The heavy downpour could not drown out the old man’s ramblings as it echoes the dimly lit temple of the Wind God. A handful of children sat around him, engrossed on the story that was told on the island of Mistral like a mantra meant to appease the worry of the populace over the ravaging storm outside. The smell of smoke is imminent, the wax from the candlesticks dripping onto the floor.

              “’Might as well be called a God of Death if ya ask me. All the boats come a-tumblin’ ‘cause he’s upset. Sheesh.” A voice slurred, coming from the pile of rags near the doors. An old man carrying an almost empty bottle of whisky, swaying as he tried to pinpoint the direction where the Wind God’s statue was placed at the high altar. He grumbled to himself as he tried to finish the remaining whisky.

              The old man and the children didn’t hear him, continuing with their chatter.

              Seren sighed. Although she didn’t contradict him, this old man should at least be thankful as they were both taking shelter from the rain under the Wind God’s temple. She shook the broken umbrella she accidentally took that morning; the water making a big splatter on her worn-out shoes.

              Her luck has always been the bane of her existence, she should have expected the heavy rain would come that afternoon. It was already the sixth month; Mistral would surely be beset by storms. In her haste to get to the off-site office of Doxa, she grabbed the wrong umbrella. Then, upon entering the building she was overwhelmed by the number of people expecting the waitlisting of new applicants. She secretly took a look at the listing and then took another look but her name was not there.

              She was shortlisted again.

              She should have expected it, as Doxa is the Capital City’s main government center; with her credentials, it would be next to impossible to enter without good backing. Not to mention, she’s a girl. No girl has been admitted in for six hundred years.

              The cold seeped into her wet toes, she shuddered inwardly. She was gone for half the day; she’s going to have an earful of nagging from Ryla after leaving her post at the library. There have been only a handful of people visiting the library since the year started. Combined with the current weather, it would only be a miracle if someone visited. Or Ryla was only directing her frustration at her at not being married despite being twice her age.

              Seren sighed in frustration. Her younger brother would surely be waiting for her there, he knows she never brings her umbrella. She braved the storm and ran towards the library as the thunder echoed in the distance. The water droplets came crashing on her head and back like small cold stones and she gnashed her teeth as they started to chatter. She was shaking from the cold and her wet hair hung limply on her back.

              After a quarter of an hour, she arrived at the library, still carrying the useless umbrella. She threw it away before entering and tried to shake the water that have seeped into her clothes. Looking like a wet rat, she pushed open the door, water dripping on the floor.

              The three people inside the lobby turned their heads upon her arrival, their soft conversation stopped abruptly.

              The young man nearest her stood swiftly, put the blanket he was holding, and covered her with it. His tall frame towered over her petite build; with big hands rubbing her shoulders for some warmth. His wheat-colored eyes the same as hers, carry concern and reprimand, his thin lips pursed, his golden tan skin glowed under the lights. His curly hair bobbed as he shook his head at her and sighed, “I just knew you would arrive drenched, Seren. Ever heard of umbrellas?”

              She playfully jabbed at his chest. “You think I didn’t bring one?”

              The young man raised his brow at this and teased her, “Does this umbrella have a big hole in the middle?”

              “Alright, stop teasing your sister, Theon. She needs to warm herself up.” The man admonished the younger one while guiding Seren near the fire and passing a cup of hot tea to her. His warm hands covered hers in a friendly gesture, his golden-brown eyes staring at her endearingly. The small dimple at the corner of his lips appeared as he smiled lightly; his dark hair falls perfectly on his shoulders.

              Theon stuck his tongue out at his sister playfully. “You’re lucky, my dear sister, that Enver thought to wait for you here or you would have frozen to death after finding the library empty.”

              Seren took a sip of the tea and noticed the other person sitting by herself near the window. “Why are you closing the library so soon, Ryla?”

              The woman sighed and rubbed her forehead, and stopped midway, afraid of wrinkles appearing where she rubbed. “The storms started earlier than expected this year so the Head Priest is coming to our island to pray for our safety. The committee asked every public servant to participate so they asked to close the library to add more manpower.”

              “Oh?” For the Head Priest to come to the small island of Mistral from the comfort of the Capital City for a ritual, that seems to be overdoing it.

              Ryla lightly tapped her head and nagged her. “I told you there would be a storm but you still went out. If you were here earlier, you would have heard about it. Where did you wander off again?”

              Seren was silent. Theon knew immediately and cut in, “You have to wonder, Ryla? My sister was a nomad in her past life. She’s a drifter.” He rubbed his sister’s wet hair playfully. “We should probably go.”

              The four of them left the library and rode Enver’s car; they dropped off Ryla and went straight to Seren and Theon’s place.

              “Thanks for the lift, Enver.” Seren politely asked him inside and offered him tea but was admonished by her brother. He pushed her towards her room so she could take a bath while they made dinner.

              “They posted it today, right?” Theon murmured as he washed the vegetables. “Let’s not ask her about it.”

              Enver nodded lightly and thought for a second before hesitatingly saying, “There’s an opening in the council, maybe we could ask her to try—”

              Theon shook his head and sighed. “You more than anyone knows how stubborn my sister is once she made her decision.” He gave him a timid smile. “I’m amazed at how patient you are with her, you know. And I really appreciate it.”

               Enver smiled sadly, “My patience has been my biggest virtue as you know.” He laughed slightly as he stirred the pot. “Your sister’s not the only stubborn one in your family so I know how to handle her.”

              Theon laughed good-naturedly. Before Enver became the youngest magistrate in Mistral, Theon's father was the famous strait-laced but kindhearted magistrate of Mistral. His council would always have a hard time with his stubbornness, but he always put the island’s welfare a priority. He was well-respected and a jovial man.

              “The way you’re going with those potatoes, we’re going to have supper instead of dinner,” Seren observed from the doorway.

              Theon rolled his eyes at his sister’s nagging. “Are you really a girl? You take baths faster than a swallow in the fall.”

              Seren pushed the two men out of the kitchen and finished cooking in less than half an hour. They enjoyed dinner while joking around and laughing. While Seren was serving them the cake she made that morning, there was a knock at the door. Before she could open it, however, a woman in her late fifties rushed in while taking her shawl off and started ranting even before the young woman accompanying her could enter the threshold.

              “You little brat! I told you to stop taking that rotten exam and just get married! Why do you have to make all of us miserable by pushing yourself on doing something you know you are not qualified in?” The old woman’s words were sharp, but there was an underlying endearment in each word. Her light eyes marred by age scanned Seren’s face, the wrinkles on her face danced in consternation. Her grey hair was kept in a lown bun, tight. Her beige cotton dress had some wet marks from rushing in the heavy rain; her muddy boots trampled on the carpet. She harrumphed while sitting herself down at the dining table, watching her audience like a crow. “Well?”

              The young woman accompanying her, resignedly smiled at Seren, “I apologize for the intrusion, cousins and Mr. Harbin. Mother heard from my sister the result of the waitlisting and stormed in here without notice.” The young woman’s small face was framed by her red hair, wavy and in a braid. Her small frame was covered in a moss green dress, empire-waisted, the hem reaching her thin calves. Her muddy boots lie uniformly at the door, she was wearing an indoor slipper. She had light makeup on, to cover her freckles.

              Seren sighed and gestured for Mira to join them at the dining table while serving them tea and cakes. “That’s fine. I know Aunt Rhetta would come sooner or later.”