Fly me to the Moons

Balco

Our story begins in the early afternoon of a cloudy day in March 1607 AR, near the quiet town of Kaveria in western Chondia. Before delving into the narrative, it is essential to understand the setting: the Federation of Khijovia was divided into 23 administrative regions; these regions were further divided into provinces, which were administrative sections comprising multiple municipalities. The most important municipality served as the capital and lent its name to the province.

Kaveria was a medium-sized municipality in the province of Doriah, situated forty-two kilometers northwest of the provincial capital and two and a half kilometers from the Kesperian coast. Renowned for its development, proximity to the sea, and natural beauty, Kaveria was a sought-after holiday destination for Chondian nobles. The municipal district included significant coastal portions, boasting a series of well-known resorts profitable for seaside tourism, along with quaint fishing villages.

Our tale unfolds in one of these villages, Pavlor, where an eleven-year-old boy named Aristia spent his afternoons after school at the family’s secondary property—a modest little house, secluded from the rest of the village and complete with a backyard. Here, in the gentle caress of the sea breeze, Aristia lay stretched out in a hammock, engrossed in a little book. The cloudy sky grew darker, signaling imminent rain. Illuminated by a hanging lantern, he read undisturbed, enveloped in blissful silence, as the village was practically empty; the fishermen were working off the coast, and he had been the sole family member visiting Pavlor for the past year.

Aristia was a solitary yet perceptive boy, with a docile and quiet nature and a noble soul. Though introverted, he was affable, jovial, and easy to socialize with. He was the youngest in a modest Kaverian family, son of craftsman Grenn Kohria and Kleria Kamorian, with sisters Breria, Nothye, and Kraya. Aristia had been the only surviving son since five months after his birth, as his two older brothers, Kasio and Mitron, died in a tragic Aethermotive accident in the Androvian Hills while migrating to Kleitore in search of work opportunities. Their deaths devastated their father, a notorious gambler, who then succumbed to alcoholism and lost the family's fortune playing dice, plunging them into a financial crisis and deep debt.

At just three years old, Aristia's mother died of typhus, and his unborn younger sister perished with her, further afflicting his already depressed father. Consumed by grief, Grenn refused to work for weeks, abandoning himself to alcohol in low-grade taverns. Due to their economic hardships, Aristia couldn’t attend kindergarten and spent his early childhood playing and wandering the streets unsupervised. He often gathered in the town square to listen to the stories of travelers and the elderly.

To support the family, Aristia's three older sisters turned to prostitution in Doriah, under the guise of working as maids for prominent families, and sent money home every month. Thanks to their sacrifices, Aristia was able to attend elementary school, where he developed a passion for literature and writing. Once economic stability was achieved, his father returned to work intensely, isolating himself in his shop and thus neglecting his young son.

Currently attending middle school, Aristia was one of the most praiseworthy students in his class. Thanks to his sisters' allowance, he attended a circle of literature enthusiasts at the municipal library, despite not fully understanding the adults' discussions.

On that cloudy March day, after finishing school, he visited the library and was gifted a small book of fiction for young people, making his day. Moreover, his sisters were returning home from Doriah for a week-long visit that same evening, an occasion Aristia awaited with great trepidation, as he loved them dearly and had not seen them for months.

As he blissfully read his book, a distant rumble tore through the silence, reverberating threateningly through the beach.

Aristia in his father's workshop.

FishTreeDogWorm

Simultaneously, far far away above those very same clouds, the roar of the V5's engines tear through the skies. It and its crew have recently embarked on yet another one of its many flights in the Outpost's endeavour to map the planet. Though this time, all systems are on overclock, and a rather unexpected guest has graced the control room with her presence. Grand Admiral Ÿrÿn ''Mïwÿ'' Mÿrnweÿr and her Honour Guard, in their impatience, have assumed direct command to speed up the frustratingly slow progress of the underperforming, and understaffed research outpost. Young Zÿlï's career is hot on the line.

The young expeditionary has had a tough time meeting her survey quota, especially with only an outdated old wing under her command. And despite her brilliance, her lack of experience has proven an obstacle. At only 38 cycles of age, roughly 152 earthly years, she has only recently come out of the academy. And with her assignment to an expeditionary brigade, nonetheless one tasked with surveying an inhabited planet in another universe, with its own unique diversions and alterations to the laws of nature, she has been thrust into a field quite beyond her expertise.

Despite this, she has tried her best. And seemingly, it has at least been enough to keep her from being dismissed from her position. Though Admiral Ÿrÿn is still not pleased with her performance, she sees potential in this greensprout recruit. Potential to, given more time, grow into something with the prospect of spearheading any future endeavours of the expeditionary branch; Whether in this dimension, or another.

Though for the moment, she is simply overseeing her usage of the craft's functions, and making sure that nothing goes out of hand. And that hopefully, the wing's novice pilot doesn't get the both of them killed.

Yet the Admiral's ruminations are cut short. In a sudden moment, the young prodigy is quickly torn away from her anxious contemplations, and old Ÿrÿn likewise ceases her grumbling as the systems flash with a weather alert. A rainstorm is imminent. ''Mïwÿ'' quickly brushes the notice off of her mind and sharply returns to her thoughts, but Zÿlï is not so easily lulled back into her abstractions.

Our little expeditionary gazes strenuously at the data. Rainstorm, possible thunder, heavy downpour. Nothing of note, nor to be concerned about. But what interests her is not the weather. Her eyes lay glued to the survey module's active display. The upcoming coastline is just starting to come within range of the detailed scanner. Shapes pop up on the screen. Terrain. Terrain, and clusters of angular figures. Geometric silhouettes, grouped together in unnatural patterns.

Her imagination races, puzzling with hypotheses and theories as to what they could be. And as clouds roll in, there is no hope of visual confirmation. She is left with only two choices. To continue flying, and scan the area as if nothing is out of the ordinary, keeping her mind aloof with wild trepidations of what could be down there. Or drop below the clouds to establish visual contact, to find the answer, and put her mind at rest.

FishTreeDogWorm

FishTreeDogWorm
She thinks for a moment, and no matter which way she looks at it, it would be both foolish and a missed opportunity to ignore it and pass on by; Regardless of what's down there, it's bound to be something new at the very least. She gathers some courage before speaking up ''A- Admiral...? Permission to descend? I think I h-have discovered an anomaly, we should have a look...

The young expeditionary gestures cautiously at the survey screen. ''Those are not normal geological formations, see...? They s-seem... Deliberate, no? We know there are people on this planet, c-could this be a settlement, m-maybe...? I'll bring us-...'' Ÿrÿn quickly interrupts her junior, and slaps her hands off of the controls. ''You are out of your mind. What would be the most idiotic thing to do right now, Zÿlï? You're smart, or at least I thought so. You would certainly have considered this, wouldn't you?'' I... D-don't know, Admiral...?

Old Ÿrÿn sighs and takes a long, deep-drawn huff from her pipe whilst Zÿlï struggles to find the answer. ''We're s-safe in here... The civilizations here are... A-are... According to my reports, all primitive...?

With a heavy exhale, the Admiral coughs out her thoughts. ''...Revealing our presence in a shock-descent over their heads, over, for all that I can see with the amount of alleged ''buildings'' that those signatures could be, their capital, would be moronic. Even IFFFF they do not have the capacity to pierce our shielding, the impact that our appearance could cause might be more than what we bargain for... I do not want to bear the responsibility of causing mass-panic amongst a younger civilization, even if their armouries still consist of powder and steel...'' She takes another puff whilst allowing her sentiment to sink in with her subordinate. ''...Do you understand.?''

Ÿrÿn aims her piercing glare straight into little Zÿlï's eyes, the latter's expression resembling that of a deer stuck in headlights. Frozen in fear, and incapable of forming a coherent response.

''Do. You. Understand.'' Ÿrÿn repeats again. Seemingly enough to snap her junior officer out of her frigthened trance, she responds. Y-yes, Admiral... I... I think I do... We wouldn't want to disrupt their development... O-or society...''

Pleased with her answer, the old Admiral gives the young expeditionary Captain an understanding pat on the back. ''Don't worry, I did not mean to be harsh, but you must remember to take caution. We will return, and you will have your closure. But we must do it with at least a degree of discretion.''

Young Zÿlï's eyes light up with glee, and she raises her head up high in excitement again. Whimpering out with a wide grin across her face R-right! Yes, s-so... Where do we land...?! Maybe a bit further a-away, in a depression of the terrain? W-we can go and h-have a look on foot, yes?

With another heavy huff, and a long, drawn-out puff, old Ÿrÿn retorts promptly. ''...At night, when and only if the storm has subsided... I hate rain. And I despise thunder. Not to mention this thing-'' She clanks her pipe against the metal frame of the walls of the control room for emphasis, knocking some of the burnt-up herbs within out and to the floor. ''-is a magnet for strikes if we go below, so as long as we remain within the stormclouds, descending would mean a swift farewell to your pristine hearing. The admittedly aged ''V5 wing'' design isn't sound insulated. And you are not wearing any ear protection to my knowledge...?''

A frown and a sigh later, Zÿlï concedes to her superior's whims, but demands she keep her promise. ...A-as soon as this storm is gone... Sure, that is doable... I guess... I'll write it down in- in the logs... I'll hold you to it... But do we really have to wait for the night...? I m-mean, we could just land a bit further away, n-no...?

Bracing herself for a verbal beatdown, Zÿlï steels her emotions and breaks eye contact. But no such ''verbal beatdown'' comes. Only yet another huff, and a puff, and a beleaguered sigh.

''Fine. I'll entrust you with finding a suitable and concealed enough location to touch down. Preferably not too far away.''

''O-okay, that sounds good...! S-so, for now just... Continue flying, report any o-other anomalies...?''

''Correct. Though our shift is soon over, and I'm sure you do not wish to work overtime... It's about time my deadbeat daughters had their turn, and for me to get a well-deserved rest. See me in the break room when you've set the autopilot. I will go and make sure that our two ''backup pilots'' aren't ignoring their duties.''

