Once upon a time, there was a painter who lived among the sea of stars. She traveled the kingdoms there alone, trying to find somewhere she could paint in peace and escape the red that was plaguing her old home.

One day, the king and queen of a kingdom—known for its arts—invited her to live in their kingdom as their child, alongside the knight commander who would become her guide. She earned the title of the royal painter, and starting from that day, she became part of the Castellanos kingdom. The painter was elated as she felt she'd find her place with them. So each day she helped around, trying to learn more about the new kingdom she lived in.

The queen took care of the flowers in the castle garden and sent them to neighboring kingdoms. From daisy to the rarest rose, the flowers flourished and sang each day. The royal painter often tried to help her with the flowers, but always messed up and opted to just stand on the sideline.

With all the flowers in the garden, the painter asked which one the queen liked the most. And with a happy hum, she led her to rows of sea daffodils. A precious flower that only grew in the sea of stars. The queen liked it for its meaning.

Though, a sad look crossed the queen's face, for now, she could only see the flowers that only existed inside her garden since the borders of the sea of stars were off-limits. But she hoped one day the flowers she grew could make it back to where they belonged, and the painter vowed to help her make that dream come true.

The king was an important storyteller in the sea of stars, sending thousands of letters to other kingdoms with the queen's flowers, in the hope his words could bring joy and lessen the pain other kingdoms might be going through. The painter admired the king for this and volunteered to paint the envelopes, adding more color to their already vivid contents. The king spent his time telling the painter his stories as she painted away, sometimes stopping to say what parts of her paintings he liked the most. And slowly, the painter found solace in the king's stories.

The knight commander was not around too much due to his job, but the king and queen still loved him the same and told the painter the knight commander does important jobs for the whole sea of stars. She never knew the details, but she never pushed further and relished her chats with the knight commander every time he came back.

The royal painter was happy with her life now. Their castle might not be the biggest in the sea of stars, and they have days where they must share food due to shortages in the kingdom, but they lived happy lives. And the royal painter wanted nothing more than that.

Alas, the sea, stars, and everything in between was the property of the dragons.

The mighty clan of beasts had waged war against the hydras of the sky of dawn for millennia, relying on the kingdom within its property for volunteers to fight on the frontline. The painter thought they didn't have anything important to do with the dragons, but she was wrong.

One day, the dragons came to the kingdom's door. They bared their fangs and asked about the whereabouts of the knight commander. And only on that day, the painter found out the knight commander actually wasn't serving the dragons. It's the opposite.

The dragons talked about sabotages happening on a few fronts and the decrease in volunteers where the knight commander has been. The painter couldn't wrap her head around everything, but she knew the dragons were not happy.

The king who always smiled became stone-faced that day. He told them to scram off and brought some evidence before returning. But the dragons said they didn't need any proof and had the right to track down the knight commander. The queen got enraged. She said what the knight commander did was for the best and the dragons should learn to treat the kingdoms in a more equal fashion. The king stood by the queen and said that he didn't appreciate what the fighting against the hydra had done to the people of the sea of stars.

With that, the dragons snapped. One ordered others to surround the king and queen with their claws drawn, but both kept their ground. The painter wanted to help, but one of the dragons warned her that if she intervened, she'd also be judged.

They still have mercy towards teens like her, they said. She'll surely learn that what her family did was wrong and side with the dragons. The king and queen also discouraged her from stepping forward and instead urged her to wait somewhere else until everything was solved.

They'll handle it, they said. And the painter trusted them. She trusted their words and turned away from the door of the castle. Deep inside her mind, she knew something could go wrong at any moment, and as she ran away, her hunch came true.

Among her own frantic footsteps, she could hear an order for an attack, then dragon's claws slashing through the air—

But the king and queen survived.

They... they survived the dragon's attack. The knight commander rushed in, blocked the dragon's claws just in time, and helped them escape with the painter. They disappeared into the night with the dragons on their tails, but other than that, they're still together. So did anything besides that matter?

The end of the story, the painter closed the book.

That should be their happily ever after, the one they deserved—the royal painter tried to ignore the splash of red around her feet.

This is fine. This is alright. They lived happily ever after.

But a nagging thought kept the painter up as it yelled at her about the dissonance that shouldn't be there. About the two people that shouldn't be there.

That thought is wrong though. The king and queen did survive.

