Member
TokyoPewPew
Silly
Tlaloc
Snowdrops
rabidbacon
Chronic
Ti
Shu
Framing A Moose
[Location] Montá, Eshea (Montá City Hall)
[Time] Saturday, 08:30 AM
[Interactions] N/A
[Time] Saturday, 08:30 AM
[Interactions] N/A
The boat rocked gently beneath Cécile's feet as they glided across the mist-covered water. The familiar rhythm of the sea was no comfort to him now, not when the weight of what he was leaving behind settled like an anchor in his chest. The silence between him and Bastion stretched long, interrupted only by the soft lapping of waves against the boat. Cécile sat in silence, his slender hands resting on his lap, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the fabric of his slip. In particular, his gaze lingered on the horizon, where his small floating home was now a distant shadow.
The höpes… their fragile existence haunted him still. He could almost hear the faint flutter of their wings in the back of his mind, their lives left to the care of strangers. Though he would never openly express such a grievance, he hated it. A part of him felt like he was abandoning them, though he knew his departure had been ordained by forces beyond his control. But still, there was a tug, a weight that made each mile further from his sanctuary feel heavier than the last.
He cast a sidelong glance at Bastion, wondering what kind of man this stranger truly was. His demeanor was cold, distant, and though he had been tasked with escorting Cécile, he offered no comfort—no warmth. Cécile had grown accustomed to quiet, to solitude, but now, in this moment, the silence between them felt like an uncrossable chasm. He turned his gaze back to the horizon, letting the rhythmic sway of the boat lull him into contemplation.
Why him? Why now? The Festival of Lights had been a distant dream, something he had resigned himself to watch from afar, through the dreams of others. And now, here he was, leaving behind the only world he knew, bound for Montá and a future that felt alien and vast. For the remainder of the ride, Cécile did what always came naturally when presented with moments of prolonged stillness, he took out a small book from his pocket titled "Dragon Soup" and began to read.
Finally, the boat cut through the lingering mist, and slowly the outline of Montá’s harbor came into view. As they neared, Cécile’s eyes widened. When they docked, Bastion stood, offering no gesture, only a curt nod for Cécile to follow. The city was much more grand than he remembered as a child or through the eyes of his astral butterflies, its towers rising like spires of old stone, draped in rose ivy and bathed in the early morning light. The city of Montá, resplendent and ancient, with its streets winding upward toward the heart of the High Council’s seat.
They walked through the cobblestone streets, past market stalls just opening for the day, and the soft murmurs of city life beginning to stir. Cécile kept his gaze low, his mind still tethered to the floating cottage and the höpes. But he couldn't help notice as his devotees began to gather along the the sidewalks, bowing quietly in reverence to him. It was a queer feeling. Was this the reverence of the Regalia that he'd heard of? In truth, he wasn't sure if they revered him for his role as a Hopekeeper or a Regalia. Perhaps some imbalanced combination of both. With a demure sensibility, one befitting his nature as a wallflower, he gave half-hearted nods in return and waved shyly. In his novel correspondence with his devotees, he missed the transient smirk that graced Bastion's lips, who seemed amused by Cécile's awkward posturing with fame.
As they approached the Council city hall, the grandeur of the place became undeniable. It was elaborate and ornate, like a beautiful, historical château, its towers capped with shimmering tiles that gleamed gold. Cécile felt small standing before it, his breath catching slightly as the magnificence of the building loomed over him. Inside, the air smelled of polished wood and old stone. Bastion led Cécile through long, echoing corridors, until they came to a drawing room, the doors heavy and carved with intricate patterns. The interior was just as elaborate as the exterior, with chandeliers casting soft moody light and tapestries hanging along the walls, telling stories of Montá’s history. Cécile felt a strange sense of disconnection here; it was all so foreign to him after the years of living simply by the sea.
They finally came to a drawing room, where Bastion pushed open the door with a measured gesture, stepping aside for Cécile to enter. Inside, the room was cozy, despite the elegance that surrounded them. The light from a large window bathed the room in warmth, illuminating the figure of a woman standing by a small table, her blue blouse neatly pressed, her round glasses perched delicately on her nose. A white lace headscarf framed her face, and a gold brooch gleamed on her chest, catching the light as she stood.
