome’, and to take at least one bite of the food.

“I don’t like that word,” Utility said. “Adulting. It’s so silly. It makes being a responsible person sound like a tedious task.”

“That’s unfortunate,” said a different guard. “Still, you’re free to go.”

“Did Feiynman have a change of heart or something? Who operated on them?”

“Change of face, actually.”

“Oh! There’s a new human, isn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“I want to meet them, then,” Utility said. “It’s tradition, after all.”

“Not in any stories.”

“No, not on paper. It’s not a story written down. It’s just the story I happen to be living. I just want to meet the next person in our lineage. I’m going home - home in Fairyland.”

Home in Fairyland, to Utility Feng, was the Nursery. That was Feiynman’s house here, which was often only habited by their current host. Utility liked to have guests over for tea parties, because hexistence was lonely, and the fae were fun company. They liked fae a lot more than they liked humans, and they had used up a lot of mason jars to collect magical samples to analyse back in the lab… if they ever wanted to return to the lab.

It had been years since they thought about their job. Industry was a drag. Good on Feiynman then, for doing all the dirty work.

They unlocked the door, and kicked it open.

“Sup.”

“ALSDFKAFSDKL,” said a voice in the house.

They frowned, and listened intently for the source of the scream. Going upstairs to the kitchen, they found a Turnus Wyllt making himself instant mac and cheese.

Utility Feng, in all their scrutinising scientific prowess, frowned once more and tried to assess this weird human.

However, this weird human was not taking too well to them. He shouted, “YOU” and threw the box of instant mac at them. It hit them on the nose. Utility Feng did not bother to duck.

“You!” the weird human said once more. “Who are you really?”

“I’m Utility Feng. I do like, science and stuff.”

“I met a Utility Fei! They did not do ‘science and stuff’. They did ‘shady stuff, and more shady stuff’.”

“Oh, so you met Feiynman. I’m Utility Feng. And I’m way cooler. And my nose hurts right now.”

His frowned mirrored theirs. “Okay, fine. I’m Turnus, and if this Feiynman is who I think it is, then they’re Turnus Wyllt now.”

“One of us! One of us!”

“Us?”

“See, I’m not the first human to be replaced by Feiynman. I’m definitely not the last, given that you’re here,” Utility hexplained. “See, Turner, when I first arrived at the Nursery, I was greeted by another human here. She was wonderful. Now I get to be the previous human greeting you. I feel old, now!”

“It’s Turnus,” he corrected.

How would he know that they weren't a fae here to trick him? The magical pressure of Fairyland made a fae's magical presence undetectable. How would he know that they were human? And whether they be fae or human, that was no indication of goodness or badness anyway.

“I’m sixteen,” he began to introduce himself, but was suddenly interrupted.

“Oh my goodness, you’re a baby,” said the witch. “Oh no, your poor parents.”

“I’m at boarding school,” he said, and his heart sunk. What had his parents told him the last time he had seen them? They said that they would pull him out of school and let him go back to Canada, no questions asked. This was the first time in which Turnus felt like he needed to truly go home, and there was no way of contacting them here.

“I guess that’s better! When I was in boarding school, my parents knew nothing!”

It was so strange, talking to this witch who had the face of the changeling. Or rather, talking to the true face of the witch, who had been replaced by the changeling he had known. All of this was making Turnus’ head rather hurt.

~*~

Even in Fairyland, Utility had a job. Captivity fries your brain, they said. Psychological studies have shown that one's mood is at its worst when you do nothing. Throughout the day, Utility worked at a clinic, as a medical scribe. They were fond of the pay, and the doctors there promised to write them a glowing recommendation letter. Fertility witches were not in high demand at this Fairyland, and were mostly outsourced, so Utility had to find an adjacent line of work.

But Turnus did not have his heart set on finding a job here. The only thing that had invigorated him for the past weeks had been his blog. He was also sixteen, and very very angry.

There was so much left to do in the human world. He had learnt so many things - Gabriel Fanfarinet having replaced Bastion, his father's cambion identity, and the institutional biases of upholding legacy… The third thing he had hoped to talk more about on his blog, and with the Faeraday Page set up here, there was no connection to the outer MirrorNet.