Zÿlï responds with an acknowledging nod as she fiddles with the display, and the Admiral, tired after hours of work, paces back out of the control room to make sure their replacment pilots are up and ready.

Balco

At the thunderous sound, Aristia jerked, eyes snapping from his little book to the roiling sky above. He scanned the distant black clouds and the darkening horizon, a sense of urgency building within him; it was time to return home to urban Kaveria. The hour was late, and he certainly did not want to worry Vera, the devoted maid of the Kohria household. More pressing was his profound aversion to thunderstorms, an aversion so deep some might call it fear.

The air grew heavy with the promise of rain, prompting Aristia to hasten. He knew well the fury of spring storms in this region—merciless and loud. Clutching his book and lantern, he clambered out of the hammock, stretching as he watched the fishermen returning from the sea, mere black dots against a brooding backdrop. A second, nearer clap of thunder galvanized him into action. He darted into the cottage, gathered his belongings, stowed the lantern, and locked the door behind him.

Setting off toward the service road into town, Aristia walked briskly, the roar of the waves fading into the background. A carriage laden with beachgoers sped past, also racing toward Kaveria. Fifteen minutes later, he caught sight of the city gates, the dark cumulonimbus clouds looming menacingly overhead. No sooner had he crossed into the city center than the heavens opened. Aristia broke into a run, his footsteps splashing through puddles as he navigated the slick streets. He reached his home completely soaked, panting. The Kohria residence was a modest, inconspicuous two-story villa, the ground floor almost entirely devoted to his father's shop.

He slipped in through the back service entrance, moving with the stealth of a thief. He wanted to avoid Vera, who would surely be beside herself with worry and ready to scold him. He placed his shoes on the rack and shook off some water, but his clothes remained drenched. As he crept into the small living room, Vera caught him red-handed, leaning out from the stairs.

«Arja! Look at you, drenched to the bone! Oh, you wretch, you’re killing me...!» Her voice was a blend of horror and exasperation as she descended the stairs. «You’ll catch your death out there! What were you thinking?»

Aristia sulked, snorting in annoyance, but before he could voice a protest, Vera cut him off.

«No complaints, hush!» she snapped, helping him peel off his soaked clothes. «Do you think this is acceptable? What will your father say?... Come on, to the laundry with you!»

Cold and trembling, Aristia followed her up the stairs, his face a mask of defiance mixed with remorse. He didn’t understand why Vera still treated him like a child. He wanted to tell her he was growing up, but the words stuck in his throat. Deep down, he felt guilty for causing her worry.

Veralia Getro was a 36-year-old woman with a decent build, shorter than average. Despite her gaunt appearance, she was healthy and still beautiful. Raised in the slums of Kaveria, orphaned young, she had served the Kohria family for fifteen years. Since the death of Mrs. Kohria, Vera had become a mother figure to Aristia, raising him almost single-handedly amidst his sisters' absence and his father's neglect. Vera was family in every sense, often behaving like a wife to Grenn Kohria, though she turned down his drunken advances.

In the laundry room, Vera folded Aristia's wet clothes into a basket, then handed him a vest, a nightgown, and underwear.

«Put these on quickly before you get sick. Oh, you’re a wretch! I’ll forbid you from going to Pavlor if you keep this up! You're always snooping around there, all alone... Why won't you stay home instead?» Despite the reprimand, her tone was consoling, almost sweet. Her frowning expression hid a maternal concern, and an infinite love.

Vera sighed, shaking her head. «Oh, Arja, what will I do with you?» She genuinely smiled, helping him dress, then bent down to kiss his forehead, enveloping him in a tender embrace.

«Go greet your father, then wrap up in your room. Don’t get sick, understood?»

Aristia giggled, nodding. He was about to head to his father’s shop when he paused on the first step and called out.

«Veri! Do you know when my sisters will arrive?»

«Hm, they should be here in a couple of hours, just in time for dinner.»

Aristia thanked her and continued down the stairs, anticipation building. He couldn’t wait to see his beloved sisters and dream of their time together in Pavlor, on the beach.

Balco

Aristia started down the stairs at a brisk pace, lost in his countless thoughts. He crossed the living room and reached the service door that led to his father's shop, preparing to knock loudly. There was no answer, which made him sigh. He threw open the door and entered the dimly lit shop, the air thick with the scent of wood. His father was a carpenter by profession, but he was also a skilled toymaker. As he navigated the near darkness of the storage rooms, Aristia noticed the various containers filled with wooden toys—some intermediate, some finished, and some merely discarded projects.

Passing through the general storage areas, he entered the actual carpentry workshop, which faced the public street. The place was chaotic, cluttered with furniture, frames, fixtures, and other furnishings in various stages of completion. Tools were strewn about carelessly, fostering a sense of claustrophobia and disarray. Aristia marveled at how his father managed to work in such a stifling environment, but the wooden creations bearing the Kohria brand never disappointed their customers.

Amidst the tangle of fresh craftsmanship, there was a remarkably clean and tidy corner of the workshop. Here, easels stood ready, many equipped with canvas, tables and shelves laden with artistic tools and equipment, and a single stool. This was his father’s painting corner, where he enjoyed painting pictures of various subjects in his free time. It was the only part of the shop that Aristia truly appreciated.

Navigating through the carpentry projects, he reached the display section where the goods were sold. This area, usually accessible to customers, did not hold his attention for long. He advanced to the next section, where he found his father hunched over a table, absorbed in his work, illuminated by a dim lantern. The intensity of his father’s focus was disarming, but Aristia was accustomed to it. Clearing his throat, he tried to attract his father’s attention.

Grenn Kohria, at fifty-seven years old, was exceptionally tall, even for a Khijovian, standing just over two meters. He jumped slightly, as if goaded, then turned to his son. His unkempt yet ruddy appearance was dominated by a thick beard and long, gray hair. His downcast eyes, a trait Aristia inherited, always seemed sleepy and melancholic. Despite his age-marked face, his features hinted at a handsomeness from his youth, now overshadowed by a profound emptiness and sadness. Grenn had suffered greatly in life, his innumerable vices apparent in his dull, apathetic demeanor. He struggled with acute gambling and alcohol addiction, had lost his wife and three children, and inherited the shop from his prematurely deceased father. His mother, still alive, suffered from a rare form of dementia and required hospitalization in a mental institution.

Grenn turned to his son with a dark, frowning look. His voice was low and irritated. «Son, how many times have I told you not to bother me while I’m working?»

Aristia lowered his head in chagrin, noticing several empty alcohol bottles under the work table. «Veri told me... to come say hello.»

His father stared at him for a moment before snorting. «You can say hello at dinnertime, you know? You act like we never see each other!...»

Aristia began to argue, thinking of how his father often locked himself in the shop for days, eating alone. Instead, he offered his hand. He kissed his father's hand and placed it on his forehead, a sign of great respect. Despite their differences and tumultuous past, Aristia genuinely loved his father. Grenn’s features softened, and he sighed dejectedly.

«Listen, how was school today? Did you go to Pavlor again?»

«It went well, I guess. You know, they gave me a book at the library! And yes, I went to Pavlor, but it was about to rain, so I didn’t stay long.»

«Oh, it rained? I didn’t know.»

Aristia frowned, puzzled. «Father, it’s raining right now. Can’t you hear the rain outside?»

Grenn pricked up his ears and widened his eyes. «Oh, you’re right. I didn’t notice! Well, let me finish my work now, okay? I’ll see you at dinner.»

He started to turn back to his work table, but Aristia interrupted him. «Um, father? Weren’t you supposed to pick up Kraya and the others from the airport?»

Grenn stood up suddenly, towering over Aristia. He had forgotten. He looked at his son in absolute terror, his eyes wide open, then put his hands to his face in despair. «Oh, my!... Today?! How long until they arrive?»

«Veri says in a couple of hours, for dinner...»

Grenn shook his head and sat back down, burying his hands in his hair. He looked at his son with a hint of exasperated pleading. «Son, could you go... pick them up? You’re a big boy now...! Yes, get Verka to give you the money. I’m very busy, you know? I don’t want to… I mean, I can’t… I don’t have the time! Be a good boy, listen to your father! Go to the central square and take a carriage. Look for Mr. Qavro, he's my friend; he'll understand, he will take you to the airport. Go, good boy, go!...»

Balco

Aristia frowned, puzzled by his father's request, but at the end he acquiesced. He bid his father farewell and headed back into the house. His search for Vera led him upstairs to the kitchen, where she was busy preparing dinner. He knocked on the open door to get her attention.

"Veri, excuse me, I need some money," he said hesitantly.

The maid turned around with a surprised expression. Aristia rarely asked for money, being naturally frugal, and whenever he did, he couldn't help but blush.

"Oh...? How come?" she asked, approaching the door.

"My father told me to... pick up my sisters from the airport later; he says he's too busy."

Vera frowned, clearly confused. "But..."

"He told me to take a carriage with, um, Mr. Qavro."

Sighing resignedly, Vera went to her room. She returned shortly after with a note and some coins. "Here, there are eight Shonenors in total. Now, go to your room! I will bring you some new clothes in a little while."

Time passed slowly, and an hour and a half later, Aristia was ready. After saying goodbye to his beloved Vera, the young boy left the house and headed towards the central square. The rain had stopped an hour earlier, and now it was just past eight o'clock. When he reached the square, he asked various coachmen for directions until he found Mr. Qavro. After explaining the situation, they set off for the airport.

Kaveria Airport was located about two kilometers north of the city gates, quite a distance from the city center. After Doriah, it was the second largest and busiest airport in the province, hosting more than twenty docks. Khijovian airports typically consisted of a large terminal building and a spacious rectangular plaza surrounded by tall towers interconnected by covered walkways. Each tower housed a dock equipped with a jetty and a landing platform, accessible by stairs or elevator.

