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“M…la…”
“Mi…Vi…”
“Miss Vila!”
The absent teacher is called back into focus by her student’s voice.
“Yes, Nina? What is it?”
Vila leans in from her seat on the hallway bench, providing the young girl with her full attention and a gentle smile.
“Um…” Nina clutches her notebook close to her chest. Her gaze flutters about, unsure if she should give voice to her thoughts, but ultimately succumbs to her worries.
“Miss Vila, are…you okay?”
Vila’s smile flickers for only a second at the question before she reaches out to stroke Nina’s head.
“…Yes,” she answers softly. “Yes, I am alright, Nina.”
It wasn’t a lie—Nor was it a truth.
Rayashki is gone. Her home—Their home, their families, their comrades, the school, the playground—All that they had fought and bled and cried for—All of it—
It was gone. Taken by the calamity only known to her a mere few days past called ‘The Storm’. It was only natural that even a woman as resolute and resilient as Vila would have her spirits dimmed by such a tragedy. She fights with her own storm inside her heart—one of grief, despair, and fury.
But through it all, she has to be alright. She has no other choice. If not for the children, then for her own self, lest she collapse in a pitiful husk of overflowing tears.
Vila reminds herself to have care not to let the children see her waver.
“Nina, why don’t you go join the others in making paper airplanes?” The teacher’s gaze falls to her other students near the marble banister. “It seems like Pyotr and Pasono are coming up with new designs today.”
Nina shakes her head.
“No…I’m tired of making airplanes.”
“Is that so? Then…”
Vila purses her lips as she struggles to brainstorm a new activity for Nina to do.
“Um, Miss Vila, actually I—“
“Heyyy!! Miss Vila!” A bright and familiar voice rings out, echoing down the hallway. “Oh, and the kiddos throwing planes off the balcony! Just where I thought you’d all be.”
“Hey, look! It’s Miss Windsong!”
Vila turns to see Windsong waving an arm in wide arcs with a broad smile across her face. She stands to her feet, following after the tiny galloping footsteps clamoring towards the approaching leyline hunter.
“Miss Windsong! Did you get to have another lecture today?”
“Did you get to show everyone how cool leylines are?”
“Show us some more of your maps!”
As the children bombard Windsong question after question, Windsong rolls up the stack of papers in her hand and lightly swats at their heads with it.
“Alright, alright, one at a time you li’l anklebiters.”
Vila laughs as she watches the scene quietly. The way the sunlight streaks across the floor and the walls, and the way it bathes Windsong’s silver hair in golden hue as she placates the children—Vila wishes she could capture this moment in time on a canvas and keep it to herself.
“As your luck would have it, I did in fact have a lecture today, and what’s even better is, the room’s not being used for the rest of the day.” Windsong scans across the wide, expectant eyes blinking up at her. “Soo, why don’t we all follow Miss Windsong there, and we can color in some of the extra maps I have printed out!”
“Really? Let’s go, let’s go!!”
The students bounce on their feet, eagerly snatching up the papers Windsong passes out and start racing down the hall.
“Kids! No running in the hallways!”
Vila calls out on instinct as she aims to follow after them, but a steady hand on her shoulder stops her as Windsong blocks her path.
“Woah, hey now.”
“Windsong?” Vila peers up to meet her eye to eye.
“Why don’t you sit this one out, Vila? I promise I’ll take care of them and bring them back to the dorms when we’re done.”
“But I—“
“Please,” Windsong pleads in a low voice. Her hand slides down Vila’s arm, clasping hers in a firm, yet gentle grip. “Go and take a rest. You look like you haven’t got any in days.”
Vila blinks at the blunt honesty of Windsong’s words, but eventually relaxes with a wry huff of a laugh as she returns the grip.
“…Is it really that obvious?”
“It is to me,” Windsong answers softly.
“Alright. You win, Windsong. Don’t go too easy on them, okay?”
“Leave it to me, Miss Vila!” Windsong snaps a hand to her head in a salute.
“And you better get going quickly, or you might lose some of them.” Vila points her head behind Windsong.
“Huh? Oh, shi—Hey! Where are you rascals going? You don’t even know where the room is!”
Windsong makes a mad dash for the scattered children, frantically wrangling them up and ushering them down the correct hallway like a hen with her ducklings. Vila chuckles brightly at the sight, already feeling the weight inside her chest lighten.