"Ah, Good morning, Hopekeeper," she said with a kind yet firm tone, her eyes studying him carefully as he stepped into the room. "I am Dr. Isolde Featherswallow, appointed by the Council to be one of your Guardians for the duration of your stay in Montá, and during your journey to the Festival of Lights."
Cécile blinked, taken aback. “Guardians?” his voice was soft, the confusion only deepening. Her presence was commanding, much like Bastion’s, though there was an undercurrent of care in her tone, like a strict teacher watching over a favored student.
Isolde nodded, stepping forward with a slow, measured grace. “Yes, every Hopekeeper is assigned a Guardian when they leave their island, though it is a rare occasion," she explained, folding her hands together. "However, as you are the first Hopekeeper to also be a Regalia, you are considered of significant importance to the nation of Eshea. Thus..." she paused, glancing toward Bastion, who stepped forward as she gestured him to, "the Council of Montá have determined that you are to be provided with more than one Guardian, for your own protection, of course." Her gaze was sharp but thoughtful, her words carrying the authority of someone who had been in such roles before.
"And yes," she confirmed after a brief silence, preemptively assuming his next question, "Gentilhomme Bastion has also been appointed as one of your Guardians.” Bastion’s eyes met Cécile’s with a tempered look, though a certain discomfort belied his countenance as if disquieted by his nouveau duties as a glorified babysitter.
Cécile gaze shifted, a look of concerned introspection crossing his delicate features. He seemed to be away somewhere, not fully present in the moment. Isolde regarded him carefully, her eyes narrowing just slightly, "What is it, child?"
After a moment of hesitation, Cécile couldn't help but ask, feeling naive and vulnerable as the words left him, "Will I get to see my family?"
It had been 10 long years since Cécile last saw his family. He visited them in their dreams, but what good is that if he can't feel their tangible love and comfort after so long being apart? Isolde smiled faintly, though there was a quiet look of guilt in her expression. No one ever wanted to be a bearer of bad news, "No, I'm afraid not, my dear. There is not enough time and the Council has only just allowed this exception to pass," she let out a sigh, almost exasperated as the thought passed through her mind, "and they barely just managed to do that. As you know, being a Funérailles is quite a sacred role in Eshea. If not for your divine blessing from Anima, you'd still be on the island."
She adjusted her glasses before continuing, "Regalia are revered by many—especially for someone as precious to the nation as you, Cécile."
Cécile lowered his gaze, unsure of how to respond. It felt strange, to be called precious. His life had been one of quiet service, of attending to the dead and the grieving. He had never thought of himself as anything more than a vessel for the mourning. He felt a sadness welling inside his gossamer heart, unable to completely hide the disappointment. Isolde noticed this, her eyes softening slightly, "There is one more Guardian who will be accompanying you,” she said, and before Cécile could process the information, the door creaked open.
Cécile turned just in time to see a familiar figure step into the room. His heart leapt in recognition. Hut Bragnapreth—his childhood friend. He was just as he remembered, though bigger and thicker, but with the same ebullient smile that made his kind eyes crinkle. “Cécile!” Hut boomed, his voice full of sunshine and affection. Before Cécile could react, Hut had swept him into a tight hug, lifting him slightly off his feet. The young Funérailles melted into the embrace, something within him became light as jelly.
It had been years since he had felt such comfort in someone’s arms, and Hut had always been one of the few he allowed close. “It’s been too long,” Cécile whispered as they pulled apart, his fingers resting briefly on Hut’s arm. A small, rare smile touched Cécile’s lips. The contact felt natural, safe.
“I know,” Hut said, his countenance cloudy with delight as he looked at Cécile. “Four years… since...when you…” His voice trailed off, his eyes lowering for a moment. “...when you officiated my mother’s Mer de Rêves.”
Cécile’s expression grew somber and he nodded knowingly, his hand finding Hut’s hand in a gentle gesture. “She was a kind soul. A true lily-dove.”
“Thank you,” Hut replied, his voice thick with emotion, though his smile remained. He squeezed Cécile’s hand briefly, as if to say all was well. Bastion, who had been silent, now wore a faint look of surprise, clearly not expecting such warmth from someone who had earlier recoiled at his mere approach.
