To a dreamer, there’s nothing so bleak as a world full of rain. People travel through it; they don’t take a moment to stop and appreciate or admire it—they don’t understand it. Sometimes, Malachi even thought that they refused to look at it for what it really was. The beauty in the midst of a storm, the futility of trying to capture that beauty… No one in this city was looking for those sentiments, which was why moments like these always felt so lonely.

Young, Malachi Stone laid his head against a window, staring out at the bleak cityscape and rain poured down from the sky. He could see his breath fogging up the glass, watching the cloud expand and contract with the steady rhythm of his breathing.

In the Kingdom of Circene, the rain never seemed to stop.

There were brief moments in which the rain paused, and faint rays of sunshine could be seen through the clouds… Those were the moments that Malachi lived for, the ones in which the wind was not harsh, but it was gentle, it was welcoming, it was…

“Mr. Stone!? Mr. Stone!? Ugh, where have you gone this time?” One of the instructors was looking for him, their heeled shoes making sharp clicking noises against the tiled floors.

Mal turned his head, seeing the shadow on the ground, given life through candlelight.

Even if it was sunny outside, inside this building always seemed so bleak. The lessons were dull. The teachers were dull. The other students were dull. There was nothing exciting to learn in these halls, he didn’t understand why his family cared about him learning here.

The instructor was growing nearer, and Malachi decided that it was time that he moved. He untucked his knees from his chest and softly put his feet on the floor.

He took off his shoes so that he would make less sound, and he practically drifted across the floor, like a pond skipper skating across water. It was a technique that he’d used before to evade the grasp of his teachers. Mal hated going to their boring, stuffy classes where they’d talk about stiff topics like mathematics and politics.

As he skated across the floor, he pretended to hop from one black tile to another, like it was a game. The white and blue tiles were water and he’d drown if he fell in, and the black ones were islands—and at the end of the hall, at the last island, was a treasure waiting for him.

“Mr. Stone!” The instructor called, their voice echoing, ricocheting off the walls.

Mal just couldn’t bear going back—he couldn’t allow himself to be caught. He hopped from island to island and leapt a bit too quickly. His sock slipped against the floor, and he teetered, threatening to fall over, but just when he thought his balance was lost, a breeze blew through the hall and set him upright. It slipped through his fingers, like the water in a river, and it felt nice…

Malachi wasn’t sure what just happened, or why, but for some reason, the air around him felt fresher and he felt… so alive.

He stood there, just breathing, his shoes hanging from his hands as he gazed down at the tiles—the brilliant white and blue tiles that looked like an ocean and its foam. He could see his reflection in the immaculate sheen, and there, he could see his emerald, green eyes glowing with an energy that he’d never seen before. There was nothing in that moment except for himself and his reflection, and the sound of his breathing, unsteady as it was.

He wished he could have stayed contemplating that moment for a little while longer.

“There you are, Mr. Stone!” The instructor caught up and stared down at the small boy, impatiently tapping his foot. “You’re in a lot of trouble this time, mister! That’s the third time this month and it’s only the seventh!”

The harsh instructor took Malachi by the arm and dragged him through the dimly lit halls of the primary school. Mal had tried to fight it before, the other times that he’d been caught. This was only the third time that he’d been caught, not the third time that he’d snuck out of class. So, while he contemplated fighting, he didn’t really have a reason to. Especially since he was still thinking about the wind and his reflection.

The teachers sat Malachi down in the principal’s office, in a large cushy chair in the corner of the room while the adults filed in and out, wondering what to do. No kid had ever been so insolent before.

“Malachi!” Mal’s mother walked in eventually, clearly angry but Mal knew that she wasn’t angry at him. His mother never got angry with him; she was probably more angry that the school called her away from Court business. “Malachi, my darling, what happened?” She came over to the chair and hugged him, gently petting his hair. She always coddled him, because he was the youngest.

“Mrs. Stone, I must advise that you discipline your son.” The principal said, making harsh motions with his hands. “This is the third time this month, and his grades are going to suffer if he continues to think it’s okay to skip his lessons.”

Mal’s mother crouched down in her heels, her hand gently cupping her son’s cheek as she peered into his eyes from behind her spectacles. “Oh Mal…” She sighed. “Your father’s not going to be pleased.” Malachi searched for emotion in her expression but was disappointed to find almost none at all. Her green eyes did not glow like his did in the hall, they looked empty… they looked dull. “We should be heading home then, my darling. Come along, we mustn’t be late for dinner.”

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Despite the protests of the administrators, Mal walked out of the school, holding his mother’s hand. The rain had let up slightly but there were still steady torrents of raindrops falling into puddles on the streets. Mal’s mother held up an umbrella and shielded herself and her son from the rain.

They walked on the sidewalk as wagons and carriages passed, drawn by horses who were unhappy to be in the rain. Mal’s mother was wearing her work clothes, which Mal didn’t usually see her in. The uniform oddly reminded him of his own school uniform, like it was trapping something inside that couldn’t get out.

When they got home, his mom sent him straight to his room “to think” before dinner. This was a conventional punishment for the Stone family, since they were such rigid thinkers.

