smoking clouds like cigarettes

Elizabeth

Elizabeth laughs lightly at the apology, waving a gentle hand that might shoo away any concerns for her. "You're too sweet. Don't even worry about it." Her smile is warm and pure, sunlight catching against honey spread on a buttery loaf. "I would still do it even if it didn't pay." She neither confirm nor denies her wealth since she usually accepts payment in forms of favors, goods, or kind words. Whatever people can afford is what she accepts, more than happy to provide her services to any and all who need it. 

Lowering her sparking hand, Elizabeth's smile brightens to match Theea's, pleasantly surprised by the coincidence. "Really? I've had it as long as I can remember, although it's only in recent years that I've gotten better control over it." With the help of Deimos, Sah, and the others in Halo, she'd had plenty of practice, honing her lightning while slowly discovering the other magics that lingered in her veins. It seems strange to think that there's a world where such abilities are uncommon and she tilts her head with curiosity as she asks, "Was it that uncommon in your mom's world?"

Helping Theea to rise, she confirms that her bag is still securely around her side before beginning to lead them back down the street. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, nodding her head as plans and hopes are laid out. "Well, I think the skyport is a good place to start." With the abundance of people and opportunities, Elizabeth doesn't think the young woman will have any difficulty finding someone to assist her in getting where she wants.

There is beauty in the journey, regardless of the outcome.
Let's grieve and hope and fight together.

Theea

"Hers was rare. Really rare," I say as we walk, slipping my thumbs into the straps of my bag. "There were all kinds of classes of magic in her world—earth, fire, illusion, conjuration, healing, shadow. People had bloodlines, family legacies. But hers… lightning? That didn’t exist. Not until her. Not that anyone ever heard of."

I glance toward Elizabeth, half-grinning. "They never figured out why. Why her, why then. One day she was just summoning storms out of the air, and no one could explain it. And then before they had a chance to figure it out—before she could even begin to understand it—she was swept into Caido.

The trees overhead filter the sunlight like water through leaves, and I tip my head up for a second, watching the way it flickers. "Remi, Ronin, Vai… all of them came too. Just—pulled from one world to another. And here? Lightning, immortality… all the strange pieces that made her different back home were just drops in the ocean here."

I let out a soft breath, not quite a sigh. "I guess the mystery died with that world. No answers. Just the memory of a question no one finished asking." My smile comes slow but sure, something warm tugging at the corner of my mouth. "But I kind of like that. That maybe there’s still a thread of her story drifting out there, in some other world, unsolved. Makes her feel big. Like she's a legend somewhere too.

I look at Elizabeth then, unable to hide the spark of eagerness in my voice. I just really love stories. Any kind. Memories. Old ones, new ones. Half-true ones told around fires or carved into trees or whispered like secrets. I think they’re the only real kind of magic that works in every world.

A beat. I tilt my head toward her, hopeful. "Do you have a favorite? A story, I mean?"

cause we waited years and years

just to make it worth the tears

to find out that we're not in this alone

so keep your head up high in these hours of the night

so when atlas drops the world on your shoulders, you still won't fall

Elizabeth

Her head nods as she listens, letting the information sate her curiosity. She's read of other outsiders and the vast differences between the realities, but it's another thing entirely to hear of a firsthand account. Elizabeth absorbs it all with honey-glazed eyes, a soft smile on her lips. Only when Theea has finished does she speak, a hint of awe in her tone. "She sounds incredible. Someone larger than life." That comes with its own slew of struggles, but she leaves her therapist hat on the bench as they approach the inn. 

The concept of stories being the 'real magic' is something that immediately resonates in her chest, her face brightening to find a kindred spirit. "I couldn't agree more." Her infatuation may lay in the relationships and scenarios, but she finds that there's a message for everyone, a meaning for everyone that can help them through in whatever manner they need: advice, escape, comfort. She has yet to find someone who wouldn't benefit from the experiences of other, whether fact or fiction. 

Laughing lightly, Elizabeth gives Theea a playful wink. "I think I have too many favorites. My dad used to collect people's stories and histories from all around Caido while we traveled. He'd tell them to me as I fell asleep in his arms; tales of romance and tragedy and chivalry and heroes and magic and distant lands." She smiles, tucking that stubborn strand of hair back again as she looks up at the fading sky. "I think he's one of the reasons I gravitated towards books at such a young age. If I wasn't talking the ears off the local merchants, my nose was being sucked into some far-off world between the pages." Another laugh twinkles between them in the empty street, making the streetlamps feel a little brighter. "One of my favorites is The Prince Groom, a fairytale about revenge, plots, adventures, magic, and childhood love. I read it at least once a year." Usually cozied up next to a fireplace with a hot tea. 

