February 1st, 1948
Mey sat by the window, a book open in his lap though he hadn't turned a page in minutes. His mind drifted back to the past week, how a small, clumsy accident had led him to someone who made his heart beat louder than reason. He smiled faintly at the thought, until the door creaked open.
Benjamin stepped in, his coat half-buttoned, eyes stormy. He didn't say a word as he passed, dropping his bag onto the desk with a thud.
Mey looked up. "Rough day?"
Benjamin didn't answer at first. Then, without turning, he muttered, "You've been spending too much time with that freak."
Mey blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Benjamin turned, his expression sharp. "You heard me. How do you know she isn't just using you... like Joana did?"
The name hit like a slap. Mey's chest tightened; he forced a calm breath. "That was years ago," he said quietly. "And she's nothing like Joana."
Benjamin scoffed. "You're a fool if you believe that. You think people change, but they don't. You just keep falling for the same kind of trouble."
Mey stood, the book snapping shut in his hands. "Say what you want, but don't you dare drag her into this."
Benjamin took a step closer. "I'm trying to stop you before you ruin yourself again!"
Something in Mey snapped. He shoved his brother back, sending Benjamin stumbling against the desk. The chair toppled, papers scattering.
"Don't talk like you know what's best for me!" Mey shouted.
Benjamin recovered, his temper flaring. "Then stop acting like a child!" He swung out to push Mey back, but Mey caught his arm and the two crashed against the wall, struggling for balance.
The scuffle was messy, desperate, a mix of old grudges and new frustrations. Fists didn't so much strike as shove, clothes tugged, breaths heaving until both of them froze, their foreheads nearly touching.
"...You done?" Benjamin rasped, chest rising and falling.
Mey let go first, stepping back, his hand trembling. "You never learn when to stop," he muttered.
Benjamin stared at him for a long moment before turning away. "And you never learn who to trust."
The silence that followed was heavier than any blow.
Outside, the wind rattled the shutters. The lamp between their beds flickered once, dimmed, then steadied. Mey stood there, fists clenched, the faint shimmer of orange light crawling up his arm before fading away.
He needed air.
Without another word, he took his coat from the hook and walked out, the door closing with a soft click behind him.
________
The streets of Revilla were quiet that night, draped in fog and the pale shimmer of gas lamps. Mey walked alone, his boots echoing faintly against the cobblestone. Every few steps, a spark of orange light flickered at his fingertips before he clenched his fist to extinguish it. The anger from earlier, the shouting match with Benjamin, the shove that sent a chair crashing to the floor, still burned hot under his skin.
He needed to walk it off. Needed to breathe.
"Look what we've got here, boys," a voice called from the shadows. "A St. John's Academy student strolling the backstreets."
Mey turned. Three men stepped out of an alley, their coats tattered, the glow of their souls faint but visible: one a dull green, one a fading violet, and the third an ugly brownish hue that pulsed like spoiled light. Street magic.
The leader smirked. "Fancy uniform. Bet you're loaded."
Mey kept his hands in his pockets. "Keep walking. I'm not in the mood."
They laughed. "He's got spirit," the second one said. "Let's see how bright it burns."
When the first lunged, Mey's restraint cracked. His aura flared to life, a burst of orange light that rippled outward in a shockwave, sending dust swirling from the ground. His punch landed squarely, and energy coursed through it, throwing the man back into a wall with a crack that made the others flinch.
The violet-souled one drew a knife that shimmered with thin veins of light. "He's an Orange Soul," he hissed. "Don't let him touch you!"
Too late. Mey swung again, and heat bloomed from his arm like liquid fire, the air shimmering around his body. Sparks scattered across the cobblestones as he moved; fluid, fast, and reckless.
But as the last thug prepared a counterspell, a blue ripple cut through the mist, freezing the man's blade mid-air. The energy shattered like glass, scattering harmlessly.
"Alright, boys," a calm voice said from down the street. "That's enough sparring for one night."
The men turned. A figure approached under the glow of a lamppost: coat unbuttoned, shoulders squared, his own soul shining steady and cold as blue steel.
Cody's gaze held authority, but not cruelty. "Get moving," he said. "Before I call the guard."
The men grumbled but backed away, their auras dimming as they vanished into the fog.
Mey stood there, breath heavy, the orange glow fading from his hands. Cody stepped closer, eyeing the cracked cobblestone. "You've got strength," he said. "But you channel too much through anger. That's dangerous."
