The streets of Vàng-Harbor stretched before the children in a maze of wooden storefronts and canvas awnings, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cobblestones. The smell of the sea mingled with something sweeter—roasting almonds, caramelizing sugar, and the faint yeasty tang of the Fermentation Current that lapped at the harbor walls. Fishing boats bobbed in the distance, their rigging clicking against masts in a rhythm that matched the pulse of the town.
Ciel Nguyen walked at the front of the group, his sandals slapping against the stones, his battered soccer ball rolling ahead of him in a series of quick, controlled taps. The burlap bag of rice hung from his shoulder, the coarse fabric digging into his skin through his Rocco Sterling T-shirt. His dark hair flopped across his forehead, and his large brown eyes were bright with the energy of someone who had just remembered something wonderful.
"The goal was from outside the box," he said, his voice rising with excitement. "No one thought he would take the shot. The defenders were, like, five meters away! But he just—" Ciel stopped walking, planted his foot, and mimed a kick so perfect that his sandal nearly flew off. "—boom. Top corner. The goalkeeper didn't even move. He just stood there, watching it go in."
Sanza Kaplan Figarland walked beside him, his red hair catching the sunlight in messy, unruly spikes. His cargo shorts were dusted with road dirt, and his armored Gundam-style graphic T-shirt was untucked on one side. He nodded along, his piercing eyes fixed on Ciel with an intensity that suggested he was cataloging every word for future reference.
His small hands were shoved into his pockets, and his jaw was set in that expression of concentrated focus that made him look like a tiny general assessing a battlefield.
"A dramatic conclusion," Sanza said, his voice carrying that affected aristocracy drawl. "The crowd must have been... enthusiastic."
Ciel grinned. "They went crazy! People were hugging strangers. Someone threw their hat onto the field. It was, like, the best moment of my whole life."
Jelly bounced ahead of them, his translucent blue body wobbling with each hop, his starry eyes wide and his permanent toothy grin stretched across his face. His mouth opened and closed as he bounced, catching flies that darted through the warm air. He swallowed one, burped a small puff of glitter, and kept bouncing.
"Bloop! So many smells!" His voice was high and cheerful, carrying across the street. "Sweet smells! Salty smells! Smells that smell like... like... food!"
Eliane Anđel giggled, her silver ponytail swinging as she walked. Her white chef's jacket was unbuttoned over a black top, and her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. She adjusted the bandana that held her hair back from her face and watched Jelly with the fond exasperation of someone who had grown used to his antics.
"You always say that," she said.
Jelly bounced higher. "Bloop! Because it's always true!"
The soccer ball rolled ahead, and Ciel jogged after it, tapping it with the inside of his foot to keep it from veering into the street. The burlap bag bounced against his hip, and he adjusted his grip.
"So then, after the game, Rocco Sterling came over to the stands and signed autographs." Ciel's voice dropped to an awed whisper. "He signed my shirt. Right here." He pointed to a faded ink signature on the fabric of his Rocco Sterling T-shirt, the letters barely legible after dozens of washes. "He said, 'Nice shirt, kid.'"
Sanza's eyes widened. His composure cracked, just for a moment. "The Striker spoke to you?"
Ciel nodded, his face flushed with the memory. "He was, like, right there. I could have touched him."
The soccer ball rolled toward a wooden post, and Ciel darted after it, his sandals slapping against the cobblestones. He trapped it with the sole of his foot and turned back to face the group, his grin wide enough to split his face.
Sanza opened his mouth to respond—to find something in his own experience that could match the magnitude of meeting a sports legend—
"Hey! You there!"
The voice cut through the afternoon like a blade.
Ciel stopped. His foot froze on the ball. His head snapped toward the sound.
Sanza's jaw tightened. His hands came out of his pockets, and his posture shifted—not quite defensive, but ready.
Eliane's hand found Jelly's gelatinous shoulder, her fingers sinking into his squishy surface.
Jelly bounced once, twice, then stopped, his starry eyes fixed on the figure approaching them.
A Navy sailor marched toward them, his white uniform crisp and immaculate, his boots striking the cobblestones with the heavy rhythm of authority. His face was weathered, his jaw square, his eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his cap. A rifle hung from his shoulder, and a sword rested at his hip. He stopped a few feet away, his gaze sweeping across the group.
"You three." His voice was hard, flat, the voice of someone who expected to be obeyed. "I haven't seen you around before. Where did you come from?"
Sanza, Jelly, and Eliane exchanged a confused look. Their eyes met—questions passing between them, uncertainty flickering behind their expressions.
Jelly bounced.
"Bloop!" He pointed a mitten-shaped thumb at his chest, his starry eyes wide and innocent. "I'm Jelly!"
The sailor's eyes narrowed. His gaze shifted between Eliane and Sanza, taking in their unusual appearances—Eliane's silver hair, her olive skin, the subtle way she held herself that suggested she was not from any island he knew; Sanza's red hair, his expensive clothes, the arrogant tilt of his chin that spoke of a childhood very different from the children of Vàng-Harbor.