The newfound quiet that Vila finds herself in is a bit unfamiliar, but still welcome. She taps the toe of her shoe against the laminated tile floor, emitting a few echoing squeaks across the hall.
She should return to her room and rest; this was the most logical decision.
“But…it would be a bit of a waste.”
Murmuring this to no one but herself, Vila turns on her heels and strolls down the opposite end of the hall, the clicks of her boots echoing off the marble walls.
Vila wished to wander with her thoughts for a while. And this she would do.
“Rusalka you say?”
“Only half.”
“Half, quarter, two-thirds, bah! We don’t really give a damn here in Rayashki. If you can work, you can stay!”
“…Are you sure?”
“Sure we’re sure! We’re always in need of a helping hand! Or uh, fins?”
“I…do have hands, as you can see, yes. My fins would also be yours to use if the need were to arise.”
“Good, good! Well as luck would have it, we’re down a schoolteacher. Ran off to Moscow that one, but eh, I don’t blame her. Anyhow, if you’re up to the task of dealing with kids, the job’s all yours for the taking.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
…….
“Ah—“
“Oh, dear. Prick yourself, did you? Here, put this on.”
“Thank you. You make this look so easy.”
“It comes with practice, dear. Forgive an old woman of her assumptions, but it comes as a surprise to me that we still bleed the same colors.”
“…Yes, we do, don’t we? Rusalka, humans, arcanists…we all bleed the same.”
“We may be a bit traditional and ignorant here in our little secluded town, but hell if we’ll chase someone away just for being different. So don’t be afraid to show off those scales a little bit more, missy. They’re rather beautiful.”
……..
“This world is not a beautiful place. Poverty, privilege, egoism, exclusivism, so many problems…But it doesn’t mean it can’t get better in the future. Perhaps the experiment we’re doing in Rayashki now will become the symbol of a better future, a new world where all races and ideas can coexist— Of course, it may fail and end up in ruin as well…but at least we tried. We love our home, and we’re ready to devote our lives to it.”
“I can’t shake the feeling you’re inviting me aboard a leaky boat that could sink any moment.”
“Maybe, Comrade Windsong. But should we sink, remember that your friend is a Rusalka, and we do well underwater.”
………
Fragments of well-loved faces and voices swirl and fade in Vila’s dreams. Faces and voices she longed for—longed to reunite with—that were taken away so suddenly—so unfairly.
Vila stands at the edge of what once was called Rayashki, what was once her home. The only place she could have proudly called it so after searching endlessly from the mountains to the seas, now gone. Ripped away from reality itself, as if it never existed. Not a single monument nor factory nor handful of coal to show for it. Only a handful of empty warehouses and abandoned scaffolding of a past era.
As her gaze lingers over the landscape, she extends out a finger and etches into the air. She traces where each building once stood; The school, the factories, the apartments, the square—
She has to remember. She won’t allow herself to forget.
Tears begin to blur her vision. Everything smears into ash and snow.
Don’t forget.
Don’t forget—
A warm hand that wasn’t hers wipes her tears.
Vila wakes with her head rested against someone’s lap. The familiar scent of rock and faint rainwater was enough for her to know whose.
“…Vila? Are you awake?”
The hand stroking her head pulls away, though Vila much preferred that it stayed. One side of her cheek was damp, and for fear of soiling Windsong’s pant leg, Vila regretfully lifts her head, quickly drying her cheek against her shoulder.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
“Windsong…how long was I asleep?”
“Maybe an hour? You were already out by the time I found you here.”
Windsong pats the bench. Vila’s eyes widen.
“That long? The children—“
“Are back in their dorms,” Windsong interjects, predicting Vila’s exact response. “You can relax, Vila. I took care of everything.”
Vila heaves a heavy sigh, canting forward as she buries her face into her hands. Windsong siddles closer against her side, wrapping her arm around her shoulders and rubs reassuringly. Vila easily succumbs to this gesture, leaning into Windsong’s warmth. Windsong remains quiet as Vila massages her weeping eyes—something she is silently grateful for.
“Thank you, Windsong. I appreciate you,” she finally says, her voice low and softened.
“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do.”
“I mean it, Comrade.” Vila turns, at last seeing Windsong eye to eye. She smiles and places her hand atop Windsong’s, still clasped at her shoulder. “I’m grateful that you’re with me.”
