Chapter Text
The parade ground shimmered with heat and anticipation, the air crackling with energy. Melody pressed closer to Kino behind the velvet curtain, her small hand curled tight around his, feeling the pulse of their excitement. The world beyond carried the mingling scents of oiled leather, metal polish, and distant wildflowers—Strange, enthralling, and yet somehow comforting.
Hundreds of soldiers filled the yard, a living sea of blue and silver. Their breastplates caught the sun, scattering brilliant shards of light that danced like fireflies. Some wore ornate helms crested with blue plumes, their postures regal; others, bareheaded and scarred, displayed their stories on weathered faces, each a testament to battles fought and hardships endured. Every man stood with pride, emerald cloaks fluttering behind them like celebrated banners, whispering tales of gallant victories and loyal service.
Melody’s gaze flitted from the gold-embroidered cuffs of the officers to the bronze clasps shaped like the Noxian emblem. Each detail felt like a story waiting to be told, every insignia a mark of honor earned through sacrifice.
Beside her, Kino radiated excitement, a buzzing energy she could barely contain. “Look—See how they’re all in perfect rows?” he exclaimed, eyes sparkling. “Father drilled them himself! He notices everything, even the tiniest mistake!” His whisper was eager and reverent, filled with the awe that came from hero-worship.
She couldn’t help but watch, spellbound, as the air thickened with a hush. Then—Boots on stone: steady, unhurried, utterly assured. The soldiers straightened as one. Father strode into view, and the world around them faded into a blur.
He wore no gilded crown, no ostentatious armor; his very presence commanded the space around him. Tall and composed, his eyes were pale as frost under the sun, piercing yet warm. Every movement was deliberate, each step a reminder of the authority he wielded effortlessly. Melody felt it in her bones: even without words, he led.
As Father passed, each man seemed to stand a fraction taller, chins lifting, shoulders squaring in response to a silent beckoning. He paused here and there, offering quiet words, nods of encouragement, a reassuring hand on a trembling recruit’s arm. Each gesture was precise, never wasted—A correction softened with a smile, a compliment spoken just loud enough for the others to hear. Melody watched as men who looked fierce and grizzled softened under his gaze, pride flickering in their eyes like candle flames.
“He knows all their names,” Kino whispered, his chest swelling with pride. “He remembers whose little sister is sick, who lost a friend last winter. He never forgets. I want to be like him.” The admiration in his voice struck a chord in Melody, who nodded, heart full.
To her, Father seemed to carry the world’s weight—Yet never let it crush him, let alone those he led. He was an anchor in a storm, a steady flame in the darkness, illuminating paths for those lost in shadow.
The children, half-hidden behind the curtain, watched as Father called his officers forward, their faces a mixture of awe and respect. They gathered, all eyes on him, listening intently as he outlined the day’s drills. His voice was clear and calm, resonating with a confidence that drew them in like moths to a light. There was no shouting, no threats; only a steady assurance that ignited a desire to serve, to belong.
The soldiers responded with near-reverence—Laughing at his rare dry jokes, breaking into applause at a well-executed maneuver. Melody drank it in, her eyes wide with admiration. If Father praised a man, the pride etched on that soldier’s face glowed brighter than any medal, as if Father’s words forged an honor far beyond metal could convey.
Suddenly, a gentle breeze rustled through the ranks, carrying the sound of laughter, camaraderie, and shared purpose. The sunlight draped them all in golden warmth, a cocoon of collective hopes and dreams forged under Father’s influence.
Just then, Father’s gaze flicked up—Right to the curtain. Melody’s heart stuttered. Had he seen them? She instinctively shrank back, but Kino, ever the bold adventurer, grinned, unfazed by the prospect of discovery.
Father’s voice rang out, gentle yet unyielding. “If you two are going to spy, you might as well join the lesson. Out here, please.” The warmth in his tone sent a thrill coursing through Melody, a blend of fear and excitement.
With a tug of her hand, Kino led her into the sunlight, the soldiers turning to greet them with beaming smiles, some bowing their heads in respectful acknowledgment. Melody felt the heat rush to her cheeks, embarrassed but comforted by the warmth in their faces—Mirroring their father’s pride, it made her feel safe and valued.
