_________
The townhouse was silent when she entered.
She glanced to the side, noticing her uncle's coat hanging neatly from the rack beside the door.
Spending the afternoon with Mey and speaking with Mara and Tomas afterward had left her thinking far more deeply about the assignment than she expected.
The halls were dim and quiet as she made her way toward her uncle's study.
Inside, books and files lay piled across the desk in uneven stacks. At the same time, he sat beneath the glow of a lamp, signing document after document with the weary precision of a man long accustomed to endless paperwork.
Meika lingered at the doorway for a moment before quietly knocking against the frame to get his attention.
Cody looked up from the papers in front of him before turning fully toward her, a tired but genuine smile crossing his face.
"Hey, kiddo," he said warmly, motioning for her to come inside.
She stepped into the office and quickly settled into one of the chairs across from the desk, hands folding nervously in her lap while Cody set his pen aside and gave her his full attention.
"Uncle…" she began softly. "I have this homework assignment…" Cody tilted his head slightly, his expression patient.
"And?"
Meika hesitated, knowing it was still a sour spot for both of them.
"It involves the legend…" she admitted quietly.
Cody's expression shifted for a brief moment, surprise flickering across his face before he quickly hid it behind a calmer look.
She noticed it immediately.
"Dad used to tell me about it a lot before…" she said, the words stumbling out unevenly as she swallowed nervously. "It always felt like…" She hesitated, trying to find the right way to explain it. "Like he was recalling a memory instead of just telling a story."
Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap.
"And… since you and Dad were really close…" she added, voice dropping even softer. "I-I thought you could help me with it."
The last words lingered in the air between them, careful and uncertain, as though she was afraid that he might react badly. But his eyes only softened.
"Sure kiddo, what's the assignment?" he asked gently.
Meika let out a small breath she had not realized she was holding and quickly fished her notebook from her bag, opening it to the marked page.
"Sir Lovington asked us to connect the legend to the study of souls," she said softly.
At that, Cody's gaze drifted downward, not quite focusing on the notebook anymore. His hand paused over the scattered papers on his desk, pen hovering as though forgotten mid-task.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
The room seemed to grow heavier in its silence, the lamplight stretching across the desk in long, tired shadows.
Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly as thought replaced expression.
He didn't answer right away.
The pen in his hand slowed, then stopped entirely, resting against the papers as he leaned back in his chair. His gaze drifted from Meika's notebook to the words she had written, and for a moment, it felt like he was weighing something far older than homework.
"Alright," he said at last, softer than before. "Let's take it piece by piece."
He nodded toward the page.
"The Writer, the Knight, and the Betrayer."
Meika watched him closely as he spoke, her posture easing just a little, as she had finally found solid ground.
"The Writer comes first," Cody continued. "Not because it's the most important, but because it's the part that tries to make sense of everything. It records, it remembers, it turns experience into something you can actually hold onto. In the study of souls, that's the part tied to memory and identity. The part that says, this is what happened, andthis is who I am because of it."
He tapped the desk lightly once, as if marking the idea in place.
"The Knight is what follows. That's the part that protects what the Writer has decided matters. It's loyalty, instinct, responsibility. It doesn't always stop to question whether something is perfect or fair, it just asks what needs to be defended. In soul terms, it's action. It's the body moving because the soul has already chosen."
Meika nodded slightly, her pen beginning to move again.
Cody's expression shifted a little as he reached the third part, his voice dropping just a touch.
"And then there's the Betrayer."
He paused, not to dramatize it, but like someone choosing careful footing.
"That's what happens when the Writer and the Knight stop agreeing with each other. When what you remember and what you feel you have to do start pulling in different directions. It isn't about being evil," he added gently, looking at her to make sure she understood that. "It's more like… a fracture. A person trying to hold two truths that refuse to sit together anymore."
He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the desk, his tone softening.
"In soul study, you'd probably call it imbalance. Or conflict between perception and will. The legend just gives it names so it's easier to picture."
A faint, almost tired smile crossed his face as he looked at her again.
"And your assignment is asking you to connect that to souls because it's really asking the same question in disguise," he said. "What holds a person together when those parts start to disagree?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Now," he added, gentler again, "what part of it is giving you trouble?"
Meika looked down at her notebook for a moment, the pen hovering just above the page as if the answer might form itself if she waited long enough.
"I think…" She started slowly, then hesitated, searching for words that didn't feel too small for what she was trying to say. "I think I understand the parts. It's just… putting it together."
He didn't say anything, letting her find her way through it at her own pace.
She exhaled, a little steadier this time.
"The Writer is what you are. The Knight is what you do. And the Betrayer… is when those two don't agree anymore."
Silence followed, but it wasn't the same kind as before. It felt settled, like something had finally been placed where it belonged.
Cody gave a small nod, more to himself than to her. "That's a solid way to hold it in your head," he said gently. "Good enough for homework, at least."
Meika closed her notebook carefully, the sound soft in the quiet study. The tension in her shoulders eased as the weight of the assignment stopped pressing quite so hard.
Outside, the light had already begun to thin, the gold of evening giving way to the cooler hush of night.
Cody glanced toward the window, then back to her. "You should head off to bed," he said, not unkindly. "It's getting late kiddo."
She didn't argue, knowing that it was true. She stood up, slipping her notebook into her bag with practiced movements, then hesitated only long enough to give him a small nod.
