Aeolian

Regalia

_{[Location] Landow, Estren (Food Stands)
[Time] Sunday, 07:30 AM
[Interactions] @CaliforniaState}

The harbor had become a portrait of grisly blight, smeared in crimson strokes and charred shadows. The cacophony of screams, the endless chittering of alien legs, and the wet crunch of wood and flesh being torn apart melded into a symphony of despair. Fires roared unchecked, their light casting jagged silhouettes of fleeing bodies. The sea, black and monstrous, churned with an unnatural fury as though it too was alive, rising to spit out its horrors.

Cécile, kneeling amid the chaos, his hands still clasped in prayer, trembled under the strain of his magic. His astral butterflies flitted around him, ghostly and protective, their azure light dimming as his strength waned. He barely noticed the shadows deepening, the atmosphere becoming thick with the promise of something more terrible yet to come.

The first sign was the water itself: rising, swelling unnaturally high. And then it emerged—a grotesque titan ascending from the ocean, its body a sick amalgamation of chitin and sinew, pulsating with a terrible life. It didn't appear to have any eyes, but somehow, nevertheless, it seemed to have a gaze that pierced through the carnage, its mind locking onto Cécile with a knowing malice. The creature's gaping maw opened, not to roar, but to release a psychic wave that reverberated through the battlefield like a telepathic thunderclap, taking hold of the swarm in an instant.

Cécile's butterflies faltered mid-flight as the hive mind reasserted its control over the cosmic insects. A surge of psychic pain slammed into him, as though barbed tendrils were ripping through his mind, tearing apart his fragile hold on the creatures. He screamed—a raw, soul-deep sound—as his consciousness buckled under the beast’s power. The pain was blinding, a searing agony that burned through him until he collapsed, his body crumpling to the bloodied ground.

In that moment, as his vision blurred and darkened, Cécile felt the beast. It was not words that filled his mind but raw intent, an empathic resonance that spoke of endless hunger, of dominance and control. The cosmic insects were its pawns, and Cécile’s intrusion into the hive mind had been an offense it would not tolerate. The beast’s thoughts were jagged and foreign, but their meaning was clear: You are nothing. You will break. You will all break.

Then, mercifully, there was silence, and Cécile’s world slipped into unconsciousness.

---

He did not see the Leviathan fall.

The great sea dragon, an ancient being of infinite grace and power, met its end as the beast's maw clamped around its serpentine body, rending scale and cranium with merciless precision, though Aethelos put up a worthy fight. But even in her own territory, taking on the creature alone had been an unwise decision. When the Leviathan fell, so too did she, her headless form collapsing lifelessly into the ocean. In time, Leviathan would find a new host. But the loss of a Regalia would be felt around the world. It was no trivial matter.

Cécile had never met Aethelos, though he had heard of her through Cassiel. Stories of her steadfastness and wisdom, her ability to command the tides as though they were an extension of her own will. He had imagined her as serene and indomitable, a figure of quiet strength. Now, she was gone, a legend extinguished before he could even speak her name aloud.

---

“Damn it!” Bastion cursed, fending off a snapping insectoid creature with his gun. The shot rang out, its aim true, but there were always more. Too many. When he turned and saw Cécile crumpled on the ground, his heart tightened. He didn’t know if it was fear or frustration that gripped him as he slung his weapon onto his back and lifted Cécile into his arms.

"Wake up!" he muttered, his tone harsh but undercut with a desperate edge. He shifted Cécile’s limp body carefully onto his back and began running, each step taking him farther from Gaia’s protective shield and the mysterious fog that had formed around them. The snow began falling then—soft, cold flecks that dusted his shoulders and the wreckage around him. It was an unnatural phenomenon, causing him to stumble, his boots sliding against the icy sheen forming beneath his feet.

The ground had betrayed him. His balance faltered, and Bastion crashed into an abandoned food stall, the wood splintering beneath his weight. Cécile slipped from his grasp, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. “Damn it all!” Bastion cursed again, scrambling to his knees and hovering over Cécile. Blood trickled from a gash on Cécile's temple, stark against his brown skin. Bastion’s chest heaved with exertion, his breath forming clouds in the suddenly chilled air. The blizzard-like temperatures at least seemed to slow the advancement of the insects toward where they were, at least for the time being. It was a moment of reprieve, for he, and for everyone else who were continuing to flee.

Then he saw her—Shiva.

The Dominant of Ice moved like a phantom through the chaos, her presence both beautiful and chilling. Snow swirled around her, her very being commanding the cold. Her crystalline form shimmered, her movements fluid and unhurried despite the carnage. Bastion’s breath caught for a moment, awed by her majestic presence. He tried to open his mouth, to ask her for help, but the words caught in his throat. He could never speak directly to a Dominant. It was something of an impossibility. Very few were graced with the sound of their voices. He just hoped, that through her divinity, her grace, her otherworldly perception, she would aid him, and somehow, help Cécile, the Regalia of Anima. She was practically a goddess, in his eyes. What couldn't she do?

He had just managed to speak it, more to himself than her. It came in a chilled wisp that drifted through the air in a tiny plume of ghostly frost, "Help him, please..."

---

Somehow, the colossal abomination that killed Aethelos had turned the Hopekeeper's mind into a prison. The darkness was absolute, stretching endlessly in every direction. He walked, but there was no sound, no echo of his footsteps. Only the oppressive silence, heavy and suffocating. He felt untethered, as though floating in the void, his own thoughts distant and fractured. He found, that in this strange place that was everywhere and nowhere at all, he couldn't even recall the diaphanous chirps of his delicate, fragile höpes. This place seemed to siphon every pleasant memory he held and replaced them with nothing but dread and despair.

And then it came—the voice.

Not a sound, but a sensation, an alien whisper that crept through his mind like a monster on the prowl, taunting. The beast’s presence was undeniable, its thoughts wrapping around him like a vice. You dared. The words were not spoken, but felt, raw and accusatory. You will know nothing but fear.

Cécile shivered, his arms wrapping around himself as he stumbled through the endless darkness. He could not see the beast, but its presence was all around him, pressing against his fragile psyche, a predator toying with its prey.

He was alone in the dark, and the voice would not let him forget.

NPCs

Bastion

Regalia

_{[Location] Landow, Estren (Food Stands)
[Time] Sunday, 07:30 AM
[Interactions] @Silly@Mirandae}

The meteors had begun to fall with more frequency now, their fiery descent like a herald of doom as they hissed through the morning sky, striking the ocean with sickening force. The impact sent great columns of water exploding upward, shimmering beneath the haunting glow of the shattered heavens. Every tremor that reached the harbor seemed to reverberate in Cécile’s bones, the ground beneath his feet trembling with a warning too ancient to ignore.

Cécile stood frozen, watching the horizon where sea met sky, feeling the wrongness of it all coil tightly around his fragile hummingbird heart. He could feel it, too—the slow, creeping terror that had begun to unfurl like a dark bloom. He had barely registered what the other Regalia and his cousin said when a scream split the air.

