January 22nd, 1948
Mey sat beside Benjamin, who was absorbed in a thick novel he'd been meaning to finish. The lunchroom hummed with idle chatter and the clatter of trays. Mey quietly picked at his baked potato, trying to ignore the low tension that always seemed to follow his brother.
Then Meika entered. She clutched her tray with one hand, her sketchpad hugged tight to her chest. She scanned the tables cautiously, trying to avoid the louder students, her shoulders slightly hunched as if to make herself smaller.
Benjamin's eyes caught her. A smirk crept across his face.
"Hey, freak!" he called out.
Before Mey could react, Benjamin's spark flared, a flash of light and heat bursting in his palm. He hurled a small fireball across the room.
It struck the back of Meika's head.
A faint scream broke from her throat as flames licked through her hair. She dropped her tray, eyes wide in horror, frantically trying to put it out. Her breath came short, panic rising fast, the fear of magic, the memories of burning light, the helplessness she thought she'd buried, all crashing back at once.
Mey sprang up, knocking his chair over. "Benjamin, stop!"
He rushed over and grabbed a napkin from a nearby table, smothering the small flame before it could spread. The smell of scorched hair filled the air, sharp and bitter.
Meika clutched her sketchpad to her chest, trembling, her breaths uneven. Her eyes darted around, not at the fire, but at the hands glowing with sparks. She backed away from Benjamin's sneer.
Then a boy from another table stepped forward, his grin wide and cruel.
"Look at this," he said, yanking the sketchpad from her hands before she could react. He flipped through the pages carelessly, smirking at each drawing. "Aw, how cute. The little freak likes to draw soldiers. Trying to impress your guardian, huh?"
Meika froze.
The bully held the sketchpad up for the others to see. "Hey everyone, guess what, this is Rivera's ward! No wonder she's a freak. Must be nice being the charity case of the Republic's war hero!"
Laughter rippled across the table.
Mey's jaw clenched. "Give that back, Joseph" he said, voice low but dangerous.
Joseph ignored him, tearing a page free. "Maybe I'll hang this one up. A little masterpiece from the Firephobe!"
Before he could laugh again, Mey's fist connected with his jaw.
The sound was sharp, bone against bone. The bully stumbled back, dropping the sketchpad. Gasps and shouts filled the lunchroom as Benjamin jumped to his feet, sparks dancing in his palms again.
Mey stood between them, chest heaving. "Touch her again," he growled, "and I swear I'll make you regret it."
Joseph pushed him and tried to punch but Mey's punch landed squarely on his jaw. Jospeh stumbled back, knocking over a tray as shouts and laughter turned into chaos. Chairs scraped, voices rose, some cheering, others gasping. Gabriel stood up, sparks flaring in his hands again, ready to throw another fireball.
"Enough!"
The voice cut through the noise like a blade.
Mr. Lovington stormed in from the hall, tall and severe, his long coat swaying as he crossed the floor. His expression was thunderous. Within seconds, the cafeteria fell silent except for Meika's shaky breathing.
"What in the name of order is going on here?" His tone was sharp, slicing through the tension. His eyes flicked from Mey to Benjamin, then to the bruised bully still clutching his face.
Benjamin started, "She-"
Lovington raised a hand. "Not another word. Mey, explain."
Mey hesitated, chest still heaving. "They threw fire at her, sir. Burned her hair. Then he-" he pointed to Joseph "grabbed her sketchpad and started calling her a freak."
Lovington's eyes narrowed. "Magic used against a student. Theft. Assault." He exhaled sharply. "You three, my office. Now."
The students began to scatter. Benjamin muttered curses under his breath as he followed the teacher, Joseph limping behind.
As the commotion died, Meika stood there trembling, her fingers tangled in her scorched hair. Her sketchpad lay on the floor, its corner singed, pages slightly torn.
Mey crouched down, picked it up, and brushed off the dust. "Hey," he said softly, offering a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't let them get to you, alright?"
She blinked up at him, unsure whether to speak.
He glanced down at the page left open, the sketch of him, captioned:
"He is a brave and kind soul."
For a moment, Mey froze. His throat tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he quietly closed the sketchpad and held it close.
"I'll keep this safe for now," he said, his voice gentler than before. "You can have it back later."
She nodded faintly, watching as he turned and followed Mr. Lovington out of the room.
When the door shut, Meika finally let out a shaky breath. Her hands trembled, not from fear this time, but from something she couldn't quite name.
