Chapter Text
Lights continue to fly through the sky.
The applause grows even louder as a strong woman with flowing, dark hair enters the stage. With a graceful motion, Dolcinaea invites her to come closer. Based on their pictures in the newspapers, it’s Veronica, Dolcinaea's bodyguard.
Oh, they're coming closer, even closer. Veronica's arm drapes over Dolcinaea's shoulder, and they look at each other like the audience doesn't exist. Dolcinaea stands on her toes as she whispers in Veronica's ear. A surprised look– oh, but only for a second.
They're even closer now. A tucked strand of hair behind the ear, a head tilted up–
Someone lets out the most joyful cheer, and a burst of light flies from their hand. More lights join them as they soar to the sky, and the sheer power of the audience’s cheering shakes the very ground beneath Elena’s feet. She can't help but cover her ears. She's happy for them, she really is, but everything is so loud!
“Miss Throné!” she yells. “Do they always kiss like that?”
“What??”
“Do they always kiss like that??”
“They do now!” she shouts back.
Elena looks up to see Miss Throné smiling despite the noise. She claps, even sends beams of her magic toward the sky to meld with the shining lights. They watch on as Dolcinaea and Veronica smile and wave to the audience. There's definitely a crowd of scriveners waiting to ask them question after question.
In the middle of the joyful but loud cheers and whistles, Elena reaches her limit. She pulls on Miss Throné's sleeve and mouths the word “leave”, and to her relief, there's no denial of her wishes. Gratefully, she lets Miss Throné guide her through the thick crowds to search for a quieter space.
From a distance, she can still see the women waving to their adoring fans. But now, she can catch her full breath and properly take in the sight in front of her.
“Did that just happen?” Elena asks, star-struck.
“Which part?”
“Uh, well– everything.”
“Yeah, it happened.”
“Ohh.”
She watches on as Dolcinaea and Veronica kiss again, the superstar and her shining knight.
—
After a meal in a quiet restaurant (or as quiet as they could find with all the tourists around), she and Miss Throné return to the inn. Safe from the eyes of scriveners, all Elena can do is wait.
It's taking a while.
When there’s time to wait, there’s time to worry, and she finds herself losing the focus to read her book. The sun starts to set. Street lamps light outside of the window; the flowers almost glow like fire against the window sills. Groups of people in dance costumes loudly celebrate the day’s events. Others mimic the path of flying lights with their arms and say that they’re now a part of history.
She’s part of this history, too, yet she prefers to hold onto the memory in peace.
Peace…
Across town, the lights in Timberain’s courthouse go out. Only the street lamps light its walls.
Is Papa safe? It’s getting late, so did he eat? Are scriveners hunting him down? So many questions, too many possible answers. She’s just like him in that way.
Her head still swims from the day’s lights and sounds, and she lies down with a hand to her forehead. Miss Throné asks if she needs medicine, but she shakes her head. She hears her voice telling her that she’ll keep a close eye on the window. It’s enough to calm some of her worries.
At the bed, Elena stretches her arm down to the floor. Reaching for the satchel beside her bed, she takes out one of Papa’s letters – the longest one, and her most favorite. It shares everything about him, from his two left feet dancing with Mama to his thoughts about his village – the lights who keep him warm on the cold days.
And then, there’s herself.
My starlight.
You deserve all the happiness and beautiful lights you could ever wish for.
I will keep trying. This is my promise to you.
My starlight.
We’ll do it together. You need not feel alone. Papa’s with you.
With all my love.
She holds the folded-up letter against her chest and breathes. There’s so much love that her own heart overflows with it.
There’s a pattern of knocks on the door. She sits up quickly, her feet stopping when Miss Throné gestures for her to stay. One hand hovers over her hip as she steps closer to the door and, without a sound, opens it.
When the door shuts, Elena crosses the room to meet Papa’s waiting arms.
"Is it done?"
"It is. The hardest part, at least," he says. "I'm innocent."
"Oh! Oh, I’m so glad… I was scared they wouldn’t believe you."
“They did. Thankfully, they did…” Papa breathes out. "Forgive me for making you wait, my love. I thought scriveners would follow me on the way out, so I waited until things calmed down." Papa looks up at the ceiling. "Did you see lights in the sky on the way here?"
"Mhm! I actually started it."
She explains the performance with Dolcinaea and Miss Agnea, and how the excitement led to her casting the lights without a care in the world. Papa holds onto every word, and despite the exhaustion in his eyes, he shares in all of her joy.
