Feeling the familiar surge of the ocean’s currents build at her fingertips, but unskilled to show off any amazing hydroizing techniques, Elia cradled the ewer like a babe, rendering her feeling of inadequate – a feeling she hated. She wanted to show off her powers, the powers that mainly laid dormant due to lack of contact with Tsunami, and put on a fantastic display. But she couldn’t; she couldn’t remember any of those movements or forms besides hovering her hands over Tsunami’s spout to summon water, and she dared not attempt to try to show-off lest it made her look foolish. However, once she turned around, surrounded by the now feverish snapping of the photo recorders and the roar of the crowd’s clapping and cheering, that feeling became smaller as she was reminded just how great she was.

 She truly was superior.

Big Sister Soránne and her wife Euryale, wearing the highest quality of yorikiri available, ran over; their coats looked like they were made of freshly fallen snow. “You’re so gorgeous, Elia,” Euryale said as she pressed her gold-studded nakaf piercing against sister-in-law’s brow – an old Nakoic act of affection. Soránne wrapped her mechanical arms around the both of them and spun them around in one giant group, leaving Euryale and Elia filled with laughter while lēfyk fazed right through the trio.

When Soránne had enough twirling, she placed her wife and baby sister down. “We’re so proud of you, Ellie,” Soránne said, cupping her younger sister’s face. Her purple eyes shimmered and her lower lip trembled as she became more and more emotional, making her jasper-studded nakaf dance. “You were truly and utterly beautiful. Just seeing you up there…” She wiped away the tears that ran down her taupe face with her kigiried mechanical fingers. Euryale placed her dark sepia hand on her wife’s shoulder and her sea-blue eyes seemed to shine with agreement, looking toward Elia with much pride. “It made me so honored to be your iyra,” Soránne continued.

Hearing those words of praise from Soránne and Euryale and seeing the looks on their faces made Elia happier. Filled with joy, she hugged the two of them as tight as she could. The two women looked at each other with smiles and tears in their eyes and wrapped their arms around the Athesanian Weapon Wielder. No matter what age she turned or at what stage of life she was in, she was still a child in their eyes; Soránne and Euryale are fifteen years older after all.

Wearing a woolen purple overcoat with a white fox tail wrapped snuggly around his neck, tightly bound pants and Hydranian-made furred boots, Father strode over calmly and, with a giant smile on his face, pulled Elia from his eldest daughter’s metallic grasp and squeezed her so tight that she thought her lungs were about to burst. “I’m so proud of you, my snow crystal,” he said, his face wet with tears. The nakam piercings that rested just above his lip, resembling a snake’s fangs, pressed into her forehead. Mother–

Elia shook her head. Mother doesn’t deserve my thoughts, especially after what she did to us, she staunchly reminded herself as she entered the family room. The walls were painted blue and lined with little golden motifs of Nakoi erupting from the depths of her underwater kingdom, horns and all. Heat from the large mound of crystalized fire that was installed into the center of the room seeped into the floor and walls of the entire house, working hard to keep the cold out since Winter began and cook the stew that sat in the pot beside it. Due to the family fur carpet being situated close to the big, bright stone, Father looked like he was a relaxed cat as he slept atop the thick wool fur carpet.

Photos of Great-Grandpa Eliseo and Great-Grandma Elia hung beside one another in the kitchen, watching over their family with a protective gaze. Back when Great-Grandpa Eliseo was still alive, he’d used to say that Elia greatly resembled the late great-grandmother of whom she was named, especially with her icy-blue eyes and rangy build, and often told stories of her. “Your Great-Grandmother used to love to cook too, y’know,” said Great-Grandpa Eliseo as he ate the juicy flesh of a Navasarian clementine. Elia sat beside him on the fur rug, eager to hear stories of the Great-Grandmother she never knew.

When the juice streaming down his ebony fingers and deep magenta kigiri tattoo got to be too bothersome, he rubbed his sticky fingers against a damp cloth and went back to enjoy the fruit. “She used to come up with these weird food combinations, like noodles doused in sweet syrup, and have us taste ‘em like we’re her Oro birds. I hated them but your father used to adore them.” He chuckled at the memory, causing his amethyst-studded nakam piercings to dance, but when his laughter settled and he took a deep sigh, Elia saw tears begin to sprout. Taking off the first model of sight-giving glasses Elia had produced and placing it on the rug, Great-Grandpa Eliseo wiped those tears away with the back of his pudgy hand, but his hazed-over, once rich zaffre-colored eyes were still moist. “What I wouldn’t give to eat them again one last time, Elia,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “What I wouldn’t give…”

Father’s snoring echoed through the room and so did the simmering rumble of the stewpot, making Elia feel at ease for a moment. But this break couldn’t last long, she told herself. She had to get right back to work.

