January 29th, 1948
The afternoon light slanted through the tall windows of Room 2-B, painting thin golden bars across the students' desks. Dust floated lazily in the air, disturbed only by the occasional turn of a page or the scratch of a pen.
Mr. Lovington's voice carried softly through the stillness, steady and weathered, the kind of tone that could hold a battlefield or a classroom with equal strength.
"The Soul," he began, "is not just a source of magic. It is the reflection of your truest self, your will, your emotion, your very reason for being."
He turned to the chalkboard and began drawing seven glowing circles, each tinted faintly by the colored light that pulsed from the lanterns hanging above.
"There are seven known kinds of souls," he continued, writing them down in order.
"Red for Love, Purple for Perseverance, Orange for Bravery, Yellow for Justice, Green for Kindness, Blue for Integrity, and Cyan for Patience."
His chalk tapped lightly as he underlined the last word.
"Every person is born with one, but the way it manifests depends on the person's spirit. Magic, you see, does not come from spellbooks or wands, but from within. It is the emotion made visible."
Meika's hand trembled slightly as she copied his notes. The words emotion made visible echoed in her mind. Her pen hesitated halfway through a line.
Emotion... she still remembered the night when her own emotions had nearly devoured her, the fire, the screams, the smell of smoke. The feeling of her skin burning beneath a stranger's hand.
She shuddered. Her fingers tightened around the pen until her knuckles went white.
Lovington turned from the board, looking at the students over his glasses.
"Some believe there is an eighth kind of soul," he said after a pause. "One not born, but forged, from sorrow, hatred, or grief. They call it HATE. But it is not a true soul, only the echo of one that has lost its way."
Meika's breath hitched. She didn't know why, but something deep in her chest seemed to throb painfully at that word.
HATE.
If you feed it, a voice whispers faintly in her memory, it will feed on you.
A small thwack broke her reverie.
A crumpled ball of paper bounced off her desk. She froze and slowly uncurled it.
> You're dead meat, freak.
She stared at the crumpled piece of paper. Laughter rippled quietly from behind her. The back of her neck prickled.
Mey, sitting beside her, caught a glimpse of the note before she quickly hid it. His brows furrowed. "Who sent that?" he whispered.
She shook her head, eyes down. "It doesn't matter."
Lovington's gaze lifted briefly from the board. He saw the tension ripple across the room, the way Meika sank lower in her seat, the faint ember of flame flickering from a boy's hand before it sputtered out.
He didn't need to see more.
"Magic," he said, his tone calm but firmer now, "is not meant to make you greater than another. It's a mirror of what's inside you. If cruelty lives in your soul, then cruelty will answer your call."
The room went silent, even the embers of laughter died away.
Lovington turned back to the chalkboard, erasing one of the circles, leaving behind only a faint red stain. He then sat at his desk, looking at all of them.
"History remembers those whose souls burned brightest but also those who let that fire consume them. If you remember the legend of the Betrayer," he added, his voice quieter now. "A soul once filled with Love...turned to ruin."
At that, Meika's head lifted. The word Betrayer hit her like a cold wind.
She remembered her father's voice, telling her the story of the three souls:
The Writer, the Knight, and the Betrayer.
And the one who would one day redeem her.
She pressed her palm against her chest. Her heartbeat felt uneven, weak... but there was something there, faint and pulsing, as if trying to answer a call she could not hear.
Lovington continued, pacing slowly.
"The legend says the chains of the world will only break when the fire of the Betrayer is redeemed by another. Perhaps that is why our souls differ, why some are made to destroy, and others to heal."
He set the chalk down gently and faced the class.
"Now, before we close for today, remember: the soul you carry isn't just who you are. It's who you choose to become. For your assignment, I want you all to write a character study on the Legend… and how the study of souls correlates to it."
The bell rang, a single clear note that broke the silence.
Chairs scraped against the floor as students gathered their books, and conversation slowly returned to the classroom.
But Meika did not move at first. She remained seated, staring down at her notebook, at the words Red and Love, written carefully in her own handwriting.
Love… It was supposed to be the strongest soul of all, and yet she could not summon even the faintest spark.
Her thoughts drifted back to the assignment, to the legend itself. Her father had always spoken of it with strange familiarity, as though the story was less a myth and more a memory he had carried for years. Perhaps her uncle would know about it.
As she finally packed her things, she glanced at Mey. He was watching her, concern written plainly on his face.
He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, she was already on her feet, quietly making for the door.
