Reunions

Ralis led Maki and Izumi through the twists and turns of the Lower District until the church appeared before them, its spiraled steeple reaching towards the heavens.

As they neared the sanctuary, Ralis looked over his shoulder. He could see smoke rising from the market, threatening the nearby buildings. Several people were emerging from their homes, as well as the many alleyways in between. Cries of rebellion filled his ears, a people ready to fight.

One woman raised her voice among them, saying that her husband had been stolen away in the night and that she didn’t know where he was. Above them, coming from the direction of the capitol, dragonfly ships were emerging, carrying peacekeepers that swarmed the market, the center of the riot.

Ralis glanced at Izumi, who was also looking at the ships as they hovered, troops sliding down ropes into the streets below. “This is all wrong,” she said. “I can’t believe they would do this…”

Ralis sighed and grabbed the girl’s shoulder, pulling her towards the church. Just like two years ago, he thought as they rushed into the church.

As they closed the doors behind them, Father Prosbin rushed toward them from his office. “What is going on out there?” he asked. “It sounds like the end of the world.”

“It might as well be,” Izumi replied.

Father Prosbin stared at her incredulously as Izumi knelt next to Maki, asking her if she was alright. “Riots,” Ralis said, causing the man to turn towards him.

“Pardon me?” he replied. “Real riots? Like last time?”

“I’m sure you remember them?”

“How could I forget?” Prosbin replied. “They were even worse than the ones ten years ago.”

“How could anyone forget,” Izumi interjected, rising from hugging Maki.

“You’re off then?” Ralis said, eyeing the woman. He couldn’t say how, but something in her had changed.

She nodded. “I’ve got to stop him.”

“Excuse me,” Prosbin said, stepping forward, “But, do I know you?”

Ralis turned to Izumi, watching her as she narrowed her eyes at the old Father. “You do seem a bit familiar,” she replied after a moment.

“How old are you?” Father Prosbin asked, stepping toward her, eying her intently.

“Twenty-three,” Izumi said, taking a step back. “Why?

“What’s your name, child?”

“Izumi.”

Father Prosbin froze midstep. “Ah, so it is you,” he said, spinning around and starting towards his rooms. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”

“You know her, Prosbin?” Ralis said, calling after the man.

“Of course, I’m sure,” the man called back.

“Are you sure you’re not mistaken? She’s a soldier, how would you know her?”

“Just trust me,” Father Prosbin said as he reached the back door. “Just give me a minute.”

“What’s he talking about?” Izumi said, staring down the hallway, crossing her arms. “I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve met him.”

Ralis shrugged, glancing over at Maki as she played among the pews. The church was empty, besides the few of them. Ralis suspected, however, that wouldn’t be the case before long.

“Maybe your parents brought you here?” he asked Izumi.

She shook her head. “My parents died a long time ago, just a year after I was born. I doubt he’d recognize me from seeing an infant child twenty-two years ago.”

“It is doubtful, I suppose,” Ralis said, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps you’ve met him in your duties as a soldier?”

This time, Izumi shrugged. “Doubtful, but possibly. It's not like I remember everyone I meet.”

The door at the end of the hall swung open and Father Prosbin, looking quite excited, walked swiftly towards them. “I found it,” he said as he approached. “It took me a moment but I made a promise, and now, I can say I’ve kept that promise.”

“To whom?” Izumi said.

“To your sister, Lily, of course!” Father Prosbin said, his face suddenly dropping. “Before she…”

“Died?”

Prosbin nodded. “She was a good one,” he said solemnly, “Always looking out for her younger sisters.”

Ralis saw Izumi perk up, clenching her fists. “Sisters?” Izumi said.

Father Prosbin nodded. “Though I suppose, you might not have known that.”

Izumi huffed and sat down on the nearest pew. “So, it really is true,” he heard her mutter.

“Yes,” Father Prosbin said. “I’m not sure where she is now, but my wife and I cared for her when she was born, and Lily died. I’m not surprised you don’t remember, being as young as you were…”

He paused, as if letting Izumi think about his words for a moment, then he continued. “When my wife grew ill, we found her a great family. I tried to check in every once in a while, but they moved, and I lost track of the girl. I’m sorry.”

Ralis eyed Izumi. The girl had her head in her hands, fingers wrapped tightly in her hazel-colored curls. Suddenly, she stood up, laughing. She ran over to Father Prosbin, pulling him into a hug. “Oh my,” the father said, “Are you okay?”

Izumi stepped back, wiping her eyes and pushing a few stray curls out of her face. “You have no idea how much this means to me,” she said. “It means Lily didn’t abandon her. She was wrong, she lied!”

Father Prosbin frowned. “Who lied.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Izumi said, turning towards Ralis.

He nodded and smiled. “Time to go?”

“Yeah.”

“Hold on,” Prosbin said, holding his hand out, towards Izumi. “I need to give you this.”

“What is it?” she asked, holding out her own hand to accept the gift.

Prosbin opened his hand slightly, allowing Ralis to get a peek of the object, a small ornament on a silver chain.