After a six-minute journey, the carriage arrived at its destination. The airport was bustling with activity, with stations filled with carriages surrounding the terminal. Accompanied by Mr. Qavro, Aristia entered the busy terminal, inquiring at the information desks about the eight-thirty flight from Doriah. Leaving the building, they headed out into the large airport plaza, teeming with people of all kinds: mostly humans, but also Sheepfolk, Goatfolk, and even a few Kyleth. The crowd was a mix of those arriving from their flights and others hurrying to catch theirs.

They made their way to Pier 21, where the sisters' flight was due to land. Aristia waited with growing anticipation in a room at the foot of the tower. At some point, the elevator doors opened, and the first passengers began to disembark, but his sisters were not among them. The elevator returned with more passengers, but still no sign of the Kohria sisters. Finally, with the last wave of arrivals, Kraya, Nothye, and Breria appeared. Aristia let out a squeal of excitement and rushed toward his sisters, calling their names.

The Kohria sisters were strikingly beautiful, dressed in splendid attire. Kraya, the eldest at 27, was the leader of the trio. Stoic and strict, she embodied the role of the unyielding protector of the family. Her disciplined nature and strong sense of duty often made her seem unapproachable, but beneath her stern exterior, she cared deeply for her siblings. Nothye, the middle sister at 25, was considered the most beautiful of the three. Creative and witty, she brought humor and ingenuity to the family. Her sharp mind and love of art, crafts, and storytelling provided emotional warmth and connection. Breria, the youngest at 21, was naive and almost childlike, with an innocent and trusting outlook on life. Her sense of wonder and curiosity brought a sense of purity and simplicity to the family.

Following their mother's untimely death, the sisters resorted to prostitution to support the family. They had moved permanently to Doriah, using the excuse of working as maids for prominent families. However, Kraya, thanks to her education, found work as a private tutor and maid of honor in a noble house, while the other two continued to prostitute themselves.

In a moment of collective euphoria, Aristia first pounced on Kraya, hugging her tightly, kissing her on the lips¹, and performing the customary Eskimo kiss². He repeated this affectionate greeting with Nothye and Breria. After almost five months apart, the Kohria siblings were finally reunited.

From left to right: Breria, Kraya, ad Nothye.

¹ In Khijovian culture, the kiss on the lips is commonly exchanged between siblings and close friends as a sign of great affection and platonic love.

² The Eskimo kiss, involving the rubbing of noses, is a unique and endearing practice primarily shared between close family.

Balco

After the usual family pleasantries, the group left the waiting room and made their way to the terminal building. Their voices mingled with the clamor of the bustling airport, filling the air with the warmth of reunion. Aristia’s excitement was palpable; he peppered his sisters with questions, barely giving them time to answer before moving on to the next. Despite his lively demeanor, small signs of fatigue and illness were starting to show, but his contagious cheerfulness overshadowed any concern. He walked between Breria and Nothye, holding their hands, his joy evident in every step. Kraya, slightly ahead, walked next to Mr. Qavro, engaging in quiet conversation with the familiar coachman.

As they emerged from the terminal, the soft glow of the evening sun bathed the landscape in a golden hue. The northernmost regions of Khijovia were experiencing the season of white nights, where the sun never fully sets. The Kohria siblings climbed into the carriage, and as they set off towards Kaveria, the carriage echoed with laughter and animated conversation. Aristia and Breria, with their pure and childlike spirits, were the heart of the lively chatter, while Nothye's witty comments added a playful edge. Kraya remained silent, her usual stern demeanor slightly softened by the joy of reunion but tinged with a hint of unease.

Finally, Kraya decided to speak, turning to her little brother. «Arja, my dear, where is your father? I expected that he would come and get us, just as I asked in the letter.» Her tone was stiff and austere, but beneath it lay a deep-seated disappointment.

«He told me he was too busy to come…» Aristia replied, his voice dropping slightly.

Kraya squinted and sighed. «I see, I see. Has he... locked himself away in that shop of his again?»

Aristia nodded, and a heavy silence fell in the carriage. Kraya frowned, looking out the window with a sense of ill-concealed disapproval. After about ten minutes, the carriage finally arrived at the Kohria residence. Mr. Qavro refused payment, asking instead for a warm greeting to Mr. Kohria, then left. The siblings entered the house, and the familiar scent of home immediately surrounded them. Vera, the faithful maid, greeted them with open arms and a wide smile.

Vera enlisted Aristia to help carry his sisters’ luggage to their shared bedroom upstairs. The sisters settled into the living room, admiring the familiar surroundings. Aristia then returned with a tray to serve chamomile tea, pouring the drink from the teapot into each sister’s cup, starting with the youngest, as per Khijovian custom. The gentle clinking of the cups and the soft murmur of conversation filled the room, creating a serene atmosphere.

After serving them all, Aristia set the tray down and went to call his father, only to find the door to the shop locked. This almost certainly meant that his father was not home. To make sure, he checked his father’s room, but it was empty as well. Aristia frowned, bewildered. Why had his father left the house just when he knew his sisters were arriving?

He quickly returned to Vera in the kitchen, seeking answers. «Veri, why did my father go out?»

The maid looked down, her expression one of discouragement. She sighed deeply. «… I don’t know for sure. He just told me he had some business to take care of and not to wait for him for dinner. He said he’d be late.»

«But…! We all have to have dinner together, as a family!» Aristia’s voice wavered with frustration.

Vera shrugged, her lips pursed in resignation. «I’m sorry... Go tell your sisters to change. Dinner is almost ready. And bring me the tray and the cups.»

Aristia obeyed, returning to the living room looking rather dejected, which made his sisters worry. «Veri told me to let you know it’s almost time for dinner,» he said as he gathered up the cups with his head bowed.

Nothye raised an eyebrow, concern etching her features. «Where’s your father, Arya?»

«Well, uh, Veri says he’s out on business. He’ll be late and won’t be able to eat with us.»

Kraya let out a loud groan of frustration and stormed upstairs, muttering words of obvious rancor. Nothye, full of disappointment, hurried to follow her, while Breria stayed a moment with her little brother, kissing him in consolation, before going upstairs herself. Aristia returned to the kitchen with the tray, helping Vera set the large table.

It was now half past nine, and the Kohria sisters had changed into elegant and refined house clothes. At Aristia’s call, they emerged from their room and headed to the kitchen, where a delicious banquet of fish and seafood, purchased fresh from Pavlor, awaited them. The table was adorned with carefully prepared dishes, each one a testament to Vera’s culinary skills. Dinner was served, and soon the family was enveloped in sweet chatter, wrapped in a warm atmosphere.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying the meal, except for two: predictably, Kraya remained cold and sullen, her thoughts clearly elsewhere, and young Aristia seemed to be fading, but not from exhaustion or a bad mood. About halfway through dinner, Breria, sitting opposite him, noticed his pallor and became considerably worried. «Arja, my love, what’s wrong? Are you well? How pale you are!...»

The young boy muttered something unintelligible, trying to dismiss the concern, but Vera immediately took charge. «Oh, good heavens! I told you so...! Come here, closer!» The maid, sitting next to him, began to feel his forehead and examine him carefully. «Oh dear, you’re ill; you have a fever! Come on, drink the broth, then go to bed! Oh, you poor thing…»

She got up from the table and went to prepare some more chamomile tea for the boy. Dinner continued, though the mood was somewhat subdued. Aristia, already worn out, went to his room and soon fell asleep. Vera took care of clearing the table and cleaning everything, while the sisters spent time in the living room, each absorbed in her own activities. Kraya read a book, Nothye wrote a letter, and Breria worked on her embroidery. Ten o'clock struck, and despite the sun still shining in the sky, the house was enveloped in a quiet calm.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang, breaking the silence.

Balco

The three sisters started at the sound, momentarily interrupting their activities. Vera rushed downstairs, hastily fixing her clothes and hair, and opened the door. A young girl, no older than twelve, stood before her—Meza Qaron, a classmate and best friend of Aristia since childhood. Though somewhat disheveled, Meza's grace and tender demeanor, typical of the young Sheepfolk, shone through. She belonged to the lower middle class and lived just beyond the Werhe, a river dividing the city, a mere three-minute walk from the Kohria residence.

«Miss Veralia...» Meza began in a feeble voice but stopped, her shyness overwhelming her. Born without guile and terribly timid, she was easily embarrassed and confused. Today, she felt especially anxious as it was her third visit to the Kohria home. According to Khijovian custom, visiting someone's house more than three times in one day was frowned upon, but she had been looking for Aristia all day. Earlier that afternoon, Vera had told her to return late in the evening, but an unforeseen event had kept Aristia at the airport, unable to see her. Now, at ten o’clock, Meza stood once again at the Kohrias’ doorstep.

Understanding Meza's state of mind, Vera welcomed her gently into the hall and reassured her by sitting her down.

«Darling, don’t be ashamed! You can come to us whenever you want, and as often as you want! You’re always welcome, really. Arja would be very happy!» Vera leaned over to kiss her forehead. «Though, he is sick now, and he’s sleeping. Come back tomorrow, I promise he’ll be home and feeling better. Is that all right?»

Reassured, Meza nodded and thanked Vera warmly. They said their goodbyes, and Vera returned to the living room.

Kraya, still engrossed in his book, asked, «Veri, who was that?»

«Meza, Arja’s friend.»

Nothye stopped writing and looked up. «…Meza? The one Arja always mentions in his letters?»

«Yes, they’re inseparable,» Vera confirmed. «Kids of this generation are so sweet!»

«I’d like to meet her,» Breria joined in. «From the way Arja talks about her, she seems lovely.»

«She is,» Vera said happily.

«I think there’s a crush forming,» Nothye commented.

Kraya raised an eyebrow. «What are you talking about? A human and a Sheep-person? Don’t be silly.»

Nothye rolled her eyes. «We’re progressive, Kri. Love has no boundaries.»

Breria nodded decisively. «Kids' hearts are as pure as snow; their love is the purest of them all...!»