"I don't think anyone knew I started it, it was so crowded. “ Elena’s out of breath with how fast she explains.
"It was beautiful. I wish I could have seen you, but your description is more than enough," he tells her. "You make me so proud."
Elena chuckles, relaxing in Papa's arms.
"It must feel good, huh? To be free, I mean."
“I’m… more tired than anything else.”
“You should rest, then.”
“I should,” he says, holding her closer, “but I’d like to stay like this for a while longer. Is that all right with you?”
Elena smiles, then returns the close embrace. “Mhm, just promise me you’ll rest.”
“I promise.”
—
It's a lot of rest.
A day passes, maybe a day and a half. Elena loses count, and Papa is too exhausted to do anything else.
In the inn room, Elena sits at his bedside. Given the state of his face, from the heavy, dark circles to the faintest of scars, he looks like he'll be tired forever. But he's here and breathing, at least. He's safe.
She keeps herself busy with her book. The princess and her girlfriend are kissing each other as they admire the results of their hard work: a new forest home with window sills full of flowers. They squeeze each other's hands, and the chapter ends with their backs against the trees, the sun shining behind them. There are more homes to build.
More homes… a home. Their home. As much as she enjoys living with Lady Clarissa, she understands that Lady Clarissa has her own responsibilities to do, as well as her own hopes and dreams. It’d feel nice to have a rebuilt home for Papa and herself – one where Mama can come and rest whenever she wants to. Once Papa gets his rest, she’ll talk about the house. She’s feeling tired yet braver than ever.
Someone knocks on the door. “You called for an apothecary?”
It's Miss Castti's voice. Elena lets her in, shutting the door behind her.
“You look tired, Miss Castti.”
“A little bit,” she says. “Has he been asleep all morning?”
“Yeah. He hasn’t woken up for breakfast, either. But I know how tired he’s been, so I’m letting him sleep some more.”
Miss Castti nods in understanding. Elena watches on as she tends to Papa, who barely makes a sound as he sleeps. There’s a moment of panic when she sees the ring isn’t around his neck or on the nightstand. Was it evidence in the courtroom? If it was, they better give it back. It’s all they have left of Mama.
“You should rest,” Miss Castti suggests.
“I’m not tired.”
“What about food?”
“Not–" Elena stops talking when she hears the rumble in her stomach. “Oh.”
Miss Castti gestures. “Hikari is staying nearby. Said he’s been making dumplings.”
“Huh? In his room?”
“Even in disguise, people might recognize him from the trial. He made quite the entrance, you see. If you ask him about it, he might tell you. He's on the upper floor – I can take you.”
She looks down at Papa. Finding his hand beneath the blanket, Elena squeezes it and whispers, “Going to see Mister Hikari, Papa. Be back soon.”
And I love you, she adds, too shy to say it aloud with company. Hopefully, he can hear the words in his dreams, if he dreams at all.
Elena follows Miss Castti to an inn room on the upper floor. A strong-looking guard with dark hair bows her head before letting her inside.
“I’ll be with your papa if you need anything,” Miss Castti says before leaving.
At the table, Hikari wears the same merchant clothes he wore in Lord Alrond's manor. His fingers are dusted in white powder as he flattens out a circular piece of dough. Beside him rests a plate of dumplings waiting to be cooked. Some of them are starting to open up, though she doesn't mention it.
“Good afternoon, Elena. At least, I think it is.”
“It is. Um, Miss Castti told me you’re making dumplings. Are they the same ones from the dumpling stall you worked at?”
“The very same,” Hikari says.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Let's see… ah, how about folding these dumplings? I've been practicing.”
“I'd like that, yeah.”
Similar to Papa’s way of working, she and Hikari sit side by side in comfortable silence. Hikari patiently explains the steps involved in folding dumplings, from scooping the filling into the dough to dampening the dough’s edges before folding. Elena messes up the first few dumplings, yet Hikari’s reassurance soothes the aches of her embarrassment.
“You don’t see my worst attempts because I’ve already eaten them.”
Eventually, and much to Elena’s surprise, they have a passable plate of dumplings ready to cook.
“Thank you for your aid,” Hikari says after the length of quiet focus. “It’s not often that I have idle time to spare. In fact, I will soon return to Ku, and traveling will have to wait.”
“They told me you’re a new king, that Ku had a lot of fighting.”
