by Elizabeth Lo
She’ll probably ask again about what happened. He doesn’t even remember why he had started to follow her on that giant cat. He just caught sight of her, and in his delirious state, gave chase. His “memory” of those moments are really just hazy images he’s made up in his mind to fill the gap of missing time in his brain.
The only thing he can clearly remember was Orion wailing the whole time. Less human, and more… just a noise. There, in the air, was another falling person. Unconscious, maybe?
Hair flying wildly in the air, covering her face. He jumped out of his plane, Teleported without a second thought, grabbed her, and quickly realized he wasn’t even wearing a parachute.
It was then that he realized how useful mandatory magic training is. Teleporting a second time made the impact a little less gut-wrenching than what it could have been, but he still earned a back full of bruises.
Fortunately and unfortunately, he lived.
Well, regardless of whether or not he Teleported, he would have lived. It seems those who have spirits inside of them like he does can’t really die—like the soldiers from this morning. When he shot them in the head, some of them kept rising and rising… It was as if it was something else controlling their body—not them, but rather just a stubborn need to keep going no matter what.
“Are you… going to start pressing charges or anything?” Midnight asks quietly, breaking his thoughts. “Arrest me? Throw me in prison?” When her eyes zone in on him, a strange chill trickles down his spine. “Execute me?”
“Why?” he asks. His headache pulsates more, and he presses a hand to his forehead, trying to make it look like he’s just brushing hair out of his face.
“I mean, I did just steal the Royal Nuagepanthère of Galviton…” Her staring eyes quickly flicker away from him the moment he fully turns his gaze to her. Just like everyone else.
“Oh,” he says, caught off guard. “Right…”
She looks puzzled for a moment and then slightly annoyed.
“And I thought we were in big trouble…” she mutters to herself. “Do you even remember what happened?”
“Yes.” Sort of.
“Then why… were you chasing us?”
“Well, I mean,” he says, pushing his palm a little harder into his temple. “Anyone would assume you’re up to no good if they see a girl riding around the skies on an animal that is specifically not allowed a certain distance away from the Summer Palace.”
“So… you tried to chase us all by yourself? Without any goggles or gear?”
This girl is going to be a tough one.
She was always like that… questioning, Orion says quietly, breaking his silence. I’m glad she at least hasn’t lost that part of herself.
How do you know her? Lafayette asks.
We’ve met before. Just as fellow training magicians. She’s just changed a lot since I last saw her, is all.
“We’ve been a bit short of numbers recently,” Lafayette continues, “So I got permission to patrol by myself. Call it a joy ride… didn’t actually think I’d find anything… until I found you.”
He doesn’t want to lie outright—outright lies are the hardest to keep up. But at the same time, he doesn’t have a clue as to what’s true and what’s a lie.
Fortunately, she doesn’t press further.
“Would you care to explain why you were out there?” he asks to redirect the subject.
“The… nuagepanthère wanted me to be,” she says. “I don’t know if I can say much else.”
“Hmmm?” he says to himself.
Suspicious.
“Why?” He releases his temple finally as the headache subsides on its own.
“The nuagepanthère didn’t give me… specific details, really. He just… wants me to do some magic errands for him.” She looks down. “Like everyone else,” she murmurs.
“And what might those errands be?”
“They have to do with some curse,” she says, looking back up at him. “When I saw you flying behind us, I panicked. Not to mention, he started falling… There… was an incident at the Summer Palace, so he had to leave.”
An incident?
“You know,” she continues. “I’m sure it’s already in the news by now. The Queen’s murdered the King along with almost all of the royal staff in the Winter Palace, and she… was also at the Summer Palace. So now…” She looks at herself and sighs. “I’m here.”
“I see.”
He killed his entire unit, the Queen murdered the King, and Midnight Thunder decided to take a ride on the back of the national symbol of Galviton. Everything is falling apart, isn’t it?
She looks out of the cave, taking in the light for a moment. The shiny nature of her hair catches the moonlight from the opening in the canvas curtain. The cave isn’t that big; it holds only about ten boxes along with a bit of extra wiggle room, with each box able to hold maybe two Midnights, if not a little more.
When she turns back to look at him, he can already see that she’s going to ask a question. She’s readable that way.
“Before… where’d you go?”
“Outside.”
“Why?”
“To change.”
She nods to herself. She’s still probably wondering about the blood. It’s a hard thing to overlook.
When Lafayette had gotten outside of the cave upon their initial arrival, he really did make his way back to the small pond where remnants of his plane still stood on the shore.
It really is an indecipherable blur in his mind. He had tried to remember even the most spontaneous of movements, but nothing ever became clear. The only thing stuck in his memory like a fresh painting was sitting there in that cafeteria, a sea of dead bodies around him. The paint of the memory is still drying… perhaps it will never dry. It blocks the edges of everything else into nothing but blurry shapes with the only point of clarity being the gunshots and blood only hours ago.