However, it was only when Izumi accepted it and clipped it around her neck that Ralis could see what it was— a snowflake. He gasped, clutching his chest. “How did you say your parents died, Izumi?”

“A fire,” she said, tilting her head quizzically. “Why?”

Ralis smiled. “Just wondering,” he whispered. “Isn’t it time to get going?”

She narrowed her eyes, peering at him. “Anxious to get rid of me already?”

“No,” Ralis said solemnly, “But you made a promise, didn’t you?”

Izumi’s face grew serious. “Right,” she said.

She stepped forward, offering her hand for him to shake. Instead, he took it and pulled her into a hug. “Keep safe, Izumi. Keep your promise to Maki too.”

“Of course,” she replied, pulling herself away. “You don’t need to get so emotional on me, old man.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Just a habit.”

“Whatever,” she said, opening the church door.

A wall of noise immediately hit them as well as the stench of smoke and ash. “Good luck,” Ralis said.

“Bye!” Maki called from the pews behind them.

Izumi rolled her eyes. “Sheesh,” she replied. “I’ll be back soon.”

Ralis nodded as she darted into the crowd gathering towards the wall. He watched until she disappeared into the crowd.

“You should be proud,” Father Prosbin said, stepping beside him.

Ralis smirked, letting the tears he’d been holding back roll down his face. “I am,” he said.

“You did the right thing,” Father Prosbin said.

Ralis laughed. “Did I? I didn’t even know she was alive until just now, though I suppose I should have noticed earlier… the traits are all there.”

He frowned and turned to Father Prosbin. “How long did you know, old man?”

“Hey,” Father Prosbin said, “I’m not that old.”

“Compared to me, you’re ancient,” Ralis replied.

Prosbin scratched his head. “I suppose I am getting up in years,” he said.

In the distance, Ralis heard a gunshot. “There’s going to be a lot of injured,” he murmured.

“Should we set up shop then?” Father Prosbin replied.

Ralis nodded.

“Would it have changed things if I told you earlier?” Prosbin said.

Ralis shook his head. “Would have just given me false hope. I think it’s better that I know now, after having met her.”

“She grew up well,” Prosbin replied.

“She sure did,” Ralis replied.

“I’m just surprised you let her go,” Prosbin said.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Ralis shrugged.

“Why’s that?”

“She made a promise. If I’d said something, I would have just been in the way.”

Prosbin smiled. “Let’s get set up,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll be flooded with refugees before long.”

Ralis nodded, taking one last look into the massive throng building in the streets. “Right.”

***

Mire Wesdon stood alone. He was used to it, but in this particular instance, he did not expect it. John had left him alone, having met his wife and scampered off to feast. Well… he left before that, he thought, thinking of their exchange in the car.

He sighed and looked out across the crowd before him. He saw his own wife and waved to her. She motioned to him, asking if she should come up, but he signaled for her not to. He felt like being alone right now.

The Blanc’s, the family that was hosting the party, had built a massive loft above the doorway of their ballroom that overlooked everything below. It was in this position Mire now stood, leaning on the railing in front of him, watching the party-goers before. He sighed again. The Named will do anything to throw a party, he thought, watching the chefs fill the banquet table with all sorts of exquisitely prepared foods.

On the ballroom floor, couples danced, weaving expertly between each other in rhythm to the music being played by a band on the left-hand side of the hall, conveniently blocking the staircase that led to Mire. In addition to this, a numerous host of waiters and waitresses moved between the dancers, kitchen, and table on the far side of the room, offering drinks to those standing on the outskirts of the hall.

As Mire scanned the room, he noticed John near the back, sitting at the podium table, whose back faced a wall of glass, interrupted at different intervals with columns of wood that stretched up to the ceiling, supporting and adding to the magnificence of the room.

Mire watched Clay for a few moments, slightly jealous of his interactions with the other guests. Catching himself, he took a deep breath and looked away, searching for his wife instead.

When he didn’t find her, he supposed her to have gone to check on the kids. He smiled— they were what was most important— the Charter and the rest of it were for them. Everything was for them.

“Mire Wesdon, is that you?”

Mire turned towards the staircase. A man was walking towards him, someone that looked familiar, but Mire couldn’t place why. The man stepped forward, offering a cup of wine. “It is you!” the man exclaimed. “What an opportunity.”

Mire smiled weakly, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but do I know you?”

“Oh!” the man said, reclaiming his composure and bowing slightly. “My name is Mirus Remus, though you’re free to call me Mirus.”

Mire smiled again. “A pleasure, Mirus.”

Mirus shook his head. “No need to be so formal, my friend! This is a good day! I’m looking forward to this Charter’s signing.” The man looked around and lowered his voice. “Between you and me, I just want to say thank you.”

Mire raised his eye quizzically. “What do you mean?”

The man pushed his shoulder gently. “For what? For your generosity. For helping them, the Revived!”

Mire frowned. “Don’t thank me now,” he said, “You’ve heard the news.”

Mirus nodded. “Of course, I have, but that wasn’t you, was it? Well, I bet the money part was, but you’re no kidnapper.”

“Of course not,” Mire snapped.

