The Flying Castle: Part 2

The tour of the floating fortress had ended, and with it, any lingering hope of finding Dad. Franny had waved us off with her signature grin, exuding warmth that felt out of place in the dim, cold corridors of the ship. Lumina, ever eager to latch onto something bright, returned her farewell with enthusiasm, her voice briefly filling the empty space.

But now, as we walked back to our quarters, her usual chatter had quieted. It wasn’t silence—not really. Just softer, uncertain, like even she could feel the weight pressing down on us, settling into the air like something unshakable.

“That boy sure was really funny, wasn’t he, Sissy?” Lumina said suddenly, breaking the lull in conversation. “I wonder if he’s the same age as you?”

I barely lifted my eyes from the floor. “I’d prefer not to interact with him more than necessary,” I replied, my tone sharper than intended.

Lumina huffed, her nose scrunching up in exaggerated disapproval. “I think he’s nice.”

I didn’t answer. The corridors stretched on around us, feeling emptier than usual. The artificial glow lining the walls flickered in places, weaker than before. The hum of electricity buzzed faintly—more like a whisper than a pulse. Shadows curled unnaturally, stretching across the pristine metal like ink spills, making me wonder if even light itself had grown tired of keeping this place alive.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, unveiling the small room that was no longer a sanctuary but a cage—a place too familiar and suffocating. The sterile glow from the window barely pierced the edges of the cluttered space. Lumina stepped inside ahead of me, Nutmeg's tiny head poking out from the safety of her hoodie pocket as if he, too, sensed the heaviness in the air. My own steps were slower, cautious, until the figure by the desk came into view.

“Daddy?” Lumina's voice carried a fragile thread of hope, quivering and uncertain.

He stood there, his back partially turned, hands resting on the desk. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, which softened ever so slightly as he looked at her. Yet there was something guarded in his posture—something that kept him tethered to the shadows, as though he wasn't entirely here with us.

Lumina's enthusiasm took over, pulling her forward like gravity defying reason. “Daddy! Did you come to check on us? Are you staying for lunch this time?” Her bright voice filled the silence with colors I couldn't see, no matter how hard I tried.

He turned to her, crouching just enough so his face was closer to hers. “Hey, sweetie,” he said softly, his voice almost breaking as it carried an odd mix of relief and guilt. His hand reached out, resting gently on her shoulder. “How are you feeling? Is everything all right?”

“I'm great!” Lumina chirped, her face lighting up in a way that I envied. “Nutmeg and I were exploring today, and Franny showed us glowing plants. They were so pretty! Do you know how they glow?”

“Glowing plants?” Dad's lips curved into a faint smile, fleeting yet genuine—a rare break in the guarded wall he always kept between us. “That does sound like quite the adventure.”

I stayed rooted to the spot, my breathing shallow and my fists clenched at my sides. I could feel my nails digging into my palms, grounding me in the present even as my mind spiraled elsewhere. Words boiled up inside me, unsaid but burning with urgency—questions I'd rehearsed a thousand times, frustrations I had no idea how to express. I wanted to demand answers, to understand why he had stayed away for so long, why he was here now. Instead, I let silence stretch on, the tension in my chest twisting tighter with each passing second.

The moment hung heavy, and yet it felt fragile, as though anything I said or did might shatter it. Dad glanced over at me, his eyes meeting mine for the briefest of moments. I thought I saw something there—regret, maybe? Or was it sadness? Either way, it disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced.

“I can't stay for lunch, Lumina,” he said, turning his gaze back to her, his voice softer now. “There's something important I have to take care of. But I wanted to see how you two were doing.”

Lumina's smile faltered, but she nodded, as if she understood something I couldn’t. “Okay, Daddy. But you’ll come back, right?”

“Of course,” he said, standing up again, his hand brushing briefly against her cheek before retreating.

The air felt sharp, like a blade poised on the edge of words unsaid. Lumina, ever the optimist, held onto her hope with the determination only a child could manage, as if sheer belief was enough to bridge the chasm between us and him.

Dad’s gaze lingered on me, not with anger, not with disappointment, but something heavier—an admission, maybe? Of failure? Guilt? Whatever it was, it made my chest tighten and my breath catch. I hated that he could look at me like that, that he could so easily dredge up feelings I’d spent months trying to bury beneath practicality and purpose.

“I know I haven’t been here,” he said, his voice steady now, each word deliberate. “Not the way you needed me to be.”

The sudden directness made my heart lurch. I wanted to interrupt, to cut him off before he unraveled whatever carefully constructed walls I had left. But Lumina spoke first, her voice soft and unsure. “Daddy… are you going to fix it?”

Her question wasn’t the kind of naive inquiry I’d expected. It was quiet and raw, like she had been thinking about it for a while but didn’t know how to put it into words until now.

Dad smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m trying, sweetie,” he said, crouching to her level again.

I couldn’t help the scoff that escaped me, though I quickly bit it back. “Trying,” I echoed, my voice colder than I’d intended. “That’s nice.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t snap back. Instead, he stood and faced me fully for the first time, his hands slipping into his pockets. “Delia, I’m doing my best,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “You might not see it now, but I’m—”

“Don’t,” I cut in, my voice low but trembling. I hadn’t realized how close I was to unraveling until then. “Don’t tell me you’re doing your best. Because if this is your best, then it’s not enough.”

The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. I felt Lumina’s wide eyes on me, her confusion palpable, but I couldn’t look at her—not now. Dad’s expression shifted, the regret in his eyes deepening. I thought for a moment he might argue, that he might try to defend himself, but instead he just sighed.

“You’re right,” he said finally, his shoulders sagging. The admission surprised me, throwing me off balance. “It’s not enough. And I’m sorry.”

The apology felt too big and too small all at once. It didn’t erase anything, didn’t fix anything, but it was the first time he’d acknowledged the fracture he’d left between us. For a brief moment, I didn’t know how to respond. The anger and bitterness were still there, but they were tangled with something else now—something I wasn’t ready to face.

“Daddy,” Lumina said again, breaking the tension with her small, trembling voice. She tugged at his sleeve, her grip on Nutmeg tightening as if the tiny creature was the only thing grounding her. “Are you going to stay?”

The question hung in the air like a fragile thread, and I could see the conflict in Dad’s eyes. He wanted to say yes, to promise her something solid. But we all knew he couldn’t.

Lumina nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. For once, she didn’t press further, as if she, too, understood that promises here were as fragile as the world outside.