The Secrets We Keep

Episode 3: Childhood Dreams

Life in the Veil District carried on, the routines and rhythms of our little community unchanged, yet I felt the shift within me. The mark on my cheek was as common as the air we breathed, shared by all Mongrels, yet it still weighed heavily in my young heart, a symbol of both belonging and division. It meant that now I would be punished for use of magic, just like everyone else in the Veil.

Despite the lingering weight of my new reality, Cyrus remained a constant source of lightness and mischief. His unwavering friendship was a steady anchor, keeping me grounded even when the rest of the world felt like too much.

One sunny afternoon, we found ourselves near the boundary of our district, where a small stream cut through the earth. The area was a hidden gem, where Mongrel children claimed the wild terrain as their own.

The stream trickled with a quiet persistence, its water so clear you could see the small stones settled at the bottom. Sunlight glinted off the ripples, casting patterns of light that danced on our faces. It felt like our own secret world, untouched by the heavy shadows that loomed over the Veil District.

"You ever think about what lives in this water?" Cyrus asked, squatting at the edge, peering intently into the clear stream. He picked up a small twig, using it to stir the water gently.

"Probably magical creatures waiting to jump out and grant wishes to curious boys," I teased, plopping down beside him and leaning over to get a closer look. "Or maybe they won't because they're afraid of your face."

"Hey!" he exclaimed, nudging me with a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "My face could charm even the scariest of magical creatures."

"Perhaps a blind ogre or an easily impressed goblin," I retorted, splashing a handful of water his way.

We laughed, the sound melding with the soft flow of the stream. These moments of laughter painted our world bright, offering respite from the shadows that sometimes encroached upon our lives.

Yet, even in these stolen moments of joy, a shadow lurked within my home—my father's presence growing increasingly cold and distant, his demeanor shifting in ways I struggled to understand.

He was once the steadfast father, quiet but present, attending to household needs with silent diligence. But since the branding, an unspoken chasm widened between us, and he often disappeared into himself, leaving echoes of his absence in the corners of our home.

"Hey, Cy." I called out to him.

He barely looked up as he tried to wring the water out of his clothes. "Yes, Nemmi?"

"Is your father always kind to you, or is it just when he is around my mother?" I asked. Maybe all father's were like mine– cold and stoic. It was obvious that Serf Seraphiel cared for my mother as a friend, so maybe that's why he was so happy whenever I saw him.

Cyrus looked up, his blue eyes puzzled but sincere. "What do you mean? He's my dad—he scolds me when I mess up, but he's nice most of the time."

I looked down, avoiding his gaze. "Well, I– I just– my father is not as kind to me as yours," I confessed, twisting the hem of my shirt between nervous fingers. "I don't know if he's ever really been."

Cyrus contemplated it. He walked over to me, plopping back down and putting his feet in the stream. "Maybe he doesn't know how to show you," he suggested, shifting closer. "Or maybe he just knows you are way closer to your mother."

I nodded, letting the thought sink in. Maybe Father just didn't understand how to connect with me, or maybe I needed to reach out first. With this resolve in mind, I promised myself I'd try to bridge the gap between us. Maybe, Father wouldn't be as mean anymore.