Season I | Episode I | Chapter II

“Zylgella, Tarrick!”

Tarrick steps forward on the stage. People cheer. He looks around. The small square is packed. The stage’s wood groans under their weight. They’re a lot who graduate this year, the biggest class to finish school yet. That’s a good sign. They’re a little village and while it’s mostly peaceful, they’ve lost a lot of people on that dreadful day three years ago. He tries not to think about it. Now’s the time to be hopeful, not dreary. Tarrick walks up to Mr. Pamks, his old master at the telegraph station, and accepts his diploma. Mr. Pamks beams at him, white nose twitching. Tarrick nods at him and takes back his place in the rank. He’s the last one. The mayor steps forward, all toothy smiles and grand arm gestures. People clap. Now it’s time for another speech about facing adversity. Well. They do need it every year.

Morale is always good, in his books.

Ha. In his books.

“People of High Tobain…”

Tarrick tunes out the mayor soon enough. It’s not that he’s not interested, the problem is, it’s the fifth time he’s heard that speech since this mayor was elected five years ago. Three times each Solace Day festival. So three times five equals fifteen. It gets repetitive after a while. Something itches at the back of his mind. Grandma mentioned something earlier. While leaving the Lennox. Something about… showing him something. Curiosity flashes through him. What did she mean ? He bites down a smile. Maybe she wants to show him her own diploma from when she graduated. Or maybe she wants to show him her playing cards collection. Does she still collect those from half a world away?

“Once again, we’re thankful to our wonderful people for taking care of each other during the last Affliction Day. Now, come on, people! Time to start the New Year festival, shall we?”

People cheer. Hurray!

Now’s the time to go talk to Grandma about… something.

People cheer when Tarrick walks them by. Too many people to count, the post officer, the baker, the gardener… All those people he’s known all his life. Grandma’s waiting for him with open arms and teary eyes. He hugs her without a second thought. The crowd parts around them. Ralofina and her mother, Aunt Xutha, come to wish him well and walk away. Prothea jumps from Grandma’s shoulder and onto his head, underneath his bicorn hat. Tarrick buries his nose in the crook of Grandma’s neck and breathes in her scent. Peppermint and lavender. Her favourite. Tarrick glances around. Others are doing the same. Hugging their cubs, clinging to them. His throat feels tight. If there’s any word one could use to describe Tarrick, it would be “hopeful”. He hopes beyond measure, he wants to cheer everyone up with his books. But there’s no denying reality. The future is uncertain for a lot of people. He’s lucky he’s got his bookshop.

Tarrick counts his blessings. He closes his eyes and hopes this moment will last forever.

Of course it doesn’t.

Grandma pushes him away. Two paws grasping his shoulders, she looks Tarrick in the eyes. Her body is rocked by one long breath. Her voice shakes when she says:

“They’d be so proud of you.”

“… Thank you.”

Prothea’s tail appears from underneath his hat. Flicking from left to right like a clock’s pendulum. The disheartened atmosphere is shattered. Tarrick and Grandma rumble with laughter. Arms in, arms out, they start to leave the emptying square. People bustle around, chatting with their neighbours, opening windows wide. Spring has arrived and a new sense of purpose sweeps into the small streets and alleyways. The smell of baking bread reaches Tarrick. The air feels fresh on his fur. New. Life is resuming, once again. Affliction Day’s protective gear falls away as they walk. High Tobainians can’t afford a lot of Meaningful equipment, but the small amount they have goes a long way. Enormous bubbles pop, vine walls sink back into their pots and steel shields turn back into paper. Until next year. Until the next natural disaster.

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Now’s not the time to think about it. Now’s the time to enjoy the blossoming day.

People wave and congratulate them on the way to Grandma’s house. Soon, Tarrick, Grandma and Prothea reach the end of the main cobblestone road and climb the hill over looking High Tobain. Tarrick stops a few steps away from the front door. He breathes in the pure air and smiles. This has always been his favourite part about living in Grandma’s house. He had been living there before he renovated Grandpa’s old boat into a bookshop. Anyway. This is what he enjoys the most. Outside. The view is beautiful up here, the tall snow-capped mountains touching the fluffy white clouds and casting shadows upon the deep valleys below. Green grass covered with fragrant violet and white flowers is hidden at times by pockets of mountane forest. Tarrick’s eye follows the winding river, past the dock, down to the town and far away from it. Beyond the horizon, the earth cuts clean off into the sea. The Great Cliff awaits.