Through the glass, the sky outside had turned gold. And as Meika stepped into the fading light, she couldn't shake the thought that somewhere, far away, the Betrayer's fire was still burning, waiting for someone brave enough to face it.
_________
The afternoon light slanted through the high windows of the Cabinet Chambers, catching the dust that drifted lazily in the air. Outside, storm clouds gathered again, the same kind that always seemed to loom over Revilla in times of uncertainty. Inside, silence reigned, broken only by the crackle of the hearth and the soft scratch of Cody's pen across paper.
Ken Drick sat opposite him, coat unbuttoned, sleeves rolled back. He looked every bit the weary statesman, eyes heavy and smile faint, mind already half on the upcoming vote. For a while, he simply studied Cody before his voice broke the quiet.
"How's the kid, Cody?"
Cody didn't look up right away. He finished signing one last document before setting the pen down.
"Quiet," he said softly. "Spends most of her time sketching these days. Faces, mostly. Sometimes the old banners, sometimes people she's never met." He paused, gaze distant. "She's good at it... but she hides them when anyone walks in. As if being seen would mean being judged. She's always been like that...ever since the fire."
Ken Drick leaned back, the firelight reflecting in his tired eyes. "Rhabdophobia, isn't it?"
Cody nodded. "That's what they call it. She flinches whenever someone raises their voice. I tell her she doesn't have to be afraid anymore, but... after what she's seen, words don't mean much."
Ken Drick's voice dropped, quiet but warm. "She's strong. Her parents were, too."
That name, Torneda, carried weight. Even in the marble halls of government, it demanded respect. Meika's mother, Julianne Torneda, had once stood at that very table with him, Cody, and Luke.
First serving as Congresswoman representing Cheapsake after the Revolutionary War, then serving as Secretary of State.
Her speeches in the Assembly could silence even the most hardened politicians. If it wasn't for her additions to the Federal Compact, the government would've been extremely underprepared for the tensions they're experiencing now.
Her father, Luke Onderon, had been one of Cody's finest officers, loyal and fearless, a man who bled for the Republic without ever asking for reward.
His passionate words had once stirred the National Convention to pass the Federal Security Act, a measure meant to safeguard national sovereignty and shield the Republic from foreign interference.
"The nation's tearing itself apart," Cody murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "Ghosts haunt these halls, James... and they're all gone now."
Ken Drick's eyes softened, the corners of his mouth curling into a rueful smile.
"And the nation repaid them by burying them in silence."
Cody looked up, meeting Ken Drick's gaze. "They didn't die for nothing."
Ken Drick hesitated, then gave a quiet chuckle. "You sure about that?"
Cody frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Ken Drick leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "Look around you, old friend. The Assembly's divided, the Army's exhausted, and the people... they've forgotten what the Republic even stands for. You and I, we're one of the last men still pretending this place can be saved."
Cody leaned back, arms crossed. "Maybe so. But I won't give up on what they believed in. Kyra dreamed of a Republic that listened to its people, not ruled over them... before the accident... before history turned her into a ghost, or a betrayer."
Ken Drick was silent for a long moment. Only the rumble of thunder filled the room. Then, quietly: "You sound like her."
Cody raised an eyebrow. "Her?"
Ken Drick looked at him with sad eyes. "Kyra…"
Cody went silent, looking at his old friend with regret.
"She would've hated what this government has become." Cody said softly, the document he was writing completely forgotten.
Ken Drick's faint smirk returned to lighten the mood. "Meika. She's got her mother's heart and her father's temper."
Cody let out a small, joyless laugh. "She's lost, James. The girl's carrying ghosts she can't understand. Every time I look at her, I see the war in her eyes."
Ken Drick's voice softened. "You think she'll find peace?"
Cody's answer came after a long pause. "I think peace died with her parents. The best we can do now is make sure their daughter lives in a world that remembers them... and maybe lets her draw without fear."
Another silence settled between them, the kind that carried too much meaning to fill with words. Outside, rain began to fall in heavy sheets against the tall windows.
Ken Drick rose from his chair, straightening his coat. "Come on," he said. "We've got a vote to observe. Let's hope the Assembly remembers what they died for."
Cody gathered his papers, though his thoughts were elsewhere, on the girl sketching in solitude, on the ghosts of Julianne and Luke, and on the fragile dream of a Republic that still lingered, faint but unbroken.
As they left the chamber, thunder cracked above Revilla, a storm gathering, as if the heavens themselves still listened to the dead.
