Your name will change as you grow. This is what Tsubame’s father tells him when they stand at the gates to his beloved hometown together. Tsubame has one foot over the threshold and his father has one hand on his shoulder. His mother is not present for goodbyes. She is attending to her ruling duties and he understands that she cannot always be there for him.
Tsubame is fourteen and has nothing but Wing Ninja, a tiny pouch of supplies, and a sword strapped to his back when he sets out into the world to find his fortune and name. It is not easy, and it is not even a month into his journey that he resorts to begging and battling for scraps in the towns along his way. And then he is on the desert road, and Tsubame starts to think he will never have a proper meal ever again.
He has just curled up on his cloak one night when he realizes he does not even know what he is looking for.
The twinkling desert stars offer little comfort, and his feathered cloak barely keeps the cold out. Even nestling himself between rocks only makes it slightly better. I could just as well turn back now, he thinks. There will be no shame in returning to Tsubakura City without having found more than many a hungry night. There will be no shame in retreating to fight another day, no shame in letting the current sweep him away.
And then Tsubame thinks, I am no coward.
He wakes up the next day covered in dust and sand, thankful for his cloak protecting his face. Then he gets up and continues walking.
Cowtoon is a brief stop. He takes care of some bullies - it is only right, the strong who prey on the weak are disgraces to the title of battler - and then, high on adrenaline, he leaps from roof to roof on his way out of town. It is a welcome exercise of skills that have seen little use on the road.
He regrets the briefness of his stop not that long after. The road between Cowtoon and Saitoon takes a day marked by hunger to traverse. Saitoon itself is clean and neat for a town sitting right by a desert, but Tsubame does not have the means to make the most of it. It is there that Tsubame, shivering on a park bench outside the B-center with his cloak taut around himself, meets Alan.
Alan introduces himself as a priest of the Bdamage Order. Tsubame has heard of them before - an organization of B-daplayers who took it upon themselves to fight the great wrongs of the world, be it with their kindness or with their blasters. Tsubame looks up at Alan, with his long blue hair and red marks on his forehead and white robes and gentle smile, and he takes his hand without even answering. The priest pulls him to his feet in a single motion, and Tsubame gives in to his tiredness from traveling.
Tsubame wakes in an unfamiliar place, and it takes him only a moment to remember why he is nice and warm and laying on a soft bed rather than somewhere out in the desert. His room is small and spartan, and there is a layer of dust on the handful of furniture in the little room, but after the months of traveling, he feels like this room might belong to a king.
He steps out through the open wooden door, and immediately runs into Alan carrying a delicious, freshly cooked meal just for him.
“Ah, care for breakfast in bed?”
Tsubame smiles. “That’s awful kind of ya. Thank you, sir.”
He’d forgotten what real food tasted like. Freshly cooked, made with the care of a proper chef. He nearly cries when meat touches his tongue. But Alan is sitting nearby munching on a strip of meat himself, so Tsubame stops himself and focuses on getting full for the first time in weeks.
“So,” starts Alan once they are both done eating, “Now that you are fed and likely feeling much better, is there any chance I can get your name?”
Oh. Tsubame rubs the back of his neck, expression sheepish as he realizes that he’s spent a night and morning as a guest without ever introducing himself.
“I’m…” He pauses. Tsubame is the only name he knows, and yet it simply has never felt right, the same way that being called daughter hadn’t felt right. He had spent years wishing, hoping, begging, pleading, let me change my name, yet he had never prepared a name to give himself. “…Tsubame.”
Alan’s eyebrows rise, but he smiles warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Tsubame. Where are you from?”
“Tsubakura,” he answers, and he’s disappointed to realize he couldn’t stop himself from giving a curt answer. Introducing himself with the name he had been given left a vile taste in his mouth. He doesn’t how how he’ll clean his tongue of it, save to move on from Saitoon and travel onward and think of a new name for himself between here and the next kind stranger to ask him his name.
“That’s quite the far off land.” Something like curiosity works its way into Alan’s serene expression. “I hope you can tell me a little about your journey. Saitoon is quite the peaceful town, so I’ve taken to collecting the stories of travelers.”
It feels like I’m going nowhere, he wants to say, but Tsubame holds his tongue and instead pushes aside the tray and reaches for Wing Ninja sitting on his bedside. He grins and tells him, “Only if ya spar with me.”