Beyond, there is a great wide world Tarrick doesn’t particularly care to see.

He’s got his Grandma, Prothea, the town’s folks and his boathouse to keep him company.

Oh, and his tiny pieces of happiness, too. How can he forget books?

“Tarrick? What are you… What are you doing, exactly?”

“Enjoying the view, Grandma.”

“Right, right, right. Come on, I need to show you this. Hurry!”

His curiosity piqued, Tarrick follows her inside the two-story red and white cottage. Inside is everything the outside is not. Green and blues turn to purples and pinks. The air becomes saturated with peppermint. Every surface available is covered in porcelain trinkets and old photographs. He sees them, all that Grandma’s collected through the years, but he can barely think about them because of the smell. Grandma doesn’t seem to mind, though. She guides him past the living room and up the flight of stairs. Then, she pulls on a string and the attic’s ladder slides down effortlessly. Grandma points up. Tarrick stares. Prothea jumps from his shoulder and peeks upwards. Still, Tarrick stares. Is she… Is she serious?

“What do you want to show me in the attic?”

“Humor me, will you?”

“All right.”

He climbs. The attic is everything… well, everything you’d imagine an attic in your grandother’s house would look like. Piles upon piles of cardboard boxes, wooden crates and bags, full of goods from time immemorial, obstruct every inch of space around him. Dust itches at his throat. Sunlight barely filters through the dirty round window. Prothea sniffs at a box and skitters away, her back arched and her wings’ feathers raised, using a cat-owl body language’s equivalent of “nope, nope, nope!” Tarrick still looks around. There’s nothing he considers to be… out of the ordinary.

“What do you want to show me, Grandma?”

Her head pops in the trapdoor. She huffs. “This is what I wanted to show you!”

Tarrick stretches his arms wide. He gestures vaguely.

“The… attic?”

“Yes! The attic! That’s your graduation gift!”

“You’re… giving me your attic?”

“Giving you my…?” Grandma laughs. A raspy, quick and quiet kind of laugh. “No, not the entire attic!Wouldn’t fit on the Lennox. I want you to pick something. Anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything catches your eye? It’s yours. But be careful: you can only pick one thing.”

“… Oh. Um. Thank you?”

“You’re welcome, fluffy pie. Now, go out and explore!”

At first, he doesn’t really know what to do. Everything looks the same. Then Tarrick’s eyes adjust to the dark and he starts to notice… things. A bric-à-brac of things. Old-fashioned lamps. A worn carpet. A well-loved stack of books beg him to be picked up from their spots on their shelf, but he’s pretty sure he’s got all of those books already. Twice. A thought flutters through his mind, but wanders off too quickly for him to catch it. Tarrick starts to walk further away from the attic’s trapdoor. At first, he thinks he’s wandering aimlessly. Staring at too much stuff accumulated throughout the years and left to rot for a rainy day. But then Tarrick realizes… no. He’s not wandering. He’s walking with purpose. There’s something pulling him along. Not quite a purpose. But… something else. The air prickles with energy. He looks around but nothing catches his eye. Until a crate falls down from its pile. Tarrick jumps out of the way, paws shielding his face. A loud crash bursts in his ears. A cloud of dust fills his lungs. Tarrick coughs. Once the air is breathable again, he blinks and opens his eyes.

“Sorry,” says Prothea, sitting on top of the pile of junk.

She doesn’t look sorry.

Tarrick rubs away the dust on his coat. “You could’ve warned me.”

“My bad.”

Tarrick takes a look at the fallen crate. The crash split it open. Inside, there’s… how strange. An old suitcase. Well, it looks old. It must be. It’s old-fashioned. The top is covered with dust. But it almost looks… brand new. Tarrick runs his paw on the reddish-brown leather. The corners are metallic, golden and scratched. Tarrick rubs away at a plaque and gold shines through old dirt. His father’s name is engraved in the plaque. What a beautiful find. There’s bound to be a story or two tucked inside. Something clicks in him. This is it. This is what he was meant to find in Grandma’s attic. He doesn’t know why. Or how. But he knows, he’s certain, this is what Grandma meant by “catching his eye”.

Prothea glides down to him with a few beats of her wings.

“Want to open it?” she prompts.

“… Yeah. I want to keep it.”

A shadow spreads, long and wide, over him. Tarrick looks up. Grandma gives him a wide smile.

“Good choice,” she says. “I knew you could do it.”