“A lot of fighting indeed, but no more, if I can do anything to help it. It will be some time until I can travel like this.”
“I see…” Elena sighs.” But when you do travel again, you’ll come visit us, right? Me and Papa. Or maybe I’ll go to you, but I have to talk to him first.”
Hikari chuckles. His hands are stained in flour from the dumplings, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Should you visit Ku, I promise to give you a personal tour. It’s quite a distance, however, so there’s no need to rush. I’ll be there. And I’ll be here as well, supporting you as much as you would like me to.”
After some time and several plates of dumplings, freshly cooked by Hikari’s royal guard, she imagines herself in a grand castle of deep reds and golds. Together, she and Hikari share a drink of tea with the fanciest cups she can think of, and everything is warm.
Several days after Osvald’s historic verdict, Libra sits with the judge to discuss the events of Frigit Isle.
"I appreciate your decision to step in, Your Honor,” Libra says. “Let me be direct – will you order another trial given the evidence at hand?"
The judge waves him off. "I would be a fool to do so given the recent verdict. For the sake of formalities, however, let us review the evidence again.”
They lay out the reports of property damage, excessive force against prison personnel, and involvement with another prisoner. In return, Libra presents his own evidence, including records of forced labor, ledgers of the guards’ illegal mining profits, and Osvald’s treatment in prison.
“The Inquisitor found a rusted muzzle buried in the snow,” Libra begins. “I spoke to the former librarian of Frigit Isle, who confirmed that the warden at the time, Warden Davids, forced it onto Mister Vanstein’s face. In addition, Warden Davids often beat him for insubordination. The warden had a poor reputation among prisoners and guards alike.”
“Duly noted,” the judge says. “Is there anything else?”
“One more thing. The former librarian I mentioned? Well, he shared quite a bit about Mister Vanstein’s character. Namely, he was the only one who greeted him during each visit. Since Mister Vanstein couldn’t speak, he would nod or write “thank you” on a torn piece of parchment. As a result, the librarian made great efforts to retrieve research from the mainland for his sake.”
They empty and refill their cups of tea. The sun rises higher.
“As of now, what is the state of the court, Your Honor?” Libra asks.
The judge shakes his head. "There are still more cases waiting to be overturned. The court of law is regrettably fickle, as you know quite well. But more than all of that, I sympathize with his child. Half of her years were taken away so cruelly. Yes, in the end, this is a job. I go home. I worry about what to eat for dinner. Payments. My own family. The mundane is taken for granted.”
It’s a rare moment of compassion in the oft-frigid realm of the law.
“To clarify will you move forward with a trial regarding the events at Frigit Isle?”
“No,” the judge says, resolute. “There will be no trial. I also intend to discuss matters of compensation. Mister Vanstein and his daughter lost years of their lives, and this is a small gesture, in comparison. Please discuss the matter with him. Should he accept, we can reconvene.”
"I’ll do that. Thank you, Your Honor.”
"Am I… am I reading this correctly?"
The wedding ring, newly-returned, hangs around Osvald’s neck once more. He clutches the pearl between his fingers.
Ten million leaves from the court. He can't believe it.
"I think you should’ve gotten more. No amount can truly replace what you've lost, but at the very least, you won't have to worry about money for a while."
He can replenish his savings tenfold. He can replace everything he lost: precious mementos, shelves of books… Elena's toys. Elena’s books. Elena’s education, whenever she’s ready to pursue that path. A designated account so that she doesn’t have to worry about the essentials.
"How would you like to receive the money? Let's put it in writing."
Osvald recalls stories from the newspaper, how recipients who get the money manage it poorly and lose it all. While he manages his funds well – a skill honed through hard times and his pragmatic nature – he can’t deny the risks.
And no matter the amount, Osvald plans to teach Elena about money, from budgeting to saving. Short-term and long-term, quality versus quantity, wants versus needs. With an adequate plan, they can live comfortably for years to come.
“Ah, there’s a man waiting outside to speak with you. An “acquaintance from hell”, I quote. You should see him before he leaves town.”
What a peculiar phrase, but it’s not wrong. May he never step foot in that frigid hell for the rest of his days.
Osvald bids Libra farewell. On the road rests a horse-drawn carriage, and in front of the carriage is a plain-dressed man. Osvald steps closer, and lets out a sound of amusem*nt.
“So, this is what you look like beneath those layers,” Osvald greets the librarian from Frigit Isle.