His blood ran cold as the sound tore through the quiet. It came from the harbor—harsh, shrill, full of unbridled panic. His eyes snapped to the shoreline, his heart pounding as vulgar shapes burst from the churning waves—cosmic insects, grotesque, their carapaces glistening under the fading light of the falling stars. They billowed forth, exoskeletons slick with seawater, spilling onto the shore in a terrifying flood. Their mandibles clicked hungrily, legs scuttling with an unsettling speed.

So many teeth. They were so unnatural, not of this world.

Cécile’s heart leapt into his throat as the tide of cosmic abominations poured toward the crowd, skittering over the docks, crawling up the food stalls, smashing through wooden stands with a hunger that seemed insatiable. The creatures tore at everything in their path.

“Nia!” Cécile called out, his voice strained with panic, but the chaos around him swallowed the sound. People screamed. The crowd surged like a living thing, bodies pressing against him as they fled in terror, knocking him to the ground. He glimpsed his cousin, just for a moment, as he righted himself on his arms. She had fallen under the protective dome of Gaia, the strength of her magic so strong, he could smell the pine from where he was and it almost soothed him. But the tide of fleeing, terrified souls swept them apart. He was left stranded, cut off from Gaia's safety.

As a strange mist began to form nearby, Bastion grabbed Cécile by the arm, pulling him up and away from the stampede of people.

"Hopekeeper!” Bastion’s voice cut through the din, rough and urgent, "We have to go, now!”

But there was no easy escape. The creatures were everywhere, scuttling closer, their movements almost too quick to track. One of them lunged, tearing through a nearby stall with a sickening crack, the wood splintering like bones. Cécile stumbled back, his breath coming in short gasps, fear threatening to paralyze him. Blood splattered the ground as they ripped apart anyone too slow to escape, their grotesque forms bathed in the light of distant fires.

The stampede of people made it impossible to get far as they moved—the crowd pushing, stumbling, screaming—trapping them in a nightmarish press of bodies. Bastion, realizing they couldn’t escape, whirled around, his gun already in hand. He opened fire, the sharp crack of bullets barely audible over the deafening screams. The creatures shrieked as they fell, but more kept coming, their bodies twitching as dark ichor spilled from their wounds.

The air reeked of salt, smoke, and blood. Cécile, trembling, clutched at Bastion’s cloak, hiding behind him as wave after wave of abominations surged toward them. He wasn’t a fighter—he had never been in danger like this. He sent out a silent wish to ether, to be back on his island again, to be with his fragile, innocent höpes. The world around him felt too loud, too chaotic, each scream and gunshot hammering against his mind as it began to fray at the edges.

Cécile's chest tightened as panic set in. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands rising to cover his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the horror unfolding.

This—this horror—was beyond him.

But his fear had triggered something else. He felt the stir of magic within him, wild and uncontrolled. His astral butterflies appeared around his delicate silhouette in a flurry of shimmering wings, materializing out of instinct. They swarmed around him, protecting him, reacting to his growing terror.

“Hopekeeper!” Bastion shouted over the chaos, still firing at the oncoming creatures. “You need to transform!"

But Cécile couldn’t hear him. His mind was too clouded, too overwhelmed by the fear that gripped him. He could feel Bastion calling his name again, but it was distant, muffled, like a voice underwater. The astral butterflies spun faster around him, their light dimming and brightening in rhythm with his racing heart. His vision blurred, his thoughts scattered, lost in the storm of his own noxious dread.

Finally, Bastion grabbed him, shaking him. “Hopekeeper!”

The world snapped back into focus, and Cécile blinked, dazed. He could hear Bastion now, the urgency in his voice cutting through the haze, “You need to transform!” Bastion repeated, his voice hard, commanding.

“I—I’ll try,” Cécile stammered, his voice weak as he nodded. There was no confidence in his words, only a desperate hope. With trembling hands, he knelt on the ground, his fingertips touching softly against his temples. And he began to utter the prayers he had memorized and uttered long before. Six prayers Anima had taught him to recite when in need of her power. His lips moved silently, forming the words of The First Prayer.

"o' mother whose brilliance lightens even the darkest of skies,
favor this ground for the fulfillment of thy eternal journey. Anima!"

Nothing.

The magic, the transformation—it wouldn’t come. He could feel Anima’s presence, a nebulous warmth, but it was like trying to grasp smoke. Cécile squeezed his eyes shut, his prayers growing louder in his head, willing his Dominant form to surface. The world continued to unravel around him, and his body remained painfully human. The Second Prayer.

"o' cherished one, gilded with the purest of hearts,
bring down thy final libation to guide these wandering souls to rest.
Anima!"

But still—nothing. The Third Prayer.

"eternal wisdom, ever true and undefiled,
grant these swanson sinners before me the majesty of thy judgement.
Anima!"

She still wouldn't come to him. Why wouldn't she heed his call? These were her fucking prayers!

His heart raced faster. Cécile tried to focus, his eyes darting around, wild and searching, but the panic kept creeping in as his prayers went unanswered. The Fourth Prayer.

"o' dreaming mother from distant regions,
stretch out thy tenebrous wings and lead my enemies to their eternal slumber.
Anima!"

After the inaudible last syllables of his fourth prayer seemed to fall on silent ears, Cécile witnessed something truly horrific.

Through the blur of movement, he saw them—a group of children, running, their small bodies barely able to keep pace with the terrified adults. Blood streaked their clothes, and a teacher—her face pale with fear—tried to shield them from the advancing horrors. Cécile’s breath caught in his throat as the creatures descended upon her. The teacher screamed for them to run as they tore into the poor woman, her body falling in a twisted heap as the abominations descended upon the defenseless children.

Something inside Cécile snapped. "No!"

He couldn’t transform—he couldn’t—but he could still do something.

With a surge of will, he sent his astral butterflies forward, his mind latching onto the abominations with a single, desperate command: "Protect them."

Cécile's blue morphos, luminous and ethereal, swarmed toward the creatures, their delicate wings brushing against the grotesque forms in a dazzling display of azure light. As the butterflies touched and landed on the abominations, they began to falter, their movements slowing as they collapsed, one by one, into a sudden, unnatural slumber. And then they began to twitch.

As if under a spell, the sleeping, cosmic insects turned on one another, ripping each other apart with savage brutality. Limbs were torn from bodies, mandibles clashed, and onyx blood splattered the ground as they destroyed their own kind.

Cécile could feel the vile emptiness of their minds as he infiltrated their subconscious. It was sickening. Their thoughts, their dreams—if they could even be called that—were hollow, a void of death and hunger. No rational motivation, only primal instinct.

The strain on Cécile’s mind was immense. His consciousness stretched thin, split between too many minds, too many horrors. He knelt there, unmoving. He didn't dare break his concentration, his eyes distant as his mind was tethered to the creatures, keeping them at bay, forcing them to destroy each other in a brutal cycle.

But it was too much. His body trembled with the strain, his magic pulling at him. His breath came in shallow gasps. Cécile’s magic would falter soon, and perhaps his frail body would too. He knew he couldn’t maintain it for long, but he couldn't stop, not yet. His butterflies continued their assault, driving the abominations to tear themselves apart.