Mirus blinked in surprise. Mire shook his head. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” Mirus said. “You’re fine. But seriously, thank you.”

Mire shrugged. “It’s what’s right, isn’t it?”

Mirus nodded, taking a sip of his wine.

“I suppose you know someone who’s been Revived?” Mire asked, watching the man drink.

“You bet,” the man replied, pointing to himself.

Mire felt his eyes widen. “You’re Revived?” he hissed. “What are you doing? They’ll catch you!”

Mirus shook his head. “Not unless you tell them, but you’re not going to do that, are you?”

Mire smirked. “You seem like a good man, Mirus. I suppose I’ve enjoyed your company up here,” he replied, looking out over the party below.

“You going to finish your wine?” Mirus asked suddenly.

“Yeah,” Mire said, taking another sip. “Why?”

Mirus shrugged— Mire swore he saw his cheeks turn pink. “I was just going to get more and wanted to know if you wanted some.”

Mire laughed. “Go ahead and grab me one too. If I don’t want it, you can have it,” he winked.

“Thanks,” Mirus chuckled, starting back down the stairs.

Mire watched the party until Mirus returned with two more glasses. “So,” he said, joining Mire, “What are you looking at?”

Mire blinked. He was feeling tired. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“How ridiculously extravagant this party is. Can’t we just sign the damn thing and be done? Why do we have to spend so much money so frivolously?”

“You know, Mire,” Mirus replied, “I’ve always admired your ideals, but unfortunately, I don’t think they’ll be enough.”

“What do you mean,” Mire said, feeling an itch in his throat. He coughed, clearing it.

Mirus held up his finger, then drained both glasses of wine, drinking them in an instant. “Sorry, Mire.”

Mire felt his head burst into flame. He dropped his wine glass, gripping his temples.

“Oh, are you alright, Mire? Had a bit too much to drink?”

Mirus set down his glasses and took a step towards Mire. Mire backed away as his throat began to throb. He tripped and stumbled back. Mirus caught his shoulders. “Maybe I’ll help you outside,” he said.

In a haze, they stumbled down the stairs and towards the side door, which Mire faintly remembered led to the gardens. “What do you want?” he coughed hoarsely.

“Don’t worry about it, Mire. You’re a good man, I meant that. You’ll be safe.”

They stumbled out the door onto a small path, where Mire saw a familiar form. “Ah, so nice to see you, Mr. President,” Mirus said.

John ignored him, facing Mire. “You okay, Mire?” he asked.

“He’s just a little drunk,” Mirus replied loudly. “I found him with four glasses.”

John frowned. “I thought you were more of a heavyweight, Mire,” he replied, turning to Mirus. “I suppose I’ll leave him to you, umm,”

“Mirus. Mirus Remus.”

“Mirus, thank you. Hope you enjoy the party,” he said, stepping inside.

After John was gone, Mirus led Mire deep into the gardens, letting him down on a small bench there. “You honestly are a good man Mire, do yourself a favor and leave this place while you still can.”

“Who are you?” Mire tried to say, but no sound came out.

The man knelt closer. “Repeat that for me, Mire.”

“Who are you?”

“Ah,” Mirus said. “That doesn’t matter, does it? I’m just a man who lost everything because I came back. How twisted is that?” He stood and adjusted his suit jacket. “If you excuse me, Mire, I have a party I must get back to.”

President, Mire thought, watching the man walk back towards the building. His vision blurred. My… family…

Everything went black.

***

Izumi leaned against the wall of the market garrison, tired from her sprint there. After catching her breath, she looked up at the wall, then entered the building.

Inside, the lobby was empty. That didn’t matter, everyone was probably dealing with the riots. She started down the hallway and froze as she reached the elevator room. Blood coated the white walls and floor. Even the ceiling wasn’t untouched. In front of the elevator doors, Watson was sitting in a chair, holding a pair of lightning batons.

She leaned forward and slid one across the floor towards Izumi, who caught it with her foot and kicked it up into her hand. “Watson,” she said sternly.

The woman rose, settling into a fighting stance. “I thought you might try and stop us,” Watson said. “Tez was against me hanging back, but-” she shrugged. “Oh well.”

Izumi settled into a fighting stance, clutching her necklace, the snowflake.

“You ready to fight, sister? I’m not going to hold back.”

“You aren’t my sister,” Izumi replied.

Watson frowned. “Of course, I’m your sister, Izumi, the one Lily abandoned.”

“No,” Izumi replied. “Lily didn’t abandon you as you said. She found you a home.”

“And what of it? She still left me.”

“Stop blaming her, Watson. Lily didn’t fail you.”

“You’re right,” Watson replied, charging up her baton, sparks shot from the main rod, it glowed slightly. “Society failed me, but that’s okay because we’re going to fix that too. Right after I kill you.”

Izumi charged her baton. Its rod behaved the same as Watson’s. She bit her lip, checking the setting— it was set to kill. “Guess this is it then,” she said. “It's been a fun reunion.”

Watson smiled. “Shut up already and let’s end this.”

“With pleasure,” Izumi replied, darting forward.