“And this is what you sound like,” the librarian says. “It’s a pleasure to hear your voice.”
“You vouched for my character. I admit, I don’t have the proper words.”
“Heh, the irony.” The man waves off the comment. “The warden had it coming, in case you had any regrets.”
“None,” Osvald speaks plainly. “Anyway, what happened after the prison shut down? You lost your job, clearly.”
“Eh, I didn’t mind. Wanted to let the truth out at some point. I kept my own records, wrote down everything, and bided my time. Kind of like you. Sorry that I didn’t do it sooner.”
“You need not blame yourself, good sir.”
The man’s expression softens. “My condolences about your wife. May she rest in peace.”
Osvald nods, a hand resting his heart.
“And your daughter… gods, I can’t imagine. She’s all right, I hope?”
“She is. That’s all I can say on the matter.”
“I understand. Well, may you share only the brightest days with her.”
“...Thank you,” is all Osvald answers.
The librarian searches through his pack and finds a small business card, which he gives to Osvald.
“Got to head back to Montwise for work. I maintain the criminal law texts in the library. The scholars there are spreading your good name as we speak. If you need me to add to the good word, or if you want to return to your line of work there, just send a letter.”
“I’ll keep your offer in mind, good sir. May you have a safe journey.”
“You as well, Professor.”
The bars are broken.
He looks at his hands; there's no trace of injury. Beyond the confines of the frigid cell, he shoulders his way past the meta and crumbled stone floor.
Outside, the wind blows with the howls of wolves. They're strong enough to uproot trees, yet Osvald, or whatever part of him exists in this state, keeps going.
The snow beneath his tattered boots becomes gravel. The gravel morphs into cliffs. In a town that nearly shares its name, darkness pours from the crevices. Tendrils of shadow curl around him like chains. He shakes them off and runs, but the Shadow gives chase, laughing, mocking. They lash sideways and back, destroying any stone and soul in their paths.
The cliffs give way to light, somewhere. They don’t resist Osvald’s power, crumbling away as he pushes the rocks with calloused hands. From the tunnel of freedom, the light pierces through the dense fog.
A moment passes. The fog itself clears, revealing an open floor with curtains and golden chandeliers hanging from a star-lit ceiling.
In the center of the room, his beloved stands. She steps and twirls, steps and twirls. Her shoulder-length hair moves this way and that, and its shine alone nearly brings him to tears.
“It’s been a while, my dear,” Rita tells him. “Come dance with me.”
He steps forward, hesitates at the state of his two left feet. Even a dream state isn’t enough to fix his lack of dance prowess.
Even here, Rita doesn't seem to mind.
She takes him by the hand and leads him closer. One hand wraps around his body, and they just… dance. They just are, two souls in the land of dreams. Their love is infinite.
“How am I doing?” Osvald murmurs.
“You're stiff as a board,” Rita laughs lightly. “Just look at me, dear. I'll guide you.”
Step, step, extended arm. Step, step, a gentle twirl. Step, step, a dip toward the floor. It's as if he dances on clouds with how his feet move so lightly.
“It's nice, isn't it?” Rita says between dreamlike breaths.
Osvald answers with a low hum. He missed the feeling of Rita's arms around him.
“I found my village, Rita.”
“Rita knows best,” she teases. “I'm really glad you did, my love. I can feel it, too. The change in your heart, the way your voice sounds lighter.”
Osvald rests his chin on the top of her head. “I wish I could hear yours again. I have memories, yes, but they only take me so far.”
“Still, you've come a long way. All you can do is keep going. And whenever I see you here, we'll talk as long as we can. And we'll keep going together.”
“Heh, you make it sound easy, my love. But I'll try. Not only for Elena's sake, but my own. I've yet to figure out the methods, but I believe I'll find my answer in time.”
“I know you will, Osvald. Now, let's dance.”
Glowing lights hover around them like stars in the sky as they hold each other, step by step.
—
“Hey partner, ya awake?” Partitio calls out, followed by steady knocks on the door. “Time to eat!”
He’s in Wellgrove now. The journey from Timberain proves uneventful in his memory. That is, if he was even conscious during the carriage ride here. He genuinely can’t recall. All he knows is that the night is young, and he’s starving.
In Alrond’s manor, they hold a great feast to celebrate Osvald’s innocence. While Osvald wants little else than a great sleep, he can make time for his friends after everything they did, and still do, for him.