The transformation would have to come later—if it came at all.

NPCs

Bastion

Regalia

_{[Location] Landow, Estren (Downtown to Food Stands)
[Time] Sunday, 07:30 AM
[Interactions] @Silly@vietmyke@Mirandae}

The hotel room seemed to tighten around Cécile, as if the walls themselves were drawing closer, suffocating him with their stillness. Outside, the sky had deepened into a shade of violet twilight, and through the window, the brightest slivers of the meteor shower could still be seen streaking across the heavens, as if the stars were coming undone, falling to their small pocket of the universe in some cosmic unraveling. His butterflies fluttered around him in soft, luminous whispers, and though his body remained anchored in the room, his mind soared through their delicate wings, tethered to Nia. The azure shimmer of their wings kept vigil, a silent constellation of his presence amidst the rising tension in the city below. She was still near the harbor, surrounded by the others—Regalia gathered beneath the flickering, falling sky—but her response had been troubling. She wanted him to come to her.

“Why does she not understand?” Cécile murmured to himself, pacing the length of the room.

Every step felt heavier. Something was wrong, something more than the meteors themselves. He could feel it—an unease that curled in his chest, like the first breath before a scream. Cécile’s hands twitched restlessly at his sides, pulling at the fabric of his slip, the weight of inaction unbearable.

“I'm going,” he whispered, more to himself than to Bastion, but his words seemed to pierce the silence of the room. "I need to join my cousin."

But as he moved, his Guardian's shadow moved as well, stepping into his path before he could reach the door. Bastion's tall, broad frame stood like a wall between Cécile and the outside world. “No,” he said, his voice as firm as steel, "I am bound to protect you, Hopekeeper; you will stay here where it's safe."

Tension crackled between them, thick as volcanic smoke. Cécile’s heart raced, his pulse thundering in his ears. “Bastion, please,” he pleaded, his voice soft but trembling with urgency, “Step aside. I have to go." But Bastion’s face remained impassive, his eyes a cold, unyielding shield, his broad form blocking the doorway. "Dr. Featherswallow gave me strict orders to keep you safe. She'll have my head if I let you leave. My answer is no."

"Your answer?"

Something inside Cécile shifted then, something sharp and absolute, a rare spark of defiance flaring to life. His gentle voice hardened, his normally soft demeanor replaced by something more dangerous as a tremor of pale, violet witchlight flickered in his brown eyes. “Move, Bastion. Don’t make me do this.”

It was at that moment that Bastion's expression wavered, confusion flickering in his eyes as he noticed the sudden shift in Cécile’s demeanor. His gaze sharpened as the tension thickened between them. It all became too evident that he wasn't facing a delicate moonflower or a wistful Hopekeeper throwing some childish tantrum. Cécile was a Regalia, and his better judgment told him to be mindful of that fact, to tread Cécile's waters with more caution and grace. This was a side of himself that Cécile would never be able to show in public.

Around him, the air began to shimmer with the sudden appearance of more astral butterflies, their flickering azure wings taking on a frantic rhythm as they spun in the air, reflecting Cécile’s agitation. Their iridescence lit the room with a soft, otherworldly glow.

Somewhere, faintly, the hotel’s intercom clicked on, an attendant’s voice cool and detached, announcing the lockdown. "For your safety, the hotel will be going on full lockdown until the meteor shower passes. Thank you for your cooperation." But it was distant, background noise to the quiet war being waged between Cécile and Bastion’s locked gazes. Silence thickened around them, only the sound of the butterflies’ wings stirring the air.

After a long moment, Bastion’s voice softened, attempting to placate. “Even if I let you go," he began slowly, his tone almost appeasing, “Isolde wouldn’t allow it.” His words were steady, but there was something softer in his gaze now, as though the tension between them had pulled one of many knots loose. Cécile hesitated, his temper cooling as he considered Bastion’s words. He broke their stare, looking away, suddenly contemplative, knowing the truth of it. He knew Bastion was right—Isolde would never permit him to leave, and he couldn’t fight her authority. He wouldn't dare. Yet, his mind's eye flickered to Nia, to the butterflies still watching over her, and he knew he couldn’t simply stand by.

Bastion watched him with an expression Cécile thought he had never seen before, a novel look that seemed to trigger the faintest of a memory. A rare, lavender rose pressed into his open palm. A chocolate strawberry pressed to his supple lips. The smell of an old, cherished book long forgotten to the annals of some mysterious world left by his bedside. Where was this memory from, Cécile thought, unable to trace the images that flickered in his mind. They went as quickly as they came.

The ephemeral daydream shattered with the intrusion of Bastion's surprising words, “I have an idea,” he finally said, his voice unusually genteel, his gaze elsewhere. Cécile blinked, surprise flickering across his features. His guard lowered ever so slightly.

“You’ll help me?” he asked, hope slipping into his voice.

Bastion nodded, though his square jaw clenched with the weight of the consequences. “Dr. Featherswallow would have me dismissed if she knew, but...” His voice trailed off, and for the first time, there was something like affection in his eyes. “The window,” he said simply.

Cécile’s eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat. “The window?” He glanced over at the glass, dread pooling in his stomach. They were several stories up, the ground below far too distant for comfort. “We’re too high, I can’t—”

“You’ve used your butterflies before,” Bastion interrupted, stepping toward the window, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’ve moved things with them. I’ve seen you do it. You can float us down.”

“How... how do you know I can do that?” Cécile asked, suspicion creeping into his voice, but Bastion didn’t answer. He simply changed the subject, his gaze steady, “Can you do it or not?” he pressed.

“I’ve never—” Cécile stammered, doubt clouding his thoughts. “I’ve never carried myself on my butterflies before. Let alone two people. And I can’t shift into my Dominant form easily…”

Bastion gave him a look, one warmer than Cécile had ever seen from him. It was an expression of quiet reassurance, a gesture so gentle that it eased some of Cécile’s doubt. "I think you can, Hopekeeper."

The trust in Bastion’s eyes was enough to make Cécile pause, his resolve slowly building. He took a deep breath, letting Bastion's words fill him with courage, even if only fleeting. He followed Bastion to the window, and together, they climbed onto the ledge, the morning air sticky and hot against Cécile’s skin. The ground below seemed impossibly far, a yawning abyss looking to swallow him whole in one final, magnificent ending. Cécile’s breath trembled, fear gnawing at him. Bastion, noticing the tremble in his form, wrapped an arm around Cécile’s waist and pulled him close, "Hold onto me." he said, voice low and steady, "I've got you."

It was a marvel that Cécile didn't recoil from his touch in that moment. Cécile nodded, clutching tightly to Bastion as he looked down and then back to his Guardian.

They shared a look and then jumped!