Kraya snorted in annoyance. «You’re not progressive, just hopeless romantics.»

Nothye smirked. «Oh, I see... Kri, don’t tell me you still hold a grudge about—»

She was cut off by Kraya’s sharp wave of her hand, her face darkening. «...That’s in the past. Don’t bring it up again. Just drop it.»

Before Nothye could respond, the doorbell rang. Vera ran to answer it. Standing before her was Grenn Kohria, disheveled beyond his usual state and clearly intoxicated. He brandished a bottle of wine in a bacchanalian fashion, his flushed face bearing a foolishly pleased expression. Barely able to remain upright, he stumbled into the hall and leaned awkwardly against the wall.

«Oh dear, Mr. Kohria!... Not again!» Vera exclaimed, horrified.

Grenn gave her a foolish, cheerful look, then put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her forehead, causing Vera to jump and blush violently. Grenn burst into hearty laughter, interrupted by sobs, and began caressing her cheek with a genuine smile. «Verka, my dearest, today is a celebration!»

The maid, shocked and trembling, stammered, «M-Mr. Kohria, I don’t think you should… It’s inappropriate, I…!»

«Verka, my dearest, it’s a celebration! Business is booming! The Kohria brand has amazed the Ardolia¹! I'll become their personal carpenter, Verka! Do you understand? The Ardolia...!»

She covered her face, turned away, and Grenn, unfazed, continued his jubilant speech about his business success with the Ardolia, his drunken laughter filling the hall.

Suddenly, a cry of indignation came from the living room. Kraya stood, her face twisted in horror, with Nothye and Breria beside her, dismayed. Vera turned pale, tears in her eyes, and ran upstairs.

Kraya blushed with disgust, looking at her father with terrifying reproach. Nothye and Breria quickly followed the maid upstairs to escape Kraya's imminent outburst. Father and eldest daughter remained, staring at each other in painful silence, Kraya seething with bile. Instead of erupting, she burst into sobbing tears, full of repressed suffering, and rushed upstairs to join the others.

Kraya's cries were raw and blood-curdling, resonating with a terrible intensity that hadn't been heard since their mother’s death. She staggered through the house, one hand clutching her chest, her face drenched in tears of profound pain. Her sobs pierced the unnatural silence, echoing off the walls like a haunting dirge.

Stumbling into Vera's room, Kraya collapsed into the maid’s arms, both women breaking into heart-wrenching sobs. Nothye and Breria quickly joined them, creating a poignant tableau of familial grief, their collective tears a testament to their shared sorrow. They clung to each other, the physical closeness offering a semblance of comfort, a therapeutic balm to their wounded hearts.

Eventually, the two younger sisters broke away, sitting on the bed and wiping their tear-streaked faces, while Kraya and Vera remained locked in a tight embrace. When they finally parted, their eyes met, both pairs filled with unspoken grief. Vera gently wiped the tears from Kraya’s face before kissing her on the lips. Kraya, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, blushed deeply and looked away, her vulnerability stark and discomfiting.

Nothye's soft voice broke the silence. «…How about going to Pavlor?»

Breria immediately nodded in agreement. «It's very quiet there…! And besides, we haven’t been there for a long time.»

Kraya pondered for a moment before turning to Vera. «Veri, would you like to… come too?» she asked in a miserable whisper.

Vera frowned slightly. «I should ask permission first from…» She trailed off, not finishing the sentence.

Kraya sighed, lowering her gaze. «…I’ll talk to him. In the meantime, get ready. Please wake Arja.»

Lost in her thoughts, Kraya headed downstairs to find her father. She discovered him slumped in an armchair, curled up with his hands over his face. The bottle of wine lay shattered on the floor. Summoning her courage and regaining her composure, she addressed her father with a frightening coldness. «Father, we’re going to Pavlor. Vera is coming with us, if it’s permitted.»

Grenn Kohria remained motionless at first, then slowly removed his hands from his face. They locked eyes, a silent battle of wills, until he finally spoke, his voice heavy with resignation. «...All right.»

Kraya nodded curtly and turned to go back upstairs. Meanwhile, Vera gently roused poor Aristia, who was feverish and confused.

«Arja, my love, wake up. We’re going to Pavlor,» she whispered.

Aristia rubbed his eyes, grumbling in protest. «...Veri, but I’m sleepy! What time is it? Why are we going?...»

Ignoring his questions, Vera helped him up and checked his forehead. «Hm, you’re warm…! Come on, get dressed; it’s cold outside. As soon as you’re finished, come down and wait for us there, okay? I’ve already packed your clothes.»

«...Wait, are you coming too?» he asked.

Vera nodded, and Aristia’s tired eyes widened with a genuine smile.

In a flurry of activity, everyone prepared to leave. Vera went to the square to find Mr. Qavro, who returned with the carriage. The siblings gathered their belongings and climbed into the carriage. Together, they set off for Pavlor.

Meza Qaron, lambgirl.

¹ The most prominent Kaverian noble family.

Balco

The carriage arrived in Pavlor after a brief but serene journey of about seven minutes. The Kohria family home, modest and devoid of extravagant luxuries, had been a cherished family property for two generations. It stood three hundred meters from the beach, nestled in an isolated area higher than the rest of the village. There were no neighboring houses, and the route to it wound along a narrow dirt road lined with tall, whispering pine trees. The large back garden offered a stunning view of the sea, accessible via a private path.

Kraya was adamant that Mr. Qavro be compensated for both this trip and the one from the airport, and after some persistence, he reluctantly accepted the payment. The family settled into the house with a sense of weary relief: Kraya took the master bedroom downstairs, while the other two sisters shared a room upstairs. Aristia and Vera shared another room upstairs. The clock struck eleven, and despite their usual habit of staying up until one in the morning, they were already in their rooms with the lights off, exhausted from the day.

Aristia, however, found no solace in sleep. Feverish and restless, he tossed and turned, the discomfort of his illness making it impossible to settle. Finally, he slipped out of bed, wrapped himself in a blanket, and quietly made his way downstairs to the garden. The night air was cool and soothing as he stepped outside, but what truly surprised him was the sight of Kraya, seated on a bench. She was lost in thought, her eyes fixed on the sky, her graceful nightgown billowing gently in the sea breeze.

She was so absorbed in her contemplation that she didn’t notice Aristia until he reached her and gently tapped her on the shoulder. Startled, Kraya jumped, her head snapping to the side. But when she saw it was only Aristia, she relaxed and let out a sigh of relief. Her expression quickly turned stern. «Don’t ever do that again, do you understand? You almost gave me a heart attack. Anyway, what are you doing awake? You’re sick; you should be in bed!... It’s cold out here.»

Aristia lowered his eyes, clutching the blanket tighter around himself, his voice a whisper of misery. «...I can’t sleep, Kri.»

Kraya’s stern features softened instantly, replaced by a look of deep compassion. She pulled her little brother close, wrapping him in a protective embrace. She helped him settle on her lap, encircling him with her arms. Kraya gently caressed Aristia’s cheeks and planted soft kisses on his forehead. Despite her typically stern demeanor, Kraya’s love for her brother was palpable, her rare display of tenderness under the quiet night sky a testament to her deep affection.

Time seemed to stand still as they sat together, wrapped in each other’s warmth. The the distant sound of the waves, and the white night created a serene backdrop for their silent bonding. Gradually, the soothing rhythm of the night lulled them both into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Balco

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, a perfect beginning to the first day of spring break. Meza Qaron, usually sluggish in the mornings, woke up at 8 am, her heart racing with anticipation. School was out, and the thought of spending the day with her best friend filled her with a rare, vibrant energy. The previous day, she had visited the Kohria residence several times in search of Aristia but to no avail. However, Mrs. Veralia had assured her that he would be home today, so Meza eagerly prepared to go out.

Her excitement was heightened by the prospect of visiting the new ice cream shop in town, which was offering free cones to first-time customers as part of their grand opening. After getting ready, Meza sought her mother’s permission to leave, promising to buy bread on her way back. Filled with joy, she quickly made her way to the Kohria house, crossing the bustling bridge and navigating the lively streets and alleys. She reached the door and rang the bell, her heart pounding with anticipation. But no one answered. She tried again, but still no response. Disappointment and embarrassment began to set in. She didn’t dare ring the bell a third time, fearing it would be rude, so she turned to leave, feeling dejected.

Just then, the door swung open, and Grenn Kohria himself stood before her. Meza had never met him before and was taken aback by his imposing presence. She tried to apologize, but only managed a series of unintelligible sounds. Finally, she realized this was Aristia’s father, much taller and more intimidating than she had imagined from Aristia’s descriptions.

Grenn studied her with a tired, vacant expression. «You must be my son's friend?» he asked in a low voice.

Meza nodded slightly. «N-nice to meet you, Mr. Kohria!... I, um, I was looking for Arja... Would it be possible, if I’m not bothering you, to call him?» she stammered.

Grenn shook his head with apathetic nonchalance. «My son is not home now. He is in Pavlor.»

«…Oh, I see. Thank you very much, and s-sorry again for the trouble,» she said shyly as she left. Grenn nodded indifferently and went back inside.

Determined, Meza decided to go to Pavlor, which she couldn’t visit the day before due to bad weather. She walked briskly along the service road, staying on the edge to avoid passing carriages. After about a quarter of an hour, she reached the village and took the dirt path leading to the Kohria property.

Meanwhile, Kraya had awoken in high spirits, her little brother still nestled comfortably in her arms. She carefully checked his temperature and felt a wave of relief as she noted it had dropped significantly, although his pallor remained. With a gentle touch, she placed him on the bench, adjusting the blanket around him. She kissed him tenderly on the lips and playfully touched her nose to his in an Eskimo kiss, then returned indoors to inspect the kitchen. Finding little of use, she resolved to visit the village center for fresh milk and bread. After moving her brother from the garden to the warmth of the living room sofa, she dressed and set off for her shopping trip.