Against the backdrop of gold and royal red, the dinner is as entertaining as a drunken campfire. Yet here, they need no alcohol, being drunk off of the camaraderie alone. The stories fly. The stew is warm, and with each story he takes in, his heart feels more full.
“Have some more, Papa,” she says, sliding a plate of sliced fruit to his side.
He has some more. It tastes so fresh.
A clink, clink of a drinking glass catches the group’s attention, and they turn to a proud-looking Alrond.
“To celebrate this joyous evening, let us have the finest win–” an oof! following Misha’s sharp elbow – “the finest alcohol-free drinks we could find!”
Castti holds an empty drinking glass in her hand. “This is just my professional opinion, Lord Alrond, but I think Elena should choose the drink.”
“Oh! All right, then.”
Elena scrutinizes the brightly-colored bottles of drinks by Alrond’s side. There’s no alcohol, of course – Papa says he tasted each bottle just to be sure.
“What’s that red one?”
“A fine choice! This is freshly-made raspberry juice using the raspberries grown in our resident superstar’s home!”
“I say we do it!” Agnea chimes in. “O-Oh, sorry! Got excited.”
“Oh no, nothing to be sorry for!” Elena tells her with a smile. “All right, raspberry it is!”
Alrond pours the drinks with the ease of a professional. Their glasses clink together in a toast to new journeys ahead.
“Cheers!” they say together.
“Elena, dear?”
A figure draped in vines of forget-me-nots reaches out, their fingers glowing with gentle light.
Elena looks down at her own arm. The scar is barely visible; in its place is a thin line of light, like gold mending the cracks.
“Is that you, Mama?”
Mama’s face is clear, unmarred by clouds of dense fog. “It is, my starlight. Come here. I want to hold you.”
Elena doesn’t hesitate, letting herself be held and held. Around her feet, flowers spring up from the lush earth and rise. Above her, a rainbow of lights dances freely in the sky. Other lights hover in place, each sphere shining like a star. Together, they connect into constellations, glowing with the joy of finding one another.
Like a heartbeat, she’s here for Mama, too.
“Guess what, Mama? We did it.”
“Did what?”
Elena laughs in relief. “We won. Papa’s innocent. That’s what the court said. Innocent.”
“Ohh…! Oh, thank the heavens,” Mama says, holding her tight. “He wasn’t alone, was he?”
“Mm-mm. We reminded him. He calls him his village, and his friends came together to help him. To help us.”
There’s no pain. Only light.
“Hm? Do you have something on your mind, Elena?”
Elena leans her head against the warmth of Mama's spirit. “You know our old house?”
“I couldn't forget it.”
“Um, I asked one of Papa's friends, though he's kind of like my friend now, right? Yeah, yeah, he is. I asked him – his name's Partitio – if he could rebuild it. Or find people who knew how to rebuild houses. He's someone you don't see much these days, someone who's rich but not greedy. Like, a one-in-a-million chance kind of guy.”
“Heh, he sounds special, indeed.”
While Mama's voice is as warm as she remembers, her face is hard to read.
“I hope it's all right, Mama. Building the house in the same place, with the sound of the ocean around us. I can't really ask you in person because… you know.”
Mama leans down to kiss the top of Elena's head. The silence is hard, but Elena is good at waiting. So, she waits.
“The stars are nice up here,” Mama begins, her voice a whisper in the wind. “They're bright. They shine. But then I think to myself, ‘it would be nice to land somewhere that will stay’. Your papa tells me this, too… at least, when I get to see him.”
Mama's body starts to glow like a steady red flame, a hanging lantern in the sky.
“He holds you, too. Like this.” Elena cradles an invisible light for emphasis. “The last time he did it, he sat beneath a tree near this huge manor. There were so many flowers around, and a big fountain, too.”
“I always liked being out in nature,” Mama tells her. “It brings me peace. Listening to the ocean waves outside our home was one of our favorite things to do together. But it doesn't need to be in the past, does it? Even if my body is no longer here… I still am. My heart, my spirit.”
“Does that mean you want to stay?”
Mama nods, her body pulsing with light. “I do, my love. I'd like to go home and be with my favorite people. I don't mind waiting a little longer.”
It's been a long wait for her.
There's a chiming in the distance, like bells dancing against the wind. Mama reaches out, and the flowers around her arms fade away in streams of light. She turns away, her eyes toward the sky.
“I think you're needed down there.”