Of course they survived, a laugh escaped the painter's lips. They must survive. There's no way a royal painter and a knight commander could rule the kingdom alone. There's no way she could live without both of them. They can't leave her!

The royal painter looked down at her hands which were smeared in red.

How could she know if it was blood? What if it was just paint? What if everything is just a dream and the kingdom is still okay? But no matter how much she tried to claim everything as a dream, the nagging thought didn't disappear. It kept saying how this isn't right, this isn't real. She shouldn't be locked up in her mind like this.

A flash of red passed through her eyes.

But the royal painter knew there was no way for her to get out. There's no one else besides her and the knight commander now. What could she do? No one has ever prevailed against the dragons. They have eaten multiple kingdoms, and anyone—any kingdom—who is suspected of not wanting to serve the dragons and abide by all their demands is deemed sinful. They're not fit to live. They're not fit to be part of Apreimmos.

Traitors.

Not even a rebellion, the President's spokesperson said. Just traitors. Ungrateful people who don't know what the country has done for them.

The royal painter dropped to her knees, her whole body now shaking and she was unsure why.

She knew the world out there was harsh. She had heard about them and had seen every movie in the academy training. But is that any reason to push every citizen to their edge? To brand a life where you sacrifice everything for the country as better than anything? To strip small children who lived around our home of their parents?

The red became darker.

How could they call father and mother traitors when they're the ones who advocate for people to give up everything for the never-ending fight?! They make it as if father and mother were the ones in the wrong! And now? Now people didn't even wait for me to walk away to say how sinful they were. How letting me continue painting and not sending me to the frontline right away was a mistake. How useless and wasted my so-called talent in being a sniper is.

But is it a sin to try our best to give happiness to those who have lost their family? Is it a sin to make people know that the fights are pointless? Is it a sin to try and make people appreciate life more? Is it a sin to not want to continue the bloodshed?!

Taking a deep breath, I let my head drop.

The red slowly subsides, replaced with tangy black filling my taste buds.

Who am I kidding? They don't care what father and mother aimed for. They never care about people like us. What mattered to them was always winning the battles.

"Heather,"

A voice calls out from the deep, grasping for my hand.

"Heather, are you okay?"

I lift my face as the voice grabs my shoulder.

The world comes to shape in a blur, and the first thing I see as soon as the blur disappears is the knight commander sitting beside me with a worried face. His hazel eyes are darker than usual, and his reddish-brown hair which is usually quite tidy on purpose to cover the piercings on his right helix is now all over the place. I hold back a frown. He must be tired too.

"I'm okay," I respond with hollow words. "How about you? You also don't look that good." I smile and glance at his hair, trying to ease the nervousness apparent on his face.

Sorrel looks up and only now realizes how messy his hair is. With an awkward chuckle, he does the bare minimum to calm it down before asking if it was better. I give him an okay and he sighs in relief.

"I'm okay. I just needed to take care of some things in Rupwell, so my hair is sticking out from all the running," he says. He then pointed back to the tall walls of Apreimmos that covered the whole country. Rupwell was the town where we lived, so he probably had some business with his friend. I nodded in response.

I want to say more and ask questions, considering how hard it is for us to meet like this, but caring about anything right now only bogs my head down. Trying to search for something lighter to fill my mind, I cast my eyes on the flower I planted a few hours ago.

A lone sea daffodil blooms amongst the beach sand, its white flowers swaying with the wind that tosses my hair around. It looks tranquil and without any problems, and I'm envious of it. If only I was a sea daffodil, then all I need to do is just sit around in the sand without thinking about anything complicated.

But it's not like that sea daffodil is perfect. A sea daffodil usually has more than three flowers on every umbel, but this one only has two flowers left, the remaining ones withered when I brought it here. It's also the only flower I can grab from mother's garden before they burned the whole thing down. My last reminder of her, and against a part of myself, I'm planting it here so it can bloom where it is supposed to, just like mother wanted.

Her face flashes through my mind, and her warm and hopeful smile that sometimes disappears behind her stern voice always makes me long for home.

"Are you cold?" Sorrel asks. "You can use my coat if you are."

"No, it's fine," I say. "I'm enjoying the cold wind, actually."

"If you say so," he says before falling into silence again.

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The sun on the horizon is almost fully setting, coloring the sea in a vivid orange while still leaving enough light for me to see around. The land breeze has also been quiet, so the wind wasn't too cold to bear.

