the choir before the storm

The city was alive - its streets pulsing with motion and noise. Cars and buses rolled endlessly down the wide avenues, horns blaring, voices overlapping in a constant hum. The sidewalks were thick with people, yet not one seemed to notice the two world-famous figures strolling side by side among them.

It wasn’t something Fali or Mele minded. If anything, they were pleasantly surprised by the anonymity.

They had a mission, after all: find a shop they liked, then figure out why they liked it.

Together, they peered through display windows, stepped briefly inside any store that caught their eye, and ducked right back out the moment they saw the telltale glimmer of recognition in a shopper’s gaze. Each time, they melted into the crowd again - laughing, whispering, exploring.

Mele’s smile seemed impossible to erase.
“Isn’t this fun?”

Fali nodded, smiling back.
“It is, actually.”

Ideas tumbled through his mind - little sparks of inspiration with each storefront they passed. Mele caught the thoughtful look on his face and tilted her head.
“What’re you thinking about?”

He shrugged lightly.
“Shops.”

She laughed.
“Good point. Stupid question.”

He chuckled with her, though his attention shifted as a small figure came running toward them through the crowd. A child - wide-eyed, breathless - skidded to a stop right in front of them.

“Are… are you the Airborne Warrior? And the Reaper’s Songstress?”

Fali smiled and nodded as Mele crouched down to meet the child’s gaze.
“We are,” she said warmly. “What can we do for you?”

The child squealed, spun around, and bolted back toward the crowd. But the damage was already done. Heads turned. Phones came out. Whispers turned into shouts as the first flashes of cameras sparked through the air.

Mele straightened quickly and leaned close to Fali’s ear.
“Let’s keep going.”

He nodded, and they began walking again - though not for long before he felt something soft and warm slip into his hand.

Mele’s fingers.

His heart skipped. He didn’t need to ask why - he understood instantly. It was part message, part shield. Her hand in his told the world leave us be, while also saying something else entirely: we’re together.

In seconds, photos of them would spread like wildfire. The media would slap together a headline before the hour was over.

And yet… Fali found that he didn’t care.

Just as Mele had said - if they were together, the rest didn’t matter.

He exhaled quietly, the tension easing from his shoulders as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Their arms swung lightly between them as they continued down the street, a few hopeful fans trailing behind, the city’s noise fading into a kind of music all its own.

Fali sat in the front row of the grand event hall, surrounded on both sides by the world’s most distinguished faces. Political leaders, war heroes, and media moguls filled the plush seats, their quiet conversations a background hum beneath the soft orchestral music.

He sat straight, composed, but his heart thrummed with a strange mix of anticipation and unease.
A last-minute guest of honour. A speech from the Airborne Warrior himself - something he’d never done before.

The page of notes tucked in his jacket pocket felt insufficient, but it would have to do. He leaned back in the expensive chair. Not as comfortable as Freyla’s cockpit seat, but it came close.

Freyla…

His eyes softened. What had become of her? Scrapped, most likely. A machine dismantled and forgotten. But a small part of him - a foolish, hopeful part - imagined her preserved somewhere in a museum, a relic of a fading war. What he wouldn’t give to know for sure.

The lights dimmed. A murmur swept through the crowd. The host stepped out on stage to thunderous applause, bowing deeply before speaking into the microphone, his suit gleaming under the stage lights.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the…”

Fali tried to listen, but the words blurred into background noise. His thoughts drifted away - to Mele.

To her laughter. Her warmth. The way her fingers fit perfectly between his.

He thought about their future - the little shop they dreamed of running, the quiet life that felt almost within reach. It had only been two days since she’d asked him out, yet already he couldn’t imagine a life without her.

He loved her.

Not just for her beauty or her fame, but for her spirit. Her kindness. The way she could see light even in the darkest corners of the world.

And then he froze.

He’d never told her. Not once. Not in words.

He smiled faintly, making a silent promise to himself. After this event… I’ll tell her.

A sudden shift in the host’s tone pulled him back.

“…and now, please welcome the Reaper’s Songstress!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause.

Fali shot upright, clapping with them, eyes fixed on the side curtain as Mele appeared.

She stepped onto the stage in a flowing white dress that shimmered beneath the spotlights, her guitar glinting softly at her side. She waved, smiling so brightly that the room itself seemed to glow.

Fali couldn’t help himself - he stood, waving and shouting louder than anyone else, pride swelling in his chest. She was radiant. A goddess among mortals.

And then-

Bang.

A single, deafening crack split the air.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. The applause died in an instant.

Mele staggered mid-step - her body twisting - then crumpled to the stage floor with a sickening thud.

Silence. Utter, suffocating silence.

Then a voice screamed from somewhere in the crowd:
“THAT’S FOR KILLING MY FAMILY!”

Chaos erupted.

Security and guests surged toward the gunman, fifteen people tackling him at once. The gun clattered away, followed by the savage sound of fists and rage. The house lights blazed on, flooding the hall with blinding white. People screamed, cried, called for help. Phones rose into the air.

But Fali heard none of it.

He was already moving.

He vaulted over the front barrier and landed on the stage in one motion, sprinting to where Mele lay motionless. His knees hit the floor hard, scraping against the wooden boards as he slid to her side.

Her white dress was soaked through, blood spreading in a dark halo beneath her. He turned her gently, the sight of the entry wound freezing his breath in his throat. The bullet had entered low, tearing through her pelvis and out her spine.

Her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted, still.

“Mele…” His voice cracked.

Hands joined his - paramedics, soldiers, strangers - pressing rags and coats to the wound, but he barely saw them. His world had narrowed to the pale, bleeding girl in his arms.

He shook her gently.
“Mele!”

Nothing. No breath. No movement.

His tears fell onto her cheek as the chaos roared around them - sirens, shouting, footsteps pounding - but none of it reached him.

Only her name did.

“MELE!!”