A sudden rush of air greeted them, and the world seemed to slow as they fell. But before panic could take hold, Cécile’s butterflies surged around them, materializing in a swirling, breathtaking luminescent cloud of blue morphos. Their wings shimmered in the sun, catching the stellar, cosmic lights as the fairy-like projections enveloped the pair, slowing their descent. They floated down gently, as if held by a dream, the butterflies moving in perfect synchronicity with Cécile’s will. Cradled in a delicate, shimmering net of fluttering azure, their feet finally touched the ground softly, and Bastion glanced at him, impressed for once, his eyes alight with something akin to awe.

"Impressive." he murmured. Around them, passersby had been watching the magnificent display of the Regalia of Anima. The mystical spectacle had drawn attention, and citizens stared at Cecile dumbstruck, almost bewitched. But he was too caught up in the moment to care.

Cécile, breathless, blinked in amazement at what he had just done. He hadn’t known his butterflies could carry such weight, or that they would respond so instinctively to his need. “I... I didn’t know I could do that,” he admitted softly.

“You did,” Bastion said, giving him a rare smile. “Are you alright?”

“I am,” Cécile breathed, sharing a fleeting, almost familial look with Bastion. There seemed to be a quiet understanding between them, but the moment passed quickly. Before he could say more, Bastion took his hand, urging him forward. “Come on. Let’s go before Dr. Featherswallow realizes we’re gone.”

They raced through the streets toward the harbor, Bastion hailing a taxi along the way and getting a free ride, thanks to Cécile's status as a Regalia. He was still keeping watch over Nia through the butterflies that fluttered around her. His mind stretched thin, his focus divided; it was a strain, he could feel, but he kept the tether active until they finally reached her. Cécile exited the vehicle, his heart racing from overexertion. Perhaps they hadn't noticed their interlocked hands the entire time. And when Bastion released Cécile’s hand so he could exit the taxi, he appeared almost reluctant to do so. Once he joined him, however, his expression hardened once more.

Cécile took a moment to gather himself before stepping forward, his gaze flickering to the other Regalia—Laura and Akamu. His shy disposition returned, as if he didn't quite belong in their presence. He bowed deeply, his hands gracefully folded together against his middle. "It is an honor to meet you both, Earth Mother and Ground Shaker." he said in a kind, delicate voice. Now that he was here, Cécile recalled his remaining butterflies back into his psyche; they seemed to vanish into wisps of azure stardust and then, nothing.

He had seen countless pictures Akamu and Laura in the magazines brought to him by the Tenshi supplier. He'd spend hours before bed, reading through those magazines to keep up with current world affairs as his höpes chirped quietly, almost as if begging him to finally get some sleep. Those flat pictorials did them no justice. Even as a Regalia himself, he was quite enamored by their presence. He tried not to stare, it was unbecoming.

"Pardon me for whispering," he said out of respect for the other Regalia present, shifting his focus back to Nia.

“Do you... do you sense it too? The danger... falling from the skies?” He could barely maintain his composure, his fear too raw, too close to the surface. There was a tremor of fear beneath his words, his hands clutching delicately to his chest as if holding something fragile, something too afraid to bloom.

NPCs

Bastion

Regalia

@Mirandae

Thanks for the updates, Mirandae. I will go along with the group's consensus, but personally, stats don't seem necessary for this narrative-driven story. I think the cards more than suffice to add a little spice to important combat sequences as they arise.

Regalia

_{[Location] Onboard the Skypiercer from Eshea to Estren
[Time] Saturday, 07:30 PM
[Interactions] @Silly}

The Skypiercer hummed with the distant echo of thunder, though the sky beyond the great glass windows stretched on, azure and indigo, and endless. The ship moved through it with the grace of a creature born to flight, and yet, inside, Cécile's gossamer heart fluttered in his chest, small and fragile like a trapped bird. The air was thick with the scent of rose oil and lavender, a strange combination that reminded him of the distant gardens in Montá, where the flowers would bloom even in the shadow of the Citadel’s towering, metal rampart.

But here, aboard the Skypiercer, that same scent felt out of place, mingling with the metallic hum of the engines. Time, it seemed, had folded in on itself, and for a moment, he felt as though he were both a child again, lost in those gardens, and a man, standing on the edge of something far greater.

Cécile’s thoughts flickered like moths caught in a beam of light, drawn to Nia’s presence yet still tangled in memories that began to fester, faint echoes of a childhood long past—of laughter in the woodlands of Nibelheim, of running through the summer fields with the sun at their backs, the world spread wide before them like an untouched map. But those days were lost now, buried beneath the weight of years.

Though, he did remember some things, grasping frantically at the fractals. She had always been the braver of the two, always leading him, always pulling him into the land of the fairies and witches and Gods. Neibelheim was the land of stories, after all, but they did not always conclude with happy endings. Even so, there was an ache to it, that recognition. The kind of ache that comes from old memories stirring after too long a sleep.

Her hair was darker, her features more defined, but the glimmer in her violet eyes remained untouched by time, like stars trapped in amber. They had always held something otherworldly, those eyes—full of witchlight and unspoken stories she had kept secret to protect his delicate self. But there was something else, something foreign, a shadow of strangeness that clung to her like the scent of distant lands. He couldn’t quite grasp it, not yet.

And now, as her gaze met his, Cécile felt that familiar flutter of something both beautiful and painful. He wondered if she, too, had felt the distance between them, the quiet sorrow of years lost to duty, to silence.

Nia’s voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, warm and teasing. Cécile blinked, startled out of his reverie. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat, drowned in the rush of her sudden embrace. Her arms wrapped around him, familiar, and yet… foreign? His body stiffened, instinctively recoiling from the contact, his breath catching in his chest. He hadn’t expected this—not the warmth of her, not the press of her arms around him. He stood frozen, his arms awkwardly hanging at his sides, unsure of what to do. He wanted to return the embrace, to let himself melt into the familiarity of it, but something held him back. Instead, he remained still, his heartbeat quickening, and when he opened his mouth to speak, the words faltered on his lips. “I…”

The embrace swallowed the rest of his sentence, and for a moment, he was grateful for it. He didn’t know what he would have said. When Nia pulled back, there was a playful glint in her violet eyes, a spark of mischief that was unmistakably her. “Now, let’s address how you just said I look like an old man…” Her tone was light, but there was a teasing edge to it, her lips quirking into a smile.

Heat rushed to Cécile’s cheeks, the color rising like a blush of dawn. His eyes widened in mortification, and he stammered, “That’s not what I meant… I… I just meant…my apologies” His voice trailed off, too flustered to form a coherent defense. Cécile's fingers fidgeted at his sides, twisting in the fabric of his violet slip, a nervous habit he had never quite outgrown.

Oh Cécile, you haven't changed a bit…he imagined her thinking in that moment. When she teased him about giving orders and not being taller, feigning seriousness in that mock-regal tone, Cécile chuckled softly, his discomfort ebbing just enough to allow a hint of amusement to creep into his expression. “I suppose… that is true, cousin,” he replied, the corner of his lips curving into a faint smile as Nia turned to the passing attendants, as if to prove her point, and summoned them, her voice firm but kind as she fed them commands to escort the cousins to Cécile's personal chambers aboard the ship. He had rejected the offer initially when it had been offered, but who was he to deny his cousin of this experience? After all, she was HIS guest, and he would be more than pleased that she was pleased to reap some of the benefits he was too modest to relish for himself.