A few years ago I would nag mother to close her shop early and watch the sunset from our balcony while brainstorming some ideas for a new painting, but nowadays, just looking at it brings a heavy feeling in my stomach.

At the very least though, the weather gives us a quaint time to do what we come here for.

Traitors don't deserve a proper burial, so they just throw father and mother's bodies into the trash. I don't know much about the details. I don't want to. What I know is fortunately Sorrel managed to recover them, and with the help of his friends, did a cremation. Then we sneak out to the nearest beach and spread their ashes on the open sea, letting them get carried by the waves to somewhere more peaceful.

"...if only," my voice is a whisper, "if only I didn't stay back that time." The second part of the sentence remains unsaid, yet Sorrel must know what I was about to say.

Sorrel doesn't entertain my question and instead glances at the leather-bound notebook lying on the sand. I attempted to minimize the singe by painting over it, so now there's a painted blooming sea daffodil covering the burnt marks. It's not my best work, but I tried my best with what I have now, and I can only hope father is proud of me.

Suddenly, Sorrel speaks up and breaks my line of thought.

"Hey, you know what father always said, right?" His words are meant for me, but his voice is loud as if wishing the wind can carry his words to others. "Stories like what we made are a way to comfort yourself from reality. It's an escape from the pain, a way to whisk ourselves away when we're overwhelmed by everything, but it's not an end all be all for everything."

His way of saying it is theatrical, with him moving his hand with every emphasis, so like himself. Then, he slows down as he continues to the last part of the lecture.

"Reality is harsh..."

"...but you should never run away from it," I take the bait willingly and chime in.

Sorrel grins. "Because no matter how harsh reality is, it is a part of being alive. Take it in stride and take a break to the fantasy world when you need to, but it will still be there no matter what you do," he pauses, "so before it grows unbearable, fight the pain of facing reality. If only because you'll get to enjoy your fantasy again after you do."

A lull of silence stays for a second as I ponder those words, the words of my late father.

"I wonder how many times he has told us that," I mutter. Father's face flashes through my mind, with his calm smile and the cheerful glint in his eyes that are unbeaten by the lines along his face. "I have that whole lecture ingrained in my mind already."

"And it's been a few years since he last said that," says Sorrel. "I think it's quite effective."

"It's reaaally long, though. I remember just wanting to go to sleep when he got angry because the winy wittwe waby Sorrel whined about not wanting to go to the academy." I give Sorrel a side-eye. "I don't know why I need to listen along that time."

Sorrel exaggerates a sigh and shakes his head. "Because you keep boasting how you won't even go to the academy since 'you can run away from the recruiter if they come'."

I burst out laughing. "I mean; I don't know they would catch up with a car!"

The academy and its training are mandatory—and a torture, especially for people like us who already disliked fighting. Everything part of it is strict and demanding, and I only survived because I sneaked in a small notebook where father had written some of my favorite stories down, whenever I couldn't sleep, I grabbed a small lantern hidden by my roommate and imagined myself as a character in them, as someone unburdened by the troubles of this world.

It's a notebook I really treasure. A notebook that also burned down alongside everything.

The tangy black comes back and I swallow it. It's bitter enough to make the laugh from Sorrel's joke fall off my face.

I start thinking about everything again, spiraling into the memories of that day. When I close my eyes, I can hear my own footsteps again. I can hear mother yelling for me to be careful. I can hear an order for the armed men.

My breath hitches and the black fills my mouth yet again.

"Heather."

I open my eyes. Sorrel opens his arm wide and has a lopsided smile on his face.

Without saying a word, I hug him. He pats me on the back before returning the hug, enveloping me in a warmth that reminds me of father's, with the words leaving his mouth even more so.

"They're not here anymore, but you still have me."

Father has always been brave. And so are mother and Sorrel.

"...I wish I was as strong as you," I mutter against his shoulder. In my eyes, Sorrel was always so cool and amazed me with his knowledge and expertise even in the short times we met each other.

Sorrel chuckles. "I cried too, you know. Just not in front of you." He then gives my head a light smack, just like he used to. "Because as a good brother, I have to be strong in front of my little sister." As he says that, I can hear him smiling.

Sorrel releases the hug and places his hands on my shoulders.

Even under the ever-dimming sunset, the hope that glitters in his eyes gives their own light. "You're not weak, Heather," he says. "I know you need time—and I'll always be by your side to spend it—but you mustn't forget to face reality, okay?"

My vision suddenly got blurry and I couldn't stop the dam of tears. I bawl.