__________
The air in Mr. Lovington's office was still and heavy, the faint scent of ink and pipe smoke lingering from long nights spent marking papers. The blinds were half-drawn, slanting sunlight across the faces of three students standing in front of his desk, Mey, Benjamin, and Joseph.
Mey's knuckles were raw. Benjamin's sleeve was singed, and Joseph's cheek bore a fading red mark from where Mey's fist had landed.
Lovington sat back in his chair, his broad shoulders casting long shadows against the bookshelves behind him. He didn't speak at first. The silence itself was punishment enough.
Finally, he said quietly, "Magic is a gift... not a weapon. And yet, it seems some of you haven't learned that."
His gaze fixed on Benjamin first. "You threw fire, didn't you?"
Benjamin shifted his weight, glancing at the floor. "She... she freaked out over nothing. It was just a small flame. Everyone knows she's scared of it."
Lovington's voice turned cold. "That 'fear' you mock, boy, is called rhabdophobia. She's terrified of magic, not out of arrogance, but because of what she's seen. What she's lived through."
Joseph crossed his arms, muttering, "We were just having fun."
Lovington slammed his palm on the desk, hard enough to make them all jump. "Fun?" His voice cut through the room like a blade. "Fun is tossing a ball, not throwing fire at someone with a fear that could kill them! I've seen men burn alive for less when they thought cruelty made them strong."
The room went silent. Even Benjamin's faint ember of defiance dimmed to ash.
Then Lovington turned to Mey, his tone softening but his expression still firm. "And you, Mey. You struck another student. You know I can't ignore that."
Mey met his eyes, jaw set. "He grabbed her sketchpad. Called her a freak. They all laughed when she panicked. Someone had to stop it."
Lovington studied him for a long moment. "You sound like someone I used to serve with," he said finally, leaning back in his chair. "Someone who believed justice mattered more than rules."
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You did the right thing... the wrong way. But I'll take that over doing nothing at all."
His eyes swept back to Benjamin and Joseph, both pale and silent now. "You two will stay after class every day this week. And tomorrow, you'll apologize to Meika Rivera, sincerely, and without magic. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," they both mumbled.
Lovington nodded once, then said sharply, "Now get to your next class. Mey... stay a moment."
The other two muttered their acknowledgments and slipped out, leaving the office in a hush broken only by the ticking of the old wall clock.
Lovington waited until the door clicked shut. "You've got a good heart, Mey," he said finally. "You remind me of your father when he was your age, stubborn, always trying to shield someone. But remember this: even the noblest cause loses its meaning when you let anger steer it."
Mey looked down, nodding faintly. "Yes, sir."
Lovington's gaze softened. "You did right, son. Just... next time, do it smarter."
Mey hesitated, then gave a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, sir."
He turned to leave, the sketchpad still tucked under his arm, the one Joseph had dropped in the scuffle. As he opened the door, Lovington called out one last time.
"Tell Meika she's welcome to stay here after classes if she needs a quiet place. Sometimes quiet souls just need a quieter place."
Mey hesitated, then gave a small, respectful smile. "I'll tell her."
He turned and left the office, the afternoon sun spilling down the hallway. The corner of the sketchpad peeked out from under his arm, showing a few faint pencil marks, lines of a face, unfinished but alive. He glanced at it as he walked.
And for the first time, he wondered what it was Meika saw in the world that made her draw it so beautifully, even when it hurt her to look.
_______
The afternoon passed in uneasy silence. Word of the lunchroom quarrel had spread swiftly through the academy halls, carried by whispers that turned to sidelong glances whenever Meika's name was uttered.
Benjamin behaved as though nothing had happened: calm, composed, his smirk betraying neither worry nor concern. Mey, however, spoke little. His silence was louder than any excuse could be.
"Mey!" a voice called as he stepped out from his lecture. Jeremy Goldstorm approached with his usual grin. "Heard you struck quite the blow this morning. Captain Johnson says your arm's fit for the softball team."
Mey kept walking. "No."
Jeremy frowned. "Come now, man. You'd be the talk of the field! Johnson said-"
"I said no," Mey interrupted, his tone quiet but sharp enough to stop further talk.
Jeremy raised his brows. "You've a temper to match that swing of yours," he said with a half-laugh, backing away.
Most at the academy knew better than to push Mey Bracodo. His temper wasn't reckless, it was controlled, like a blade kept sharp through use. Headstrong, proud, unwilling to yield, those words followed him as surely as his own shadow.