Mey exhaled sharply. "Thanks for the lecture."
Cody smirked. "Not a lecture. Just experience." He extended a hand. "Cody Rivera."
Mey hesitated, he knew exactly who he was talking to. Not just Meika's uncle, but one of the Founders of the nation itself.
He studied Cody's face: tired yet kind eyes, an undone bowtie, the faint smell of pipe smoke lingering on his coat. He'd seen him in newspapers and heard his voice in broadcasts: interviews about reform, reconstruction, and the fragile peace holding the nation together.
"Mey Bracodo, sir." He quickly took Cody's hand.
Cody paused at the name. "Bracodo... I've heard that before." His tone softened, thoughtful. "You wouldn't be the son of Colonel Poper Bracodo by any chance?"
Mey froze. His relationship with his father had always been... strained. The man who'd risen to become Head of the Continental Army's Quartermasters had little time, or patience, for his sons.
"Yes, sir," Mey said, almost under his breath.
Cody chuckled, breaking the tension. "That explains your temper, son."
Mey blinked, caught off guard. "Sir?"
"He always had one too," Cody said with a grin. "Got into more than a few scuffles in his day. Don't worry... I won't mention that you've been out here trading blows with street thugs."
Mey let out a small, relieved laugh. He never knew his father had such a reputation or that Cody knew him personally.
"Now," Cody continued, brushing the dust from his sleeve, "since you're wearing an academy uniform, you wouldn't happen to know my niece, would you?"
The question came gently, with a smile that carried warmth even in the cold Revillian night.
Mey felt himself calm. "Yes, sir. I do."
Cody nodded, almost to himself. "Thought so. She's been sketching lately and had someone who looked just like you on one of her pages."
Mey frowned. "She told you about me?"
"She didn't have to," Cody said simply, a fond smile on his face. "She's got a good eye for people. Don't draw just anyone."
A faint breeze passed between them. Mey glanced aside, awkward. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"You didn't," Cody assured him. "But the streets here aren't safe for anyone walking alone, especially a young Soul still learning his temper." He gestured down the road. "Come on, my place isn't far. You can rest there for the night. My wife's cooking, and she hates wasting food."
Mey hesitated. "I really shouldn't-"
"Consider it repayment," Cody said with an easy smile. "You helped my niece once, even if you didn't realize it."
As they walked, the mist curled around them, blue and orange lights weaving together against the sleeping city.
__________
The Rivera home stood at the corner of an old Revillian street, its windows glowing amber against the fog. The smell of stew and freshly baked bread drifted through the air.
Warmth greeted Mey as Cody opened the door. The chill of the streets melted away instantly. Inside, the faint hum of a gramophone filled the parlor with a slow, lilting tune.
"Love! Is that you?" called a voice from the kitchen, firm, rich, and comforting.
"Yes, love!" Cody answered with a grin. "And I've brought someone along!"
Jazmin stepped out, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Her auburn hair was pulled back neatly, her presence carrying both grace and command. When her gaze fell on Mey, it wasn't suspicion, it was measured curiosity, the kind of look a mother gives when deciding if she trusts a stranger near her child.
"Oh?" she said, smiling faintly. "And who's this you've dragged home this time?"
Cody chuckled as he removed his coat and placed it on the coat hanger. "A student I met wandering the streets. Thought he could use a warm meal."
Jazmin looked Mey over once more before nodding. "You did the right thing bringing him here." She gestured toward the dining room. "Come in, dear. Sit down before the food gets cold."
Mey hesitated, glancing at Cody, who gave him a reassuring nod. "She's kinder than she sounds," he murmured.
Jazmin gave him a mock glare. "Keep talking, and you'll be doing the dishes tonight."
A quiet laugh slipped from Mey, the first since he left the dorm that evening.
Just as they settled around the table, light footsteps came from the hall.
"Uncle Cody? Aunt Jazmin?"
Mey's heart skipped.
Meika appeared in the doorway, sketchbook in hand, her dark hair tied loosely behind her. She froze when she saw him. "Mey?"
Her voice was soft, surprised, but bright.
Mey rose halfway from his seat. "Hey. Uh... small world?"
Cody smiled knowingly. "I take it you two already know each other."
Meika nodded, smiling faintly as she took the empty chair beside her aunt. "We met at the Academy."
