Kio finished telling the story to Lyra, tormented by her own memories. Immediately after finishing telling the story, she stood up so abruptly that the chair behind her screeched against the stone floor. The room, lit only by a flickering lamp, fell silent, emptied of her voice. Lyra blinked, confused, and when she tried to follow, the door shut in her face with a sharp thud.
—Kio? —she called softly, pressing her hand against the wood. But on the other side, there was only the faint echo of footsteps fading away.
When she finally managed to open the door, the corridor was already empty. Only the wind slipping through the windows kept company to the silence she had left behind.
Days went by with a strange heaviness, as if something unseen lingered over everyone within the church of Ilmenor. Kio and Lucian barely crossed paths. And when they did, a single glance was enough for both to look away just as quickly.
Zein and Lyra spent their days attending Meliora's lessons in a spacious hall, where the scent of incense and fresh ink mingled with the soft rustle of turning pages. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, scattering colors across the tables and making everything seem alive.
But Zein wasn't exactly focused that day. With his chin resting on his hand, he stared out the window, lost in thoughts that had nothing to do with the lesson. Frowning with an unusual seriousness. He didn't even notice Lyra's desperate glances, her eyes wide as she tried to warn him.
The hit came without warning.
—Ouch! —Zein yelped, clutching his head.
—What's got you so deep in thought, Zein? —asked Meliora, waving a rolled-up parchment as if it were a ceremonial sword.
Lyra couldn't hold back a giggle. Zein, still rubbing his head, lowered his gaze.
—Sorry… —he muttered—. I was just thinking about how to help Kio and Lucian reconcile.
Meliora sighed, a mix of fondness and exasperation crossing her face before she gave him a gentler tap on the head.
—You're a good boy, Zein —Meliora said with a warm smile, turning back toward the board covered in runes and notes—. But you're mistaken.
Lyra tilted her head, puzzled.
—Mistaken? Why?
Meliora turned to face them, dragging a chair to sit across from the two. Her voice softened, almost motherly.
—Because it's not your place to do it.
Zein frowned, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
—Is it wrong to want what's good for others?
—No, Zein —Meliora replied, folding her hands on her lap—. What's wrong is thinking you can force what's good for them. Kio and Lucian have their own story, their own wounds… and those aren't yours to heal. If you try to interfere, you might just make them hurt more.
The boy lowered his gaze, biting his lip. Lyra watched him quietly, wanting to say something but unable to find the right words. Meliora smiled softly.
—Sometimes, the best way to help is to wait —she added—. The time will come when they'll want to heal on their own. Each person has to face their own problems —she continued, her tone serene, in contrast with the confusion in Zein's eyes—. You can give them a little push, sure, but in the end, they have to confront it themselves. That's how people grow stronger.
—Are you sure? —Zein asked, hesitant, his brow slightly furrowed.
Meliora nodded with a calm smile.
—Of course. Besides, they're not children anymore. They don't need someone to take their hand and tell them, "Go apologize for what you did." You just need to put them face to face… and let the rest happen.
Lyra, who had been writing the whole time, stood up and handed in her exercise sheet. Meliora looked it over quickly and gave her a gentle pat on the head.
—Very well done, Lyra —she said proudly.
Then she turned back to Zein, who remained deep in thought, staring at the floor as if the answers were hidden within the cracks in the stone.
—Whatever it is you decide to do, Zein, I'll support you —she added in a warmer tone—. I don't like seeing my old friends at odds.
Zein looked up and smiled.
The air outside the church smelled of dried flowers and freshly baked bread. As they stepped out of the hall, the sky above Ilmenor began to turn amber, and a strange light shimmered on the northern horizon. Lyra was the first to notice it.
—What's that? —she asked, pointing at the shape rising among the clouds.
Meliora followed her gaze. The structure stood tall with an impossible majesty— a tower so high it seemed to vanish into the heavens, its walls gleaming beneath the sunset.
—That's Babilon —she explained calmly as they walked down the cobblestone streets—. A tower built centuries ago. It's said to connect our world with that of the gods.
