Nightsky

The night is mellow… surrounding Cholidean streets are bands playing the music of grief. McArthur’s family walks with him as his coffin is carried by people. They light up lanterns, with their letters to his soul clipped in them, to fly in the sky. Everybody wore black-colored clothes. In his coffin was a symbol of a watch that symbolized the end of life.

The following week, McArthur’s assistants opened his will for the Rescuer Leader’s leading successor. The name is written on it—Cyrielle Kowalska, Rescuer Soldier General-Teacher, appointed 33rd Leader of the Rescuers. And so the ceremony began the passing on of the leader’s medal, and responsibility. As Cyrielle stood in the outdoor colosseum, in front of the whole organization of Rescuer servants and townsfolk, she thought to herself, vaguely in denial, “Am I as good as McArthur? I should be, I need to be.” In the frontmost crowd, she saw Cynthia Agatha. Behind her, was the beautiful floating train that traveled high up again—like it was watching and guiding them. She remembered a time in her memory when she met Cynthia. 

Young Cyrielle, fourteen years old, was hunting lions in the forest. She wore traditional clothing: a red headband with a brown eagle’s feather, red leg warmers and tight, brown shoes, red cloth armguard, and maroon shirt and shorts mended traditionally in zigzag designs of black, brown, and yellow. She had a brown complexion, and black hair, with a lot of messy baby hairs on her forehead, tied in a braided bun. She was all sweaty and just knocked out a lion when she heard a loud, speedy train move forward hidden in the forest. Being fearless, she checked it out and saw no one but a preteen girl, who was young Cynthia, dropped to the grassy, branchy ground. She had short, white, straight hair and a pale complexion, like of Norwegian descent. She wore a cream lavender shirt and light brownish-gray jean shorts with kneecap guards. She carried a backpack, with strings in her arms and waist—exactly like mountain climbers do. She wore a creamy white headband to keep her hair out of her eyes while she climbed. 

“Who are you?” Young Cyrielle asked.

“Whe-where is this place?” Young Cynthia asked, tired and clueless.

“Answer me first.” Young Cyrielle replied.

“LLi-listen, I came from the mountains of Cholydinn. I was climbing there with my parents then fell, now I ended up here.” Young Cynthia answered young Cyrielle, slowly standing up and dusting off the dirt in her clothes.

“That’s a joke. Cholydinn died a hundred years ago. If you’re referring to the mountains, the closest mountains here are New Cholidea,” said Young Cyrielle, “that, above. If you fell that high you’d be dead meat.” 

Young Cyrielle led her to her tribe and treated her needs. The two got along when it came to physical ability, but not personality. Cynthia was into mountain climbing and intellectual abilities like chess and solving puzzles, while Cyrielle was mostly into fighting and sly manipulation of opponents, as she beat up a lion. But soon as they grew up and Histerian issues arose, they developed their abilities and joined the Rescuers. That’s where they are now. 

“You used to be cocky, I miss that cocky self of yours,” Cynthia told Cyrielle, as they were in the locker room of the training ground, training a new batch of students. “Now, you’re… seemingly dead on the inside.” Cynthia chuckled.

“It’s different now, Cynthia. I thought it was all about fighting, giving my best, and commanding a small group of student trainees, but now I have to think of many more others, the whole Rescuean servants, and the direction of where humanity would go. I’m used to leading a small group of students who can face my toughness—but now it’s all of them.” said Cyrielle, unusually sharing her struggles.

“If Mr. McArthur, tough guy, could lead them all, I’m sure you could too. Just practice a bit, you’ll get it,” said Cynthia, “I’m counting on you, leader.” and smiled.