Father knelt to their height, the afternoon light casting soft shadows across his face. His eyebrows raised just so, betraying a hint of humor. “Tutors, hm?” His voice was playful, reminiscent of a gentle avuncular tone.
Kino, bold as ever, shook his head fiercely. “We wanted to watch you, Father. You’re the best.” His declaration rang out, heartfelt and sincere, resonating with every inch of sincerity in the boy’s spirit.
A smile tugged at the corners of Father’s mouth, a blend of amusement and affection. “Is that so? Then perhaps you’d both like to lead a drill. Soldiers, ready?” His eyes twinkled with mischief, the soldier’s commanding demeanor softened by the presence of his children.
The men straightened in unison, a ripple of anticipation coursing through the ranks. Kino, sensing the shift, squared his shoulders, his voice ringing out with newfound authority: “Platoon—At attention!”
The snap of boots echoed sharply, perfect and precise. The sound reverberated in Melody’s chest, an exhilarating reminder of the power within this moment. Kino beamed, glancing at her; his confidence was infectious.
Father nodded at her, encouragement radiating from his gaze. Uncertain yet emboldened, Melody took a breath, finding the courage she didn’t know she possessed. “Raise your swords!” she called, her voice high but clear. A hundred blades flashed skyward in unison, glinting like stars against the backdrop of the sun. Laughter and cheers cascaded down from the ranks, not mocking but bursting with pride and appreciation. She grinned, her chest swelling with a sense of accomplishment.
Father rose, eyes shining with pride, and lifted his hand, voice resonant and commanding: “Soldiers—Hands up... fall out.”
The formation dissolved into applause, joy radiating from every corner of the parade ground. Some men came over to ruffle Kino’s hair or wave at Melody, their expressions warm and welcoming. The children glowed, basking in their father’s approval and the kindness emanating from the soldiers—A newfound connection that sparked clarity within them. They belonged to something larger than themselves.
As the yard began to clear, Father crouched beside them, his voice low and gentle. “You both did well. Remember: true leadership is service, not pride. The men follow because they are seen and valued—Not just ordered. Never forget that.” His words hung in the air, poignant lessons wrapped in the love of a father.
Kino bounced on his toes, excitement bubbling over. “I won’t! I’ll remember everything, Father.”
Melody smiled up at him, her heart swelling, warmth blooming in her chest like sunlight warming the earth on a cold day. It felt like safety, hope, and the promise of possibility all at once.
Father rested a hand on each of their shoulders, a grounding weight full of compassion and understanding. “Now—Back to your tutors, before they send the whole army looking for you.”
Their laughter echoed, ringing through the air as they ran off together, the sound of soldiers’ cheers trailing in the wake of their carefree joy. For days after, Melody would carry the vivid tapestry of that moment within her—Sunlight glinting on steel, the easy respect her Father inspired, and the quiet, certain pride in his eyes when he looked at his children, holding it tightly as she navigated the world with newfound purpose.
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Melody wandered the halls, trailing her fingers along the cold stone, feeling the coolness seep into her palm. She liked these quiet moments: no tutors, no lessons, only her and the low hum of distant voices echoing through the manor. It was a sanctuary, a place where her imagination could roam free. But as she rounded a corner, something caught her attention—A raised voice, sharp and angry, puncturing the comforting silence.
The woman’s voice. Her mother. Melody froze, her heart pounding in her throat.
“… You never trusted me, not truly! Not with your precious power, not with the children—Not even with yourself!” The woman’s words rang out with a fierce accusation, brittle as glass about to shatter under pressure. The heat of anger radiated off her, almost palpable, echoing off the walls like a storm ready to break.
Father’s voice, in contrast, was low and steady, embodying patience that felt almost superhuman. “That isn’t true. You know it isn’t. I trust you, my love, but there are things—The children need things that only patience can give. They’re frightened of you. They turn to the tutors for comfort. I’m only trying to—”
But the woman cut him off, her voice rising like a tidal wave crashing against a cliff. “So now I’m the villain for being strong? For protecting them—While you coddle them and make them weak?” The bitterness in her tone sliced through the air, thick and ugly.
“I’ve never called you a villain,” Father replied, his voice so soft that Melody had to strain to hear it. “You’ve given everything for them and for me. I see it. I honor it. But power isn’t control. Sometimes, it’s knowing when to let go.”
