Chapter 32: Tears in the Dust and Stories Shared Over the Taste of pancake
The Cine Theatro Esperança, once a stage for grand illusions and vibrant applause, now contented itself with being the silent sanctuary of Joey and Lyra. The golden dust, suspended in the beams of light cutting through the gloom, seemed to carry the weight of decades of neglect, but also the spark of a newly discovered and unlikely connection.
Himeko, Mirajane, and the boisterous trio of Léo, Beto, and Kiko had departed in search of coffee and food, leaving behind a silence that, for Joey, was both a relief and a new source of anxiety. He was alone with Lyra, the elf from another world, and the responsibility for her well-being weighed on his thin shoulders like a lead cloak.
Seated in the darkest corner of the old auditorium, near an emergency exit blocked by overturned seats and pieces of rotten scenery, they shared a tense quiet. Joey, as always, battled the internal storm of his social phobia. Every second of silence was an invitation for his mind to fill the void with self-criticism and paralyzing fears. What if Lyra regretted staying? What if she expected a poise, a leadership, that he was incapable of offering?
Lyra, for her part, seemed contemplative. The silk handkerchief Mirajane had given her lay in her hands, and her slender fingers traced the floral embroidery with an almost reverent delicacy. The previous attempt at communication, the drawings in the dust, had been a small breakthrough, a sliver of light in the darkness of her isolation.
She looked at Joey, her silver eyes, adapted to the gloom, revealing a mixture of gratitude and a persistent sadness. The library had offered her fragments of the local language, but they were loose pieces of an immense puzzle. She needed more. She needed to understand, to be understood.
With an almost inaudible sigh, Lyra turned again to the dusty floor. She picked up the same twig as before and, with intense concentration, began to draw. First, a series of tall, slender trees, their canopies intertwining high above, forming a canopy. The lines were surprisingly skillful, evoking a sense of majesty and antiquity. Beside the trees, she drew small floating lights, like enchanted fireflies.
"My... home," she whispered, her voice still hesitant but laden with palpable emotion. She pointed to the drawings, then to her own chest. "There... light... always."
A moist sheen appeared in her eyes. She tried to draw a moon, but her hands trembled. The drawing of the moon came out shaky, imperfect. She became frustrated, letting out a small, guttural sound of anguish.
Joey watched, his heart aching. He could feel the depth of her homesickness, the pain of her loss. The image of the luminous forest she tried to evoke was vivid in his mind, contrasting painfully with the musty gloom of the cinema. He wanted to say something, anything, but words seemed trapped, useless before the magnitude of that suffering.
Lyra tried again. She erased the moon drawing with her hand and began to sketch shapes that resembled buildings, but they were made of living wood, intertwined with the trees. She drew small figures with pointed ears, like herself, moving among the structures. And then, in the center of one of these figures, she drew a heart. And she scratched it out forcefully, the twig snapping in her hand.
Lyra's breath hitched. She covered her face with her hands, and a silent sob shook her shoulders. The words she had learned were not enough to express the vastness of her loss, the longing for her people, the pain of being separated from everything she knew and loved. A solitary tear escaped from between her fingers and dripped into the dust, creating a small dark spot.
The sound of that restrained sob, the sight of that solitary tear, were like a key turning a rusty lock within Joey. In an instant, the barrier of his social phobia, his paralyzing shyness, seemed to shatter. There was no conscious thought, no hesitation. Just an overwhelming impulse, a wave of empathy so strong it moved him before he could stop himself.
He reached out, not for a brief, hesitant touch as before, but with a gentle urgency. His trembling fingers found Lyra's face, and with the tip of his thumb, he wiped away the tear that trickled down her cheek. Her skin was soft and cool to the touch, like the petals of a night flower.
The gesture was so unexpected for both of them that time seemed to stop. Lyra removed her hands from her face, her wide, moist silver eyes fixed on Joey's, surprise etched in every line of her expression. She didn't retreat, nor did she move. She remained there, vulnerable, the warmth of his touch contrasting with the coldness of her tear.
Joey, the instant his thumb touched her skin, realized the enormity of what he had done. Physical contact, the intimacy of that gesture... it was something he avoided at all costs, even with people he knew, let alone a being from another world. Panic threatened to engulf him. He wanted to pull his hand back, stammer an apology, flee to the darkest possible corner and never come out.
But Lyra's gaze held him. There was no fear in it now, no revulsion. Just stunned surprise and something more, something that resembled profound gratitude and a silent question.
The blush he had felt earlier when confronted by Léo returned with full force, but this time it was different, mixed with an emotion he couldn't name. He kept his hand there for another instant, his thumb still brushing the moisture on her cheek, before finally retreating, his hand falling to his side as if it had a life of its own, tingling with the sensation of the touch.
An even deeper, more charged silence settled between them. Joey couldn't look at her. He stared at his own hands in his lap, his heart racing, waiting for some kind of reaction, some sign that he had made a terrible mistake.
Meanwhile, at Padaria Estrela, a traditional bakery in downtown the city known for its pancake and strong coffee, Himeko and Mirajane were seated at a table with Léo, Beto, and Kiko. The atmosphere there was completely different from that of the cinema. The smell of fresh coffee and baked bread hung in the air, mixed with the lively conversations of customers and the clinking of cups.
Léo, as promised, had guided them there and was now feasting on a pancake generously filled with shredded pork, while his friends contented themselves with sodas and savory pastries. Himeko savored her second coffee of the day, her observant eyes taking in the dynamics of the place, while Mirajane, with her "gentle" and "cheerful" smile, seemed to have immediately won the teenagers' affection.
"So, Mirajane," Léo began, his mouth full. "You said you feel at home where your family is. Do you have a big family?"