While Kraya was at the market, Meza finally reached the Kohria house around nine o'clock. She rang the bell, her eyes shining with hope. After a while, the door opened, and she found herself face-to-face with Aristia, looking exhausted and a little absent with a blanket over his shoulders. He had obviously just woken up and was still rubbing his sleepy eyes. At the sight of Meza, however, he instantly perked up, a new energy coursing through him. They squealed with happiness and hugged briefly but intensely. They exchanged typical childish pleasantries, and Aristia invited her inside. «Let's be quiet; the others are still sleeping,» he whispered, leading her into the garden.

Suddenly, Meza stopped on the threshold, pouting and crossing her arms in mock offense. Aristia frowned, confused. «Why are you angry?»

Meza snorted, blushing. «I was looking for you all day yesterday! And you were never there… You promised to see me after school to go to the new ice cream shop…»

«Oh, I’m sorry… I forgot, really! They gave me a book, and I went here to read it… I forgot…!» Meza turned her back dramatically, frowning. «Mimi, I’m sorry! Really, I’m sorry…» he approached her and softly kissed her hands in apology. «Look, today I’m taking you to a beautiful place, I swear! I found a secret spot, no one knows about it. It’s really beautiful! Come on, Mimi, I’m sorry…!»

In the end, Meza accepted his apology and giggled. «Where is it?»

«I can’t tell you now, we’ll go later!»

«At least tell me what it’s like!... A forest, a cave…»

«No, no. It’s this really beautiful beach!»

The two kids spent their time in the garden, enjoying each other’s company as they chatted about various topics with the easy spontaneity of youth. After a while, they settled into the hammock, their laughter filling the air as they attempted to balance themselves. Eventually, they managed to lie side by side, content and relaxed. Meanwhile, the rest of the household had stirred; Vera, the first to wake, ventured into the garden and greeted them with a warm and cheerful demeanor.

«Meza, have you had breakfast yet?»

«I… Yes, thank you, I have already eaten at my house.»

«And you, Arja? Are you hungry?» The boy shook his head, a little annoyed. «Why not?! Wait, come here.» She felt his forehead. «You’ve healed a little, hm… Let me at least make you some chamomile tea!...»

«Ugh, fine…»

Nothye and Breria also arrived, both very curious and immediately introducing themselves to the young lamb-girl, happy to meet their little brother’s best friend. Meza turned red with shyness, holding Aristia’s hands tightly for courage.

«You're so pretty!» Breria commented enthusiastically, shaking her hand. «Such a sweetheart!»

«Arja speaks highly of you, you know? He always talks about your little adventures in his letters,» Nothye said, casting a winking look at her sister. They both giggled and went to Kraya, who had returned from the village with groceries. Vera prepared breakfast while the sisters went back to the two kids.

«Nice to meet you,» Kraya began with a detached formality, shaking hands with Meza, whose face was completely red. Kraya almost scrutinized her soul with an inquisitorial air.

«Kri, stop it! You intimidate her…» Nothye warned in a whisper, giving her a quick pat on the shoulder. The sisters eventually left the two children alone, relaxing in another part of the garden.

The presence of adults usually made Meza retreat into herself, her natural shyness becoming a barrier to interaction. However, when she was alone with Aristia, she blossomed, shedding her timidity and embracing a sense of freedom. Aristia provided her with a sanctuary of trust and understanding, where she felt safe to express herself fully. Physical affection, which normally left her feeling awkward and self-conscious, was different with Aristia. His hugs, kisses, and gentle touches brought her a unique warmth and comfort, melting her inhibitions and allowing her true, lively personality to shine through. In his company, Meza transformed from a reserved and quiet girl into someone vibrant and talkative, her joy and energy flowing naturally.

After some time, the two kids were ready to go out. They made their way through the dense forest lining the beach, occasionally spotting foxes darting through the underbrush. After navigating about ten minutes of rugged terrain, they finally broke through the thick vegetation and emerged onto a desolate bay. Towering rocky cliffs framed a stunning pebble beach, creating a secluded and breathtakingly pristine spot. This hidden gem, difficult to access, had remained untouched by the hustle of seaside tourism, preserving its natural beauty.

The two children, bursting with excitement, sprinted toward the beach, their playful shouts and joyous laughter echoing across the bay. They reveled in the simple pleasures of their prepubescent years, their hearts light and carefree in the nature surrounding them.

Balco

The two of them ran breathlessly along the shore, the crunch of pebbles beneath their feet blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves. Their laughter gradually faded into panting breaths as their energy waned. Aristia collapsed onto his back a few feet from the water, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, a giddy grin spreading across his face. Meza dropped down beside him, equally breathless, and their hands instinctively intertwined.

They lay there for a while, gazing up at the endless expanse of clear sky, exchanging light-hearted banter and laughter. The conversation flowed easily, revolving around trivial, amusing topics that kept them entertained. But as time passed, the mood shifted, and they began to delve into the intricate web of their classmates' lives. They swapped rumors and gossip, shared personal opinions, and speculated about romantic entanglements.

Despite his usual disdain for gossip, Aristia found himself drawn into the conversation with surprising enthusiasm. Although he often claimed to rise above such trivial matters, he was frequently the first to divulge the latest tidbits he had heard. At school, he was often seen mingling with girls, joining their gossip sessions and playful games, which had earned him a circle of female friends that outnumbered his male acquaintances.

At a certain point, Meza turned the conversation toward Aristia, asking if he had a crush. He sat up dramatically, placing a hand on his chest as if deeply offended, then sneered and let out a loud, exaggerated "eww!".

«Me, having a crush? Who do you take me for? Never ever!» he declared with mock pride. Meza giggled and sat up too. Aristia raised an eyebrow, his expression turning playful, and pointed an accusatory finger at her. «You, on the other hand, definitely have a crush on someone! Hmm, let me guess… Tiron, right?» The girl protested indignantly, shaking her head. «Admit it, come on! You’re blushing; see, I knew it! You like Tiron, you like Tiron!» Aristia teased, laughing as Meza’s face turned a deeper shade of red. Seeing her pout and lower her head, he decided to stop. «Ugh, fine, I’ll stop… Come here.» He leaned over and kissed her cheek in apology.

«I don’t like Tiron at all!» she snorted, clearly annoyed. «In fact, I don’t like anyone in the class!»

Her gaze locked with Aristia’s, and a jolt of sensation coursed through her, a mix of intense familiarity and bewildering novelty. It was as though his presence had sparked an electric current that both tingled and enveloped her in a warm, languid embrace. The usual ease between them dissolved into a profound, almost tangible connection. They remained suspended in this moment, their eyes locked in a silent exchange that stretched into what felt like endless minutes. The world around them seemed to blur and fade, leaving just the two of them in an atmosphere thick with unspoken emotions and uncharted depth.

Aristia, caught off guard by this sudden shift, looked on in confusion, his brow furrowing as he struggled to grasp the intensity of the moment. «Mimi, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!»

At his words, Meza looked away abruptly, blushing even more, and covered her face with her hands. Concerned, Aristia moved closer. «Mimi, did I offend you?» he asked, his voice filled with worry.

She didn’t answer right away, her hesitation palpable. Slowly, she lowered her hands from her face and met his gaze, her eyes reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty. «Yes, it’s true… I like Tiron…» she murmured, her voice tinged with an edge of disbelief, as though she herself found the admission difficult to accept.

Aristia's expression softened in response to her confession, oblivious to the strange undertone in her voice, and focused solely on reassuring her. «Mimi…! I was joking before, I didn’t mean to actually make fun of you... There’s nothing to be ashamed of, really! I promise I won’t tell anyone.»

Meza stared at him, her expression inscrutable, before she offered a small, appreciative smile. She chose to set aside the unsettling sensation she had just felt. Once she appeared more at ease, Aristia leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. He then stood up, starting to remove his shoes and socks, followed by his waistcoat. Meza watched him, her surprise evident as she observed his casual, carefree actions.

«Mimi, come on, let’s go for a swim!» Aristia said, stripping down to his underwear.

Meza froze, her awareness of Aristia’s body suddenly overwhelming her at the most inopportune moment. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she hastily turned her gaze away. The realization that they were no longer children and that their bodies were maturing hit her with a jolt. Aristia, oblivious to her discomfort, continued to urge her, reaching out to take her hand in an encouraging grip.

«...B-but Arja, I don’t have a bathing suit…» she stammered.

The boy dismissed her concern with childish spontaneity. «Me neither, but who cares? Come on, you’re not afraid of getting your underwear wet, are you?... Coward!»

Eventually, she yielded and started to undress, her movements tentative and tinged with shyness. Together, they waded into the water, diving in with an exuberance that made their laughter ring out across the waves. They swam and played with the reckless joy of children, reveling in the freedom and thrill of the moment. By two o’clock, fatigue had set in, and they emerged from the sea, their bodies shivering in the cool air. They wrung the saltwater from their underwear and stretched out on the warm sand, letting the sun's rays gradually dry them.

As Meza lay on the warm sand, her body relaxed yet her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The day's events had stirred a deep, unfamiliar sense of vulnerability and confusion within her. The playful joy of the swim and the intimacy of their shared laughter had momentarily overshadowed her anxiety, but now, in the quiet aftermath, her thoughts circled back to the unsettling realization of her changing feelings. The warmth of the sun was comforting, yet it couldn't fully dispel the awkward self-awareness she felt about her evolving emotions and the boundaries that had subtly shifted between her and Aristia. Meza grappled with the tender complexity of her feelings, caught between the innocent delight of their friendship and the burgeoning awareness of a deeper, more profound connection.

Exhausted and content, they both drifted into a light, serene nap, lulled by the comforting warmth of the sun and the gentle, rhythmic sounds of nature. An afternoon nap in the sun was, after all, a simple pleasure that never failed to soothe.