"Then I suppose introductions aren't needed," Jazmin said warmly. "Still, you should stay for dinner, Mey. It's not every day we get company your age around here."
The table soon filled with quiet conversation and the comforting clatter of cutlery. Jazmin served generous portions, her motions practiced, she'd done this countless times before for Meika, making sure everyone had enough before taking her own seat.
Cody leaned back slightly, watching them. "You're in good company at the Academy," he said to Mey. "Meika's one of the best minds of her class. Though she'd never admit it."
"Uncle," Meika groaned softly, cheeks pink.
Jazmin smiled, resting a hand on Meika's shoulder. "He's right, you know. She works harder than most adults I know."
Mey grinned. "That doesn't surprise me."
Their eyes met briefly, a shared moment of quiet understanding, before both looked down at their plates again.
As the meal went on, the house filled with easy warmth, the kind that came from years of shared laughter and love. Cody told a story from his days in the Revolutionary War, one that involved a certain older Bracodo, his voice deep and steady. Jazmin occasionally scolded him for exaggerating, though she was smiling the whole time.
Meika listened with an expression somewhere between pride and affection. This was her home, her family, a small island of safety in a city that often wasn't.
When the laughter faded, Mey found his gaze drawn to her again. She caught him looking, then smiled softly.
"Bread?" she offered, nudging the basket toward him.
He reached for it, and their fingers brushed, just a fleeting touch, but enough to send a spark through the air.
Jazmin noticed, of course, though she only hid her smile behind her teacup.
As the evening drew on, the fog pressed gently against the windows, the music from the gramophone melting into the night.
Cody leaned back in his chair. "You can stay here tonight, Mey. It's too late to head back to the dormitories. The guest room's clean."
Mey blinked. "I wouldn't want to intrude-"
"Nonsense," Jazmin said firmly. "You're a guest now. And guests don't argue."
Something in her tone, gentle but absolute, made him smile. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good."
The table fell into a comfortable silence. Meika leaned against her aunt's shoulder, half-dozing as Jazmin ran her fingers through her hair. Cody met Mey's eyes and gave a small, approving nod, the kind that said you're safe here.
For Mey, it was a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time.
And as the orange glow of his Soul dimmed in the lamplight, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he had found a place where he belonged.
__________
The laughter from the dining room had faded into the gentle clatter of dishes being cleared away. Meika and Mey were still seated at the table, talking in soft voices that occasionally broke into shy laughter. The warmth of the candles flickered over their faces, casting gold across the polished wood.
From the kitchen doorway, Cody leaned against the frame, arms crossed loosely. Jazmin stood beside him, drying her hands with a towel, her eyes following the two young ones with a faint smile.
"She hasn't laughed like that in a long time," Jazmin murmured.
Cody's lips curved faintly. "No, she hasn't. That boy's got something about him."
Jazmin tilted her head. "You read him already, didn't you?"
Cody gave a quiet hum, eyes glinting as if he could still see the faint traces of light that souls left behind. "His soul's bright... orange, restless, but not cruel. There's fire there, the kind that fights back against the dark."
Jazmin's smile softened into something more thoughtful. "Something... or someone. You saw the way she looked at him."
"Reminds me of us," Cody teased, earning a light elbow to the ribs.
"Oh, hush," Jazmin said, though there was laughter in her voice. Then her tone gentled again. "But still... he's new to all this. Whatever he's carrying, it's heavy. You can see it even without your fancy tricks."
Cody chuckled quietly. "You call it fancy, I call it perspective. His soul's been bruised, not broken. That's the difference."
Jazmin looked at him then, really looked, and for a heartbeat, she saw the man who had once stood in the middle of a battlefield and still chose to heal. "You always did see what others couldn't," she whispered.
He reached for her hand, giving it a light squeeze. "And you always remind me what I shouldn't forget."
For a moment, they just stood there in the kitchen's warm glow, guardians watching over the next generation, uncertain where fate would take them, but quietly hoping the world would be kind this time.
Jazmin sighed softly. "She's growing up, Cody. And the world's not gentle anymore."
Cody's expression hardened slightly, though his voice remained steady. "No... but maybe that's why we're here. To make sure it doesn't swallow her whole."
Outside, the wind brushed against the windows, and the gramophone clicked to a stop. From the dining room, Meika's laughter rang once more: bright, fleeting, and alive.
Jazmin smiled faintly. "Then let's start by keeping that laughter alive, shall we?"
To be Continued