Despite having been in two wars and witnessing battles from maybe as young as ten from his dad bringing him to wars (they were apparently the only father-son bonding activities his old man could think of) the only gunshots Lafayette can remember at this moment are ones from the silver pistol in his hand pointed at his own soldiers.
BANG. BANG. BANG. He can still hear them.
His recall is faulty from pushing memories to the back of his head. He can remember statistics, names, words, and even remote details about almost anything he’s ever read, but he can’t remember a single moment in time of his life. Living day to day to day, wiping away everything in his mind except for just enough information to scrape into the next day… it’s made him nothing more than a machine.
Until… today. When he wonders if he’ll ever be able to wipe those moments from his mind.
His thoughts were heavy, and at first, he just splashed water on his face.
But then, he kept cleaning and cleaning… And he had turned to full-on scrubbing his arms, legs, and body until they turned raw and red. But even after running the rag back and forth over his arms until it felt like he had rubbed off a good few layers of skin, he still felt dirty. As if there’s still blood somewhere on his body, lurking there to remind him of his mistakes. That there’s no going back.
He feels… remorse? For what he’s done, but it’s a strange type of remorse. It’s the remorse of what he’s done to himself.
He really didn’t care for any of those people in that room—to him, they were all just dancers at a masquerade party or faceless people whom he never bothered to remember except for their position and rank. They were all pawns on an invisible chess board. The remorse isn’t for them.
No, it’s definitely not “guilt” either that’s giving him headaches and clawing at his mind. Even now, the utter meaninglessness of himself catcalls at him, taunts him, and laughs at him. The wonder of “What if I had waited just another day?” Is it better to be a soulless machine or a free but ruined one?
By killing every single person in the cafet
eria just as the sun began to show its ugly face over the edge of the world, he’s only chained himself up even more than before. Now, he is nothing. He’s no commander. Hell, he’s no human. His last tether to a life, any life, is gone.
A strange laugh shook his chest after he dried himself off and changed his clothes. Even he didn’t know what it came from… It was laughter that spurred a painful feeling within him… One that clenched his heart and choked his breath. He’s been learning so many different types of laughs lately.
At that moment, he decided. Once Midnight’s back on her feet, he’s going to leave. Immediately. So he can finally disappear off of the face of the earth. He should leave as little trace of himself as possible—there’s already a big, bloody footprint right in Falconry.
He’s a disgusting human being, and he feels nothing when he thinks that. But people like Midnight shouldn’t mingle too long with him.
Yes, it’s decided.
“Are you… okay?” he asks her now, the words foreign on his tongue. Why is he asking? It’s not like he cares. “You’ve slept this whole time. You’re not sick or anything, right?”
She blinks at him.
“I don’t really know,” she says. “But… you don’t have to worry about me.”
“Got it. Can’t have you dying on me, you know?”
There’s a curious pause in her response.
“Yeah.” She’s still smiling…
Close-lipped. Not quite reaching the eyes. A smile meant to cover up. Maybe it’s just because today is an off day. But he feels a strange wave of nausea seeing yet another smiling mask. Those deceiving smiles were what made everything collapse with that first gunshot.
“You know, you have a really ugly smile…” He hears himself say.
Her smile falters.
“What?”
Really, what is he saying? Words are waiting at the edge of his throat, threatening to spill out.
“It’s not… that…” he manages. “It’s not that I don’t like you smiling. It’s, it’s… never mind.”
Already, his hand moves to cover his mouth, a voice, his voice, inside him telling him not to say anything more.
You’re not allowed, he tells himself. You’re not allowed to talk like this.
She gazes at him with a question written in her face, sitting with her legs crossed in a rather whimsical way, yet her attention seems zeroed in on him.
“Is there a reason why you don’t like polite smiles?” she asks, not even beating around the bush.
“Polite…” he echoes. “Is that what they’re supposed to be?”
He lays down on top of a stack of boxes, fixing his eyes on the ceiling of the cave, so he doesn’t have to face her. But he stays silent for a few more minutes, waiting until the crushing weight becomes unbearable.
“You just reminded me of something kind of sickening,” he says. “In the military, you climb the ranks by being obedient, following orders, yet somehow, at the same time being as ‘outstanding’ as possible. Or at least, that’s how it was for me.” He would laugh, but it only makes his chest hurt more. “I’ve gotten to the point where no one looks me in the eye anymore. And they give me those ‘polite’ smiles… As if they’re any better than me.” The tension in his arm from clenching his fist calls him back to reality. “So, that’s the answer to your question.”
“I see,” she says. “Then, in that sense, we’re not as different as I initially thought. Being surrounded by those smiles… I guess I just started to wear one myself after a while.”
He sighs. There’s something about her that seems to invite him to talk.