Balco

Meanwhile, at the cottage, the Kohria sisters reveled in a well-deserved respite. This was more than a mere family visit; it was a true vacation, a sanctuary where they could unwind and immerse themselves in their passions. The stillness of Pavlor, with its gentle breezes and soft, natural sounds, enveloped them, providing a stark and welcome contrast to the frenetic pace of their usual urban life. It was a place where time seemed to slow down, allowing the sisters to breathe deeply and reconnect with themselves and each other. The cottage, with its rustic charm and peaceful surroundings, became a haven where they could momentarily forget their troubles and find solace in the simple joys of life.

Vera had ventured out to visit a friend, savoring the rare opportunity for a leisurely social call. Inside the cozy living room, Breria sat with her knitting, her hands deftly working the needles, creating intricate patterns with practiced ease. Outside, Kraya moved among the fruit trees, carefully selecting the ripest fruits within reach. She relished the simple task, the sensation of the sun on her skin and the sweet scent of the orchard surrounding her, providing a welcome distraction from the worries that often plagued her mind. In the garden, Nothye sat at a small wooden table, her brow furrowed in concentration as she attempted to compose a letter to her suitor. She had been working on it since the previous day, determined to stay in touch through correspondence while she was away in Kaveria. Each word she penned was a piece of her heart, carefully crafted to convey the depth of her feelings and the longing she felt in his absence.

Her suitor, Lizon Ameria, was a young bourgeois Dori man of refined manners and considerable charm. Their paths had crossed a few months earlier at the opulent brothel where Nothye worked, renowned as the most “prestigious” establishment in the city. One night, Lizon, intoxicated and seeking to satiate his desires, stumbled into the brothel. By sheer happenstance, he was paired with Nothye, celebrated for her striking beauty and allure.

From the moment their eyes met, an unexpected connection ignited between them. Instead of indulging in flirtation or succumbing to crude propositions, they found themselves immersed in a profound and heartfelt conversation. They spoke openly and vulnerably about their tumultuous lives, revealing the deep-seated demons that plagued their hearts. Lizon, usually surrounded by superficial interactions, was captivated by Nothye's raw honesty and depth. Similarly, Nothye, accustomed to masked intentions, was moved by the man's sincere and introspective nature.

In the end, Lizon, confessed his genuine feelings for her, as though he had awakened from his night of debauchery with a newfound clarity. He promised her that he would one day liberate her from her dire circumstances and marry her, a vow that filled Nothye with hope and adoration. She fell deeply in love with Lizon, seeing him as her savior and benefactor. From that unusual first meeting, they quickly formed a profound yet perilous bond. Lizon began visiting Nothye at the modest apartment she shared with her sisters, their secret meetings charged with both excitement and risk. Despite Kraya's initial distrust and suspicion towards Lizon, Breria's persistent advocacy gradually wore down her resistance. In the end, Kraya reluctantly granted Lizon her blessing, albeit with lingering reservations.

Nothye frequently spoke of Lizon, her every conversation inevitably circling back to him. Her sisters grew increasingly exasperated with her constant mentions and the incessant letters she penned to him. Among the three sisters, she was the only one in a relationship, as neither Breria nor Kraya showed any interest in pursuing romance, though their reasons differed markedly.

Breria claimed she wasn’t ready for a relationship, perceiving herself as too young and unprepared. Beneath this veneer of youthful indecision, however, lay a deeper fear of rejection due to her profession. She grappled with feelings of abjection, convinced that her occupation would render her undesirable to potential suitors. This anxiety often plunged her into a state of melancholy, exacerbating her sense of isolation and discrimination. Her natural naivety made her oblivious to the more subtle advances of young men. Many times, she failed to recognize even the clearest hints of courtship, unable to decipher the true intent behind their words, and thus remained detached and indifferent to any romantic overtures.

On the other hand, Kraya had once known the depth of romantic love. This chapter of her past unfolded during the flourishing years of the Kohria family, a time when her brothers, Kasio and Mitron, were still alive and vibrant. In her final year of high school, Kraya crossed paths with a young Sheepman, twenty-one years old and from an upper middle-class background. Despite the prevailing societal disapproval of their relationship—an unlikely pairing in a world that judged such unions—they fell deeply in love.

Their romance was a beacon of joy in Kraya’s life, a rare and treasured connection. However, their bliss was abruptly shattered by tragedy. The untimely death of her brothers in an aethermotive crash cast a long shadow over her world, enveloping her in profound grief. During this dark period, Kraya found solace in the arms of her lover, who provided her with a temporary refuge from her sorrow.

Yet, even as she clung to him for comfort, life took another cruel turn. He was soon required to leave for Xoviah, the capital of the Federation, for an indefinite work assignment. With heavy hearts, they said their farewells. He had clasped her hands with a solemn promise: he would return to her and marry her. But as the seasons turned, nearly eleven years had passed, and he had not come back. Despite the relentless pain and the bitterness that had long since hardened her heart into a stone, Kraya clung to a fragile thread of hope. It was an irrational hope, a stubborn ember that refused to die out. She knew, deep within, that the warmth of his embrace was a memory she would never again experience. Yet, the hope lingered, a haunting echo of what once was, a beacon of a promise unfulfilled.

Balco

Somehow, it was already evening. The sun hung low on the horizon, a fiery orb partially veiled by dense, distant clouds. Its warm, amber glow bathed the earth in a golden hue, casting long shadows and illuminating everything with a soft light. Despite the impending dusk, it was the season of white nights, where the sun never fully set, lingering on the edge of the sky and continuing to suffuse the world with its gentle radiance.

Young Meza stirred from her slumber slowly, almost reluctantly, wishing to remain in the sweet embrace of Morpheus a bit longer. The golden rays of the setting sun caressed her face, coaxing her to open her sleepy eyes. As her vision cleared, she realized that the gentle touch she felt wasn't just the sun's warm light, but Aristia's fingers softly tracing the contours of her face. He sat beside her, gazing serenely at the horizon, his presence exuding a comforting calm.

The scene felt surreal, almost as if it had been plucked from the depths of her dreams. Everything around her seemed bathed in a golden glow, the air thick with tranquility. She lay there for a while longer, savoring the tender touch of her friend, feeling the gentle connection that made the moment almost ethereal.

At a certain point, Aristia turned towards her, his expression softening as he noticed her stirring. «Oh, Mimi, I didn’t notice…! Sorry, I woke you up, didn’t I?» he said, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Meza blinked a few times, her vision slowly clearing. «No, no… Don’t worry,» she replied with a gentle smile.

Relieved, Aristia's lips curved into a warm smile. He leaned in slowly, his gaze locking with hers, and kissed her on the lips with infinite tenderness. The moment their lips touched, a flush spread across Meza’s cheeks, her skin turning a deep shade of red, akin to a ripe tomato. Aristia pulled back slightly and, seeing her blush, couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Despite their culture’s encouragement of caresses and kisses as expressions of platonic love, Meza found herself overwhelmed by Aristia’s kisses. Her heart raced, and her embarrassment was palpable, contrasting sharply with the ease she had previously felt. Even among adults in Khijovian society, it was common to kiss on the lips as a sign of affection and deep friendship. Yet, for reasons she couldn’t fully grasp, Meza’s reactions to Aristia had shifted dramatically, leaving her blushing and flustered in a way that was both confusing and thrilling.

Something had shifted between them, an almost imperceptible yet profound change. Meza found herself increasingly unable to handle Aristia’s kisses without a deep blush creeping across her cheeks, a reaction that often amused him to no end. Each kiss now felt different, more intimate, and it made her heart race in a way it never had before.

His physical proximity, once a source of comfort, now heightened her awareness of her own body and his in a startling new manner. The sensation of lying on the beach next to him, clad only in her underwear, left her feeling acutely self-conscious. She was acutely aware of every inch of skin exposed to the warm sunlight, her modesty awakened and intensified by the simplicity of their attire.

Their physical differences, which had once seemed inconsequential, now loomed large in her mind. She felt a pressing need for boundaries, a sense of propriety that Aristia seemed blissfully unaware of. His innocent, carefree nature contrasted sharply with her newfound sensitivity, and it made her hyper-aware of their changing dynamic.

Aristia didn’t see Meza as a girl, but simply as a cherished friend, a companion with whom he shared a deep bond. His perception of her was free from the complexities of gender; to him, she was simply Mimi, a confidant and partner in their many adventures.

Meza, on the other hand, found comfort in Aristia’s innocence and simplicity. His untainted view of the world and their relationship provided her with a sense of security and warmth. His pure-hearted nature, devoid of any ulterior motives, made her feel safe and cherished. In his presence, the world seemed a bit more innocent, and she valued the childlike sincerity that still lingered in their friendship.

As she was lost in these contemplations, her train of thoughts was abruptly shattered by Aristia’s inquiry.

«Mimi, do you have horns?»

The unexpected question caught Meza off guard, rendering her momentarily speechless. After a brief pause, she managed to respond, «Well, yes... But they're still small. My mother says they’ll grow bigger, but never as big as the boys’.»

«...Can I see them?» Aristia's eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Meza hesitated, her cheeks flushing slightly. After a moment of internal debate, she sighed and nodded. «Fine... But be careful, I'm sensitive.»

With a gentle touch, Aristia carefully removed her headband, his fingers delicately parting her platinum blonde hair. He searched until he found the small, light-colored nubs hidden beneath her locks. His touch was soft, almost reverent, as he began to stroke the tiny horns, a grin spreading across his face. «You have really cute horns, you know?» he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

Meza squirmed under his touch, giggling. «Hey, I told you to be gentle!... You're tickling me!» she protested, playfully swatting at his hand.

The two friends began to wrestle playfully, their laughter echoing across the beach as they tumbled through the pebbles. They rolled over each other, their movements a chaotic dance of joy until, breathless and flushed, they finally surrendered to exhaustion.

With a shared sigh, they collapsed onto their backs, the rough texture of the beach grounding them as they gazed up at the vast expanse of the sky. Aristia nestled his head comfortably on Meza's belly, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing beneath him. Meza, lost in the soothing rhythm of the moment, absently twirled her fingers through his wavy hair.