“I suppose I should have expected that from a B-daplayer.” Alan laughs and stands, taking the tray to clear it. Tsubame moves to help, but his hands are swatted away playfully. “Allow me. And yes, of course I’ll spar with you.”
A small crowd gathers while he’s stretching and warming up hours later, after he’s helped Alan around the church for the morning. Saitoon is not a big town, and the B-Center sees only regulars, so the fact that a traveler is battling the town priest has not gone unnoticed. Tsubame wonders if they’ll gossip about him. In Tsubakura, gossip about outsiders was plentiful and flowed as freely as wine and tea.
Tsubame takes a moment to bow to Alan before they begin. Alan is surprised, but he bows back, beaming. They take position at opposite ends of the field, and immediately Tsubame is aware of how he has not battled in too long. He is rusty. But then - shouting B-dafire! immediately makes his blood warm, his eyes light up. Alan plays well, as expected of a member of the Bdamage Order, and Tsubame feels as if he is soaring.
He has not had a proper battle in months. It feels like a dam has burst, and he’d almost forgotten that he best feels at home in his body when his hands were on Wing Ninja with a challenge before him.
They bow again to each other afterward. Tsubame breathes in deeply. His mind feels clearer than it has been in a while. He grins widely at Alan and thanks him for the battle. Alan thanks him in turn, for the chance to spar with such a talented player.
He hasn’t even begun to blush when a white-furred catfolk child runs up to him, tail wiggling and eyes bright.
“That was so cool!” announces the catfolk, and Terry grins, and he’s about to thank them when they add, “I’ve never seen a girl play like that before.”
Tsubame’s chest immediately tightens and a lump grows in the back of his throat.
“Th-thanks,” he says, “But I’m a boy.”
“…oh!” To their credit, the catfolk looks unfazed. “Sorry, you just looked -”
“I get that an awful lot.” He tries to smile, but he’s not sure if he managed it. Wing Ninja is still hot in his hands, but none of the excitement from the battle lingers. Awkwardness seeps in. He puts away Wing Ninja in its holster, ignoring the piercing heat from it.
“I believe it’s time for lunch.” Alan’s voice cuts through the conversation, and Tsubame feels his hand clamp down on his shoulder. “I’m sure he’s hungry after such an exciting battle, and there’s some soup waiting back at the church. Terence can stop by the B-Center again later to answer your questions, okay?”
The catfolk looks to Alan, disappointment clear in their eyes, but they nod and mumble a small “Okay” before running away as swiftly as they’d appeared. Tsubame turns to Alan.
“Terence?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.
Alan rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Sort of just slipped out. I was going to say the name you gave me, but…you looked like you don’t like your own name when you were introducing yourself, so I just blurted out the first T name I could think of.”
“Why, that’s nowhere near close!” Tsubame can’t help but chuckle, but the mirth quickly falls away and he sighs. Quietly, he asks, “Was it that obvious?”
“Admittedly, yes,” says Alan, but he spots the crestfallen look on Tsubame’s face and hastily adds, “But only because I have quite a few friends like you back home.”
Immediately several questions come to mind, but Tsubame settles on asking if this meant Alan was not from Saitoon either.
“Oh, yes, I was only an apprentice then.” A wistful look crosses over Alan’s face. “I was passing through Saitoon, and much like you I did not have anywhere to stay. I happened upon an abandoned church…this might seem strange, but I felt an immediate connection to this place. I decided to stay and rebuild it and, well, I have been here ever since.”
“So Saitoon was never part o’ your plans?”
Alan laughs, and shakes his head. “Never. Life has been funny like that.”
Ready… His grip tightens, and he adjusts his posture ever so slightly. Wing Ninja is familiar as always.
Set… He closes his eyes, and lets the pre-battle excitement wash over him. He can’t let himself get too worked up, or he’ll lose focus completely. He breathes in, thinks of nothing but the field before him, keeps his heart still and calm.
B-dafire! He shouts, eyes snapping open, firing as quickly as he can. He misses, but so does his opponent. He fires again and again and again, pressuring them until they start firing wildly to break through his offense.
It’s easy enough to break through that in turn. There’s a click, his opponent gasps, and it’s all over.
“We’ll have to work on your control,” he says, striding around the B-dabattlefield to reach his opponent. “You couldn’t resist just firing away again, could you?”
Kit hangs their head, looking down at the still-warm blaster in their hands. “I forgot to do what you taught me again.”
