Song of Words [Part 1]

The auction house had an extensive room flitter with throngs of people sitting on rows of leather seats, along with servants in suits moving about inconspicuously.

The odor of expensive wine, perfume and cologne thickens the greedy atmosphere.

In the center, a raised platform is situated, where a well-dressed curvy lady, the auctioneer, stands confidently.

The feeling of being watched prickles Vienna nape. Her brows knit fiercely together. She remembers when it began; three weeks ago—the start of her looting.

In the beginning, Vienna wrote it off as an enemy watching her and planned to kill them. Problem is—she can’t find the damn person.

Vienna inscrutable expression clouds with a hint of frustration. She tried to divine who or where the person was, but nothing showed nor did her astute mind unravel the mystery.

Sitting like a stone statue, Vienna regains her composer, her tall dark boots skimming the chair in front of her. 

She leisurely runs a hand over her luxurious blazer dress before neatly fixing her dark straight hair, which cascades in a beautiful wave past her shoulders, acculturated by side bangs.

Thrums of excitement and anticipation buzz around Vienna.

She pretends not to notice the scrutinizing gaze and stares fixedly on the next item being bid.

Tongue of Truth.

****

“What’s his favorite color? Does he have many friends?” Casimir Melpomene questions, his fair skin seemingly tan in the silver shadows of the moonlight.

“I don’t know. Yes.”

“How does he interact with those said friends?”

Kaltain looks up from her phone, gazing into golden doe eyes. Her brother is very similar to her—appearance wise and a little personality; two inches shorter, the same shade of bright white hair, but short trimmed and parted in the middle, free spirited as carefree Kaltain is and tends to be as forthright as she is honest.

“He kisses people on their cheek as a greeting,” Kaltain answers flatly, sitting crossed leg on the floor by the tree. It was just them in the living room now. 

Their mother, father, and older sister in the kitchen, while their distant relative returned home an hour ago.

Ever since Kaltain mentioned to Casimir of Kallias being sort of her friend, he wouldn’t stop talking or asking about him.

“Kisses people on their cheek?” Casimir bristles, mouth gaping.

“Not everyone, I think,” Kaltain reassures, the corner of her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Only people he's close with.”

“Are you sure?” Casimir's innocent face is tense. “How many friends does he have? How close to someone does he have to be to kiss them?”

‘You’re fourteen and worried about love. What a minor thing.’ Kaltain tries to remember her experience of romance, yet comes up empty.

“I don’t really know him well, so no, and I’m not watching him daily or at all, to note that kinda stuff,” she says, and then hesitates for a brief moment. “You’ll see him again one day, Cas.”

Casimir lips twist in displeasure before he nods and reluctantly focuses on the tv.

‘I wonder if they’ll make him attend Lightless. If they did that, I would have to question who they truly want as a pillar.’ Kaltain ignores Casimir occasional glances, her fingers stroking luscious turquoise fur. ‘Am I really just a placeholder?’

Osyth purrs, the gentle vibrations tingling Kaltain thighs.

After another long internal struggle, Kaltain decides to finally text Ishaan.

The message is short and simple; Merry Christmas.

****

Ishaan sits in front of a fancy wooden desk pushed back against the wall, inhaling the vanilla fragrance floating from a red-white candle planted on the surface edge.

He works on paperwork in a dimly lit office, which is so spotless to the point everything looks fresh; even the air possesses a clean polish.

The office space is wide, with a glass circle ceiling and double brown doors, cool ebony tiled flooring, leather furniture to the right side, white sheets draping them. On the left is a clearer area branded by a metal rug, where Helios lays on.

“Why couldn’t we have stayed in the estate? You could have done all this there,” Helios complains, his faceless features seem scrunch in contempt. “It’s so cold in this damn spacecraft.”

“You’ll live,” Ishaan replies automatically.

“And so, I must suffer!” Helios exclaims in a dramatic air.

The sound of pen scribbling echoes as Ishaan speaks plainly, “You can return to my soul any time, you know.”

“I’m good.”

Ishaan's brows raise slightly at the sound of unease in his messenger's voice. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Helios body streams in gentle waves. “You received a few messages.”