Ambessa’s laugh was a harsh bark, laced with disdain. “Easy for you to say—Everyone adores you, Nihili. The soldiers, the children, the whole damn city. I’m the one left cleaning up your mercy, forced to be the monster so you can keep your hands clean! While you parade around as their beloved “leader,” I'm stuck behind, mopping up the mess!” Her fury simmered, bubbling over into a toxic tide that threatened to drown them both.
Father sighed, the sound heavy and weary, but even in his exhaustion, kindness threaded through his words. “You’re not a monster. Not ever that. But the children need time. They need gentleness. Melody—She’s not ready for harshness. They both need understanding, not fear.”
A heavy silence settled in the room, oppressive and mean. Melody felt it pressing against her chest, stealing her breath. It was a silence that bristled with tension, a palpable reminder of the chasm opening between the two of them. She watched as the woman shifted, anger coiling in her like a spring, ready to explode.
And then, with a suddenness that made Melody’s heart leap into her throat, there was a crash. The woman hurled a porcelain vase across the room, the beautiful, delicate piece shattering against the wall just beside Father’s head. Fragments flew through the air like a storm of glass, glinting in the dim light. Father did not flinch; instead, he looked at her—With infinite patience, sadness reflecting in his pale eyes as if he could see the chaos swirling deep within her.
Melody jerked back, a gasp escaping her lips before she could stop it. The sound reverberated through the silence like an alarm bell. Panic surged through her veins as the woman’s head snapped toward the door, her eyes narrowing, searching.
In that moment, every instinct screamed at Melody to flee. Adrenaline coursed through her, propelling her into action. She ducked away, heart hammering, and speed-walked down the hall, desperately seeking a hiding place. It wasn’t just a fight; it was a fracture in their family, and she felt the pressure building, threatening to consume her. She slipped into the first door she could find—The art room.
Inside, the world transformed. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, dust motes swirling in the golden air, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the chaos of colors before her. Canvases of every size were stacked against the walls, and tables overflowed with jars of paint, brushes, palettes, and half-finished sculptures. The sharp scent of turpentine and old paper filled her nose, grounding her in this sanctuary of creation, far removed from the anger that had simmered moments before.
Melody pressed her back to the door, chest heaving, tears stinging her eyes. The echoes of shouting still rang in her mind—The sound of something breaking, the image of Father standing calm amidst the storm of emotional upheaval.
Wiping her tears away with shaky fingers, she wandered deeper into the room, drawn to a blank canvas on an easel in the center, its surface innocent and unblemished, waiting for life to be breathed onto it. Her fingers shook as she reached for a brush, dipping it into a pot of deep blue paint. The colour felt cool against her fingertips, a stark contrast to the chaotic tension still writhing in her chest.
As she began to stroke the canvas, each brushstroke became a way to channel the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. With every sweep, she felt the weight of the argument flake away, morphing into vibrant swirls of colour. She painted waves crashing together, echoes of the woman’s anger bleeding into the tumultuous sea of her mind, and soft, calming skies just above, reminiscent of Father’s gentle patience.
With each stroke, she poured herself into the canvas—The confusion she felt about her mother, the anger she did not know how to express, the fierce love she had for Father, who stood silently against the storm of her mother’s wrath. It was a reprieve, a moment where she could be utterly herself, free from the shackles of the world outside.
But even as Melody painted, doubt crept in. How could someone like her mother turn into such a tempest? What was it about Father that sparked such a fury within her? The questions floated like lost leaves in autumn, swirling but never landing. She couldn’t understand how the woman she called ‘mother’ could harbor such resentment, how she could liken her strength to a monstrous form.
Suddenly, the brush trembled in her hand as another crashing wave of emotion hit her. Beside the blue, she reached for an angry red, swirling it into the depths of the canvas, contrasting it against the calm sky. The colours became a dialogue, each hue speaking volumes about pain, love, and the tangled threads of family.
And just as the final stroke created a burst of brightness at the center, a loud knock echoed from the room’s entrance. Startled, she turned, heart pounding once more, fearing it was the woman that had followed her. But when the door opened, it was Kino, his face a blend of worry and curiosity.
“Mel! There you are!” He rushed inside; concern etched across his features. “I heard the shouting. I was scared that I couldn’t find you.”