Above them, the two moons hung in the heavens, their pale light contrasting against the deepening twilight. The nearer of the two, the Scarlet Sister, dominated the sky with its deep crimson hue. It seemed to pulse with an otherworldly glow, drawing the eye and the imagination alike. In Khijovian folklore, the Scarlet Sister was revered, a celestial symbol woven into countless myths and stories. Its haunting beauty had always captivated the people, filling their dreams with images of distant worlds and ancient spirits.

Aristia lay transfixed, his gaze locked onto the Scarlet Sister as if under a spell. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them beneath the watchful gaze of the moons, lost in the magic of the moment.

After a long stretch of silence, Aristia spoke, his voice soft and contemplative. «Mimi, do you think my mother is really up there?»

The unexpected question jolted Meza from her thoughts, and she hesitated, her words faltering. «Your m-mother…? Mrs. Veralia?»

A gentle chuckle escaped Aristia’s lips, the sound tinged with a bittersweet note. «No, silly! I mean my real mother—the one who died when I was very little. I can barely remember her face… And my older brothers, I never knew them at all.»

In Khijovian lore, it was believed that the souls of the departed found their final resting place on the scarlet moon. The deep, radiant glow of the Scarlet Sister was said to be powered by the collective light and warmth of those spirits, a celestial beacon of life after death. For many, the moon was not just a distant orb in the sky, but a symbol of hope and reunion—a place where loved ones waited, bathed in eternal light.

Aristia's gaze remained fixed on the glowing moon. «I wish I could fly up there,» he murmured, his voice carrying a note of longing, «to visit my family who’s gone…»

Meza lifted her eyes to the sky, letting the vastness of it fill her thoughts, before turning her gaze back to Aristia. Her expression softened, and her voice took on a gentle, soothing tone. «Arja, I’m sure they’re smiling down on you right now, watching over you with love. They’ll always love you, no matter how far apart you are.»

Her words, filled with quiet assurance, seemed to wrap around Aristia like a warm embrace. He felt a deep surge of emotion, his heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and affection that nearly brought tears to his eyes. The sincerity in her voice touched him in a place he rarely let others see, where his deepest vulnerabilities lay hidden.

«I love you, Mimi,» he murmured.

For a moment, Meza hesitated, then, with a soft smile, she whispered back, «...I love you too.»

FishTreeDogWorm

Meanwhile, lower down in the belly of the airborne metallic beast, a faint, melancholic humming can be heard from deep within the lower sections. Though not one of machine and motor. It is a quiet voice, humming to the tune of a melody. Perhaps a lullaby? Though such a thing would be highly unusual to hear coming from a lab. Unless you ask the onboard virologist and aspiring xenobiologist Emer. ''The melody helps with relaxation~!''

''Thesis states it is quite calming, is it not~?'' ...A few taps of her glove-covered fingers land against the glass of a small cylindrical tank on her desk, the subject, an eel-like aquatic creature, does not respond. It floats upside down in the container, bloated beyond recognition and leaking a foul bluish puss from the many bulging buboes covering its body. ''...Surely the silence is in jest~? Hmn...''

The researcher takes a few brief moments to scribble something down on a hastily folded note before rising to her feet and swiftly hurrying off towards another desk with an excited grin plastered over her face. As soon as she reaches her new station she impatiently starts up a large tablet resting diagonally against a sample shelf. On the screen appear various icons, some quite straightforwards in their purpose, others more esoteric. Her unoccupied hand flutters through them one by one whilst the other plants the note onto the counter. All the while, she keeps humming her quiet tune just as before.

Nought but a moment later, she goes silent again, and with a firm tap the screen flashes bright, blinding the little basket-case for a moment before she can recuperate. It seems she's found what she was looking for; After a flick of her wrist to administer yet another firm tap, and briefly correcting her glasses, she begins to speak:

''Begin audio log B. Conclusion of experiments and final result of tests conducted on subject B, otherwise categorized as ''Ribfin Eel 02'' in regards to the effects of domestic pathogens on locally native fauna. The subject appears to have succumbed to the rapid-onset symptoms caused by FSP approximately five rotations after administration of viral sample, it has survived one rotation longer than the previous subject of the same species ''Ribfin Eel 01''. Although more tests will have to be conducted to rule out or confirm the species developing a resistance to the disease. Initial examination determines the subject's final cause of death to be major internal haemorrhaging caused by the continued growth of tumours causing the rupturing of the subject's heart and aorta. Await in-depth report. Further analysis is required to determine exact effects of FSP on local aquatic fauna. End audio log B.''

Another tap, a faint ''bloop'' rings out, and Emer takes a deep, reassured breath.

After a long, drawn-out exhale and correcting her posture, she glares back at the murky test tube. It has quickly turned almost completely opaque from the creature's blood and the oozing puss from the buboes. A visible melancholy drapes her face as her voice croaks out a murmur; ''It was fun whilst it lasted~. Well, maybe not for you, but for me...''

Ceasing the mumbling, she starts humming again as she gently raises the murky cylincer in her arms and stapples with visible excitement in her step over towards an appliance just across the room that seems to look an awful lot like a fridge, or freezer. Though its simple and grey look may betray the complexity of its machinations; As the young scientist opens it to reveal a seemingly just as dull compartment. stocked to the brim with glass tanks of much the same style as the one housing the gored remains of Subject B, containing live specimen of the same species, appearing no worse-for-wear than the day they were caught. All except for one conspiciously labelled ''Ribfin Eel 01'', barely visible as it floats on its back through a thick murky haze swirling in its tank. With a heave Emer shoves the deceased subject ''02'' onto the shelf before staggering a short step back.

She then hurriedly sifts through them, looking for something; Pushing one after another aside in an almost rythmic motion whilst still humming her melody. It doesn't take very long though, in just a few short seconds she finds what she needs; subject C, ''Ribfin Eel 03'', in a tank much according to standard, the exact same as the rest. It seems lively, reacting with a fearful twirl as she clasps both of her palms around the sides of the container.

With a smirk blooming wide across her face, she holds it up and brings it out. The scientist cradles it in her arms as she nudges the ''fridge'' close.

''Your turn now, don't worry, if the pattern is consistent, the process will be rather quick~!''

Her steps echo across the room once more, moving back towards the desks on the other side. The trip is uneventful aside from a brief stumble, and she puts the cylinder down where ''B'' once stood.

Though just as she is about to turn back to acquire a sample of the pox, a soft ''ring'' from the tablet grabs her attention; She will have to continue later, it is time for a long-awaited break, a meal, and a lengthy nap.

hastily made visual, Emer recording the audio log - credit to me and digital piracy.

Balco

Kaveria was a city alive with energy, a sprawling municipality constantly shifting and evolving, its character never quite the same from one moment to the next. It was a place of endless contrasts, where old met new, and cultures mingled in a kaleidoscope of diversity. The city's heart pulsed with the vibrant life of its inhabitants, who seemed to spend every waking hour in the open air. The streets, wide and narrow, wound their way through neighborhoods lined with trees and flowering vines, and the squares were vibrant gathering places, shaded by ancient oaks or adorned with carefully tended gardens. Everywhere you looked, greenery softened the city’s hard edges, bringing a touch of nature into the urban sprawl.

The people of Kaveria were just as varied as the city itself. From dawn until well after dusk, the streets bustled with activity. You might encounter Goatfolk laborers, their muscular frames bent under the weight of heavy loads as they moved between workshops and construction sites. They worked alongside the more refined Kaverian bourgeois, sharply dressed and quick with a nod or a polite word, going about their business with a sense of purpose. Sheepfolk farmers, freshly arrived from the surrounding countryside, brought their goods to market, their simple clothing and quiet demeanor a contrast to the wealthier classes. And always, there were foreign merchants—exotic and mysterious—who had traveled from distant lands, their wagons loaded with goods and stories from regions far beyond Kaveria’s borders.

The city’s ceaseless activity demanded vigilant oversight. To maintain order in such a lively, often chaotic environment, two powerful law enforcement bodies worked tirelessly. The first was the Carabineers, a disciplined military force under the Minister of Defense. They were the city’s strong arm, its guardians in times of crisis, trained to respond to threats both external and internal with precision and authority. Dressed in crisp uniforms and armed with rifles, they patrolled the streets on horseback or marched through the avenues in formations that were a testament to their training and discipline.

Alongside them were the Public Security Brigadiers, the civil force charged with handling everyday matters of law and order. Reporting to the Minister of the Interior, the brigadiers were the watchful eyes of the city, keeping the peace in crowded marketplaces, mediating disputes, and ensuring that Kaveria’s laws were upheld. Unlike the more rigid Carabineers, the brigadiers moved fluidly among the people, more approachable but no less effective in their duties.

Together, these two forces worked in unison, their cooperation essential in a city as complex as Kaveria. And behind them, in the shadows, operated the inquisitorial guard—a secretive, highly skilled division responsible for intelligence and covert operations. Where the Carabineers and brigadiers maintained visible order, the inquisitorial guard ensured that threats to the city were quietly neutralized before they could take root. Their presence was subtle but ever-present, a reminder that Kaveria’s peace was safeguarded not only through visible authority but also through secrets kept and dangers unseen.

On that particularly radiant afternoon at the end of March, Kaveria found itself teeming with visitors from all corners of Chondia. The city’s allure, with its coastal beauty and irresistible romantic atmosphere, had drawn a surge of holidaymakers. Among them were numerous noble couples, newlyweds eager to bask in the city’s seaside charm and the promise of adventure in its winding, historic streets. The air was filled with the hum of life—laughter, chatter, and the creaking of carriage wheels—turning the city center into a tapestry of vibrant energy.

The heart of Kaveria, its ancient center, was a maze of cobbled streets and towering buildings that had stood for centuries. Normally bustling with the steady rhythm of daily life, today it swelled with the added weight of travelers, turning every alleyway and square into a sea of movement. Horse-drawn carriages rattled over the stones, weaving through the crowds, and street vendors hawked their wares to eager passersby.

