Sayounara Felbalia

Little bell sounds.

    A figure so far hidden among those of a few guards steps on the edge of the parade float.

“All hail the king! On this tragic day, he decided to share his ohh so precious presence with the folk of Felbalia. It’s been about two weeks since the young prince, Razzel Od Mithril, lost his life in a dramatic way. Attacked by surprise, he’s been devoured by a quartzal.”

    To the jester’s words, people exchange whispers.

“Poor child… Just when he was about to officially become an adult.” “Devoured… His heart too? Is that quartzal still alive?” “A descendant of the original hero dead this young… This is but a bad omen for the kingdom.”

    The jester, his ear being selectively not deaf to part of the murmurs, raises his voice to cover the rumours.

“Have no fear, for the monster which is to blame for depriving us of the prince’s presence is no longer. He had no time to gain power from his royal meal.”

    Hushed whispers and a dirty glance from the king lead the jester to reach his hand to his mouth, letting out a cough.

“The shards of Razzel Od Mithril’s heart have been retrieved. Which means, the Rite of Mithril Benediction can be accomplished.”

    As the jester steps aside, the king raises over his head a small pot, holding both handles. Purple adorned with silver.

“As per the old tradition, passed on to us by the previous generations of kings, part of Razzel’s heart will be spread on Felbalia.” The king, unfazed, explains. Definitely concerned by the death of his beloved son. Scum. “This said, it won’t be me who will realise the rite.” His mithril gaze turns to my brother. “Seraffel.”

    I curl my fingers into a fist at each step forward I take, making my way through the townsfolk.

“Of course… Of course, I knew it. All this fuss is more about putting my older brother in the spotlight than anything else.”

    Seraffel receives the pot from his father’s hands, taking a few steps forward. I swear this boy is too accustomed to naturally gaining people’s attention. It’s all that golden hair’s work. A trick is all it is.

“An Od Mithril is bound to their land since their birth,” Seraffel begins, “but Razzel was also and before all bound to me. We shared a heart of the same kind. It is, thus, with great sadness that I share with you all today the grief brought by the loss of my dear brother.” Reaching his fingers into the pot, he pulls them out only a moment later, a grey-blue dust glistening between his slender fingers. “A geman is born from crystal dust and to crystal dust he will return. And from his birth to his afterlife, an Od Mithril shall protect his land. May Razzel Od Mithril bring luck over Felbalia, over Juweld.”

    And with these words, he spreads a good pinch of mithril powder towards the crowd.

    The dust from my heart glistens between us the moment Seraffel’s gaze falls on me, noticing the man who stepped out from the crowd. A stranger to his eyes.

“Liars.” I utter, unbothered by all the gazes which turn to me. “Lies are all I hear from your dirty mouths. You never cared about him. And all he wants,” I point directly at my father, “is to weaponise this masquerade so that people like you even more.”

    Almost instantly, little bells jingle more than ever before as the jester excitedly approaches, taking a better spot.

“Looks like we have some animation.” He chimes in with a large smile.

    While my brother widens his mithril eyes, his reaction as rich as a fish’s, my father’s face reddens by the second.

“How dare you… Guards!”

“All I say is the truth!” I spread my arms on either side. “Dare say the contrary. Dare say you cared about him. About the gemans.” I turn my gaze back to Serrafel, barely paying attention to the figure sat behind the king, turning in his seat, slowly leaning forward a riddled face. “What does it bring you? Spending hours studying in the library, your prison of books, all that to become a king like this one?”

    The accusation seems to take Seraffel by surprise.

“Wait, this…”

    But, at the same moment, guards’ arms surge from both my sides, seizing mine in a not-so-gentle grip.

“Your words are a crime which won’t remain unpunished!” The king roars.

    Yet I can no longer bottle up my rage.

“Yes? Death? Death is all you give. A king who cares as little for his son’s life as he cares for the folk’s?! Is this your ideal, Serrafel? One for whom the kingdom as it is, is enough?! For whom did Orloff Od Mithril fight? The land or the people? Where’s the hero from the legends?!”

“Enough!” The king stands up, taking a step forward as he begins to mutter words of magic.