Cécile watched her, admiration blooming quietly in his chest. She commanded the staff with such ease, her presence magnetic and strong, while he… he was a wallflower, always lingering in the background, too quiet to command much of anything. His influence was subtle, a whisper rather than a shout, but watching Nia, he couldn’t help but marvel at her forthright gesture.

The attendants moved swiftly, guiding them through the ship’s labyrinthine corridors until they arrived at Cécile’s chambers. The doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing a room bathed in gentle light, its walls adorned with delicate carvings of butterflies and vines. As they walked, Cécile couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort settle over him. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of his duties as a Funérailles didn’t press quite so heavily on his shoulders. Nia’s presence filled the room like a warm fire, while Cécile’s remained soft and introspective, as if he were content to simply orbit her witchlight.

They spoke of many things—of the past, of the future, of the lives they had lived since they last saw each other. Cécile found himself talking about Cassiel, his voice tinged with quiet woe. He spoke of the höpes he had cared for, their fragile forms fluttering in the corners of his mind. He mentioned his Guardians, though when he spoke of Bastion, his tone faltered slightly. Curiously, Bastion seemed to harbor a silent disdain for him, though Cécile didn't quite understand why.

And he asked after her family—the Stryxs—whom he hadn’t seen since he was a child, his voice tinged with a tempered longing. There was hope, he felt, when he mentioned them, a hope that perhaps, one day, they might all be reunited. As the night wore on, their words faded into the quiet hum of the ship, the soft glow of the lanterns casting long shadows across the chamber. Distant stars outside the window watched over them, silent and eternal.

The reunion, fragile and beautiful, unfolded in the gentle silence of their shared past, and the unspoken promises of what lay ahead.

_{[Location] Landow, Estren
[Time] Sunday, 07:00 AM
[Interactions] @Silly}

The warmth of Estren wrapped around Cécile like a second skin, so unlike the cool, rain-swept winds of Eshea, and the city below seemed to pulse with life as the Festival of Lights reached its final crescendo. From the Skypiercer’s high vantage, Cécile could see the teeming crowds, their festive lanterns flickering like stars fallen to earth, the swell of music and laughter rising in waves from the streets. The festival goers, adorned in brilliant colors, moved like rivers of silk beneath the canopy of the early twilight, their joy infectious yet distant, like the hum of a dream one could observe but never fully join.

Cécile stood at the edge of it all, eyes wide, absorbing the kaleidoscope of movement and color before him. His heart trembled, half-thrilled, half-dismayed by the sheer magnitude of the festivities. This place was so alive, so warm, that he felt like a ghost wandering through a world too bright for him. The weight of his duties as a Funérailles hung around him like a shroud, as always, but for now, it was almost easy to forget the burden, to let the glow of the festival seep into his bones, warming the cold spaces within. Almost.

Dr. Featherswallow appeared at his side, her voice cutting through the din, "Before you are to attend the Festival, there's a matter of propriety we must attend to Downtown." He would soon discover that a formal Hopekeeper's customary robe awaited him at his hotel room. It was culturally inappropriate for a Hopekeeper to change in front of others, an act that could taint the purity of the role. Cécile nodded quietly, his gaze flickering to the sea of strangers, a sudden swell of apprehension tightening in his chest.

Formality. Modesty. Grace.

He would need to wear all these things like armor. Nia went ahead, slipping into the flow of the festival with the ease of someone who belonged in the world, while Cécile lingered at an impasse. He had promised to meet her later, once his formalities were done, but as the opulent vehicle arrived to carry him into the city, a small part of him wished she were still by his side.

The vehicle that pulled up was unlike anything Cécile had ever ridden in—sleek and polished, a shimmering beast of metal and glass that seemed more a creature of the future than the present. He hesitated for a moment, his delicate frame still caught in the past’s modest trappings, before stepping inside. The interior was cool, plush with velvet and dark wood. As the city blurred past them, Isolde handed him a sleek black phone, her fingers brushing his as she explained its purpose. “For emergencies,” she said simply, giving a meaningful glance toward Bastion and Hut, as if entrusting them with his care in a way that felt heavier than mere words.

The ride to the hotel was quiet, filled with Cécile’s soft wonder at the sights passing by—the city alight with lanterns and the faint flicker of something otherworldly in the air. Hut tried to make conversation, but Cécile didn't seem too keen on crosstalk at the moment. He'd fallen into the depths of his own mind. When they arrived, a small crowd of devotees had already gathered outside the hotel, their faces bright with awe as they caught sight of him.

Word had spread quickly of his last-minute attendance, and now they reached out to him as though a single touch might grant them some piece of divinity. His instinct was to shrink away, to fold into himself, but Hut’s arm wrapped protectively around him, shielding him from the grasping hands as they made their way inside. Cécile breathed a sigh of relief as Hut ushered him into the hotel, casting a grateful glance his way. Isolde murmured her thanks to Hut, but Bastion’s quiet scoff cut through the moment, though Hut seemed to ignore it entirely.

Inside Cécile's private hotel room, the tension was thick. Isolde’s frustration was evident as she spoke quickly, her tone sharp. “I’m going to speak to security,” she muttered, turning on her heel. “This is unacceptable. They should be handling the crowd better.”

“I’ll go with her,” Hut offered, his voice softening as he glanced at Cécile, “Need anything?” Cécile shook his head, too unsettled to trust his voice, and watched as Hut followed Isolde out, leaving him alone with Bastion. The silence stretched thin between them, taut as a thread about to snap. Bastion’s gaze was heavy, intense, as he watched Cécile with a scrutiny that made him uncomfortable. The young Hopekeeper turned to face him fully, the question hovering unspoken between them. The air felt strange, thick with something unsaid.

And then, unexpectedly, Bastion closed the distance between them, his footsteps soundless against the plush carpet. He stood before Cécile, who didn't have a chance to react as he naturally would have, to recoil from the taller, more hardened figure. There was a coldness there, yes, but beneath it, something else. "You really don’t remember me?" Bastion finally said, his voice was soft, almost fragile, as though the question itself might shatter if he pressed too hard.

Cécile returned the gaze, quiet, contemplative. He searched his memories, reaching for some thread of recognition, some connection to the man before him as he had with Nia and Hut. But there was nothing. Nothing beyond the formal roles they shared, the cold distance that had defined their interactions so far. At last, after a long moment, he shook his head. “No… I don’t.” His words fell from his mouth like a sigh, ephemeral and honest.

A flicker of something—disappointment?—crossed Bastion’s face, but it was quickly masked, replaced by the familiar stoic expression. “I see.”

There was a pause, a tension in the air that neither seemed willing to break, until Bastion, uncharacteristically hesitant, spoke again. “I wanted… a moment alone with you.” His voice faltered, the confidence he usually exuded slipping for just a second. Cécile blinked, taken aback by the admission. “Why?” he asked, his curiosity tinged with a wariness that crept up his spine.