The influx of people demanded heightened vigilance. In response, the entire urban brigade of Public Security had been deployed, their presence visible on nearly every corner. Clad in their distinctive uniforms, the brigadiers moved through the throngs of people, keeping a watchful eye on the chaotic flow of humanity. Patrols extended beyond the central squares, spilling into side streets and outlying districts, ensuring that peace and order were maintained amidst the growing festivities.

In the midst of this lively scene, Carabineer Yvôn Volgoria rode purposefully through the streets on horseback, the sun glinting off his uniform as he made his way toward the quieter village of Pavlor, just outside the city proper. His task, though simple on the surface, was serious: he had been dispatched to notify the Kohria family of the arrest of Grenn, their kin. Grenn was being held at a temporary detention facility on the outskirts of Kaveria, awaiting further action.

Yvôn Volgoria was a young man of twenty-three, recently promoted to the rank of officer cadet, though the title stirred little excitement in him. In his own eyes, he was painfully ordinary—a "secondary character" in the kind of novels people read to pass the time, never the hero or even the memorable sidekick. His appearance suggested a touch of vanity, the well-groomed air of a dandy who once cared about how the world saw him, but any real ambition or zest had long since faded. He had become, by his own admission, dull and unremarkable, a fact he both lamented and accepted with quiet resignation.

Conversations were often a challenge for Yvôn. He rarely had anything of substance to add, and his mind would seem to go blank at the most inconvenient moments. As a result, he developed a habit of staying silent, standing awkwardly at the fringes of social interactions, the outsider in his own life. His passivity, which some might have mistaken for laziness, was born not from lack of will but from a deep-seated disillusionment. Life, he had decided, was something that happened to him rather than something he actively shaped. He drifted through his days, allowing events to unfold without much resistance or enthusiasm, resigned to the idea that the course of things was beyond his control.

His recent promotion should have been cause for celebration, a mark of achievement, but Yvôn knew better. It brought him a fleeting moment of satisfaction, a brief flicker of pride, but he was acutely aware that it changed very little in the grand scheme of things. His path had always been laid out for him, and this promotion was merely a step along a road he had never chosen for himself.

As a boy, Yvôn had harbored dreams of becoming a teacher, a career he imagined would allow him to nurture young minds and perhaps escape the rigidity of his family’s expectations. But tradition weighed heavily on the Volgoria family. They had served in the military for generations, and Yvôn was no exception to this legacy. The role of a Carabineer had been decided for him long before he could form his own desires, and so, despite his quiet longing for a different life, he followed the prescribed path, his childhood dreams fading into a distant memory.

Yet, for all his lack of drive or originality, Yvôn was fundamentally a good-hearted person. He possessed a gentleness and a moral decency that endeared him to those who took the time to see beyond his muted exterior. He was the kind of man people trusted, even if they found him unremarkable. Though he lacked the fire of ambition, Yvôn had an innate kindness that made him, in his own way, dependable.

Meanwhile, at the Kohria cottage, the afternoon was warm and serene, with a gentle breeze rustling through the garden. The sisters were lounging beneath the shade of an old oak tree, enjoying the peacefulness of the day. The tranquility was however interrupted by the arrival of the postman, who handed Nothye a letter. As soon as she saw the familiar handwriting of Lizon Ameria, her face lit up with joy. She barely contained her excitement as she tore open the envelope, her heart racing with anticipation. Lizon was the center of her world, and every letter from him was a treasure.

As she read the words on the page, her joy became uncontainable. With a squeal of delight, she jumped up from her seat, clutching the letter to her chest as if it were a priceless jewel.

«Girls!» she cried, her voice bubbling with excitement. «He wrote that all he wants in the world is to see me in a wedding dress!»

She spun around, her face glowing with happiness, as she shared the news with her sisters. The sheer elation in her voice was infectious, though Breria and Kraya exchanged weary glances, well accustomed to Nothye’s constant rhapsodies about Lizon.

Nothye was beaming, hugging the letter tightly as if it somehow brought her closer to him. «And that’s not all!» she added breathlessly. «He’s entered the business circle of an up-and-coming entrepreneur!» Her excitement only grew as she imagined a future of success and stability for Lizon and, by extension, herself. To Nothye, everything about him was perfect, and the thought of their future together—marriage, wealth, and happiness—filled her with an almost overwhelming sense of joy.

The sudden ringing of the doorbell cut through the warm afternoon air, startling the sisters from their reverie. Breria sprang up from her seat, just in time to beat Kraya, who had made a half-hearted attempt to rise but quickly resigned herself to staying put.

Kraya sighed, sinking back into her chair with a resigned expression, realizing she was now trapped in the garden with Nothye, who was still lost in the rapture of Lizon’s letter. The prospect of having to endure another round of Nothye’s effusive praises for her beloved seemed almost unbearable.

«Oh, Kri, just think! Lizon said he’s already started saving for the wedding. Can you imagine?» Nothye’s eyes sparkled with delight as she folded the letter neatly, holding it against her heart.

Balco

Breria rushed to the door, certain it was Vera, returning from her brief trip to town. She swung the door open with a radiant smile, already forming her greeting.

But the words caught in her throat, her welcoming smile fading into a soft, involuntary gasp. Standing on the doorstep, framed by the golden afternoon light, was not Vera, but a young Carabineer. His appearance was striking, catching her entirely off guard. Blond hair fell in loose waves around his face, accentuating a fair, almost boyish complexion, while his neatly pressed uniform fit him with an elegance that highlighted his strong, well-proportioned frame. He was undeniably handsome—yet there was something unsettling about him that held Breria still. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, seemed hauntingly vacant, their gaze fixed yet oddly distant, as though some essential part of him lingered far beyond this doorstep.

Thrown off balance, Breria felt her cheeks grow warm. Her hand instinctively rose to her hair, smoothing down any stray locks. She became acutely aware of her light, casual dress and realized too late that it wasn’t quite as formal as she would have preferred. A flush crept across her face as she avoided his direct gaze, casting her eyes downward while she tried to compose herself, her hands folding demurely in front of her.

«Good afternoon, Mr. Carabineer,» she managed, though her tone wavered slightly despite her efforts. «How may I help you?»

The young Carabineer inclined his head in a brief, formal nod, his gaze steady and unyielding. There was something oddly mechanical in his movements, as though he were carrying out a task that had become routine, almost impersonal.

«I am here to deliver a message,» he announced, his tone as composed as his posture. « Are you a relative or acquaintance of Mr. Grenn Kohria?»

Breria’s heart skipped a beat, a chill washing over her. The initial surprise of finding an officer on her doorstep had already unsettled her, but now, hearing her father’s name spoken in such a tone, a deeper, more ominous feeling began to take root. Her breath quickened, and she struggled to find her voice. «W-well, yes, I am… I mean, I’m his daughter…» She wanted to ask what had happened, to press him for answers, but a heavy feeling had lodged in her throat, and all at once, her courage seemed to desert her.

The Carabineer’s gaze softened slightly, registering her anxiety, though his tone remained brisk, cutting through the tension with a grim directness. Dispensing with any further pleasantries, he spoke clearly.

«Miss, your father has been arrested for disturbing the peace and public order. He is currently in custody at the Scrion detention center, awaiting further action. The presence of a family member is required on-site before we can proceed. Do you wish…»

His voice trailed off, his words hanging in the air between them, unfinished. He paused, his gaze lingering on her as he observed the way her face paled, her eyes widening with a mix of shock and anguish. In that instant, he saw her distress deepen, the composure she’d managed slipping as she absorbed the reality of his words.

Breria’s face crumpled, her expression dissolving into a silent agony as tears began to trace down her cheeks, unbidden and unchecked. Her hands trembled, clutching at the edge of her dress as she struggled to find words, to muster an apology for her display of emotion, but her attempts to speak came out as strangled, choked sobs. Her lips quivered, yet no coherent words formed, only faint sounds of grief.

The young Carabineer’s stance softened, his initial formality giving way to something gentler, almost protective. He had delivered grave news more times than he could count, watched as faces crumbled and voices broke—but something about Breria’s quiet, unassuming sorrow struck him with an unexpected force. There was a fragility about her, a delicateness in the way she held herself, as though her grief were too profound, too personal, to be exposed before strangers. Her pain, held in such silent reserve, unsettled him, lingering in his mind.

After a slight pause, he cleared his throat, glancing away momentarily as he reached into his pocket, fumbling until he produced a small, neatly folded handkerchief. He extended it toward her, his voice soft, a touch more human than before.

«Miss Kohria,» he offered gently, holding the handkerchief out to her, «would you like this?»

Breria looked up, meeting his gaze through tear-blurred eyes. With a faint, almost imperceptible nod, she accepted the handkerchief, murmuring a quiet word of thanks as she dabbed at her cheeks, regaining some semblance of composure. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, a self-conscious warmth creeping over her face. After a moment, she looked up at him, her gaze timid yet steady.

«S-sir, might I… ask a favor?» Her voice was barely above a whisper, the words tentative, as though even voicing them might be too bold.

The Carabineer inclined his head. «Of course.»

«Would you… w-would you tell my sisters? I-I don’t think I could bear to…»

The man’s face softened further, his expression warming with understanding. He nodded with gentle resolve. «Certainly, Miss Kohria. I’m at your service.»

A wave of relief passed over Breria’s features, and for the first time since opening the door, a small, shy smile broke through her tears. «Thank you kindly, sir, » she murmured, her voice soft and genuine. She hesitated, then gestured for him to follow. «Please… come inside. I’ll lead you to them.»

The Carabineer followed her through the quiet hallway, the echoes of their footsteps seeming to hang in the air between them. As they neared the doorway leading out to the garden, Breria glanced back over her shoulder.

«I… if it’s not too much to ask… what is your name, sir?»

He looked at her, a faint hint of surprise touching his face before he replied, his tone gentle and reassuring.

«Yvôn Volgoria, miss,» he said quietly. «Officer cadet.»