"You look like you're from somewhere else," the sailor said. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "Where are your parents?"
Ciel stepped forward, positioning himself between the sailor and his new friends. The soccer ball rolled away, forgotten. The burlap bag slipped from his shoulder and landed on the cobblestones with a soft thump.
"They're my friends," he said, his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest. "They're helping me with this delivery."
The sailor's eyes dropped to the bag, then rose to Ciel's face. His expression softened, just slightly.
"Delivery for where?"
"Roast A Lotte," Ciel said. "Ms. Amaretto's place."
---
The door of Roast A Lotte swung open, and Vie Briehanoi stepped out onto the wooden porch, her cream-colored apron tied over her simple blouse, her dark hair pulled back with a ribbon that matched the soft pink of her cheeks. Her large brown eyes swept across the street, cataloging the afternoon crowd—sailors, merchants, farmers, children—until they found Ciel.
And the sailor standing too close to him.
Vie's hand flew to her mouth. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She had seen that look before—the suspicion, the questions, the slow tightening of a net around someone who did not belong.
She called out, her voice bright and cheerful, the voice she used when customers needed distracting, when secrets needed hiding, when the world needed to look the other way.
"Ciel Nguyen!"
Ciel's head snapped toward her. The sailor followed his gaze.
Vie waved, her arm moving in wide, enthusiastic arcs, her smile wide and genuine. "Hey, come on! We have been waiting for that all day!"
Ciel's hand shot out, grabbing Sanza's wrist. Sanza's eyes went wide, but he did not resist. His hand found Eliane's, and Eliane's hand found Jelly's gelatinous form, her fingers sinking into his squishy surface.
"Coming!" Ciel called back.
He tugged them forward, and they moved as one—a chain of children, pulling each other toward the safety of Roast A Lotte's open door.
The sailor scowled, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. His eyes followed the children, measuring, calculating.
Then Vie waved at him.
Her smile did not falter. Her eyes met his, warm and welcoming, the smile of a young woman who had no secrets, no lies, nothing to hide.
The sailor's scowl melted. His hand dropped from his sword. A goofy grin spread across his face—the kind of grin that belonged to a boy, not a soldier. He waved back, his arm moving in a slow, clumsy arc.
The children slipped through the door.
---
The interior of Roast A Lotte was warm and loud, filled with the clink of glasses and the murmur of conversation. The smell of roasting almonds hung thick in the air, mingling with the sharper scent of aged liquor and the sweetness of fresh pastries. Sailors packed the wooden benches, their uniforms rumpled, their faces flushed from samples of Totalroast and Solotart. A woman near the window laughed at something her companion said, her head thrown back, her voice carrying across the room.
Ciel led the group straight to the counter, weaving between tables and sailors, the burlap bag bouncing against his hip. Sanza followed close behind, his red hair catching the light, his eyes sweeping the room with the assessing gaze of someone who was used to being in charge. Eliane's silver ponytail swung as she walked, her blue eyes wide with wonder at the sights and smells around her. Jelly bounced at the rear, his translucent body wobbling, his starry eyes fixed on the glasses on the counter.
Charlotte Amaretto stood behind the counter, her auburn hair tied up in a messy bun, her cream-colored linen blouse rolled to the elbows, her burgundy apron embroidered with the Roast A Lotte logo—a smiling almond with crossed stirring spoons. She poured a drink for a sailor at the counter, her movements smooth and practiced, her warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile that did not reach her voice.
The sailor took his drink and wandered away, and Charlotte Amaretto turned to face the children.
Ciel tossed the burlap bag onto the counter. It landed with a heavy thunk, and Charlotte Amaretto's eyebrows rose.
"Hey, Ciel." Her voice was warm, familiar, the voice of someone who had known the boy for years. "Who are your friends?"
Sanza stepped forward, pointing a thumb at his chest. His chin lifted, and his voice carried the particular cadence of someone introducing royalty to commoners.
"I am Sanza." He gestured toward Eliane with a flick of his hand. "And this is Eliane."
Charlotte Amaretto leaned over the counter, her eyes fixing on Eliane. The girl's nose was tilted upward, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled the scent that filled the room—sweet and sharp and something else, something she could not name.
"You don't look like you are from around here," Charlotte Amaretto said. Her voice was casual, but her eyes were sharp, assessing.
Eliane did not notice. Her blue eyes were fixed on the rows of bottles behind the counter, their contents shimmering in shades of amber and gold.
"What is that smell?" Her voice was distant, dreamy. "I have never smelled anything like it."
Charlotte Amaretto smirked. "That is my signature Amaretto. Would you like to sample some?"
Eliane nodded, her silver ponytail swinging. "Oh, yes!"
"My mom sent this." Ciel flopped the burlap bag onto the counter with both hands, the rice inside shifting with a soft rustle.