Hesitantly, Bastion opened his mouth as if to answer, but the words died on his lips before they could form; something outside the window caught their attention. A streak of light, then another, and another—glorious trails of fire cutting through the sky. A meteor shower, brilliant and otherworldly, painting the heavens in hues of silver and gold. They both turned to the window, staring in silent awe at the celestial display. For a moment, the tension between them melted away, replaced by a shared wonder at the beauty before them. They glanced at each other, an unspoken understanding passing, both appreciating the the falling stars.

But then, a sharp pain lanced through Cécile’s head, a low moan slipping from his lips as he brought his hands to his temples. The allure of the moment dissolved, replaced by a throbbing ache that pulsed with something far more ominous. "Something's wrong..." he whispered, his voice trembling.

Bastion’s eyes widened in concern, a rare crack in his otherwise composed demeanor. He stepped forward, hands twitching as if he wanted to reach out, to touch and comfort him, but he stopped himself, knowing Cécile’s aversion. “What is it? What’s happening?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“I don’t know…” Cécile’s voice wavered, feeble as the pain pressed harder against his mind. And then, as if drawn forth by the agony, his astral butterflies began to materialize in a swirl of azure—blue morphos, delicate, shimmering, and alive. They fluttered about him, their wings catching the light in a twinkling cascade that was iridescent and dreamlike, as though woven from the threads of some forgotten star. But the butterflies seemed agitated, their movements restless, perhaps sensing something unseen and unpleasant. Cécile could feel their presence, not just around him but within him—extensions of his own consciousness, seeing through their myriad eyes as they hovered in the air—a hundred little smithereens of his inner self. The chaotic dance of their fairy-like forms reflected the growing unease.

The television in the room droned on in the background, a newscaster warning the citizens of Landow about the meteor shower, advising those near the harbor to move inland, closer to Downtown. The words just barely registered in Cécile’s mind, the pain subsiding but leaving a lingering dread in its wake. Bastion, still mesmerized by the sight of the ethereal creatures, blinked as if coming out of a trance. “Stay here,” he commanded, his voice firmer now, "You need to stay here until we know it’s safe. The authorities are already issuing warnings."

Cécile nodded absently, his thoughts elsewhere. Nia. His heart tightened with worry—he didn’t have her number, no way to contact her. Of course, Bastion wouldn't have her number either. Cécile's astral butterflies, still fluttering in the room, seemed to respond to his concerned thoughts. Without another word, they set forth through the open window and out into the city below, his mind’s eye following their flight. Through their eyes, he searched what he could of Landow, the streets teeming with festival-goers, many unaware of the potential looming threat that the stunning starshower belied. He pushed further, past the glow of streetlights and cars.

Eventually, several of the butterflies made it to the harbor. And there, through their eyes—he found her. Nia, standing amongst others at the shrine of Ultima, her familiar figure a beacon in the crowd. His heart clenched at the sight of Cassiel, and back in the hotel, Cécile was anxiously pacing back and forth by the window as his consciousness was fragmented amongst his butterflies. The feeling that lurched within him at the sight of Cassiel, his old friend, now something lesser, he tucked it away, focusing solely on Nia.

Those gathered by the shrine would likely notice the mystical blue morphos twinkling effervescently against the light of the starfall. The butterflies fluttered toward Nia, until one landed gently on her shoulder, its wings shimmering softly. Through the butterfly, Cécile spoke, his voice a whisper in her mind, as though he stood beside her.

“Nia…It's Cécile. I…I feel there's something wrong with the meteor shower. I can't explain it, but I don't think it's safe where you are, and the authorities are alerting people to move Downtown. Can you come to my hotel room? Just to be cautious. I can have Hut come to retrieve you, if you'd like."

A quiet warning, a gentle plea, carried on the delicate wings of a butterfly, pressing through the mental link he'd formed between them.

NPCs

Dr. Isolde Featherswallow


Bastion


Hut Bragnapreth

Regalia

The cards look stellar. However, depending on how many cards are used, posts could become a little graphically cluttered at times. How do you want us to format our posts when including these cards to ensure a clean and seamless aesthetic is maintained?

Favorite tv show and movie characters?

Matilda from Matilda (the 90s version)

Margarey Tyrell from Game of Thrones

Cayetana from ELITE

Regalia

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Regalia

_{[Location] Montá, Eshea (Montá City Hall)
[Time] Saturday, 08:30 AM
[Interactions] N/A}

The boat rocked gently beneath Cécile's feet as they glided across the mist-covered water. The familiar rhythm of the sea was no comfort to him now, not when the weight of what he was leaving behind settled like an anchor in his chest. The silence between him and Bastion stretched long, interrupted only by the soft lapping of waves against the boat. Cécile sat in silence, his slender hands resting on his lap, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the fabric of his slip. In particular, his gaze lingered on the horizon, where his small floating home was now a distant shadow.

The höpes… their fragile existence haunted him still. He could almost hear the faint flutter of their wings in the back of his mind, their lives left to the care of strangers. Though he would never openly express such a grievance, he hated it. A part of him felt like he was abandoning them, though he knew his departure had been ordained by forces beyond his control. But still, there was a tug, a weight that made each mile further from his sanctuary feel heavier than the last.

He cast a sidelong glance at Bastion, wondering what kind of man this stranger truly was. His demeanor was cold, distant, and though he had been tasked with escorting Cécile, he offered no comfort—no warmth. Cécile had grown accustomed to quiet, to solitude, but now, in this moment, the silence between them felt like an uncrossable chasm. He turned his gaze back to the horizon, letting the rhythmic sway of the boat lull him into contemplation.

Why him? Why now? The Festival of Lights had been a distant dream, something he had resigned himself to watch from afar, through the dreams of others. And now, here he was, leaving behind the only world he knew, bound for Montá and a future that felt alien and vast. For the remainder of the ride, Cécile did what always came naturally when presented with moments of prolonged stillness, he took out a small book from his pocket titled "Dragon Soup" and began to read.

Finally, the boat cut through the lingering mist, and slowly the outline of Montá’s harbor came into view. As they neared, Cécile’s eyes widened. When they docked, Bastion stood, offering no gesture, only a curt nod for Cécile to follow. The city was much more grand than he remembered as a child or through the eyes of his astral butterflies, its towers rising like spires of old stone, draped in rose ivy and bathed in the early morning light. The city of Montá, resplendent and ancient, with its streets winding upward toward the heart of the High Council’s seat.

They walked through the cobblestone streets, past market stalls just opening for the day, and the soft murmurs of city life beginning to stir. Cécile kept his gaze low, his mind still tethered to the floating cottage and the höpes. But he couldn't help notice as his devotees began to gather along the the sidewalks, bowing quietly in reverence to him. It was a queer feeling. Was this the reverence of the Regalia that he'd heard of? In truth, he wasn't sure if they revered him for his role as a Hopekeeper or a Regalia. Perhaps some imbalanced combination of both. With a demure sensibility, one befitting his nature as a wallflower, he gave half-hearted nods in return and waved shyly. In his novel correspondence with his devotees, he missed the transient smirk that graced Bastion's lips, who seemed amused by Cécile's awkward posturing with fame.