But for Malachi, his room was a haven. A place where he could imagine whatever he wanted without having to hide that dreamlike mist that came over his eyes. He loved the idea of thinking what could be, and he thought if he believed hard enough he could make all his dreams reality.

He entered his dark room, one of the house attendants followed him to light the candles, and he fell backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as the sound of rain pounding against the roof could still be heard, even in a place like this. It wasn’t usually unpleasant, in fact, it facilitated a nice environment for make-believe. Thunderous seas for stories about pirates, the lightning the spark between rivals in a fight, and the sun shining through the clouds at the end of the storm were like lovers making up at the end of a disagreement.

Malachi closed his eyes, wanting to forget the image of the emeralds on the tiles, the emeralds which were firmly implanted in his face—the impossible truth that he’d have to admit about the wind… He didn’t know—he couldn’t know—how his family would react to him being a mage. It was one thing to act strangely, but it was another thing to be strange.

Then, miraculously, a sound pierced through the constant pattering of the rain. The sound of a piano from the apartment next door.

Malachi sat up; his mood lifted by the sound of the angelic instrument. He got up and went to his desk, positioned near his window that looked into the apartment of the musician. He sat down and held his head in his hands as he watched the silhouette of a woman with her hair tied in a bun high on her head sit with perfect posture at her piano. She played tunes which complimented the rain, rather than fought against it, and Mal found that rather interesting.

He remembered asking his mother if he could go visit the musician one day. He wanted to know what the musician looked like, what her hands looked like as they glided across the keys of her piano. He wanted to ask questions, like what drew her to play music in the first place. But most of all, he wanted to ask why he wasn’t allowed to enjoy music like her.

Mal remembered asking his father if he could attend an arts-focused school instead of the law school that the rest of his family attended. His father was offended that Mal even dared to make such an inquiry and said something along the lines of “Of course you’re going to Melechodron! That’s where your siblings go, and they all love it there! There’s no need to try a new school that you won’t learn anything from, especially ones so expensive.” And that was the end of that.

Then, there was a knock at his door.

“Mal? Mal, can I come in?” Malachi recognized the voice as his oldest sister’s. She opened the door a moment after he gave her permission to, carefully balancing on her heels as she walked. Mal remembered when she didn’t have to wear that uniform, when at least their school uniform had loose flitting skirts. Today, she wore a gray skirt suit, the skirt wrapped tightly just above her knees, and her high heels made it hard for her to walk because she wasn’t used to them. Her hair was also wrapped in a bun, and much of her deep complexion was blanched in cosmetics, despite that, it was her eyes that told Malachi that she was the same as she’d always been. His favorite older sister, Andromeda Stone. “Mal, Mama said that you skipped your classes again today.”

Malachi had turned sideways in his chair, still soaking in the music from his window as he looked at Andi from across the room. “I didn’t want to go.” He said quietly, sort of ashamed to say it aloud, but he knew that she’d understand. Andi always understood.

Andromeda sighed as she walked further into the room, the door shutting behind her. She rounded the bed and sat down, taking off her shoes as she flexed her feet. “I know you don’t, but it’s important that you do so that you can learn about the world. If you don’t start now, you won’t be able to get a position in Court, and then how would you make money?”

It didn’t take Malachi another second to think of an answer. “I’ll pay with my dreams! I’ll paint pictures or play music! Or grow flowers or make chocolate! I’ll do anything except study law!”

He looked at his sister’s face. She looked at him, but it was clear that her mind was elsewhere. There was an acute smile on her face, but her eyes, green just like his, were sad. She was older now, she’d finished post-secondary school at an accelerated rate and at just twenty years old, she’d snagged a position within the Monarchy’s Court. Malachi remembered her celebration dinner and how everyone congratulated her… she had this look on her face too when she thanked them.

“Law is a lot more secure than your dreams, Malachi. You’ll learn when you’re older.” She nodded, like she wasn’t telling him directly but repeating this back to herself. She reached up to remove the string from her hair and let her strawberry blonde locks fall around her shoulders.

Mal frowned as he examined his older sister’s expression, not entirely sure what to do. There were thoughts of what he wanted to say, and what he knew he shouldn’t. He got up from his desk chair and joined his sister, sitting next to her on the bed. They stared at their feet for a moment, giving Malachi a moment to think about what to say—and what he really wanted to know. He wasn’t sure what was more important. “But… law doesn’t make you happy, Andi.” He may have continued on to say something else, but Andromeda cut him off.

“Nonsense, Malachi!” She said, forcing a fake smile on her face as she turned to look at him. It didn’t reach her eyes, the unyielding sadness was still there, ever-present in her eyes—the very same as his. “Law is fascinating! That’s why I became the best at it! And… and one day, I’m sure that you’ll be able to surpass even me, in my field.” She bounced the mattress as she clapped her hands down on her thighs. “You’ll see one day, Mal, you’ll see.”

As much as he loved his older sister, Malachi knew that if there was one thing that he wanted to do in his life—it was to never follow in her footsteps.