January 23rd, 1948
The cafeteria buzzed with the rhythm of lunch hour, trays clattering, chairs scraping, voices rising and fading like the tide. Meika sat at the far end of the hall, her head bowed over a bowl of lukewarm stew. The air was loud, but her world felt distant, muffled, a winter that refused to thaw.
Then, a sudden warmth.
A familiar presence brushed against her shoulder. She looked up, startled, and saw Mey standing beside her, sunlight catching in his brown hair, his expression soft and steady.
"You forgot this," he said, holding out her sketchpad.
Meika blinked, caught off guard. "I... you still had it?"
"I wanted to make sure it got back to you," Mey replied, pulling out the chair beside her. "Didn't seem right to hand it over through someone else."
He sat down next to her, an easy grin on his face, drawing attention almost immediately. Conversations faltered nearby, replaced by hushed whispers.
"Is that Bracodo?" someone muttered.
"Why's he sitting with her?" another voice snickered.
"The weird quiet girl?"
Meika's shoulders stiffened. The familiar heat of shame climbed up her neck. She wished she could disappear into her coat.
Mey seemed unfazed. He simply set the sketchpad gently on the table. "Sorry about my brother," he said, voice low but sincere. "Ben's... loud. And stupid, most of the time."
Her eyes widened. "You... you don't have to-"
"I do," he interrupted softly. "He crossed a line. What he did wasn't right."
The words hit her harder than she expected. No one ever apologized for what others did, not to her, she stared at her bowl for a moment before whispering, "Thank you."
Mey smiled faintly. "You're welcome."
Silence stretched between them, not awkward, but fragile. Meika glanced at her recovered sketchpad, her fingers tracing the worn edges. "You looked through it?" she asked quietly.
"Only a little," he admitted. "You draw people like they matter... Even the ones who don't think they do."
She didn't answer. Her throat felt tight.
He flipped the pad open again, careful not to smudge the graphite lines. "You drew me too," he said after a beat, a hint of surprise in his voice.
Meika froze. "That... that one's old. I was just practicing."
He chuckled softly. "You wrote something under it."
Her heart skipped. "You read that?"
"I couldn't help it." He looked at her, his tone quiet but honest. "You called me brave."
Her cheeks burned. "I shouldn't have. You just... helped. That's all."
"That's what brave looks like sometimes," Mey said gently. "Doing something kind when no one's watching."
Meika's gaze met his then uncertain, searching. "You're strange," she murmured.
"I get that a lot."
A few nearby students were still staring, whispering behind their hands. One of them tried to catch Mey's eye, mouthing a question. He ignored them completely.
When the laughter and murmurs began to fade, Meika found herself relaxing. His calm had a way of steadying her, quieting the noise that lived in her chest.
"You're not afraid of it, are you?" she asked suddenly. "Of magic."
Mey shook his head. "Fear's not the same as respect. I've seen what it can do... good and bad. But I don't hate it."
Meika's fingers tightened around her spoon. "I wish I could say the same."
He didn't push. "Then maybe... you just haven't found the right reason to stop being afraid yet."
She looked down, feeling a tremor of warmth deep in her chest. After a moment, she said quietly, "There's a shop in town... they sell paint and charcoal. I was thinking of going after classes."
Mey smiled, understanding. "You want company?"
Meika hesitated, then nodded. "Only if you're not busy."
"I can make time," he said simply.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Meika smiled, small, uncertain, but real.
The whispers didn't matter anymore.
__________
Cody sat behind his desk, reports piled high, the faint glow of the lamplight reflecting off the ink-stained papers. News from the provinces, whispers of unrest, and petitions for aid all blurred into a steady hum of bureaucracy. His mind, though, briefly wandered to yesterday, to the moment he had welcomed Meika home. She had seemed tired, withdrawn, but he hadn't pushed. He had let her settle into the warmth of the house, thinking the quiet night would help.
A soft knock at the door broke his thoughts.
"It opens!" Cody called, leaning back.
The door swung open to reveal Mr. Lovington, his old coat dusted from the streets, a faint smile underlined by a lifetime of shared struggles. Cody's chest lightened at the sight.
"Parco," he said warmly, rising slightly. "Come to check on your old friend, or just seeking trouble in my office?"
Lovington chuckled, a low sound that carried years of familiarity. "A bit of both, perhaps. I thought I'd drop by. It's been too long since someone reminded me that the nation's work doesn't stop just because we've grown older."
