An Angel's Name

A dull ache pulsed through Mizuto’s muscles and bones as the first trickles of dawn spilled through the canopy, cruelly reflecting into his eyes. He groaned, rubbing at them as he sat up, his back protesting every movement. The seat’s thick padding did little to ease it. He stretched until his spine popped, then blinked against the harsh light until the shapes around him resolved.

Something shimmered - a flicker of gold. The quick motion of hair, followed by a sharp yelp and a hiss of pain.

He turned faster than he ever had in his life, just in time to see the girl sitting back in her seat, cradling her broken wing. Her eyes snapped up to his - startled, almost hostile, but not quite.

His mind raced. Had she been watching him sleep? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know what to think - she was a winged creature that shouldn’t exist, and yet she sat there, tangible, breathing, hurting.

He held her gaze for a second, then smiled gently, pretending he hadn’t noticed.
“Good morning. Did you sleep at all?”

She studied him in silence before giving a small shake of her head - more distinct than yesterday’s. He felt a pang of sympathy. He hadn’t slept much either.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, then smiled again.
“Would you like something to eat?”

She hesitated. Then, at last, her lips parted, her voice fragile and soft as a breeze.
“Yes, please…”

The sound almost startled him. He masked his surprise with a quick nod, sliding the cockpit hood back. The side door clanged against the wing as he climbed out and walked toward the rear storage compartment. He could feel her eyes on him the whole time, tracking every motion.

A few moments later, he returned with two packets. Cereal in milk, it read - though, like every ration, the taste never quite matched the label. He paused, then slid the hood fully open. The girl watched him with wary uncertainty as he extended one packet toward her, careful to keep his distance so she wouldn’t feel threatened.

Slowly, delicately, she reached out. Her hand brushed the packet - and then, with a surprising show of strength, she tore it open and drank the contents in quick, hungry gulps.

He blinked. That strength hadn’t come from panic; it was effortless, natural. The tear wasn’t even along the designated line.

When he opened his own ration - using the practiced twist and wrist flick it normally required - he found himself trying, and failing, to match her pace. She finished well before him, then waited patiently, holding out her empty packet once he was done.

He took it and stowed both in the compartment, casting another quick glance at the ragged tear she’d made. Better not get on her bad side, he thought wryly.

Climbing back to his seat, he smiled again.
“Are you alright? Do you want to stretch your legs?”

She began to shake her head - then hesitated, reconsidered, and gave a small nod.

Moving slowly, he unlatched the cockpit’s side panel. She didn’t flinch or draw away this time, just watched his hands. Progress. The door swung open with a dull bump against the wing. He stepped back, giving her space.

For a moment, she didn’t move. Then, with almost painful caution, she stepped out.

Her good wing was folded neatly behind her, the top joint peeking just above her shoulder. The other was partially extended, the break obvious - ugly, bent forward and down in a way that made his stomach twist. He couldn’t imagine the pain.

Barefoot, she stood on Stolas’s black-painted wing, the metal cool from the night. Her eyes stayed on him, alert and ready, but he turned away deliberately, gazing out at the endless expanse of morning sea.

He listened to the soft pad of her feet as she walked the wing’s length and back, careful steps like those of a bird testing the air.

He yawned and stretched, feeling the gentle thrum of the charging systems beneath him. The batteries had recharged overnight - enough power for a day and a half of flight. Their destination was six, maybe seven hours out.

He was about to return to the cockpit when movement drew his eye - blonde hair glinting in the dawn light. The girl had stopped beside him, standing just within arm’s reach, her gaze turned toward the horizon.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the ocean’s hush against the floats.

Then her voice came - quiet, trembling, but sweet as honey.
“Can… can I ask you something?”

He glanced over, but she didn’t look back.
“Sure,” he said. “Fire away.”

Her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, where the early light shimmered across the ocean.
“Who are you?”

He blinked, caught off guard. When she finally turned, her blue eyes cut into him like a blade. For a heartbeat he forgot how to breathe. Then he cleared his throat and answered.
“Me? My name’s Mizuto. I’m a pilot.”

Her eyes widened slightly.
“A pilot?”

He nodded. She lowered her gaze, her brow knitting in thought as she murmured the word again, as though testing its weight.
“Pilot… pilot…”

He tilted his head. “You okay? Is there something you want to know?”

She nodded, the motion small but certain. Her gaze met his again.
“Who am I?”

Mizuto froze. How was he supposed to answer that? He let out a short, helpless laugh.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.

Her lips pressed together in frustration. “Where are we?”

That, at least, he could help with. “Hold on.”

He stepped to the cockpit and retrieved a set of folded maps, creased and weathered from long use. Sitting cross-legged on the wing, he spread them out. The girl peered curiously over his shoulder, her hair catching the light.

“We’re here,” he said, pointing to a stretch of blue. Then he drew a line toward a tiny speck further east. “Trying to get here.”
He slid his finger back across the paper, tracing to a cluster of islands behind them.
“And I found you here.”

She nodded slowly, then stomped her bare feet against the metal.
“What’s this?”

He followed her gaze downward, then back up. “This? This is Stolas.” He patted the metal surface with affection. “She’s my aircraft.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s an aircraft?”

He blinked. That question shouldn’t have been possible, but her tone was sincere.
“Well…” He smiled a little sheepishly. “It’s like a giant metal bird. I can control where it flies - sort of.”

She considered that for a long moment, then nodded as if satisfied with the explanation. Her voice softened.
“Who am I?”

He groaned lightly, standing and stretching before meeting her gaze again. There was something almost luminous about her - that mix of fragility and quiet strength.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said honestly.

She crossed her arms, clearly dissatisfied.
“Then tell me who I am.”

He blinked. “Tell you… who you are?”

“Give me a name.”

Her tone left no room for argument. He looked at her properly then - at the pale hair glowing in the dawn, the wing folded tight against her back, the other bent painfully but still beautiful in its ruin. She was otherworldly, impossible, and yet so humanly expectant.

He swallowed. “You don’t already have one?”

She shook her head.

He hesitated only a second longer before answering. “Then… how about Melahi?”

She tilted her head. “Melahi?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It… suits you.”

She repeated it under her breath, testing the sound. “Melahi… Melahi…” Then, slowly, she smiled - truly smiled - and it felt as though the morning light had chosen that moment to warm the world.

“I like it,” she said. “Thank you.”

Mizuto smiled back, unsure what else to say. “You’re welcome.”

A brief silence lingered between them, gentle and new. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and nodded toward the cockpit.
“Alright. Ready to go, Melahi?”