The sketchbook weighed heavy in his satchel, each step reminding him of it. Between classes he had stolen a glance at the pages: portraits of faces rendered with care, quiet landscapes alive with light. But one drawing halted him, his own likeness.
Beneath it were the words: "He is a brave and kind soul."
He couldn't understand it. How could she see him so clearly? They had scarcely exchanged more than a few words. He had spent years keeping his past and his heart well-guarded, hiding behind a grin and clenched fists. Not even Benjamin could read him so well.
And yet Meika, the quiet girl by the window, whose magic barely sparked, had.
When the final bell tolled, laughter and conversation filled the courtyard. Students poured out in groups, their voices mingling with the sound of the evening breeze. Mey lingered behind, scanning the throng for a glimpse of her dark hair and nervous hands.
But she was nowhere to be found.
Her seat in the art room was empty, her brushes cleaned and neatly set aside. Even the corner by the window where she always drew stood still and lifeless.
He hesitated by the door, then turned toward the gate as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the courtyard stones.
The sketchbook pressed against his side like a heartbeat. Meika was gone. And for the first time in his life, Mey felt something he could not fight, unease.
_______
The streets grew quieter the farther Meika went from the academy. The chatter of students faded behind her, replaced by the soft rhythm of her shoes against the cobblestones and the distant toll of the afternoon bells.
She walked past shopfronts closing for the day, bakers sweeping flour off the stoops, merchants counting their remaining coins, gas lamps flickering to life one by one. Every sound felt sharp, every movement around her edged with unease.
When she passed a group of boys her age laughing near a corner tavern, her shoulders stiffened. Their laughter wasn't directed at her, but it echoed too much like Joseph's earlier. The words he'd thrown at her still burned.
"Freak."
"Ward of Rivera."
Each echoing taunt chipped at her calm. She tried to steady her breathing, but it came in shallow bursts.
Turning down a narrow side street, she finally let her guard drop. Her home was still a good walk away, the old townhouse by the river, but this was the quieter route, lined with trees and fading lamplight.
Her steps slowed.
She rubbed her shoulder again, feeling that faint warmth beneath her sleeve. The scar pulsed gently, as if reacting to something, her shame, her fear, or both.
"Stop it," she murmured, shaking her head. "You're fine, Meika. You're fine."
But the memories pressed back. The smell of smoke. The way the air had screamed that night. A burning hand, his hand, searing into her shoulder while the world crumbled behind him.
Her knees weakened, and she stopped beneath a tree, gripping its trunk for support. Her breath quickened; the ground seemed to tilt beneath her. A familiar nausea crawled up her throat.
Then it happened again.
A shudder ran through her body, and she bent forward, choking, until the same dark-red substance spilled from her lips, shimmering faintly before vanishing into steam as it touched the ground. Her eyes widened, horrified.
She looked around. No one had seen.
Her hand trembled as she wiped her mouth. The taste of metal and ash lingered.
"No... no, please not again."
The warmth on her shoulder had grown hotter, as if something inside was stirring, something she couldn't name but could feel. Her vision blurred for a second; the edges of her sight tinged red before she forced herself to blink it away.
The river wasn't far now. The lamps along the waterway glowed faintly through the fog that had begun to rise. She walked faster, clutching her satchel close, trying to hold herself together.
For a moment, her reflection in a puddle caught her eye. It wasn't her face staring back. The eyes were red, burning faintly, before she blinked again, and it was gone.
"It's just the light," she whispered. "Just the light."
She crossed the final bridge toward home, unaware of the faint crimson ripple that spread through the puddle behind her, a soft, almost heartbeat-like pulse that faded into the dusk.
She slowed her steps once the bridge was behind her. The fog had thickened, curling around the lamps like pale hands reaching for the light. The sound of the river underneath was soft, steady, a rhythm she tried to match her breathing to.
She stopped near the railing, setting her satchel down. Her fingers brushed her lips, checking for any trace of the thing she'd vomited earlier, that substance she didn't understand. Nothing but the faint sting of bile.
The air was colder now. Her reflection in the river's black water wavered with the ripples, but even so, she couldn't look away.
"What's happening to me?"
Her thoughts spiraled, echoing in the stillness. Every hateful word from her classmates replayed like a curse. Every flicker of magic she'd seen that day, from Benjamin's fire to the faint aura that shimmered around others, reminded her of how different she was.