Elena looks down; puffy, white clouds suddenly float beneath her feet. Around her body, constellations – blue like the ocean – drift along a sea of stars.
“How do I–" Elena takes a step back from the edge of the cloud. “Do I just jump?”
“Yes, dear. But don't you worry. Your village will catch you.”
Behind the constellations, a circle of stars drifts past. Their colors match every treasured person in her village, from the bright yellow of Partitio's hat to the gentle blues of Miss Castti's clothes, a blue that reminds Elena to never forget. Whites, deep purples, stars like sunset. There's a rich, red star full of history, and then, a large, silver one. Its glow is more subtle than the others, yet it's no less comforting. Like starlight, it fills her heart with love.
Elena jumps, strands of golden hair flying across the sea.
—
Breakfast feels different today.
After the good food, they’ll go their separate ways. Not forever, but it’ll feel like forever. Grown-ups have a lot of responsibilities to take care of, after all.
Plates are cleared. Belongings are packed. The sun rises higher and higher, and before Elena knows it, they’re all gathered in the center of the manor. Across the floor, sunlight streams through the stained-glass windows, painting shapes of color across the golden floor.
“You won’t be gone too long, will you?” Elena tells Miss Castti, reaching out for a hug. “Will you visit the guild at home?”
“I’m sure I will in due time,” Miss Castti answers gently. “But before that, I still have business here. The orphanage in town… I’d like to check on the children. I intend to help with recruiting apothecaries who plan to stay in the area. My hope is that the children may form strong bonds as they receive their care.”
“I plan to join her. I’ve got a soft spot for those kids.” Miss Throné joins in. Her hug is brief, yet no less treasured. “I’ll make sure they’re in good hands so they won’t have to know fear. And it’ll give me something to do while I figure things out.”
Elena doesn’t ask for details about her soft spot for the orphanage. But she knows fear well, and it’s awful. She doesn’t want any other children to learn how that feels regularly if they don’t have to.
They slowly pull away from the hug, and Elena turns to Hikari.
As much as I’ve enjoyed seeing everyone again, my people are waiting for me,” he tells the group. “There’s a lot of work to do to right my nation’s wrongs. It’ll be some time until I travel like this again, but it will happen. I’ll find a way.”
“Ya always do, Hikari,” Partitio adds with a pat on his shoulder. “Guess that means the rest o’ us are headin’ north.”
“Not without showin’ up for Pala’s raspberry pie!” Miss Agnea joins in, still cheerful despite the fact that they’re leaving. “Have a meal with us before ya go on ahead!”
“A meal, huh?” Ochette bumps a fist to her chest with pride. “I’ll get you the best meat you could ask for! Right, Mahina?”
Mahina hoots in agreement. She hops from shoulder to shoulder to give each traveler – and Elena – an affectionate nuzzle or gentle peck on the head.
“Sounds like it’ll be quite the gathering,” Temenos says, “though it’ll feel strange without everyone there. But I’m sure we’ll find a way to do this all together, hm?”
“Ya bet we will!” Ochette grins.
“Will you visit home while Ochette and I go to the ferry, Partitio?” Temenos asks.
“Sure will! Got lots to catch up on with Pops, like… heh, like a certain home that needs buildin’! Last I heard, he’s gatherin’ the best o’ the best for the job. I’ll make sure they’re paid handsomely ‘n let ya know how it’ll go.”
After wiping tears away, followed by so many close hugs and promises to get together again, the travelers gradually part ways. Hikari bows his head low and leaves first for Ku, the city under a scarlet sun. After that, Miss Agnea and Temenos wave alongside a jumping Ochette and trilling Mahina, while Partitio tips his hat toward her and Papa. Elena thinks he does it to hide the tears in his eyes.
Miss Castti and Miss Throné wave to them as they leave Wellgrove. And then, it’s just them and the light of day.
Through the Leaflands and across the sands of Hinoeuma, they’ll eventually cross the seaside roads to reach home.
Looks like Lady Clarissa will have to put up with them for a little longer.
Conning Creek is just as Elena remembers.
Outside the window of Lady Clarissa’s house, the trees sway with the wind. In the comfort of her room, warm and safe, Elena revisits a piece of her past.
In front of her, her journal lies open. On the pages are the questions her past self had written in a state of confusion. The sight of the words brings her back to those days – days where the very room she sits in didn’t feel entirely real. After time and a lot of growth, she can finally answer her own questions.
Oh, Papa… where are you now?