—Wow… —Zein whispered, unable to take his eyes off it—. How come we've never seen it before?
—Because it only reveals itself during times of celebration —Meliora replied, a faint sparkle in her eyes—. Every few years, a great festival is held across the world, and the Colossi gather near the capital, Solheim.
—And what's the festival about? —Lyra asked, hopping a little to keep up with her teacher's pace.
Meliora smiled mysteriously.
—You'll find out when it arrives —she said, giving them a playful wink—. Although… speaking of that, I just thought of something that might give Lucian and Kio that "little push" they need.
Zein and Lyra exchanged a knowing glance.
In the days that followed, the air in Ilmenor grew thick with movement and cheerful voices. The market stalls overflowed with colorful fabrics, garlands, floating lanterns, and hundreds of golden threads that shimmered as if alive. The scent of spices and sweets drifted through the streets.
Despite everything, Kio and Lucian remained distant. When they helped with the preparations, they did so at different hours, carefully avoiding each other even in the church corridors. Zein and Lyra had tried to bring them together more than once, but without success. It was as if an invisible wall rose between them every time they tried.
Even so, the excitement of the coming festival overpowered the tension in the air. The entire city seemed to hold its breath as the great night approached.
And finally, it came.
The sky darkened more than usual, and slowly—one by one—the lights across the world went out. No torches, no lanterns. Only silence and shadow.
Zein and Lyra stood in the central square, where the echo of their footsteps bounced against the stone. No one else was there; the streets had emptied completely. Only the wind, cold and expectant, kept them company as they waited for what was to come.
All across the city, thin glowing threads pulsed like veins of living light. They ran across rooftops, tangled around posts, and vanished toward the outskirts or the church. The air seemed to hum with quiet anticipation. At the heart of Ilmenor, a small wooden stage had been raised—and on it, Meliora waited.
—Well… I hope this plan of yours works —she murmured, adjusting the ceremonial cloak that draped over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk.
She took a step forward. The lights dimmed completely, leaving only a faint glow that surrounded her figure. Her shadow stretched over the damp stones as the sound of an ancient horn rose in the distance. One by one, drums, strings, and flutes joined in, weaving a melody that grew—soft and deep—until it filled the city like a collective sigh.
Meliora began to move. Her arms lifted slowly, curving with grace, as if guiding unseen currents. Every motion released tiny sparks that danced around her. The mana responded to her rhythm—obedient and alive—rippling like water between her fingers.
The threads that wound through the streets began to light up, one after another, until all of Ilmenor glowed with a golden radiance that seemed to breathe. Then, beyond the walls, small lights began to rise—tiny orbs floating up from the horizon like giant fireflies. They followed the flow of the luminous threads, gliding silently through the air. From below, it looked as though the heavens had turned upside down and the stars themselves were descending to brush the earth.
When the orbs reached the houses, they settled upon paper lanterns prepared beforehand. As soon as they merged, the lanterns came to life and began to drift upward, floating gently toward the sky. The music shifted—slower now, more enveloping—and the entire city was bathed in a warm, breathing glow that swayed with the wind.
The doors began to open. Families stepped out in quiet procession, their faces bathed in the glow of the lanterns rising toward the heavens. No one spoke; only the music and the whisper of floating flames filled the air.
In the square, Zein and Lyra watched from a corner, sitting at the edge of an unlit fountain. They didn't want to disturb Meliora's dance—her movements still carrying the calm sanctity of a prayer unspoken.
—The lanterns… —Zein whispered, recalling his teacher's words.
Lyra nodded, her gaze lost in the sky where hundreds of lights drifted like unhurried souls.
—Meliora said each lantern holds the essence of someone dear —she murmured—. Families must find the one that belongs to the person they lost…
Zein clenched his fists on his knees.
—Then… —he said, eyes fixed on the heavens— Kio and Lucian must be searching for Araphor's.
By then, the square was full; lanterns floated above the crowd like suspended constellations. The music played softly, wrapped in the murmur of the wind and the faint crackle of the flames inside the paper shells. Zein and Lyra exchanged a glance and nodded in unison. The moment had come.