Cody leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk. "You always were the practical one, even back in the field. I suppose some things never change."
"Practical, yes. But I've learned, over the years," Lovington said, settling into the chair opposite Cody, "that sometimes it's the quiet things, the small ones, that matter most." His gaze softened. "Like your niece. She's been at the academy long enough to start carving out her own path... but she's still afraid, Cody. And you're... well, you and Jazmin are her world, whether she admits it or not."
Cody smiled faintly, leaning back. "We just want her to be safe, Parco. That's all. She... she likes to keep things to herself, so we can't always know what she's going through."
Lovington nodded knowingly. "And that's why she needs someone who's both steady and patient. Someone who's been through storms themselves." He leaned forward, voice quiet, almost conspiratorial. "But you won't hear about every storm she faces. Not yet, at least."
Cody's expression softened further. "I see. Then I trust you to watch over her. You've always had a good sense of these things."
Lovington gave a small, rueful smile. "And you've always had a good heart, Cody. Sometimes that's more than enough to keep a girl like Meika safe. Though I have to admit, having Jazmin around helps too, she keeps a steadier hand than either of us could, and she sees what we might miss."
Cody chuckled softly. "She does have that effect. I don't know what I'd do without her keeping the diplomatic side of things from collapsing."
For a moment, the two men sat in comfortable silence, the weight of years and shared experience filling the space. Outside, the world could burn, and the mation could tremble but in that office, amidst the papers and lamp glow, there was a moment of calm.
Finally, Lovington rose. "I should leave you to your reports, but remember, she may not speak of her troubles, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. Keep an eye on her, Cody. In your way."
Cody inclined his head. "Always, Parco. Always."
Lovington gave a soft nod, the old spark of camaraderie in his eyes, and departed. The office returned to quiet, the scratch of pen on paper resuming, but Cody's thoughts lingered on his niece and on the quiet, steady presence of Jazmin, who balanced his world in ways neither words nor reports could capture.
__________
The sun hung low over Revilla, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The town was alive with the quiet rhythm of early evening, shopkeepers locking doors, children running home from lessons, and the faint hum of magic lingering in the air. Sparks from minor enchantments, floating street lanterns, and flickers of light from passing sorcerers gave the city an almost alive, breathing quality.
Meika walked beside Mey, her sketchpad tucked safely under her arm. For the first time since the lunchroom incident, she felt a little less tense. The warmth of daylight seemed to soften the edges of yesterday's terror.
"I... I thought maybe you could come with me," she said quietly, glancing up at him. "To the art supply shop. I need some new pencils... and paints."
Mey gave a faint smile, nodding. "Of course. I'd be happy to... I want to know you more."
As they walked, townsfolk stole curious glances. Mey Bracodo, known for his skill and temper, walking with the quiet, sketching girl no one ever saw speaking to anyone, people whispered, but no one dared approach.
Meika noticed the whispers and shrank a little closer to him, a blush rising. "They're... watching," she muttered.
Mey shrugged. "Let them. You're the one leading me to paint supplies, after all." His voice carried a teasing warmth that eased her tension.
The streets were alive with small magical displays. A street performer hovered a glowing orb above his head, spinning it in intricate patterns. Shop windows shimmered with protective enchantments that illuminated the cobblestones in soft blues and golds. Meika's eyes followed the lights, her fingers twitching as she imagined sketching each one.
"You... you ever draw magic like this?" Mey asked, nodding toward a faintly floating glyph above a baker's cart.
She shook her head, almost shyly. "I... I'm scared of magic. I don't... I can't really..." Her voice faltered, remembering Benjamin's fireball.
Mey's expression softened. "It's okay. You don't have to. But you can draw what you see, right? That's magic enough."
For a moment, Meika hesitated, then nodded. Her heart wasn't racing as wildly as it had yesterday; walking with Mey, her curiosity overcame her fear just enough to breathe.
They passed a small plaza where a few apprentices practiced levitation. A misfired spell sent a basket of apples tumbling toward the ground, but the students quickly recovered, laughing. Meika instinctively flinched, and Mey placed a reassuring hand lightly on her shoulder.
"It's okay," he said softly. "It's just... energy. It's nothing you have to fight today."
She looked up at him, grateful, and for the first time allowed herself a small smile. "Thanks, Mey... for yesterday... for the sketchpad too. I... I didn't say anything, but-"
"You don't need to," he interrupted gently. "I know it matters to you. And it'll stay safe."