Papa is here. He’s in the same house, probably reading a book in his room or in the living room. He always has his face in a book, and it feels like he reads a new book every few days. Magic books, plant books, cookbooks, all kinds of books. In the morning, he reads the newspaper with a cup of his favorite black coffee. It’s blacker than the night.
And why did you leave me behind?
He did leave, yes, but not because he didn’t want me anymore. It’s because he wanted to protect me. If he had stayed without learning “how to be a father again”, in his own words, he would’ve hurt me. He didn’t want to do that. So, he left. It wasn’t an easy choice. He tells me that often. Now he’s back and here to stay.
Why did Mama have to die?
It’s hard to read this question again, but not hard enough to avoid the space she left to write a future answer. Papa’s silver pen, with its smooth flow of ink, presses down onto the parchment.
I asked Papa this question. He looked far, far away, but he wasn’t mad at me for asking. Apparently, I brought him back. I said I was his daughter and his starlight, and he came back to me. I won’t forget that.
Mama was an experiment. That’s what Papa told me. I believe it.
That man took her from us. That liar. He tricked Papa, and Mama was caught in his trap. We all were. She didn’t deserve it. And she didn’t die by Papa’s hand. The court officially said that Papa was innocent, that he was framed. Not only for Mama’s life, but mine, too. But as people can see, I’m still here. I see that, too.
“Hold the kindness in your heart, and the light will protect you,” Papa once told me. He once didn’t believe in kindness because people were so cruel to him. So, I know he means what he says. I’ll remember this.”
Time passes, and the days are peaceful.
Lately, Lady Clarissa is more involved in beastling research. When Elena goes downstairs after sleeping in, Papa sits at the dining table with a book. This week, it’s the fourth volume of the plant books series she enjoys reading. Gods, he reads so fast.
Papa tells her that Lady Clarissa is working on reports in the laboratory, which she’ll send to colleagues in Montwise. At the same time, she also exchanges letters about beastling research with Ochette in Toto’haha. With more people visiting the area, there’s a lot of work for Ochette to do. And when Lady Clarissa doesn’t research or teach her light magic, she visits Miss Lyra’s home to relax with her music.
“Last I heard, Ochette meets with humans who arrive to trade things from the mainland. She tells them how to respect not only the villagers, but the lay of the land itself. Lady Clarissa showed me one of her many letters, and Ochette said this: “I’m thinking of Pops when I do this! Like the fancy professor!” I wouldn’t call myself ‘fancy’, but her heart’s in the right place.”
“You’re fancy in your own way, Papa.”
“Oh, thank you, dear.”
Beside the tall pile of books on the dining table, a stack of envelopes catches her eye. Not the envelopes themselves, but the broken wax seals on the tops.
“What are those?”
“The letters?” Papa marks his page with a bookmark. “I’ve been getting requests to speak about my research – namely, the One True Magic. Respectful requests, but a lot of them. Old colleagues from Montwise want to reconnect. Even the Scholar’s Guild in the Winterlands seeks my expertise. But to tell you the truth, dear, I’m not ready yet. I need more time.”
“So you won’t go?” Elena asks.
“Not for a while. I want to settle down and reacquaint myself with the feeling. Only now do I realize how I find comfort in the mundane. Days pass like the clouds. I listen to the waves as I read. I don’t feel the need to travel far. Of course, I won’t ignore people’s letters. I’ll write back with the words I’ve just shared with you.”
“And then you’ll be able to teach me.”
Papa’s eyes widen for a moment, and then, he lets out a soft laugh. “That brings me back. That’s what you said to me when you were younger.”
He repeats her past self’s words, and Elena plays it over and over in her mind.
“There’s lots I don’t know!”
That’s the truth, no doubt about it.
You better keep teaching me!
And now they have the time to do that. They can learn for years and years.
Elena imagines Papa in his scholar’s robes as he lectures to a crowd of students. So serious, so professional. But once the fancy clothes are hung up, he’s her soft-spoken, strong papa. The one true papa. And after they finish a day of learning, they can stretch their legs and listen to the waves against the shore.
It’s something to look forward to.
—
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Elena looks up and lets out a small huff to calm her nerves.
It’s her first day of school, sort of.