Turnus wanted to write. From Veritas, he had realised that he only ever felt like himself when thinking, when speaking, when putting words onto a laptop screen or a page. Turnus Wyllt, in his own mind, was words. This physical form was an inconvenient vessel, an eggshell inside of which held a young chick incubating. If he could dissolve himself of this corporeal form, Turnus thought, then people would never get to objectify him, then they would be forced to take him seriously.

Being in this Fairyland gave him something to write about. During the day, when faeries were out and working, he would explore the place, make observations and try to talk to the citizens here.

Fae were not as material as human civilisation is. In hexchange for a story or life advice, they would deal out whatever they thought was worth the words. Equal hexchange... that was a principle that Turnus made sure to remember. Do not accept favours, he reminded himself. But gifts will be rewarded.

What a chaotically lawful system, he thought.

A leather binding store sold notebooks. He obtained one, using words to etch out a recent controversy regarding wonder depletion.

The stories he told were mostly just taken from his blog, but he swiftly ran out of those. The fae, often fascinated by a human in the realm, knowing that humans replaced by changelings were often beautiful or clever or worthwhile in some capitalist way, asked Turnus for life stories.

He had felt his life was dull, compared to the lives of others at Ever After High, until he found anecdotes and incidents. Turnus read and wrote fiction enough to know that it was more so how you narrated something than what you narrated that made work engaging. Never had he been forced to push his limits until now.

For interviews, he had a list of questions prepared. Sometimes it wasn't only stories he hexchanged - Feiynman had decks of cards stashed in a game room, so Turnus taught people simple magic tricks. "I know you can do real magic," he said, "and I don't want to undermine that. I've also been told that stories are magic of some sort, specifically conjuration. For those, I also offer magic of some degree - a magician too makes things appear real."

For Utility Feng's life stories, Turnus hexchanged nothing for them other than an attentive ear. People do like talking about themselves, as any detective or news reporter or overworked protagonist suffering through a villain's monologue would tell you. When they got off work, it was usually dinner time. And thankful for human interaction, conversation rarely stood stagnant.

“When were you transformed?” Turnus had asked. More questions followed. What was their job hexactly? Did they have pets?

The sacrifice he had made to be surrounded by the legacies of Ever After, to have the prestige of the school's diploma was that of an ordinary life. Utility Feng was an ordinary witch. But even ordinary lives were filled with extraordinary stories.

~*~

To write was no substitute for living.

One evening, he was asked a simple question: "how are you doing?"

“I’m bored, Utility. I don’t want to be here for longer than I have to be.” Turnus rolled back in his seat, and stared pointedly at the ceiling.

“Feiynman has a board game collection! Let’s play chess or something! Do you like chess?” A distraction. Utility Feng loved living in Fairyland. Turnus knew that, from how happier they were when recounting anecdotes that took place here, than back in the human world. When he rambled about feeling trapped, he felt Utility struggled to emphasise.

“I know how to play,” said Turnus.

He assumed most people did. It was one of the hobbies you were hexpected to learn if teachers thought you were smart. People had told him that the purpose of chess was to teach you how to ‘think ahead’ and ‘reflect deeply on your decisions and the consequences of them’. The only things Turnus actually managed to get out of chess were participation trophies at chess tournaments.

“I’ll rather play something else, though. Do you know what a tabletop game is?”

Utility knew, but they had never played. So Turnus drew up some rules, and used some coinage from Fairyland to determine "failures" and "successes".

One-on-one tabletop was not something Turnus was used to, but he did his best. Utility was not used to improv, but they did their best. Their storyline was a bit contrived, and their characters were very stock. Turnus threw in all the twists he could think of, and crafted a world that he thought the scientist would enjoy. The setting was a terraformed moon. The setting was science in a world where politics was actively holding its development back.

“She’s holding a meeting…” said Turnus, narrating. “The walls of the room are marble, sleek and cold and gilded. Across her, two princes from nations allied with her sit. The viewer recognises them as--”

The real Utility Feng listened intently and played along with the story. There were no “NPCs” and “Player Characters”, the two just picked up and controlled whatever character they wanted to.

This campaign went on for three or so evenings.

“What’s with the watch?” Utility asked, on the third and final. “You keep bringing it up.”

“I think watches can be cool,” he said, thinking of one particular watch. That seemed so long ago, that day Airmid Valerian showed him the Scrollex he was gifted. That Scrollex… the first piece of evidence in the existence of Bastion Fanfarinet. Without having seen that watch, Turnus realised, he wouldn’t be in a Fairyland right now.