As they approached the Council city hall, the grandeur of the place became undeniable. It was elaborate and ornate, like a beautiful, historical château, its towers capped with shimmering tiles that gleamed gold. Cécile felt small standing before it, his breath catching slightly as the magnificence of the building loomed over him. Inside, the air smelled of polished wood and old stone. Bastion led Cécile through long, echoing corridors, until they came to a drawing room, the doors heavy and carved with intricate patterns. The interior was just as elaborate as the exterior, with chandeliers casting soft moody light and tapestries hanging along the walls, telling stories of Montá’s history. Cécile felt a strange sense of disconnection here; it was all so foreign to him after the years of living simply by the sea.

They finally came to a drawing room, where Bastion pushed open the door with a measured gesture, stepping aside for Cécile to enter. Inside, the room was cozy, despite the elegance that surrounded them. The light from a large window bathed the room in warmth, illuminating the figure of a woman standing by a small table, her blue blouse neatly pressed, her round glasses perched delicately on her nose. A white lace headscarf framed her face, and a gold brooch gleamed on her chest, catching the light as she stood.

"Ah, Good morning, Hopekeeper," she said with a kind yet firm tone, her eyes studying him carefully as he stepped into the room. "I am Dr. Isolde Featherswallow, appointed by the Council to be one of your Guardians for the duration of your stay in Montá, and during your journey to the Festival of Lights."

Cécile blinked, taken aback. “Guardians?” his voice was soft, the confusion only deepening. Her presence was commanding, much like Bastion’s, though there was an undercurrent of care in her tone, like a strict teacher watching over a favored student.

Isolde nodded, stepping forward with a slow, measured grace. “Yes, every Hopekeeper is assigned a Guardian when they leave their island, though it is a rare occasion," she explained, folding her hands together. "However, as you are the first Hopekeeper to also be a Regalia, you are considered of significant importance to the nation of Eshea. Thus..." she paused, glancing toward Bastion, who stepped forward as she gestured him to, "the Council of Montá have determined that you are to be provided with more than one Guardian, for your own protection, of course." Her gaze was sharp but thoughtful, her words carrying the authority of someone who had been in such roles before.

"And yes," she confirmed after a brief silence, preemptively assuming his next question, "Gentilhomme Bastion has also been appointed as one of your Guardians.” Bastion’s eyes met Cécile’s with a tempered look, though a certain discomfort belied his countenance as if disquieted by his nouveau duties as a glorified babysitter.

Cécile gaze shifted, a look of concerned introspection crossing his delicate features. He seemed to be away somewhere, not fully present in the moment. Isolde regarded him carefully, her eyes narrowing just slightly, "What is it, child?"

After a moment of hesitation, Cécile couldn't help but ask, feeling naive and vulnerable as the words left him, "Will I get to see my family?"

It had been 10 long years since Cécile last saw his family. He visited them in their dreams, but what good is that if he can't feel their tangible love and comfort after so long being apart? Isolde smiled faintly, though there was a quiet look of guilt in her expression. No one ever wanted to be a bearer of bad news, "No, I'm afraid not, my dear. There is not enough time and the Council has only just allowed this exception to pass," she let out a sigh, almost exasperated as the thought passed through her mind, "and they barely just managed to do that. As you know, being a Funérailles is quite a sacred role in Eshea. If not for your divine blessing from Anima, you'd still be on the island."

She adjusted her glasses before continuing, "Regalia are revered by many—especially for someone as precious to the nation as you, Cécile."

Cécile lowered his gaze, unsure of how to respond. It felt strange, to be called precious. His life had been one of quiet service, of attending to the dead and the grieving. He had never thought of himself as anything more than a vessel for the mourning. He felt a sadness welling inside his gossamer heart, unable to completely hide the disappointment. Isolde noticed this, her eyes softening slightly, "There is one more Guardian who will be accompanying you,” she said, and before Cécile could process the information, the door creaked open.

Cécile turned just in time to see a familiar figure step into the room. His heart leapt in recognition. Hut Bragnapreth—his childhood friend. He was just as he remembered, though bigger and thicker, but with the same ebullient smile that made his kind eyes crinkle. “Cécile!” Hut boomed, his voice full of sunshine and affection. Before Cécile could react, Hut had swept him into a tight hug, lifting him slightly off his feet. The young Funérailles melted into the embrace, something within him became light as jelly.

It had been years since he had felt such comfort in someone’s arms, and Hut had always been one of the few he allowed close. “It’s been too long,” Cécile whispered as they pulled apart, his fingers resting briefly on Hut’s arm. A small, rare smile touched Cécile’s lips. The contact felt natural, safe.

“I know,” Hut said, his countenance cloudy with delight as he looked at Cécile. “Four years… since...when you…” His voice trailed off, his eyes lowering for a moment. “...when you officiated my mother’s Mer de Rêves.”

Cécile’s expression grew somber and he nodded knowingly, his hand finding Hut’s hand in a gentle gesture. “She was a kind soul. A true lily-dove.”

“Thank you,” Hut replied, his voice thick with emotion, though his smile remained. He squeezed Cécile’s hand briefly, as if to say all was well. Bastion, who had been silent, now wore a faint look of surprise, clearly not expecting such warmth from someone who had earlier recoiled at his mere approach.

Before the moment could stretch on too long, Isolde cleared her throat, her voice cutting through the air. “There will be time for reunions later,” she said, though not unkindly. “For now, Hopekeeper, we have much to do and you have paperwork to complete before your attendance at the Festival of Lights is officially recognized.” Cécile glanced at Hut, who smiled reassuringly, before following Isolde’s lead. His heart felt lighter with Hut by his side, but as he walked through the halls of Montá, a quiet apprehension still gnawed at him.

_{[Location] Onboard the Skypiercer, Heading from Montá, Eshea to Landow, Estren
[Time] Saturday, 07:30 PM
[Interactions] @Silly}

The final stroke of ink on parchment felt heavier than it should have. Cécile Augustus Simon-Heartfilia stood before the table in the grand office, staring down at the document that sealed his fate. His delicate signature curved beneath the official script, while Isolde’s steady hand guided him through the other signatures required. Each mark he made felt like another small thread being cut, another step away from the world he had known, binding him to the fate that awaited. But it was the final line at the end—banning him from transforming into his Dominant form—that unsettled him. It seemed the Council had taken every precaution, as if he were some volatile storm brewing just beyond the stillness. His hand hovered for a moment, considering, but in the end, he signed with a feeble sigh, and it was done.

Isolde stood by his side, patient and composed as ever. "This way," she said, and they stepped into the misty light of morning once more, the day waiting for them outside. They certainly had other matters to attend to, and it filled their day: shopping for new clothes, a new mobile phone (the old one he'd been gifted from Cassiel many years ago had long since fallen into disrepair), and other necessities for the trip. Bastion and Hut had already left, as they had their own preparations to attend to as well. Isolde took him to meet Councilman Jacques and Councilwoman Francine, who gave Cécile some words of kindness and sent him on his way in good faith. By the time the last of his arrangements were complete and luggage packed, it was already evening.