Before the moment could stretch on too long, Isolde cleared her throat, her voice cutting through the air. “There will be time for reunions later,” she said, though not unkindly. “For now, Hopekeeper, we have much to do and you have paperwork to complete before your attendance at the Festival of Lights is officially recognized.” Cécile glanced at Hut, who smiled reassuringly, before following Isolde’s lead. His heart felt lighter with Hut by his side, but as he walked through the halls of Montá, a quiet apprehension still gnawed at him.
[Location] Onboard the Skypiercer, Heading from Montá, Eshea to Landow, Estren
[Time] Saturday, 07:30 PM
[Interactions] @Silly
[Time] Saturday, 07:30 PM
[Interactions] @Silly
The final stroke of ink on parchment felt heavier than it should have. Cécile Augustus Simon-Heartfilia stood before the table in the grand office, staring down at the document that sealed his fate. His delicate signature curved beneath the official script, while Isolde’s steady hand guided him through the other signatures required. Each mark he made felt like another small thread being cut, another step away from the world he had known, binding him to the fate that awaited. But it was the final line at the end—banning him from transforming into his Dominant form—that unsettled him. It seemed the Council had taken every precaution, as if he were some volatile storm brewing just beyond the stillness. His hand hovered for a moment, considering, but in the end, he signed with a feeble sigh, and it was done.
Isolde stood by his side, patient and composed as ever. "This way," she said, and they stepped into the misty light of morning once more, the day waiting for them outside. They certainly had other matters to attend to, and it filled their day: shopping for new clothes, a new mobile phone (the old one he'd been gifted from Cassiel many years ago had long since fallen into disrepair), and other necessities for the trip. Bastion and Hut had already left, as they had their own preparations to attend to as well. Isolde took him to meet Councilman Jacques and Councilwoman Francine, who gave Cécile some words of kindness and sent him on his way in good faith. By the time the last of his arrangements were complete and luggage packed, it was already evening.
As they left through the magnificent metal rampart surrounding The Citadel, the Skypiercer awaited, its silhouette rising before them. Each angle of its design felt as if it were meant to dance on air, to glide as effortlessly as a butterfly in the night. The sight of it, though undeniably beautiful, stirred something both wondrous and anxious in his heart. The last time he had ridden in an aircraft had been over a decade ago, and he was only a child then, leaving behind the last fragments of a life that felt so distant now. He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the rising discomfort that tugged at him. Cécile didn’t want the others to see it, especially Bastion, whose cold, impassive demeanor left little room for perceived weakness.
“Doctor Featherswallow, during our engagement with the Council, I requested… for Nia Stryx,” he said quietly, almost to himself, breaking the silence between him and Isolde as they approached the boarding ramp, “My cousin from Nibelheim.”
His voice was a tender thread of uncertainty. “I… don’t remember her well. I was only four the last time I saw her, but…" His hand pressed lightly against his chest, as though trying to recall the spirit of her presence. "I remember the feeling of her.” He hesitated, as if the memory were a delicate, brittle thing that could crumble from the faintest touch.
Isolde gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment, her sharp eyes glinting behind her round glasses. “Yes, I am aware. The Council approved it. She arrived this evening,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, but there was a hint of satisfaction beneath it, as if she understood what this small connection might mean to him. Cécile smiled with those kind, earthy eyes, but said nothing more.
The Skypiercer’s doors opened, revealing a soft-lit interior that glowed like the belly of a firefly. The attendants ushered them on board, their faces polite and distant, and as Cécile stepped inside, a tremor ran through him. It had been over a decade since he’d been in an aircraft, and the enclosed space made his chest tighten. He took a steadying breath, forcing himself to move forward. Isolde excused herself, heading toward the cockpit. A woman in her position could do such things.
Meanwhile, Bastion and Hut were already seated when they entered. Bastion, ever stoic, barely glanced up from the window, his gaze flicking to Cécile only briefly, but Hut’s face brightened immediately upon seeing Cécile. “There you are!” he exclaimed, his booming voice far too joyful for the quiet hum of the ship. His smile was like sunlight breaking through the haze of anxiety that clung to Cécile’s thoughts.
Hut seemed to recognize this subtle faze of discomfort upon Cécile’s countenance as the Hopekeeper sat beside him. “You alright?” he asked in a low voice, concern softening his usually boisterous tone.