‘He’s lying.’ Ishaan looks up, eyeing Helios, who watches something on a phone hovering before him. “Remind me in ten minutes.”

Ishaan places the budget report, staffing schedules, security protocols, and employee payrolls into a finished pile. He presses the pen’s ink through a folder of documents, marking names of certain people on the membership roster before stretching his gloved fingers.

‘What we need now is a full time healer,’ Ishaan ponders coolly. ‘Manon said the position is fine, but she’s not full time.’

When Voyager Seekers was first formed, Hazel Oberon had been the healer, but later down the line of their journey, she found being on the field is burdensome.

After Ziven's death, she stepped down and became the navigator.

Unwrapping a candy cane, Ishaan dangles it from his lips. He leans back and tenderly closes his eyes, wondering about the future and more.

‘It’s not bad having a healer that can fight as well. However, Manon's main duty and instinct is always to battle. If she runs out of energy when we need healing, she’s useless as a healer.’

Frustration bubbles in Ishaan. He understands Hazel dread of being on the field, he just doesn’t respect it.

Ishaan would never take his disdain out on the older women. One—it’s improper as a gentleman. Two—his annoyance came from the fact that no one is as talented as a healer as Hazel.

There are people who can heal as well, but a healer is more than just healing power. He needs a mature person who can logically process their position in the line of duty while also harboring patience to the death total.

It’s okay to feel sympathy for the deceased; however, to seek justice when it’s not your role is moronic. Healers are needed to save wounded ones, not avenge them.

Manon is mediocre compared to Hazel, but she isn’t the worst healer. She purely confuses her position as a healer and a warrior.

She can not be both. They lose more lives that way.

“Merry Christmas, dear Ishaan. Don’t be mad, I got you gifts. Please accept them.” Helio grating voice softens in an attempt to sound girly. “Sent by Manon at 12:30 PM.”

“Do you know auction houses sell celestial weapons? Since when has mankind’s victory pride became entertainment? Anyway, I found this coat I know you’ll like. It’s not a christmas present, so you will accept it,” Helios continues, sounding amused by the second. “Sent by Akira at 3:00 PM.”

“Heads up. Manon got you many gifts. Iskra sent that at 8:00 AM,” Helios chuckles dryly. “Along with many complaints about you not responding to her sister's feelings for you.”

“I told you to remind me of the messages.” Ishaan sighs, regarding Helios with a strong gaze. “Not read them to me.” 

Helios let’s out a sheepish snort. “We both know if I merely reminded you, master, you would ignore it again.” Pausing, he chortles an eerie laugh. “Now, this one is new and will definitely draw your attention. Merry Christmas; sent by Kaltain at 4:57 PM.”

Ishaan's entire body freezes for a solid moment, relief and joy flooding in.

He rises to his feet and with hurried strides, advances towards the sparkling figure.

His mind drifts back to their last encounter a week ago. Seven days, 168 hours, and 604800 seconds.

****

“Mind if I see this for a second?” Kaltain asks, her eyes darting to her sister as she gestures towards the teddy bear plushie.

Ishaan hands it over in curiosity, tracking her every movement.

Kaltain carefully spreads the stuffed animal's arms. With a hint of hesitation, she gently propels it towards him, making sure she doesn’t physically touch Ishaan.

“What are you doing?” Ishaan questions in a low tone, feeling the soft arms of the plushie wrap around his abdomen.

“The bear is hugging you goodbye for me,” Kaltain mumbles, blushing madly.

Ishaan suddenly burst out in unexpected laughter. 

The hearty sound gushes Kaltain's own amusement and she laughs lively along with him.

****

Was a week so long before? A mere week felt like seven months to Ishaan.

At the start, Ishaan hadn’t mind her not texting him at all; he only gave her his number in case of emergencies, yet now it bothered him severely.

The reason excludes Ishaan knowledge.

He assumes it’s because of his wonder of her as a person and nothing more.

Ishaan is a patient man to many things except his own delectation. Life is tough, hardly enjoyable, but when it’s enjoyable, Ishaan has the tendency to cling to whatever made such an emotion possible.

Eventually, whatever he clings to fades and becomes another dull sensation.

Light lost to a nightmare, dark manifested from a dream.