Among the crowd, Kio walked slowly, her eyes following the lanterns rising one after another. She wasn't looking for anything in particular… until something stopped her. A faint, familiar golden glow pulsed near the center of the plaza, close to the stage where Meliora still danced. Her heart skipped a beat.
From the opposite side, Lucian moved through the throng, unsure why. The flow of people pushed him forward—through laughter, greetings, and pressed steps. At first, he resisted, but the human tide carried him along. The same happened to Kio, drawn from the other side.
When they both reached the center, the noise around them faded. Araphor's lantern hovered between them, suspended at arm's height, glowing with a slow, steady pulse.
They both reached out at the same time. Their fingers brushed the paper's warm edge, and for a heartbeat, their mana intertwined—a fragile spark running through the lantern. They looked at each other, startled, as if the entire world had collapsed into that single, fragile moment.
Kio was the first to break the silence. She lowered her gaze, pressing her lips together while holding the lantern carefully, as if afraid it might break.
Lucian drew in a deep breath and leaned slightly forward.
—I'm sorry —he said in a low, trembling voice—. Forgive me for everything I said. It wasn't true… or maybe I just didn't understand it back then. I was lost. When I saw you, it was as if all those years without you came crashing down on me at once.
Kio stood still, her eyes fixed on the soft blue light pulsing within the paper.
—Don't apologize —she whispered at last—. Not everything you said was a lie, and you know it. I was the one who ran away. What I did forty years ago wasn't worthy of a teacher… or even of a person. I should have stayed, faced the consequences. But I fled, and I let you and Araphor bear the weight of my silence.
Lucian shook his head immediately.
—No, Kio. I never blamed you. And neither did Araphor. —He took a step closer, his voice breaking but steady.— He made me promise I never would. He said you must have had your reasons… and that whatever you did, it must've hurt.
Kio lifted her eyes, disbelief flickering in them.
—Araphor… didn't blame me?
Lucian managed a weary smile and reached a hand toward the lantern.
—Before he died, he asked me to tell you something. —His fingers brushed the edge of the paper, where the blue light trembled softly.— He said, "I'm sure Kio will come back one day. Tell her I wish I could have spent more time with her… and that she'll always be my favorite person in the world."
At Lucian's words, Kio's eyes welled with tears; quiet drops slid down her cheeks, glimmering with the reflection of the lanterns around them. She didn't cry in despair, but with that tender melancholy of someone who, at last, finds peace in what was lost. Lowering her gaze to the lantern trembling in her hands, she brought it slowly to her forehead.
—Here I am, Araphor… your teacher has come to see you again —she whispered in a shaky breath.
Lucian watched her silently, then placed his hand over hers without a word, both of them holding the lantern together. They lifted it toward the sky, their fingers barely touching, the warm mana light reflecting softly on their faces. Around them, the others followed; hundreds of lanterns rose in unison, floating above the crowd with a glow that seemed to pour straight from the hearts of those who carried them.
At the center, Meliora finished her dance with one final, circular motion. Her arms lifted toward the heavens, and with them, all the lanterns ascended together, crossing the night like a river of stars. The plaza was wrapped in dusk, lit only by that celestial spectacle. The lights climbed higher and higher, merging with others coming from distant lands, until they formed a golden spiral crowning the tower of Babylon.
Meliora slowly lowered her arms, breathing deeply as a serene smile curved her lips. The lanterns faded one by one into the clouds, like souls finally finding their rest.
From a corner of the square, Zein and Lyra exchanged a knowing smile. They had achieved what they hoped for. Meliora stepped down from the stage, laughing softly as she approached them. She ruffled their hair affectionately, grateful, while the other two teachers spoke with an ease they hadn't shared in years.
All around them, people laughed, wept, embraced. Every soul in that square had reunited, if only for a moment, with something—or someone—they loved. And when the last lights disappeared into the heights, a gentle warmth lingered in the air, as if farewells no longer hurt quite as much.
That night, Ilmenor slept in peace.