“A spell? Is he about to kill me? Hahh, what an irony.”

    I might as well tell them! I’ll let them know the truth!

“Do you know who I am? Do you even know?” I mock. “I am-”

“Forgiven.” A voice, worn out by the years, utters loud enough to make us all pause. Even the king ceases mid-spell, taken aback by the sudden interruption.

    Like everyone, my gaze turns to the figure who stands behind the king, a trembling hand leant against the edge of his throne.

    Dark rings under his mithril eyes, so deep a child’s fingers could get lost in their folds. His royal garments do little to conceal his weak constitution. At least, his white hair and long beard give some sort of volume to his body.

“Father, what are you doing?” The king tries to lower his tone, to no avail. “You weren’t even supposed to come with us. Now, what lunacy has gotten into you?”

“And be absent from a ceremony supposed to be dedicated to my grandson?” He briefly frowns, shakes his head. “Spare that geman.”

“He disturbs the ceremony you wished so strongly to attend.” The king argues with an acid smile.

“Disturbed. This is all over, right?” My grandfather meets my labradorite gaze. “Besides, I don’t want more blood to be spilled. And certainly not today.”

“Then, I’ll delay his execution.” The king massages the bridge of his nose.

“Are you showing disrespect to the former king?” My grandfather challenges.

    Silence.

    An exasperated sigh.

“Fine.” The king snaps his fingers. “Release that man.”

    It takes the guards a beat before loosening their grasp, confused as they are by the whole exchange. But, as soon as they do, I shake my shoulders from their grip, turning around to leave before the guards can think of chasing me away rudely.

    Rare whispers circulate through the crowd, the folk as dumbfounded as their first prince.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    While I cross Felbalia after having finally managed to see a doctor, a couple of whispers catch my attention.

“Weren’t you looking for work?” A man asks his comrade.

“Yeah, but… Outside of Felbalia? I’m not sure about it.”

“Seize your chance! The airship docked just a few hours ago. It won’t depart before night.”

    An airship… That reminds me of Seveg’s journey.

    Maybe that’s what I need. To go somewhere else. What would it bring me to stay here any longer? That Atelier Xylatz is still after me for all I know, besides… if I want to be a useful hero, I need to find what I am supposed to fight. Mercenaries? They’re not at the root of this kingdom’s ugliness. The king? Despite what I said, I don’t have the feeling that he’s directly causing all of this. It’s more like they let it happen. And with how potent the royal family’s magic is, I can’t exactly show up uninvited. My grandfather won’t save my life twice. The Militia…

    Seveg and Ferrick hate them.

“I don’t think the Militia really aims to protect our butts.” Ameline’s words echo in my mind.

    Aren’t they just gathering geman’s hearts? Why?

“This has to change.” I mutter to myself. “Or nothing ever will.”

    And yet, as I say these words, I can’t help but feel a shiver at the thought of encountering more men like that white-haired militiaman. The one who came to take Pecce away.

“I don’t have what it takes to confront them.”

    Unlike me, he mastered the use of magic to perfection.

“Doesn’t one say that widening one’s horizon is the way?” I wince at the cliché thought. “Ohh, well, I lose nothing by trying to get hired on that airship.”

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

     One hour later, I officially became part of the crew. Standing in the middle of the port, the easiness with which I was recruited makes me momentarily pause.

“That was…. easier than I thought.”

    And yet, I was far from the only one to present myself to become part of the airship’s members. Is this... the effect of my newly found charisma? Or is this the result of Seveg's good looks?

    Thoughtful, I lean my hand against my chin.

“So this is what it is like to be handsome.”

    Without overthinking it any longer, I resume my way through town.

“Still, there are a few things I need to do before leaving.”

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

“You want to see one of the girls?” Standing behind the bars, the director’s wrinkles intensify. No wonder she has this many if she has kept frowning like this all her life. “For possible adoption, you say?”

    I’m gripping the cold metal bars beyond which stands a large building, its spherical bone walls painted all in caramel and yellow. Little Sun Orphanage is the name shaped over the entrance.

“Yeah, something like that.”