Elia sat next to her father’s sleeping body on the fur carpet, enjoying his company as she hovered her hands over the hot varne stone stalagmite. The stone’s glorious crimson blaze wrapped itself around Father’s large frame and danced, lighting both the familial crest of a snake carrying a sprig of burdock on his long coat and the large bags underneath his eyes. He must be so tired working in the clinic, Elia thought pitifully as caressed her father’s ebony skin with the back of her hand. Nothing a little food can’t fix, though.

As Kyré stretched his wings in front of the heat, Elia froze her palm and raised the pot’s lid, checking the ríkik, or snow stew, she had prepared earlier that morning. Steam rose from her palm like a furious Weapon Wielder of Navasar as the smell of spices like coriander and curry leaves filled the air. Seethed in the seasoned cashew milk were millions of those little white snow-beans and succulent cuts of carrots and cubed beef and mushrooms, bobbing in and out just beneath the surface.

“Kyré, can you go fetch me a spoon from the utensil rack?” Elia carefully eased the lid down next to her and quickly wiped the water off her palm. “I need to taste the ríkik.”

“Can Kyré taste?” the kirili asked, cocking his head curiously.

“Still hungry? The rat pup wasn’t enough for you, huh? Alright, you can have some too.”

Kyré flew so fast that time and space seemed to have shrunk before Elia’s very eyes; one minute his talons were empty and then they were filled with sturdy Charcoal wood spoons and bowls the next. The kirili set the natural onyx-colored wood cutlery and tableware beside his owner. “Ríkik.” He nudged the bowl forward.

Elia gave her pet a look but couldn’t keep it for long and ended up laughing. “You cheeky bird, you.”

Father’s gruff voice slowly stirred to life, tired and half-asleep. He then suddenly let out a childishly raucous yawn, making his shiny, multicolored opal-studded nakam piercings just above his lips dance wildly, making the young Athesanian Weapon Wielder giggle which caused him to smile. Now that he was more aroused and alive, he rose from where he laid. With one hand, Father fastened the large purple mantle around his strong shoulders while rubbing his eyes with the other. “Kari-Kari, my snow crystal,” he told between a yawn and a dig of his short nails into his hair waves, giving the back of his head a quick scratch. He rubbed his eyes once more and pressed his nakam against Elia’s forehead.

“Kari-Kari, Elé,” Elia smiled and pressed her own nakaf against her father’s brow. “Were Kyré and I being too loud?”

“A touch.” He hovered his hands over the mound of crystalized heat and covered his nose and mouth shut. “But not too loud,” his voice came out all muffled. “I was supposed to be getting up anyway. I just overslept a little, but luckily you two were my alarm-clock.” He uncovered the lower half of his face, revealing a slight smirk. Crossing his legs under him, he placed his hands down on his thighs. “Is the ríkik ready?”

“It smells ready,” Elia replied. She grabbed one of the wooden spoons Kyré had laid out and after stirring the sea of cashew milk a few times, she brought it up to her lips for a taste. While rich and creamy, the ríkik wasn’t overly thick nor did it have the taste of cashew; the Kmirahii curry leaves’ and coriander melted into the milk, providing quite a kick of flavor with a mild citrus undertone. The snow beans were as soft as butter and as plump as grapes, making them look like mountains against the ocean of cashew milk. Despite taking hours of obsessively ridding the beef of its disgustingly chewy fat, it was well worth it, providing a nice salty, meaty flavor which counterbalanced the sweetness from the carrots and the earthiness of the mushrooms.

Breathing in the spices brought back memories of Mother and Soránne cooking in the kitchen, making piping hot and hearty ríkik during the coldest of winter nights. Besides isolating herself away in her room and relaxingly tinkering with new projects like she always did, eating a bowl full of ríkik was one of the things that Elia looked after spending the whole day at school and walking through hefty snow on her way home, even if her family ended up annoyed when she would bring up the chunks of meat up toward the light and analyzed one by one before she put the spoonful of meat and beans and vegetables in her mouth.

Despite their annoyance and their call for her to just eat normally, they were happy memories, times where she could just relax and talk to her family about her new inventions. However now that she was armed with the knowledge of her mother’s true personality, the times when Mother used to playfully tease Father or proclaim that she loved Elia to the moon and back felt more like a stab to the heart in retrospect. Wherever her mother was right now, Elia wondered if that man was really worth it…

“So?” Father and Kyré asked in unison, one more eager to eat than the other.

“The stew is just like Soránne used to make it, but I think my version is better,” Elia replied haughtily with a smirk. Despite sounding strong and arrogant, tears started welled up in reminder of all that could change in just a year and a half. That day where her mother kicked both her and her father out of their house in Hydra’s northernmost capital-island of Khéll and immediately brought a new man in, one that was seemingly far wealthier and handsomer than Father, was more like a nightmare. A nightmare that continually remained clear as day in her mind.