Water drenches the blotches of red and black, forcing them to fade in intensity.

I try to cover my eyes to stop the tears, but Sorrel quickly holds my hands back, saying how there are sands in them and it'll hurt my eyes if I cover my eyes with it. So I ended up crying without holding anything back, letting out every emotion that swirls in my head and falling into the sand. I try my best to hold it back this whole time, if only because I want to forget everything that happened.

Sorrel pats my shoulder as I cry, and true to his words, stays seated in front of me, even though the beach is almost fully dark.

After around a few minutes of crying, I feel more at ease. Though my nose is runny and my eyes are puffy, my head is clearer than before.

Sorrel then asks me another question, something that must bug him too, just like me.

"Do you want to finish father's last story?"

The answer is stuck in my throat. I feel like I should throw it up with my tears just now, but no matter how much I want to, my body doesn't let that feeling disappear. I lower my head.

Father's last story is meant for a younger audience. I remember asking him why, and he said there are not enough storybook writers out there anymore and he wanted smaller children to have a place to escape to when the news broadcast more territory changing and bloodshed happening. I'm pumped up when I hear about what he wanted to do. I couldn't stop thinking about what kind of cover I should make, so he told me what the story is about and ask me to keep it a secret since it was his proudest story yet.

The story is about a sea of stars, a king who enjoys telling stories, a queen who is fond of sea daffodils, a knight commander, and a royal painter.

It's about our family.

I close my eyes, my mind filled with how I tried to replace everything that has happened with parts of that story. I picked up father's beloved notebook and only managed to scribble nonsense into it. I thought I could keep his story going, but instead, I ruined it.

The nagging thought shows up again, asking me if I'm even worthy of continuing it. And I can't push it away because I know it's something worth thinking about, it's something I'm not sure I can answer now.

"I... don't know," are the only words that manage to come forth from my trembling lips.

Silence fills the air for a few seconds. The sound of waves crashing against the cliffs around us becomes the only thing keeping my mind from being consumed by my thoughts.

I don't know what kind of face Sorrel is making and I'm too scared to look up. But as if he reads my mind, he calls out my name, forcing me to raise my head and meet his eyes. I expected Sorrel to be disappointed, but he still keeps his smile. His hazel eyes meet my cerulean ones and he gives me a thumbs up.

"It's okay," he says, "you'll figure it out."

I almost start crying again. Sorrel has always shone so brightly and full of color, and even after everything that had happened, he's still the same.

He moves away from me and stands up with the help of the cliff beside him. He lights up the lantern attached to his belt, and our surroundings bloom in warmth. But the thing I noticed first is the white in his hair, the same one I tried to ignore this whole time.

The day father and mother died, Sorrel dyed a streak of his bang white. I never realized why, but now I remember how there was a big campaign against using white in buildings or anything deemed of importance, resulting in less white paint being sold in stores and me being frustrated because I couldn't lighten my paint the regular way. In response, Sorrel helped me find stocks of white paints and instructed me to directly contact him whenever I have a problem.

At the time I laughed it off, thinking of it as another of his jokes, but now I think his involvement in that was as big as those representatives suspected. Is white their symbol? Is it why the President hated it so much? I wanted to ask, but I'm afraid of the answer.

"It's getting late. You should go back," Sorrel says, "I'll also be going back to my work."

His work of trying to bring justice into this country, the nagging thought chimed in.

"Where?" I sputter.

Sorrel looks at me with questioning eyes before chuckling in a low tone. "Rupwell."

What kind of work does he do? I wonder. There were days he came home with injuries that hadn't even dried yet. There were days I could hear him crying to sleep. So why did he still continue despite... everything?

"Is it worth it?"

He looks off into the distance, his eyes unreadable.

"It's worth it as long as I can help people from living like this."

Sorrel's words remind me of what I tried to forget.

I lace my fingers together as the coming land breeze pierces through my bones. The sun had wavered over the horizon and yet we were still out here, unafraid of the overnight patrol that might come.

That's right. I'm the only one who refused to face reality.

I thought everything was fine, that Apreimmos can't be worse than other countries. We might have mandatory academy training, and families that refuse the voluntary deployment get insulted behind their backs, but at least we still can live in peace. But oh, I don't know how naïve I was.

Father and mother never express their distrust towards the government, but I should know what father does won't be approved by them.