She plans to start the morning with the introduction class taught by Guildmaster Fyn, followed by a lunch break. Afterwards, she'll end her day with Miss Castti's special class. Combined, it's still shorter than the average school day, according to Papa, but it's not the time that concerns her. She hopes to learn beside peers her own age, and maybe things can blossom into a friendship. Maybe not. If anything, the experience can help her prepare for a longer school day, which she wants to try in the future. Papa supports her through it all, so the changes in her life aren't as scary as she once believed.
She glances at her pocket watch. Time for breakfast.
Downstairs, she finds Papa in front of a table of chopped vegetables. His eyes shine with fresh tears, but there isn't an onion in sight.
“What happened?”
“Apologies. I’m getting emotional over a packed lunch.” Papa wipes at a stray tear behind his glasses.
Oh, that’s right… he hasn’t packed her lunch for school before.
The vegetables are lined neatly together in the lunchbox, with not even a slice of carrot out of place. Between a cut loaf of bread lies thin slices of meats and cheeses, and sliced fruits add a brightness to the lunch. A bottle filled to the brim with water stands beside it. And next to everything, she catches a glimpse of Papa’s handwriting: a note on the top of her lunch box.
Here is your lunch, my starlight. I hope it’s enough. I left some money in your satchel if you need to buy food. Have a great day. – Papa
He brings himself to tears for her sake. It stirs something within Elena, and while she lacks the right words to properly explain, she feels glad to be part of the moment.
“It’s perfect, Papa,” she says, leaning in for a hug. “How about we walk there together, like you’re taking me to school?”
“Ohh… I’d be honored to, Elena.”
—
The sky is beautiful today.
“It says Papa’s Magic......” Elena says, holding the wrinked parchment close. “Did I make this when I was little?”
The words alone make Papa’s body still. To her relief, he loosens up, and his voice is full of warmth and love.
“You worked all day in the laboratory. You were so focused that you refused snacks, even candy. I would’ve been a fool to not keep it. It’s one of my fondest treasures.”
They’re behind their old house again. Soon, it’ll be rebuilt, and it’ll feel familiar.
“Partitio said they’ll be here in a few days to take this down,” she tells Papa. “The house will be gone, but a new one will take its place. Are you nervous about it?”
Papa hums. “A little bit, yes. Change is hard. Given everything that’s happened, and the thing that’s being torn down, I’d be surprised if I wasn’t. But I think it’ll be good for us, once we adjust.”
“Tell me how.”
“I told Partitio to keep the house’s appearance. The rooms will be the same with a few additions, such as wide windows to let in more light. Extra space for a garden, as well. Perhaps a wooden fence around it, if you’d like privacy.”
“Me?”
“But of course. You have a great love for plants. I’d be a fool to not support that.”
Elena smiles and leans against Papa. Just like before, just like always, he wraps his coat around her to ward off the cold. Over the horizon, birds fly in formation; one leader flies in the center like the point of an arrow.
She once read that birds fly like this to support each other. The birds in the front flap their wings, and the winds they make lift up the birds behind them. Without the wind, the birds get tired, and without their wings, they’ll fall and fall into– well, who knows where? But with others to support them, they can fly to every corner of the world if they wanted to.
But even the strongest need to rest somewhere. That’s what she understands.
“After the house is done, and we move our things here, what will you do?”
Papa turns his head to face the sky. In the reflection of his glasses, clouds slowly drift past. He breathes deeply, taking in the same ocean air she considers a part of home.
“I’d like to get back to my research. With the One True Magic, I have so many questions. It’ll take a lifetime to answer even a small portion of them, but I’d like to try. But I won’t go far. After my travels, after all the things I’ve seen and endured, I’d like to get back into a routine. A morning in the laboratory, an afternoon with tea, then sitting by the ocean… and if it’s all right, spending time with you. We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?”
They do, they really do. For a moment, Elena worries that she’s holding Papa back, just as she believed she held Lady Clarissa back from her research. But just as Lady Clarissa reassures her, Papa does, as well.
“I hope I’ll make friends at school,” Elena tells him. “Maybe we’ll have adventures like you did. Quiet ones are fine with me. I don’t need much.”
“I see what you mean. Though, you deserve the world and more, my love. Remember that.”
“I'll try, Papa.”
As they watch the ocean waves rise and fall, she feels Mama’s spirit between them.
“I’m here for you, if you want me to be.”
Papa squeezes her hand. “Always, my starlight. And if you’ll have me, I’ll be there for you.”
“Mm-hm, always. And Mama’s here, too. Don’t forget, all right?”
Papa holds the rings gently, always so gentle.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