"What the hell is that?!"
Charlotte turned, grinning—
A sailor near the counter pointed, his face pale, his drink forgotten.
Jelly bounced on the counter, his translucent blue body wobbling, his starry eyes wide, his permanent toothy grin stretched across his face. He hopped from the counter to a stack of napkins, from the napkins to a tray of empty glasses, from the glasses to the edge of a sailor's cup.
"Bloop! Sweet!" He burped, and a small puff of glitter floated from his mouth. "Burp!"
Eliane climbed onto a stool, her hands gripping the edge, her silver ponytail swinging. Her eyes were still fixed on the bottles behind the counter.
Ciel sighed. "We cannot stay. I have to—"
Eliane turned to look at him, her blue eyes wide, her lower lip pushed out in a pleading expression that she had clearly practiced.
"Please," she said. "Just for a little while. I really want to try her Amaretto."
Ciel's shoulders sagged. His resistance crumbled.
"Fine."
Eliane beamed. Her whole face lit up, and for a moment, she looked like any other twelve-year-old girl, excited about a treat, unaware of the dangers that lurked outside.
Sanza climbed onto a stool beside her, his legs dangling, his hands folded on the counter. His expression was serious, but his eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Charlotte patted the counter, her grin wide, her warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners.
"Okay, you three. Amaretto Cream Sodas, coming right up." She reached for the bottles behind her, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. "And you can tell me all about yourselves."
Ciel climbed onto a stool, his soccer ball forgotten on the floor, his dark eyes fixed on Charlotte's hands as she mixed the drinks.
The room hummed around them—sailors laughing, glasses clinking, the soft hiss of the soda dispenser.
Jelly bounced onto the counter, sniffing a sailor's drink. The sailor scowled and pulled his glass away. Jelly bounced to the next one, undeterred.
---
The sports field stretched before Aurélie Nakano Takeko in a flat expanse of grass, the makeshift goal posts casting long shadows across the ground. The sun hung low in the sky, painting the clouds in shades of orange and gold. The smell of cut grass and warm earth filled the air, a stark contrast to the salt and brine of the harbor.
A locust landed in her palm.
Its wings folded against its back, its legs gripping her skin with delicate insistence. Its antennae twitched, and its compound eyes reflected the sky in fractured fragments.
Aurélie stood still, her silver hair loose and flowing over the shoulders of her black tactical jacket. Her steel-gray eyes fixed on the insect, her expression unreadable. Her hand rested on Anathema's hilt at her hip, the black blade humming softly in its sheath.
Bō-Zak Kaminosukei stood beside her, his lean frame relaxed, his gold-flecked brown eyes half-closed against the sun. His tattered awayo shawl draped over one shoulder, and his pipe smoldered in his hand, trailing fragrant smoke that curled toward the sky. His dark hair, streaked with early gray, fell across his face in unkempt strands.
The locust's antennae twitched.
Aurélie's eyes widened, just slightly.
"They made a friend," she said, her voice flat, emotionless. "And went into town."
Bō-Zak took a long drag from his pipe, blew out a plume of smoke, and grinned.
"Aw, that's good." His voice was warm, lazy, the voice of a man who had seen too much darkness to begrudge anyone a moment of light. "Kids need friends."
Aurélie raised a brow. Her steel-gray eyes shifted to his face, and her expression held a note of skepticism.
The locust jumped off her palm, its wings buzzing as it took flight. It circled her head once, twice, then disappeared into the golden light of the setting sun.
"The town is full of Navy," Aurélie said.
Bō-Zak's grin faded. His gold-flecked eyes narrowed.
"That could be a problem."
Aurélie nodded. Her hand tightened on Anathema's hilt.
"It may be best if we take to the sky."
Bō-Zak's arms shifted, the flesh rippling, the bones reforming. Dark feathers sprouted from his skin, spreading outward, growing into vast wings that caught the light and cast long shadows across the grass. The condor's power flowed through him, ancient and hungry, and his gold-flecked eyes gleamed with the light of the setting sun.
Wings sprouted from Aurélie's back—translucent, insectile, veined with dark green, catching the light in iridescent flashes. The locust's power surged through her, and her steel-gray eyes shifted, the pupils fragmenting, the irises darkening.
Together, they kicked into the air.
The ground fell away beneath them. The sports field shrank to a patch of green, the goal posts to tiny sticks, the town to a cluster of buildings huddled against the harbor.
They flew toward Roast A Lotte, their wings beating in tandem, their shadows racing across the rooftops below.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and the first stars appeared in the darkening sky.
Somewhere below, a door swung open, and a young woman's voice called out to a group of children.
Somewhere inside, a counter was being wiped, drinks were being poured, and a secret was being protected.
And somewhere above, two figures flew through the twilight, their eyes fixed on the warm light of the distillery, their hearts set on the children they had sworn to protect.
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