The Orb Disagrees
Mina sat, leaning her back against a tree, the orb cradled in her lap. Its smooth surface pulsed faintly, the light within flickering like a hesitant heartbeat. She rested her chin in her hands, gazing at it with a furrowed brow.
“Why do you care so much about Victor?” she asked softly. Her voice carried a mix of frustration and sadness. “He’s… he’s just bad. That’s all.”
The orb didn’t respond—not directly, at least. Instead, it shimmered faintly, the patterns of light shifting in complex, unreadable waves. Mina tilted her head, as if trying to decode its silent language.
“You keep doing that,” she murmured. “But I don’t know what it means.” She poked the orb gently with a finger. “Are you scared of him? Curious? Or… are you trying to tell me something about him?”
The orb glowed more brightly for a moment, then dimmed again. Mina sighed and flopped onto her back, staring up at the sky through the canopy of leaves.
“You know, you’re supposed to be my magical, wise orb,” she said, her tone somewhere between teasing and exasperated. “But sometimes you’re just as confusing as grown-ups.”
The orb pulsed faintly again, this time with a softer, steadier rhythm. Mina glanced at it out of the corner of her eye, her expression softening.
“Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair,” she admitted. “You’re not bad at listening. You just… listen too much, I think. Like, to everything all at once.” She paused, a new thought dawning on her. “Is that it? Are you… listening to Victor too?”
The orb gave no sign of agreement or denial, but something about its steady glow made Mina’s chest tighten. She sat up again, holding it close.
“Well, don’t,” she said firmly, her voice tinged with worry. “You’re supposed to stay good, okay? Don’t let him mess you up.”
She hugged the orb tightly, as if her touch alone could shield it from the world’s darkness. For a moment, it seemed to glow a little brighter, but Mina couldn’t be sure if that was real or just her imagination.
Meanwhile, Meera and Lyra worked side by side, the faint rustle of leaves and distant calls of the Creche their only accompaniment. Meera’s words broke the quiet:
“You know,” she said, “for all your worry about Victor, you’re the one who always says we can’t control what people do. Only how we respond.”
Lyra paused, her hands stilling over the delicate mechanism she was repairing. “And you’re the one who always says, ‘People like Victor don’t stop until someone stops them.’”
Meera’s smile was faint, tinged with both amusement and weariness. “It’s true.”
They lapsed into silence again, the weight of Victor’s looming threat settling between them. But as their hands continued their careful work, their shared resolve created an unspoken bond—a quiet reminder that, even in the face of storms, resilience could be its own form of defiance.
In another corner of Ashvine, Mina held the orb tightly. All of them were caught in the same storm, though in very different ways.