As they left through the magnificent metal rampart surrounding The Citadel, the Skypiercer awaited, its silhouette rising before them. Each angle of its design felt as if it were meant to dance on air, to glide as effortlessly as a butterfly in the night. The sight of it, though undeniably beautiful, stirred something both wondrous and anxious in his heart. The last time he had ridden in an aircraft had been over a decade ago, and he was only a child then, leaving behind the last fragments of a life that felt so distant now. He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the rising discomfort that tugged at him. Cécile didn’t want the others to see it, especially Bastion, whose cold, impassive demeanor left little room for perceived weakness.

“Doctor Featherswallow, during our engagement with the Council, I requested… for Nia Stryx,” he said quietly, almost to himself, breaking the silence between him and Isolde as they approached the boarding ramp, “My cousin from Nibelheim.”

His voice was a tender thread of uncertainty. “I… don’t remember her well. I was only four the last time I saw her, but…" His hand pressed lightly against his chest, as though trying to recall the spirit of her presence. "I remember the feeling of her.” He hesitated, as if the memory were a delicate, brittle thing that could crumble from the faintest touch.

Isolde gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, her sharp eyes glinting behind her round glasses. “Yes, I am aware. The Council approved it. She arrived this evening,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, but there was a hint of satisfaction beneath it, as if she understood what this small connection might mean to him. Cécile smiled with those kind, earthy eyes, but said nothing more.

The Skypiercer’s doors opened, revealing a soft-lit interior that glowed like the belly of a firefly. The attendants ushered them on board, their faces polite and distant, and as Cécile stepped inside, a tremor ran through him. It had been over a decade since he’d been in an aircraft, and the enclosed space made his chest tighten. He took a steadying breath, forcing himself to move forward. Isolde excused herself, heading toward the cockpit. A woman in her position could do such things.

Meanwhile, Bastion and Hut were already seated when they entered. Bastion, ever stoic, barely glanced up from the window, his gaze flicking to Cécile only briefly, but Hut’s face brightened immediately upon seeing Cécile. “There you are!” he exclaimed, his booming voice far too joyful for the quiet hum of the ship. His smile was like sunlight breaking through the haze of anxiety that clung to Cécile’s thoughts.

Hut seemed to recognize this subtle faze of discomfort upon Cécile’s countenance as the Hopekeeper sat beside him. “You alright?” he asked in a low voice, concern softening his usually boisterous tone.

Cécile nodded, though his fingers gripped the edge of his sleeve, twisting the fabric slightly. “It’s just… it’s been a long time,” he admitted in a whisper. Hut chuckled, “It’s all so new, that’s all. You’ve spent too much time by the sea—now it’s time to see the sky again.” Perhaps, though Cécile was not wholly convinced that that was the breath of his concerns. But at the very least, Hut’s presence was a balm of sorts, so he allowed himself to relax, just a little. Cécile offered a small, grateful smile, though the unease still simmered beneath the surface of his skin, prickly and bothersome. He hid his discomfort well, as he always did, or at least tried to.

When they had finally settled in, Cécile graciously excused himself. “Pardon me for a moment,” he said, standing with a slight bow. He drifted down the narrow corridor of the ship, his willowy fingers tracing the smooth walls as he moved. Cécile had made a last-minute request before they left—the thought of seeing her again had surfaced in his dreams, even though the memories were hazy. Nia Stryx. His cousin, from Nibelheim. Would she recognize him?

As he wandered through the elegant corridors of Skypiercer, searching for her, he bumped into someone—his body recoiled lightly at the sudden contact.

“I’m so sorry,” Cécile said softly, his voice a gentle melody of apology, as he stepped back to give the person space, or rather, himself. The man, a passenger, blinked up at him, eyes wide with shock. And then, to Cécile’s surprise, the man knelt before him, head bowed, reverence radiating from his very essence.

“Hopekeeper,” the man whispered, his voice trembling. “I did not know you were aboard… Forgive me.” He pressed his lips to Cécile’s hand in a gesture of gratitude and awe, his touch feather-light.

Cécile’s breath caught in his throat, his supple cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Oh, no… please, you don’t need to do that,” he said, hurriedly bending down to their level, his voice a flutter of concern and gentle insistence. “It’s really not necessary. Please, rise.” The man hesitated, his eyes filled with wonder, but he obeyed, rising slowly. Before he left, however, he took Cécile’s hand once more and kissed it again, whispering his thanks before hurrying off into the Skypiercer’s winding corridors.

The young Hopekeeper stared after them, his heart still racing, unsure what to make of the interaction, though an odd sense of disquiet vexed him. But as he stood there, rooted in place, trying to process the experience, a familiar glimmer of witchlight caught his eye.

Violet eyes.

Cécile approached her slowly as she approached him, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. It appears they had been looking for each other. There was something strikingly familiar about her, even after all these years. Her features had sharpened, matured, but the essence of her remained the same. When their eyes met, she smiled, and though it was a small gesture, it felt like a flood of memories washed over him.

“Nia…” Cécile whispered, his voice barely audible.

She smiled, the corners of her lips curling gently as he approached. “Cécile,” she said, her voice low and warm, like a distant memory brought back to life. “You’ve grown.”

Cécile felt himself blush at the remark, his usual demure nature returning as he glanced down at himself as though to confirm her words. “Maybe a bit,” he murmured, “Yes.” There was a pause, a soft silence that lingered. Cécile felt the weight of time, the distance that had stretched between them for so long. Though there was a familiar spark radiating from her gaze, he couldn't quite place that foreignness of her. Perhaps this awkward feeling would fade with time. But for now, as he spoke to her, he maintained a formal speech, the kind one might would adopt when addressing someone older and wiser.

“I’m glad you could come,” he finally said, his voice quiet but sincere. “It was so sudden, I know, and… I’m sorry for that.” He shifted slightly, his gaze tracing the features of her face he only half-remembered from childhood, taking in every detail he had missed in the years they had been apart. He looked at her—truly looked at her—and saw the echoes of their grandfather in the lines of her face, in those distinctive violet eyes full of mystery and witchlight.

“You… you look like him,” Cécile said absently, almost to himself, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His cheeks flushed immediately with embarrassment, and he quickly added, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling foolish. “That was thoughtless of me.”

The Skypiercer gave a gentle lurch as it prepared for takeoff, and Cécile felt a surge of nervous anticipation. But with Hut nearby, and now Nia, the anxiety felt more bearable. For the first time in a long while, Cécile felt a strange, fragile sense of hope taking root in his hummingbird heart. They were two pieces of a distant past, now reunited on the wings of a butterfly poised for flight.

Perhaps this Festival of Lights would be more than just a ceremonial duty.

NPCs

Dr. Isolde Featherswallow


Bastion


Hut Bragnapreth

Regalia

@rabidbacon Perfect!

I'll be putting out my next post today! :)