“It’s okay,” he assures them, placing a hand on their shoulder. “You just need to practice a lot. I’m always practicing certain techniques, but I can pull them off quicker just because I’ve been doing them longer.”
“Oh…that makes sense,” says the child, looking up at him with a smile. “I’m so glad I’ve got you to train me, Terry!”
“I’m glad too, Kit.” Terry beams at the catfolk, simply pleased to hear his own, brand-new name being used so casually.
Alan’s hastily chosen Terence had caught on with Saitoon’s townsfolk faster than either of them expected, and a week had not even passed before Terence turned into Terry. It’s just the right name for him, he decided one night over dinner with Alan, who had made it clear it wasn’t too late to change. He hadn’t initially picked it himself, but it fits over him in a comfortable manner, and it is his choice to make it his own.
“All done for the day?” It’s Alan, offering a small wave as he strides over from the B-Center gate.
Terry waves back, not hesitating to offer his friend a fond smile. “I’ll jus’ be helping with cleanup real quick.”
Cleanup is simply tidying the battlefield of B-daballs and dust, for whoever would be using it next. Terry savors the simple work. Somehow, he just knows he won’t always have this.
“You’re not happy here.”
Terry immediately looks up from his food when Alan breaks the silence of their lunch. He blinks at the priest, needing a moment to process what had just been said.
“Wh-what?” He protests once he works it out. “‘Course I am! Saitoon’s a wonderful place, and you’re so nice to me and, and…”
“Terry…” Alan speaks quietly, none of his usual lightheartedness on his face. “Tell me, honestly, can you see yourself staying here?”
“Why, of course, I can! I’ll stay in Saitoon. Just like you -”
“You’re meant for more than this little town.” Alan speaks evenly, leaning away from the table and folding his hands in his lap. “Surely - surely you know that.”
Terry falls silent. Teaching children in Saitoon to B-dabattle indeed does not resemble any sort of future he ever imagined for himself. He set out to find his fortune and his name. He’s found one, but nothing like the other just yet. He looks up into Alan’s fair face, at the gravity of his furrowed brow and the thin line of his lips.
“What’s brought this on?” he asks quietly instead of the myriad of other things he wants to say.
Alan, to Terry’s surprise, winces and finally looks away.
“It’s…not something I like to share much or make a fuss of - but…” Alan breathes in deep as he can, “On rare occasions, I receive…visions. Messages, if you will, from the Bdamage.”
Terry doesn’t hide his confusion. He takes a moment to set aside his utensils so he can lean back and try to fully comprehend what Alan has just told him. Visions. Messages. From the Bdamage.
It’s not unheard of, not to him at least. Others, maybe, wouldn’t understand, but Terry thinks back to the summer he spent climbing the mountains outside Tsubakura City, to the waterfalls and the cool river water rushing him along, to the secrets he had uncovered in his exploration, to the booming voice and gentle blue eyes he never got to hear or see again. The concept of someone communing with the Bdamage is not new to him, no.
But to think he would befriend someone the Bdamage had so gifted in his travels. Terry bows his head to Alan. “Is that why you’re part o’ the Order?”
He’s certain that’s not what Alan expected to hear, since the man is quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, Terry can hear the slightest of quivering in his voice.
“One reason for it, yes…Terry, you don’t seem too surprised by this.”
“You don’t strike me as the lying type.” Here, Terry meets his gaze and offers him a grin. “We have stories of people who can do that back home, so the only thing I’m surprised about is getting to meet someone who can. Alan, I’m more curious what the Bdamage had to say about me.”
And Alan smiles at that. “Well, I certainly can’t think of anything better than your destiny to discuss at the lunch table.”
Alan sees him off where Saitoon’s main road turns into sand with a hug and an encouraging grin. Kit stands beside the priest, waving eagerly to him, their white fur near blinding in the glare of the sun high above them. Terry has with him Wing Ninja, his sword, and a small pack of food to last him the short trip to his destination.
Your destiny will not wait for you, go and seek the Bdamaster out.
The Bdamage did not quite speak directly to Alan, as the priest had explained to him that day. No, there were never absolutes, but a sense of what was in store. And always, Alan had said, a mission to complete. Someone to meet. A destiny. Everyone had one, and Terry’s was not in Saitoon, and that the message had come so urgently only meant it would be time soon.
For some reason, as he waves back, Terry thinks of the roaring waterfall hidden away in Tsubakura’s mountains.
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