“I don’t blame you…” he says. “Lately—like, the past year or so—there was an even weirder tension amongst the soldiers. Everyone was starting to rock on the edges of madness—there was just this look in their eyes. They got increasingly nervous around each other. Soon, in the past month or so, during target practice, every day, someone would just… lose it. They would toss their gun down and run away or scream whenever they heard gunshots, even though they wore hearing protection. And I figured, since the last war was so recent, it’s probably PTSD. And like I thought, most all of them came up positive. But still, there was something odd about them. They all said something like they were already dead or they remember dying—like really, really insisting they were dead, which is strange for so many people to suddenly start claiming all at the same time.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly ‘sane,’ either…” He laughs coldly to himself, and it echoes back into his face. Midnight is so quiet that he feels as if he’s speaking to the ceiling rather than to her. “And so…”
His breathing is getting uneven. There’s a crack through his mask now, and he’s desperately trying to hold it closed. Trying so hard, that a knot forms in his throat as he tries to steady his breathing.
He’s really talking too much. Why is he talking this much?
But to his surprise, she says, “Go on.”
Yes, keep going, Orion whispers unexpectedly, breaking his silence.
“And then… One day… Today… I mean… I… No.” That’s enough.
He exhales, finally exerting control over himself.
“Never mind.”
To his relief, she stays silent.
Sweet silence. Even Orion doesn’t say anything more.
No sugar-coated words. No “that sucks,” no “I’m sorry.” No corrections like you-should-have-done-this’s or you-should-be-that’s.
Sweet, sweet, silence.
Time passes. They both stay there, lost in their own thoughts. It’s only until he can’t stand the nonsense of his own thoughts, that he finally decides to open up another topic.
“What about you? You also seem to have an aversion to meeting my eyes,” he says.
“I… have a similar, yet opposite problem, I guess. All people see in me anymore is my eyes. As if… I’m nothing but these cursed eyes. You know…” He assumes she points to her face. “These things.”
“Hmmm?” Lafayette murmurs. “And?”
“And because of them… I just don’t like looking people in the eye anymore. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything…”
Oh, so that was why.
“You say they’re cursed?”
“Yeah. It’s… a long story.”
“Wouldn’t the curse itself be more of a problem?”
Her lips squeeze together.
“Actually… no. The effects of the curse itself aren’t exactly harming me directly… For now… But they’re affecting my life simply by existing.”
She doesn’t say more, sinking the conversation back into silent waters.
Of all of the people he could have met, it was this girl. The notorious Midnight Thunder. He’d heard about her from the news, some depicting her as a helpless victim, others as a wretched abomination of humanity. Seeing her now, she’s neither as much as it seems she believes she’s both.
Maybe to most, she sounds like she’s simply complaining about not liking her eyes. But from the sound of her voice, it must go much deeper than just eye color.
“I kind of wish,” she says absent-mindedly. “I could just not be here sometimes. To just skip out on this whole journey of life altogether… This journey that I didn’t really want in the first place. What’s the point of living it when it gets you nowhere in the end?”
Lafayette laughs.
“Tell me about it,” he says.
When he glances at Midnight again, she, too, is on her back talking to the ceiling. Ceilings are excellent conversationalists when they want to be.
“You should finish,” she says quietly. “Your story.”
“No.” He pushes himself back up into a sitting position, his unsettled feeling gone now. “But I’ll tell you later.”
If there ever is a later.
“All right.” She closes her eyes, looking more relaxed. Then, she truly smiles. A sweet smile that, for a moment, silences his buzzing mind. “I’m glad you
don’t smell like blood anymore.”
He feels his cheeks rise, and his lips curl too.
“See, that’s a better smile,” he says.
And after that, they talk about other various things, get themselves cleaned up and situated, and go to sleep for the night, both thoroughly exhausted.
Chapter Ten
Glorieux
She’s alive.
And for a second, she doesn’t believe that she is alive.
Glorieux’s skin is an angry red as if she’s been stung by a thousand bees. All around her is the rubble and ash of the burnt corridor of the Summer Palace. Her fire can burn through anything. Stone, metal, wood, glass—anything. Most definitely human flesh.
The fire finally died down after she ran out of adequate magic to fuel it, and she had sped up its death by using her magic to heal herself over and over and over again as she burned until she was exhausted and didn’t even have the strength to move a finger. Thus, her body has been completely burned and Regenerated again, and her skin is red and raw with the fragility of a newborn baby. She doesn’t even know how long she’s been knocked out.
Without the fire, she’s freezing. All of her clothes have been burned away, and now she’s left naked in the chilly air of northern Galviton. Because she has been lying in the cold for a substantial amount of time, her arms and legs are numb and hard to move.
She hesitates to set another fire. Her hand and mind waver from their usual steady execution. She settles with heating the surface of her new skin, and slowly, she warms up and stands to view the full impact of her actions. A large portion of the palace has been reduced to ash. Scorched halves of rooms face out into the cold air, and most of the walls look reminiscent of a crème brûlée. It’s rather satisfying to think about, somehow—destroying the poster landmark of Galviton.
She looks out to the forest and tries to think of any place she could go to regain her footing. Anybody would be surprised to see a naked woman wandering around the forest—especially when it’s her, the Queen of Galviton.