For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of the moment hanging heavy around them. Melody turned back to her canvas, unsure whether to hide her work or share it.
But she didn’t have to decide; she felt a sense of warmth radiate from her brother, drawing her back into calm. “It’s just… I’m trying to paint what I felt. What I saw.” She gestured at the canvas, her heart racing, unsure of her ability to put feelings into words.
“I think it’s beautiful,” Kino said softly, stepping closer to the easel. “You’ve captured everything in you. It’s like I can feel it, too.” He studied her work, eyes widening in wonder.
A shared understanding passed between them, the chaos of their family momentarily fading, leaving space for the bond they always seemed to find among storms. In that moment, she realized that while their world outside may be filled with conflict and uncertainty, inside these walls—Within the colors, the canvases, and the shared dreams—There was always room for their emotions to breathe.
Just as the final stroke completed a burst of brightness at the center of the canvas, a soft knock echoed through the art room, pulling Melody from her thoughts. Startled, she turned, her heart pounding once more. Had the woman followed Kino in here? But when the door opened, it was Father—His presence a comforting balm against the emotional tempest they had just faced.
“Melody? Kino?” His voice was soft, a gentle call that seemed to soothe the very air around them. He stepped inside, a hint of concern written across his features. “Are you two in here?”
Melody’s resolve crumbled. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she saw him, the embodiment of calm amidst the chaos. With an instinctual yearning for comfort, she rushed into his embrace, feeling safe in the warmth of her Father’s arms. His hug enveloped her like a protective cocoon, erasing the remnants of the argument that had rattled her.
Kino, still standing by the easel, watched the embrace, longing etched into his features. Although he held back his tears, the expression on his face spoke volumes. He shuffled closer, hesitating for just a moment before reaching out, his own need for comfort driving him forward. “Can I, too?” he asked, his voice small.
“Of course, my brave little man,” Father replied, kneeling to draw both children into his embrace. Together, they formed a tight circle of love and reassurance. The weight of the earlier emotions melted gradually, replaced by the warmth that radiated from their father.
“I’m really sorry for stumbling upon that scene.” Father said quietly, his tone gentle as he held them both. “Your mother and I had a little disagreement over responsibilities. But you must remember that arguments are a part of life; they’re not the end. I promise it was just a minor thing.”
Melody sniffed, the comfort of his presence reminding her that their family wasn’t defined solely by conflict. “It didn’t feel small…” She murmured, looking up at him with wide, watery eyes.
“I understand, sweetheart,” Father replied, kindness inherent in his gaze. “It’s okay to feel upset. Your feelings matter. And I’m here for you—Always.”
After a moment’s pause, his eyes glimmered with curiosity. “What were you painting, Melody? I’d love to see it.”
She turned back to the canvas, a mixture of anxiety and pride bubbling up inside her. “I… It’s blue and red. I felt angry and sad, and then a bit happy when I painted it. I was trying to show the feelings swirling around inside me.”
A frown crossed Father’s face, but he didn’t dismiss her feelings. “It’s good to express how we feel. It helps us understand ourselves better.” He straightened, his gentle smile returning. “How about this: let’s all paint something together? Something you love. What do you think?”
Kino perked up, a glimmer of excitement lighting his eyes. “Can we really?” He asked, his previous thoughts of the argument forgotten in the face of creative possibility.
“Absolutely,” Father said, enthusiasm rousing. “But… what about you, Melody? Is there anything specific you’d like to paint?”
Melody’s brow furrowed slightly, the earlier distress resurfacing for a moment. “I wanted to paint you, Father. But I don’t know if I can do it right.” She felt worthless, how could she not know? Anyone should be elated that they could paint Father...
A warm chuckle escaped Father. “Nothing has to be ‘right’ in art. It’s about how you feel. But if you’re not ready, that’s perfectly okay. Why not go for the next best thing?”
After a moment’s consideration, a small smile began to bloom on her face as she glanced around the room. “The sunflowers! They’re right by the window, and they always look so happy.”
“Yes!” Kino exclaimed, eyes shining. “They’re beautiful. Let’s paint sunflowers!”
Father beamed at their enthusiasm. “Then sunflowers it is! Let’s make this a masterpiece together.”