"Goodnight, Uncle."
"Goodnight, kiddo," he replied softly, already turning slightly back toward the papers on his desk, though his attention lingered a moment longer than it needed to.
Meika left the study quietly, the house swallowing her footsteps as she made her way down the hall, the legend still lingering at the edge of her thoughts, no longer confusing, just distant enough to wait for another day.
_________
The streets of Cheapsake were chaotic. Smoke rolled through the narrow alleys like a living thing, swallowing the screams that echoed from every corner. Flames devoured the timber roofs along the port, their orange glow rippling across the water like shards of molten glass.
Meika could hear the pounding of boots on cobblestone, soldiers and volunteers racing past, shouting orders, hauling buckets, doing anything to tame the inferno that had already consumed half the harbor. The air stank of burning salt, oil, and iron. Somewhere in the distance, a cannon misfired, and the crowd screamed again.
Through the smoke, she saw him.
A tall man stood in the middle of the street, coat singed, his mustache somehow untouched by the chaos. His voice cut through the roar of the flames.
"Burn the rest!" he bellowed. "Set the Imperial banners! Leave nothing standing!"
His words vanished into the storm of fire, but their meaning burned clear enough.
Meika froze, her heart pounding against her ribs. Sparks leapt from roof to roof like wild spirits, and in seconds, the entire left side of the port city became a sea of fire. The heat clawed at her skin, and the smoke pressed against her lungs.
Then came the voice that shattered everything else.
"Meika! Get out! now!"
Her father's voice.
Luke Onderon stood on the steps of their burning home, his face lit by the inferno. Flames curled around the balcony where her mother once hung her sketches. The fire was hungry, merciless, devouring everything they had ever built.
She wanted to move, to run to him, but her legs refused. The world blurred into heat and color. All she could see was her father, framed by flame, shouting for her to live.
The explosion came seconds later, wood splintering, glass shattering, the roof collapsing inward with a thunderous roar that seemed to tear the night in half.
Something grabbed her shoulder, a hand, searing hot. She screamed as pain shot through her arm.
Behind her, a voice, deep and gravelly, rang out with twisted delight.
"Well, if it isn't Corporal Onderon... I promise you, your child will make a fine weapon. I'll make sure of it."
Luke's eyes widened in horror as he stumbled forward, his face half burned, reaching for her. But the flames rose between them, and all Meika could do was cry as the city of Cheapsake burned around them.
_________
She woke up drenched in sweat. Her chest heaved as her eyes darted around the dimly lit room, no flames, no smoke, and no screams. She wasn't in Cheapsake anymore. The fire that had defined six years of her life was gone, but its shadow still clung to her lungs.
Meika closed her eyes and counted her breaths, slowly and deliberately, the way her uncle had taught her. Inhale through the nose. Exhale through the mouth. Her heartbeat began to steady, the shaking in her hands softening to a faint tremor.
The world was quiet again, save for the faint crackle of firewood downstairs. She swung her legs off the bed, the wooden floor cold against her bare feet, and crept toward the door.
When she eased it open, light spilled in from the stairwell, warm and flickering. Voices drifted up with it. Familiar ones.
She descended the stairs quietly, each creak a secret she begged the night not to tell.
"You heard the news, love..." her aunt's voice murmured through the stillness. "Newhiskey broke out of Brooksville Prison... and it seems he's not alone."
Meika froze on the last step. The name sent a chill down her spine.
A soft sigh followed. "It scares me, love. Eight years after the fire... after saving the light of our lives."
Her uncle's voice was low, roughened by worry. She could picture him by the hearth, rubbing his temples the way he always did when something weighed too heavily.
"I know," her aunt replied, quieter now. "We should have pushed harder for the death penalty..."
"I tried," her uncle muttered. "You know James and I both did. We made sure Brooksville assigned two Veteranus Guards to his cell, every hour of every day."
There was a pause, only the sound of the fire filled it.
"And yet," her aunt whispered, "he still got out."
Meika's fingers tightened around the banister. The air in her chest felt thin again. Her throat constricted, and the familiar hum began in her ears, the quiet ringing that came when panic clawed its way up from her stomach.
She backed away from the stairs, careful not to make a sound. The words "he still got out" echoed in her head like the toll of a bell.
Once in her room, she shut the door quietly, leaning her back against it. Her breaths came shorter now, quicker and sharper. She pressed her hand to her chest as if she could calm the beating herself.
Her eyes darted to the window.
The night outside was quiet. The rain had passed, leaving the rooftops slick with silver light. She needed air, real air, not the heavy kind trapped in her room.
Meika moved quickly, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. She unlatched the window and pushed it open, the hinges groaning softly. A cool breeze swept in, brushing the sweat from her skin.
Without a second thought, she climbed out. Her hands trembled as she gripped the frame, then the old shingles beneath her feet. The air hit her lungs like a shock: cold, biting, and alive.
She stood there for a moment on the roof, the town of Revilla stretching below, its lanterns flickering faintly in the distance. Somewhere far off, a train whistle echoed through the night.
Her heart still raced, but the stars above steadied her. She looked up at them, eyes glassy, and whispered under her breath, as if her parents could hear her:
"I'm trying... I really am."
The wind carried her words away, and she let herself breathe, slowly this time with trembling resolve, while the ghosts of Cheapsake burned quietly behind her eyes.
To be Continued