Cécile nodded, though his fingers gripped the edge of his sleeve, twisting the fabric slightly. “It’s just… it’s been a long time,” he admitted in a whisper. Hut chuckled, “It’s all so new, that’s all. You’ve spent too much time by the sea—now it’s time to see the sky again.” Perhaps, though Cécile was not wholly convinced that that was the breath of his concerns. But at the very least, Hut’s presence was a balm of sorts, so he allowed himself to relax, just a little. Cécile offered a small, grateful smile, though the unease still simmered beneath the surface of his skin, prickly and bothersome. He hid his discomfort well, as he always did, or at least tried to.
When they had finally settled in, Cécile graciously excused himself. “Pardon me for a moment,” he said, standing with a slight bow. He drifted down the narrow corridor of the ship, his willowy fingers tracing the smooth walls as he moved. Cécile had made a last-minute request before they left—the thought of seeing her again had surfaced in his dreams, even though the memories were hazy. Nia Stryx. His cousin, from Nibelheim. Would she recognize him?
As he wandered through the elegant corridors of Skypiercer, searching for her, he bumped into someone—his body recoiled lightly at the sudden contact.
“I’m so sorry,” Cécile said softly, his voice a gentle melody of apology, as he stepped back to give the person space, or rather, himself. The man, a passenger, blinked up at him, eyes wide with shock. And then, to Cécile’s surprise, the man knelt before him, head bowed, reverence radiating from his very essence.
“Hopekeeper,” the man whispered, his voice trembling. “I did not know you were aboard… Forgive me.” He pressed his lips to Cécile’s hand in a gesture of gratitude and awe, his touch feather-light.
Cécile’s breath caught in his throat, his supple cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Oh, no… please, you don’t need to do that,” he said, hurriedly bending down to their level, his voice a flutter of concern and gentle insistence. “It’s really not necessary. Please, rise.” The man hesitated, his eyes filled with wonder, but he obeyed, rising slowly. Before he left, however, he took Cécile’s hand once more and kissed it again, whispering his thanks before hurrying off into the Skypiercer’s winding corridors.
The young Hopekeeper stared after them, his heart still racing, unsure what to make of the interaction, though an odd sense of disquiet vexed him. But as he stood there, rooted in place, trying to process the experience, a familiar glimmer of witchlight caught his eye.
Violet eyes.
Cécile approached her slowly as she approached him, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. It appears they had been looking for each other. There was something strikingly familiar about her, even after all these years. Her features had sharpened, matured, but the essence of her remained the same. When their eyes met, she smiled, and though it was a small gesture, it felt like a flood of memories washed over him.
“Nia…” Cécile whispered, his voice barely audible.
She smiled, the corners of her lips curling gently as he approached. “Cécile,” she said, her voice low and warm, like a distant memory brought back to life. “You’ve grown.”
Cécile felt himself blush at the remark, his usual demure nature returning as he glanced down at himself as though to confirm her words. “Maybe a bit,” he murmured, “Yes.” There was a pause, a soft silence that lingered. Cécile felt the weight of time, the distance that had stretched between them for so long. Though there was a familiar spark radiating from her gaze, he couldn't quite place that foreignness of her. Perhaps this awkward feeling would fade with time. But for now, as he spoke to her, he maintained a formal speech, the kind one might would adopt when addressing someone older and wiser.
“I’m glad you could come,” he finally said, his voice quiet but sincere. “It was so sudden, I know, and… I’m sorry for that.” He shifted slightly, his gaze tracing the features of her face he only half-remembered from childhood, taking in every detail he had missed in the years they had been apart. He looked at her—truly looked at her—and saw the echoes of their grandfather in the lines of her face, in those distinctive violet eyes full of mystery and witchlight.
“You… you look like him,” Cécile said absently, almost to himself, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His cheeks flushed immediately with embarrassment, and he quickly added, “I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling foolish. “That was thoughtless of me.”
The Skypiercer gave a gentle lurch as it prepared for takeoff, and Cécile felt a surge of nervous anticipation. But with Hut nearby, and now Nia, the anxiety felt more bearable. For the first time in a long while, Cécile felt a strange, fragile sense of hope taking root in his hummingbird heart. They were two pieces of a distant past, now reunited on the wings of a butterfly poised for flight.
Perhaps this Festival of Lights would be more than just a ceremonial duty.