When she turns back to Theea, her lips tilt in another friendly smile. "What about you? Any favorite stories?"

There is beauty in the journey, regardless of the outcome.
Let's grieve and hope and fight together.

Theea

"That’s beautiful," I say, absolutely delighted, my face lit like I’m watching fireflies. "Your dad sounds amazing. I love that he collected people’s stories—like gathering stars in a jar. I think I would’ve begged him to tell me everything he knew."

I can’t help grinning as she talks about The Prince Groom, the kind of grin that presses into my cheeks and makes me feel warmer than the lamp-lit street around us. When she turns the question back on me, I nod, suddenly shy and excited all at once. "I do have a favorite. But it’s not written down. It’s spoken."

I glance ahead as we walk, almost like I can see it unfolding again—curled between my parents, drowsy with dreams. "My mom and dad used to tell it to me together when I was little. I’d make them repeat it over and over until I fell asleep, usually with my face squished into someone’s side."

I laugh under my breath at the memory, but it sticks hard against my heart, heavy and full of yearning. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t gone to Frey. That I’d stayed a kid.

"It was about this prophesied prince, after thousands of years of waiting for his power, and his high priestess—this brilliant, stubborn girl who could speak to gods. They were fated to save the world from these terrible tyrant gods who had taken over everything. The priestess could see prophecies from the old gods, the ones who’d been silenced, and together, she and the prince had to find a way to restore them. Bring balance back. Save the world."

I glance at Elizabeth, a little self-conscious but glowing still. "It was dramatic and over the top and probably way too big for a kid’s bedtime story. But I loved it. I still do. I want to write it down someday.”"

cause we waited years and years

just to make it worth the tears

to find out that we're not in this alone

so keep your head up high in these hours of the night

so when atlas drops the world on your shoulders, you still won't fall

Elizabeth

Elizabeth lets out a soft laugh, turning her warm eyes to Theea as she walks. "Well, I know you're going to find family and all, but he retired in Torchline with my mom - if you ever wanted to visit him. I'm sure he'd love to have a reason to dig up old stories." Although she might find it hard to leave afterwards, too entranced by his soft baritone voice and far-away worlds. 

A silence takes her as Theea speaks of her family, of the tender moments shared and the tale woven to help her feel safe. It's enough to make Elizabeth smile, gentle with a tinge of sadness for the childhood cut short and loved ones lost - knowing that she must still grieve the loss of her mother even if she still lives. So Elizabeth doesn't say anything, letting the tale carry the young woman through her emotions. 

It's not until the subtle swell of a lull emerges that she finally speaks again, an appreciative gleam heating her smile. "That's a beautiful story." And when Theea mentions writing it down, Elizabeth nods encouragingly. "You should. I'm sure others would love to hear it, and I can always help if you need." Considering she spends most of her time reading, writing, or talking, it wouldn't be unusual for her. 

Glancing down the street, she spots the wooden sign of the inn swinging slowly in the breeze. Elizabeth gestures with her hand. "The inn's just up ahead."

There is beauty in the journey, regardless of the outcome.
Let's grieve and hope and fight together.

Theea

”I’d love that,” I say, grinning at the thought. ”If you’re ever in Torchline visiting them, we should meet up. You can introduce me—and I’ll try not to overwhelm him with questions.” A beat, then a more playful smile. ”Or maybe I’ll just show up in Halo someday. You’ll hear me before you see me, probably.”

When she offers to help write down the story, I smile. I’d never considered it seriously, but maybe she’s onto something. To honor my dad, if nothing else. ”Thanks. I might actually ask you to read it sometime. Let me know if it’s completely terrible before I go sharing it around.” I glance over with a warm look. ”You seem like you’d be nice even when being brutally honest.”

When Elizabeth points out the inn, I spot the swinging sign and feel a quiet wave of relief. It’s cozy-looking, golden light spilling from the windows, and just warm enough to make me want to curl up right there on the steps. The thought of a real bed—blankets, pillows, silence—already has me relaxing a little.

I realize with a bubble of excitement that I’ve never had an actual sleepover with before, but I keep that juvenile thought to myself. There’s only so much embarrassment I can stand, and between dropping my bread, tripping, and trauma-dumping, I’ve hit my threshold.

”That looks perfect,” I say, with a soft smile.

My pace picks up naturally as we head toward it, the street calm and dim around us, the breeze tugging at my hair while I walk a few more steps beside her.

fin

cause we waited years and years

just to make it worth the tears

to find out that we're not in this alone

so keep your head up high in these hours of the night

so when atlas drops the world on your shoulders, you still won't fall