Encouraging people to remember that every life is important and that you shouldn't give it away just for a cause you don't understand is what discouraged people from volunteering in the war. It's also what those representatives also said Sorrel did.

I always loved father's stories, but I've never considered what they really stand for.

The sea daffodil stays silent.

And now, what should I stand for?

Sorrel turns his back to me and starts to walk away. "What I do doesn't matter now, does it?" he waves his hand. "We should go back."

But I won't budge. A thousand thoughts plagued my mind and I still need to sort them out. I must do something—I knew that, but I didn't know what I could do.

"I don't want you catching a cold," says Sorrel, "so I'll drop you off first."

All I know is I want to help.

"Or I could take you to the main street if you wanna eat something," Sorrel continues.

As my mind buzzes, my gaze falls towards the sea daffodil in front of my feet, swaying with the land breeze. Then I remembered something.

Sorrel faced me again. "Heath—"

I take a deep breath. I have made up my mind.

"I'm going with you."

"W-what?! Wait, you don't have to force yourself, Heather," says Sorrel. I can hear the panic in his voice. "The academy is safer, you know? If you stick with me, they won't let you back."

"No, I know what I must do now." I grab father's notebook off the sand and stand up. I face Sorrel with fires burning inside my stomach. "Father and mother would've wanted me to join you. And now I know I should join you because you're right. People don't deserve to live in a state like this, and I wanted to help."

Another cold wind blow. Sorrel sighs. He pulls his coat closer, covering the dog tags hanging from his neck that only add up in numbers every time I see him. He stands in silence and seems to weigh his options. My heartbeat thumps in my ears as I wait, time slowing to almost a halt.

I didn't think much about what I said just now. All I want to do is to make sure Sorrel knows what I'm aiming for and what I want to be. So I don't know how he would take it.

Despite the fears swimming in my head, though, Sorrel answers with a snicker.

"Are you sure you're not too young for this?"

Even though his words irritate me, I can't help but be glad he isn't turning me away.

"We're only three years apart you jerk." I run to where he stands, tugging back a grin.

Sorrel says sorry while laughing before gazing down, his eyes mellow in the amber light of the lantern. Then he frowns. "But I'm kinda serious," he says, "I don't want you to be involved in sabotaging critical points or anything. It's too dangerous."

I respond with a smile. "Don't worry. I'll just do what I can do best."

When I see that sea daffodil, I remember why mother loved it.

"Do you know the meaning of sea daffodil?"

Sorrel fidgets for a while before throwing his hands up in an awkward laugh. Of course he doesn't know, he didn't spend enough time in the garden. I smile with pride before answering my own question.

"It has a lot of meaning but my favorite is rebirth," I say, "so it's perfect for what you and your friends want, right? A new beginning for Apreimmos. A place of peace."

He nods, a smile now adorning his face. "And it's white. How perfect."

"I could try and integrate that in places I could reach. Small doodles on the academy's walls, spray paint on those lamp poles in the main street, or I could even write again the short stories father used to make on the small books and spread them around," I say, "you could also use it whenever you do something and we'll make it as a symbol of peace and hope." I face him. "I might not be able to support you directly, but I could help you from behind the scenes like this."

Suddenly, Sorrel laughs.

"What? Do you not like my ideas?" I scowl.

He shakes his head in trying to stop his laughter. "Nothing. That's what I expected of you."

"Is that so?" I jokingly push him away. "I'll accept it as a compliment then."

"Please do." Sorrel snickers. Then he gazes out to the sea beside us. "Say, are you really really sure of this, though? Aren't you afraid of leaving everything behind?"

"Of course," I answer him without missing a beat. I glance at the sea daffodil before turning to face the sea too.

The red and black melt away, replaced with a shining white I never thought I'd see ever again.

"I can't keep dreaming without facing reality first, right?"

----------------------------------------

Once upon a time, a royal painter lived in a kingdom among the sea of stars, under the dragons' iron fist. She lost the king and queen, her parents, and was left alone with the knight commander.

She almost gave up, drowned in her thoughts and stories that used to be her sanctuary. But with the help of the knight commander, she kept the king's favorite lecture and the queen's favorite flower close to her heart and took a step forward.

This might not be the happily ever after I wanted, but for the sake of everyone that my parents loved, I need to move forward and help people just like they used to. Even if I can't do it directly like Sorrel, I can pick up my brush again and try to bring a picture of a fantasy they could escape to, something that can help ease their pain—a fantasy that could help them face reality.