And how broken.
Her shoulder throbbed again beneath her uniform. She pressed her palm against it, as though she could silence the memory. But it came anyway, that hand, glowing red with fire and fury, pressing against her skin, burning its mark into her forever.
She gasped and pulled away from the railing, clutching her arm.
"Stop thinking about it..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "Stop thinking about it, Meika."
But the ache in her chest only grew heavier, like something buried deep inside was struggling to breathe.
The faintest hum filled the air around her. It wasn't sound exactly, more like vibration, the kind she could feel in her bones. It came from her, from somewhere within her soul.
Her reflection shimmered again. This time, she saw faint red threads twisting out from her chest and unraveling into the air before fading. The same hue as that thing she'd expelled earlier.
She stumbled back, shaking her head.
"No... no, I'm not like them. I don't use magic... I can't."
Her voice cracked, and tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them quickly, forcing herself to breathe. The fog swallowed her words whole, offering no answer, only silence.
She picked up her satchel and started walking again, her steps slower, almost dragging. Every shadow seemed to move at the corner of her vision, and every sound echoed too long.
At one point, she swore she heard a whisper, soft, like breath against her ear.
"Hate."
She froze, heart pounding. But when she turned, there was nothing behind her but empty street and fog.
After a long moment, she forced herself forward again, one hand over her heart as if to cage whatever stirred within it.
The townhouse lights finally came into view through the mist, warm and distant. Relief flooded her face but beneath it was something else. The quiet dread that whatever was happening to her... hadn't been left behind at the river.
________
Yet it felt colder than the streets outside. Not the kind of cold that crept through cracks or lingered on the skin but the kind that sat behind the ribs, heavy and hollow.
Meika closed the door softly behind her. The familiar creak sounded too loud, like the house was reminding her she didn't quite belong. The lights glowed warm and golden, but to her they seemed pale, distant, like candlelight through fog.
Cody sat in his armchair, a book open on his lap. His voice, steady and gentle, broke the quiet.
"You're home early."
She nodded once, still holding her satchel close though it felt strangely empty. "They let us out before sundown."
He smiled, that same patient, knowing smile that usually made things better. "Long day?"
"Mhmm."
"Jazmin's still at the Ministry," he said, setting the book aside. "There's stew on the stove if you're hungry."
His tone was soft, reassuring, the kind of warmth that used to make her feel safe. But now, it only made the silence louder.
"I'm not hungry," she murmured.
He studied her, brow furrowing slightly. "Something happen at school?"
She shook her head too quickly. "No. It's fine."
Cody exhaled, not in frustration, but quiet resignation. "If you say so. Just remember... you don't have to keep everything to yourself."
"I know."
He nodded, turning back to his book, the lamplight flickering against his glasses. To him, it was a quiet evening, his niece home safe, the city calm for once.
But to Meika, everything felt distant.
Her satchel hung heavier than usual, though it held almost nothing. She sat near the window seat, fingers brushing over the worn leather flap. Her chest tightened when she realized what was missing.
Her sketchpad.
She remembered it too late, Mey had taken it after lunch. He hadn't meant harm; she saw his face, curious, almost gentle when he picked it up. But now, without it, she felt exposed, incomplete.
It was strange how something as small as that book of drawings could make her feel like she existed. Every page was a place where her thoughts could breathe, where she didn't have to fear being seen.
And now, it was gone.
Outside, the streets of Revilla flickered with the soft orange of gas lamps. Cody turned another page, the quiet rustle mixing with the faint tick of the clock.
She should have felt safe here.
But instead, all she could feel was the echo of laughter, Joseph's voice, the heat of Benjamin's fire and the sound of her own heart thrumming too fast.
The smell of smoke clung to her hair again, the memory crawling back like ash in her lungs. She pressed her hand to her shoulder without realizing it, over the faint scar that never quite healed.
Her throat ached. The world spun for a moment, and bile rose in her throat.
She barely made it to the washbasin by the wall before she vomited, not food, not bile, but something darker. The liquid shimmered faintly before fading into the water like it had never existed.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, breathing hard. Her reflection in the glass of the basin looked pale and frightened, and for a split second, her eyes flashed red.
She blinked, and it was gone.
In the living room, Cody turned another page of his book, none the wiser.
Meika leaned against the wall, whispering to herself, voice trembling.
"I just want it to stop..."
The air in the room shifted, faintly pulsing, as though something had exhaled through her.
To be Continued