Mirajane laughed softly. "You could say that, Léo. I have two wonderful siblings, Elfman and Lisanna." A special light shone in her eyes as she mentioned their names. "And I also have a guild... a place full of people who are like brothers and sisters to me. We take care of each other, no matter what." She was being true to her "primary motivation" of "protecting her siblings... and her Fairy Tail guildmates."
"A guild?" Beto asked, curious. "Like... for adventurers?"
"Exactly!" Mirajane confirmed with a nod. "We're mages. We travel, help people, face dangers... and sometimes we cause a bit of trouble too," she added with a playful wink, remembering the constant brawls at Fairy Tail.
Himeko, who was listening intently, interjected with her "clear and thoughtful voice." "Guilds of adventurers with special abilities... It sounds like a fascinating social model for comparative study. In some stellar cultures I've visited, similar structures exist for exploration and mutual defense." Her "insatiable curiosity for the universe" was ever-present.
"Wow, mages!" Kiko exclaimed. "Like... with wands and spells?"
Mirajane smiled. "Something like that. Each of us has a different type of magic. Some use the power of the elements, others can transform, others use enchanted weapons... It's a wide variety." She didn't go into detail about her Satan Soul; Mirajane's "gentleness should not be mistaken for weakness or a mere mask for her demonic strength," but she also knew when discretion was necessary.
"And you, Himeko?" Léo turned to the navigator. "Are you from a guild too? Or from that... Astral Express you mentioned?"
Himeko took a sip of her coffee before answering. "The Astral Express is, in a way, our guild and our home, Léo. We are a small crew of Trailblazers, traveling the stars, following an ancient path. My role is to be the navigator, to guide the Express through the dangers and wonders of the cosmos." Her "passion for the journey and for companions" was evident in her tone.
"Traveling the stars..." Léo sighed, his eyes shining. "That's way cooler than the family vacations to Caldas Novas we take."
Mirajane laughed. "I'm sure Caldas Novas has its charms too. But the important thing, Léo, isn't just where we go, but who we are and how we treat each other along the way." She was echoing her philosophy that "when a person realizes how lonely it is to be alone, they become kind to others."
"Sometimes," she continued, a more serious tone in her voice, "people go through very difficult things. They lose loved ones, are forced to leave their homes..." Her eyes seemed distant for a moment, perhaps remembering the "apparent loss of her sister Lisanna, which caused a drastic change in her personality." "In those moments, a little kindness, a friendly face, can make all the difference in the world."
Léo, Beto, and Kiko were silent for a moment, absorbing Mirajane's words. Even in their simplicity, they carried a weight of experience and emotion that touched them.
Himeko observed the interaction. Mirajane possessed remarkable emotional intelligence, an ability to connect with others on a deep, intuitive level that complemented her own more analytical approach. "You have a beautiful philosophy, Mirajane," Himeko commented. "The universe can be a cold and indifferent place, but it's the bonds we form that give it warmth and meaning." This reflected her own belief that, although the "journey can be lonely in its individual essence, companionship along the way is precious."
Kael, the Tracker, wasn't at the bakery, but his acute senses and his discreet network of microsensors he had begun to spread throughout the city gave him fragments of the conversations and movements. The arrival of Himeko and Mirajane, two clearly powerful entities of exotic origins, interacting so openly with the locals, was a concerning and intriguing development.
They didn't seem to be following the standard protocol of lost dimensional travelers, which was usually extreme caution and isolation. The apparent ease with which they moved and communicated suggested experience or a different kind of mission. He needed to reassess his strategy.
Back in the cinema, the silence between Joey and Lyra had become less laden with panic and more filled with a contemplative quiet. Joey's impulsive gesture, the touch on her face, seemed to have broken an invisible barrier. Lyra no longer tried to draw.
Instead, she looked at him, and with visible effort, tried to form new words, perhaps inspired by the previous conversation.
"Joo...ee," she began, her voice still a whisper. "You... good." She touched her own chest, over her heart. "Heart... good."
Joey felt his cheeks warm again, but this time, the blush wasn't just from embarrassment. There was something more, a warmth spreading through his chest. She thought he was... good?
His heart was good? No one had ever told him anything like that, at least not in that way, with that raw, disarming sincerity. His father saw him as a disappointment, Léo as a weirdo, and he himself as an anxious failure. But Lyra, a being from another world, saw kindness in him.
He didn't know what to reply. Words seemed inadequate. So, he just nodded, an almost imperceptible movement, and risked a small, trembling smile in her direction.
Lyra returned the smile, and this time, it seemed to reach her eyes, diminishing some of the sadness that resided there. She then pointed to the broken ceiling, to the beam of sunlight entering. "Light," she said. Then, she pointed to the darkness around them. "No... light."
She then pointed to Joey, and then to herself, and back to the small beam of light. And with an effort that seemed to drain her energy, she whispered: "We... light... small."
Small light. In the darkness. Joey felt a shiver. Was she describing them? Two small, lost lights in the vastness of that dark cinema, in this strange world? It was a painfully beautiful and accurate metaphor. He, who had always felt swallowed by the darkness of his own depression and anxiety, found an unexpected echo in that description.
The side door of the cinema creaked again, and they both started, the moment of fragile connection broken. It was the voices of Himeko and Mirajane, and the heavier footsteps of Léo and his friends, returning with bags that exuded the comforting smell of fresh bread and coffee.
Reality, with all its complexity and dangers, was knocking at the door again. But something had changed in that dark corner of the Cine Theatro Esperança. A tear had been wiped away, hesitant words had been exchanged, and a silent bond, woven with threads of fear and kindness, had grown a little stronger.
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