__________
Mey watched Meika with careful eyes. Since Soulology class, she had grown quiet and withdrawn. He studied her dull brown eyes as she sketched the fading sunset, the pencil moving almost absently across the page.
The colors that once brightened her drawings had faded, everything muted, like the light slipping from the sky. Mey sighed softly, then reached out and took her hand.
She looked up, startled, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the distance between them seemed to soften.
"Come on," he said with a small smile. "Let's go eat. I know a place."
Meika hesitated, then gave a faint, fragile smile and nodded.
______
They walked in silence as they left the Academy grounds, the sun dipping low behind the hills. The air smelled faintly of rain and street vendors' spices. The cobblestones were still damp from the afternoon drizzle, glimmering under the lanterns that were just beginning to flicker to life.
Revilla was quieter than usual, though the faint hum of evening life persisted, voices from the markets, a vendor calling out prices, a child's laughter echoing down a narrow lane.
Mey glanced at Meika from time to time. She walked with her sketchbook clutched close to her chest, eyes fixed on the ground. Now and then, a flicker of color from a passing sign would catch her attention, and her steps would slow, as though she wanted to capture it on paper but couldn't bring herself to stop.
"You still draw sunsets," Mey said after a while, his voice gentle.
Meika gave a quiet nod. "It's the only thing that doesn't change," she murmured. "Even when everything else does."
He smiled faintly. "That's one way to look at it. Though I think sunsets change all the time colors, clouds, light. Maybe that's what makes them worth drawing."
For the first time in weeks, he heard her give a small laugh, barely there, but real.
They turned down a narrow street lined with old stone buildings. At the corner stood a modest café, with a small sign that read 'Baking with Kindness'. Its windows glowed a warm amber, the smell of stew and baked bread spilling into the chilly air. Mey pushed the door open and gestured for her to enter.
"After you," he said with a grin.
Meika hesitated at the threshold. The cold air from outside clung to her like a second skin, but as soon as she stepped in, the warmth wrapped around her. The quiet chatter of other patrons, the clinking of mugs, the scent of yeast and butter, it all felt foreign and familiar at once. She tucked her sketchbook under her arm and glanced back at Mey, her eyes still tired but softer now.
Maybe, just for a while, she could forget the weight she carried.
"Mey!" a cheerful voice called. From behind the counter, a round-faced man in a green apron waved, flour dusting his hands. His wife, a gentle-eyed woman with streaks of silver in her hair, was arranging pastries in the display case. Beside them, a teenager, maybe the same age as them, maybe the same age as them, was stirring a pot of soup, humming softly.
"Hey, Uncle Tomas," Mey said, grinning as he approached. "Brought someone new today."
Tomas's eyes twinkled. "Ah, so this is the mysterious artist you mentioned."
Meika blinked, caught off guard. "You... know about me?"
"Mey talks about his classmates," Tomas said with a wink. "Especially the ones who draw instead of throwing fireballs in the courtyard."
Mey rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "You make it sound worse than it is."
Tomas's wife came over, wiping her hands on her apron. "Don't mind him, dear. He's a gossip, but his heart's good. I'm Mara, and this is our daughter, Lin."
Lin waved shyly, her small hands faintly glowing green, a gentle, flickering light that seemed to soothe the air around her. Meika felt her shoulders relax without realizing it.
"You're Green Souls," she murmured.
Mara smiled warmly. "All of us. Kindness runs in the family. Helps keep the bread from burning and the hearts from breaking."
Tomas chuckled. "Magic or not, it's the same recipe: love, patience, and a pinch of hope."
Mey and Meika found a small table near the window. The lamplight painted their faces gold as Tomas brought them two steaming bowls of stew and a basket of soft rolls.
"On the house," Tomas said, tapping the table gently. "Consider it a kindness returned."
Meika frowned faintly. "Returned?"
"You probably don't remember," he said, voice softening. "But a few months back, during the blackout, you helped Mara carry supplies for the neighborhood shelter. You didn't say a word, just smiled and left. We don't forget things like that."
Meika looked down at her bowl, unsure what to say. The spoon trembled slightly in her hand.
"You've got a good heart," Mara said from the counter. "Even if you hide it behind quiet eyes."
Mey smiled at her, quietly watching the way her expression shifted, the faint color returning to her cheeks, the tension leaving her shoulders.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside was still gray, still heavy with storm clouds and politics and ghosts of old wars. But in that café: surrounded by warmth, laughter, and a faint glow of kindness, Meika felt something she hadn't in a long time.
Not peace, exactly. But something close enough to make her believe it could exist again.
To be Continued