Chapter 14 - She with no hope

In the most southern portion of the Southern District of Dernier, the sprawling network of iron catwalks and steel buildings met an end. Instead, buildings of wood and fields of agriculture existed. Such scenery could also be found at the outer edges of the other cardinal districts that make up the final steam-punk metropolis. But Cestela never bothered to visit such areas when she was assigned to defend those districts. Only in the South did she delay her return to her windowed steel cage abode.

She visited what used to be a bustling plaza where a flower shop used to be. Instead, a mass graveyard remained. A graveyard with no graves dug and with tombstones not made by man. But the sign did not name it as such. Instead it read: Southern Tragedy Memorial.

Cestela despised the polished brass plaques mounted throughout the square. They praised the valor of the Dragonslayer, commemorated the Defenders' sacrifice, and preached unbroken faith in the city's future.

But they gave no voice to those frozen beneath the inscriptions. The memorial cataloged them as collateral damage—a tragic statistic of military failure to be avoided tomorrow, rather than lives stolen yesterday.

The city chose to not remember them for what was.

What was a street by the river where kids would play… now eternally petrified in fear.

What was a kind bakery owner who would give out snacks to the kids despite his wife’s nagging… now forever in despair.

What was a humble couple of a flower shop who were content knowing their cherished blessing was studying far away at the time… now smiling and serene.

But there were those who remembered. For they were what remained. A person can only be remembered by the living. And so, people live on focused on what was instead of what’s next because they didn’t want to forget. Because if they forgot, who would remember them?

That in itself was a heavy burden. But no one would dare call them a burden for they were a part of them. And so, some people live on content with what they had and did not want to add any more chains on their heart. Because if they could not carry them, what then?

The world was unfair as it was and death did not discriminate between sinners and saints. To want more of the world was to expose one’s heart. And so, Cestela lived on never making a second wish. Because if she did, she could only be hurt.

Cestela kissed the foreheads of the two chained to her heart, her very being. She did not care who saw. She did not care if rumors spread. She told herself that she didn’t care for those people in the present. As she only cared for those in the past.

She did not mope or reminiscence. She moved on quickly after she showed her love. To show them that she was strong.

The return to the closest steam train station was quite a walk from the graveyard. Cestela was conflicted in her desire for an efficient path for those who wanted to pay their respects and her appreciation for the silence from a bustling station. The outer edges of the districts were poorer that most. As such, the neighborhoods felt more natural as if one with nature. There were no steel catwalks creating a labyrinth of passages in the sky. Nor were there any cold iron walls separating buildings. Instead, the buildings were made of wood and occasionally supplemented with disposed sheet metal. The ground remained the warm dirt and not stamped down by metal plates.

The bare earth led the poor of the poor to make their homes in unpaved irrigation trenches that lined the roads. The boundary of the outer edges was defined by iron walls set by those who wished not to see the earth as it reminded them of the Stéle. As such, the hands of the beggars could not reach those who properly lived in the iron metropolis. They could only rely on those who were already hard pressed on living.

While Cestela lived in the heart of the cold city, she grew up running on dirt. Which side would that make her then? She didn’t quite care. She simply did what she wanted. And so, as she continued to walk, she found a young girl sitting alone on a wooden board which likely served as her roof as she slept in her ditch.

The young girl’s eyes were glossy and distant. Cestela watched as a passing man passed a bronze coin towards her. The coin missed the gathering bowl and landed on the dirt. The young girl reach out and touched dirt. And dirt again. And dirt again. Until finally, the passing man was no longer passing and returned to help her pick up the coin. The young girl smiled but not at the man and the man frowned unable to lock eyes with her. He gave her another bronze coin and left as he could not take responsibility anymore.

Cestela reached into her pocket and felt for her spool. Blindness was curable to Cestela if it was only matters of nerves. But it was impossible to tell until she injected into them. The pain will only be brief. Cestela decided that if there was nothing she could do, she would offer some coins of her own.

She drew a single fine filament from the spool, channeling a whisper of golden mana towards the girl’s ocular pathways. If the blindness was localized to nerves, she could rebuild the bridge. If it was brain tissue, there was nothing to be done but leave a silver coin.

The golden light darted forward-

“Ah!”

The girl jumped back frightened of the incoming intruder to her eyes, throwing up her arms to shield her face from the luminous needle. A purely optical reflex. A reaction… exclusive to those who can see. She turned to her attacker and was confronted with a frigid stare. Frightened, the girl snapped back towards her bowl as if nothing happened.

“You.”

“Uh… yes?” The young girl turned her head in the complete opposite direction from Cestela. Even if she was blind, her ears wouldn’t be that bad to tell the direction of voices.

“You scamming people?” Using her threads, Cestela corrected the young girl’s chin towards her. The young girl was wearing simple clothes torn and soiled with dust. But perhaps, she purposely left them as such for her ploy.

Knowing she could no longer continue her act with Cestela, the girl locked eyes and smacked the thread away. A simple mana-lacking slap was not enough to push Cestela’s threads but Cestela played along. “I’m not scamming people!” She crossed her arms.

“Sure looks like it.”

“No! I’m a merchant?”

“…” Cestela simply stared at the girl, glanced around her for any commodities, and then finally returned a face to the girl that said. ‘Ah, you’re delusional.’

“I’m not delusional.”

Did this girl have the ability to read minds?

“I’m a merchant… selling hope!”

Cestela started walking away.

“Wait, wait!”