A hint of pink dusts Windsong’s cheeks. “The feeling is mutual, Comrade.”
Vila peers out towards the faded blue sky, beyond the rooftop gardens of the Foundation. As cotton wisps of clouds lull overhead, something in Vila’s peripheral vision catches her attention.
“Oh—“
She picks up the sketchbook laid forgotten beside her. It’s turned open to a page of a half-done drawing of a familiar scene: The People’s Square of Rayashki, outfitted with the beloved statue of a bear in its center. The lines were rough—messy and hastily scribbled, but cohesive enough to be in legible form. Vila can tell the exact moment she’d fallen asleep the way one of the lines veers off in a wobble and off the edge of the page. Then, a gust of wind rolls by, and as if playing a mischievous prank, flips through all the prior pages, all drawn in them a familiar setting.
A classroom, a factory, a canteen, even a harbor port—like pieces of a puzzle that can no longer be put together. As the wind passes, the final page filled with faces of friends called family flips down, and Vila quietly closes the sketchbook.
Another heavy silence.
“…You know, I’d been worried about you for a while,” Windsong speaks. “Ever since I’d come to visit when you heard the news, I could tell you’ve been trying to hold everything together as usual…as if nothing had ever happened. Even little Nina caught on, too. That girl tugged on my coat when I dropped her off, demanding me to ‘please make sure Miss Vila is okay!’.”
Windsong made her best little girl voice imitation, eliciting a light chuckle from Vila.
“Is that so?”
“It is,” Windsong nods and flashes a quick smile, happy to have made Vila laugh. “So…it’s no good pretending to be okay. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Vila, but no one is that strong. Rayashki was your home…Our home.”
Vila listens quietly. Suddenly feeling a knot of frustration at herself, she stands from the bench and trots towards the roof fence, thumbs fidgeting with each other.
“Vila?”
Windsong follows.
“I’m sorry, Windsong,” Vila says in a sigh, “In a way, I already knew that I couldn’t keep going on like this. I thought that I was fine at first, but as time went on, and the reality settled in…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I told myself that I had to stay strong for the children. If their own teacher can’t keep herself together, how can she expect her students to? That’s what I’d thought…but I was just using it as an excuse to run away from my own grief.”
The words linger in the air for a moment before Windsong speaks.
“I’ll admit, I’d been doing something of the same with my research and lectures. I needed to keep myself occupied so I didn’t have time to think about it. But then, when I did think about it, I thought about you.”
Warmth rises to Vila’s eyes as she hears those words.
What a foolish Rusalka she was.
She had done the exact same, all this time. Her heart asked her to seek comfort, and to seek it from the one person that’s been by her side. Yet, it was Windsong who reached for her first. Why did she hesitate to seek the comfort she yearned for? Was it pride? Was it fear?
“That’s why…I know it’s a bit cheesy, but…”
Vila turns. Windsong stands a few steps away, her arms splayed out towards her. Her fidgeting gaze betrays her boldness, and Vila accidentally lets out a laugh as she wipes her eye with the back of her hand. How this one could seem so confident, yet be so shy never fails to lighten Vila’s heart.
“Hey, c’mon, don’t laugh! I really—Ah—!”
Before Windsong can finish her protest, Vila already all but leapt in her embrace. Windsong stammers for a moment before wrapping her arms firmly around the smaller woman.
“…I wouldn’t mind you being cheesy more often, comrade,” Vila murmurs as she buries her face into Windsong’s shoulder.
“…Your request is duly noted.”
Vila chuckles, but the soft laughter easily crumbles into stifled sobs. Hands tremble. Shoulders shudder. She would have felt guilty about how tightly she was holding Windsong against her body, were it not for Windsong holding her equally as tight in return—another one of the many things Vila was grateful for about her.
Windsong strokes Vila’s back in small strides of her thumb. Her gaze lifts upwards into the grey sky, failing to keep her own tears from falling. When she gives up holding them in altogether, Windsong bows her head and presses her temple against Vila’s.
Even though Rayashki was not there, neither was it here. Windsong knew closely of the progress Laplace and the Foundation had with the Storm, and knew well just how distant a possibility it was to reverse the effects of the Storm when they were struggling to learn how to simply prevent it. That’s why Windsong didn’t dare to offer empty platitudes or lofty promises to Vila. All she could offer was herself.
“I’m here, Vila…
…We’re still here.”