    Whoever painted this place is the biggest hypocrite in the whole kingdom.

“Then, how come you know the name of one of them? I didn’t see you before, and I don’t remember advertising the children of the orphanage.”

    A neutral expression over my face, I already regret not having managed to come up with a better lie. The adoption is of course but a stratagem. I thought it was classy, but I guess it was bound to fail.

    I let out an exasperate sigh.

“Ok, whatever. Actually I’m here to see her because her father asked me so. Let me in, I have Orlofflesia to give.”

    It doesn’t take more than that for her expression to become more complacent.

    Minutes later, the gates open with a metallic creak and let me step into the orphanage. I’m escorted by two women dressed in the exact same black-and-white dress, the only noticeable difference being the size of their chests, the way the fabric struggles over one, is cruelly loose over the second. ‘Guess the dresses are one-sized.

“Don’t expect her to speak.” One of them warns, although I’m quite unable to say which.

    Guided to a room, silent if not for their footsteps already growing distant, they leave me here. I sit at the table in the middle of this place.

    It doesn’t take long for a door to open on the opposite side of the room. Hushed steps slow down the moment they step in.

    I rise my labradorite gaze towards a small figure the moment a fleeting ray of life fades away from her gaze.

    She’s so different from Gryffin’s memories. The same peridotite eyes, long brownish hair, aside from the fact that they’re now braided, and yet. And yet. Her expression usually lit by a smile, by a laugh, remains neutral. As if someone sucked the life from her.

    After a moment of hesitation, Luciella closes the distance between us, taking a place at the table. Hands pressed to her knees, her gaze remains glued to the table.

“You’re probably wondering why I wanted to see you. After all, you never saw me before.”

    Silence.

“Or, maybe you don’t.”

    Well, I’ve been warned about her mute tendencies. It’s alright, being blown off a couple of times isn’t something that would achieve unsettling a no-life like me. Besides, for once I have something more important to do than fearing for my ego.

“Fufu.”

    My cloudy scarf quivers and unwraps from around my neck.

“Fwiiiih!” Fufu turns back into his true shape, opening his mouth to regurgitate a small book. As I reach out my hand to take it, the book retrieves its initial size.

    It’s finally enough to catch Luciella’s attention. Slowly, she raises her peridotite gaze at me and Fufu, before settling on the book.

    Without a word, I extend it towards her, letting the young girl take it and skim through the pages. Her expression speaks for her. Luciella recognises her father’s handwriting. Her fingers tighten their grip over Gryffin’s book. Her irises tremble.

“She’s the one who should keep it. Not me.”

    Closing the book, Luciella softly presses it against her chest, as if to make sure nobody would be able to take it away from her. When she lowers her head, I think at first it’s to sniff the scent of the pages, like some book addicts I know would do.

    But the first tears rolling down her cheeks tell me another story. Luciella just tried to hide them. Although it’s but a futile endeavour she soon can’t keep feeding, her frail shoulders beginning to shake. Hidden tears turn into unhinged wailing, the only sound I’ve heard from that girl’s mouth since we met.

“What do you live for, who can you turn into when your life is broken at seven years old?”

    The image of Seveg, older by a couple of years when the tragedy unfolded, flashes before my eyes.

“It is a pain only they know, and sometimes their only remaining guide. Twisted as it may be.”

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    Arms crossed, leant over the railing, I stare at the town below. The knot tying us to the ground has just been undone, the thick rope hanging in the void is wrapped back on board by a few members of the crew. The shape of the Airship Station appears more clearly, basically consisting of multiple spots, large half-metal rings spread out on the ground.

    Beneath my nails, specks of crystal sand. Noticing traces of blood, I hurry to chase the particles away.

“Seveg, make this board glow!”A man’s voice commands in a loud voice.

    I turn my back to Felbalia, facing the deck above which floats a giant bubble held in place by multiple ropes tied around it.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, I guess.”

    Translucent, it hides nothing of the crystal powder glistening, whirling inside.

“Sayounara, Felbalia.” I mutter.

    Somehow, the word comes naturally to my mind. Despite it not being magic. It’s like a language I used to know before. A long time ago.