By the time they reached the art supply shop, the bell above the door jingled, announcing their entrance. The shop smelled of ink, paint, and varnished wood. Shelves groaned under the weight of pencils, pigments, brushes, and empty canvases.
Meika's eyes widened, and she immediately knelt to inspect every item. Mey followed, giving her space but staying close enough to notice the way her fingers lingered on the soft graphite pencils.
"Take your time," he said, leaning casually against a counter. "I'll carry the heavier stuff if you need me to."
She glanced up at him again, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "You... really want to come with me?"
He shrugged with a small smile. "I want to. Besides, it's nice to see you smile instead of... yesterday."
For the first time in days, Meika's chest felt lighter. The laughter, the whispers, and even the fear of magic seemed distant here, replaced by the quiet, steady rhythm of brushes against paper and pencils over sketchpads.
The shop was tucked along a narrow side street, away from the bustle of the main road. The faint scent of rain lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy smell of parchment and paint. As they stepped inside, the familiar chime of the brass bell above the door rang softly, a gentle welcome that seemed to calm even the nervous hum of magic outside.
Mey's eyes roamed curiously over the shelves stacked high with paints and blank canvases, brushes of every kind arranged like soldiers on parade. Meika, already familiar with the layout, moved quietly through the aisles, gathering what she needed: a bundle of graphite pencils, a few paint jars, and two new brushes wrapped in thin paper.
When she reached the counter, she carefully set the items down and tapped the small brass bell beside the register. The sound echoed faintly through the quiet shop.
After a moment, a woman stepped out from a back room, a thin, nervous figure with a scarf drawn high around her neck and large round glasses that hid most of her face. Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her shawl before speaking.
"I'm sorry, Meika... just feeling nerves as usual," she said, her voice soft but strained.
Meika offered a kind, patient smile. "It's okay, Joana... I know things are tough without Andrei around."
Joana froze for a heartbeat, her eyes softening behind the glass lenses. "You always say that so gently," she murmured. "Most people stopped mentioning his name at all."
Meika lowered her gaze. "People shouldn't forget."
The silence that followed was heavy but kind. The only sound was the faint scratching of Joana's pen as she tallied up the cost. Outside, a few flickers of soul-light glimmered in the street, reflecting faintly off the shop window.
Mey lingered near the door, his gaze alternating between the two. He didn't know the full story, but he could feel the quiet sadness that hung between them, something about absence, about loss.
Joana handed the wrapped supplies back to Meika. "You take care of yourself, dear. And... tell Mr. Rivera I still owe him for that painting he bought. I'll settle it soon."
Meika nodded. "He'll understand."
As they stepped back into the street, the golden glow of the floating lanterns above them seemed warmer somehow. Mey glanced over at her, hands in his pockets.
"Who was Andrei?" he asked softly.
Meika looked down, clutching the paper bag to her chest. "Someone who... didn't come back. Like a lot of people."
She didn't say more, and he didn't press.
They walked through the misty streets of Revilla, where faint sparks of magic drifted like ash from unseen fires. The air smelled of rain and candle wax, and for a rare moment, the city felt calm.
They stopped at a mural near the end of an alley, its paint faded by years, yet still vibrant enough to stir something deep in Meika's chest. Three figures stood beneath a great heart of flame: a man holding a book, another with a sword and shield, and a woman with her hand outstretched toward both but her face was turned away.
Mey tilted his head. "You've stopped here before?"
Meika nodded. "My father used to tell me their story." Her voice softened, the words carrying the lilt of memory. "He said that once, long before us, these islands wore chains for five hundred years. The people were beaten, forgotten. But then, three figures rose, the Writer, who gave words sharp enough to cut through silence; the Knight, who guarded the weak; and the Betrayer... who once walked beside them, but whose grief twisted her heart until she turned against her own."
The lanternlight danced faintly across the wall, glinting like living fire.
"Father said their story never really ended," Meika went on, her fingers brushing the painted heart. "That one day, another would rise, someone who carries the fire of the Writer, the courage of the Knight, and even the sorrow of the Betrayer. Not to destroy her... but to redeem her. Only then will the chain be broken."
A long silence settled between them. The faint hum of magic rippled in the air, bending light around the mural.
Mey spoke softly. "Do you believe it?"
Meika hesitated, her reflection shimmering faintly on the mural's glassy surface. Then she smiled, small and unsure. "I want to."
As they turned to leave, a soft breeze stirred the alley, and for a heartbeat, the painted heart seemed to flicker with real flame.
To be Continued