Seraph | セラフ

In the days after the battle against the blade-clawed creatures, the mood at the B-612 base is somber. Even though there aren't that many remaining non-brass soldiers, the mess hall still used to be full of chatter. Now, it's quieter, tenser. Conversations are murmured rather than spoken. The last few cliques sit closer together, tucked away in corners.

Sure, nobody died in the fight. And the injuries that were sustained have already mostly had time to heal.

But we all got lucky. And we all know it.

And the next battle could happen anytime.

As per usual, Knight and I sit alone at one of the far tables. Knight pokes at his melamine tray full of a vaguely-food-like substance—I think it's supposed to be some kind of meatloaf and potato dish, but it doesn't really look, smell, or taste like one—in typical disinterest, occasionally slipping a bite up under his mask while mostly staring off into space. I eat with a bit more intention, but not by much.

All of the tables are quiet these days. But ours tends to be the quietest.

Knight hasn't scolded me about the battle. He hasn't even brought it up again since. If anything, he's been softer somehow, less intense, but it feels almost as if it's out of pity.

But I know he must be disappointed in me. I know I am.

He and I have been working together with the officers, trying to learn how to actually fight in a complementary manner. But it's hard. Sure, I want to protect him; he's the only person I've met in the Army who treats me like an actual person. Hell, I've barely met anyone who does that outside of the Army, either. So I do want to keep him alive and in one piece for that reason, and of course, because he seems like a decent guy who doesn't deserve to get merc'd by some monster. But having the desire and intent to prevent someone from dying clearly doesn't equate to actually being capable of doing that.

And while he seems to have better skill when it comes to keeping me alive—although I'm still not positive if he's doing so because he cares on some level or because he feels it's his duty—it's still not easy trying to figure out how to work together against one foe, much less when we're trying to simultaneously deal with multiple enemies at once and still both have each other's backs.

Trying to keep myself alive was hard enough when I was the only one I had to worry about, and the only opponents I faced were cops, other homeless people (mostly kids like me), and other Star Warriors. Now I've got two of us, and the things we'll be up against are trained to kill out of bloodlust, not just to stay alive like homeless kids, or as a supposed last resort against criminals like cops.

I'm so far out of my league, and at this point, I'm beginning to realize I'm never going to catch up.

The quiet chatter of the mess hall is interrupted by one of the double entrance doors slamming open. "Mail call," calls out the forced-cheerful voice of the one of the lower-ranked officers, the same purple Star Warrior who hurried me and Knight out of the cave the other day. The voices of the other soldiers grow slightly louder in anticipation as the officer circles the room with the fortnightly arrival of letters and parcels from back home. Moments later, one table on the other side of the room from us erupts in a miniature chorus of cheers and 'good on ya, lad!'s as somebody receives a love letter or care package from a sweetheart. This is quickly followed by the sound of the same somebody getting over-enthusiastically slapped on the back and falling into his food with a 'splat,' leading to a miniature chorus of laughter instead.

But the bump-up in the room's mood doesn't make it to the table Knight and I share. It goes without saying that I don't have anyone to get mail from. With Knight, obviously, I have no idea, but I've never seen him get anything. I've never seen him send anything, either, but I saw that stack of un-mailed letters he keeps under his bed that one time, and I've seen how many legal pads he picks up from the base store every month. Clearly, he has someone he wants to be sending letters to. But whoever they are, as far as I can tell, they aren't sending anything to him, either.

Plunk. Something is dropped on our table, interrupting my thoughts.

Knight and I both look up in surprise, first at the small box at the end of the table, and then at the smiling officer who dropped it there. I glance over at Knight, and then back at my 'food.' "Looks like you got something, Corporal. That's nice."

Before Knight can respond, the officer says, "Actually, Private, it's for you. I know; I'm surprised too. I've never had anything for you before." Without further ado, he moves to the next table, sorting through a small stack of letters as he goes.

I furrow my brow in confusion. Knight looks over at the package, and then at me. "Looks like you got something, Private," he repeats after me, a wry note to his voice. "That's nice."

"But I don't know who would—" I start, but quickly cut myself off, not even saying what's become obvious at this point. Identity topic. Reaching for the parcel, I pull it towards me. It's just a simple, small box, wrapped in brown packing paper and tied with matching string.

But sure enough, written on the top in neat, black handwriting are the words:

Private Seraph

c/o the Star Warrior Army

Star Warrior Academy

Star World's Orbit

On one of the package's sides is a white sticker bearing an image of a broken glass in red ink, and in matching red, the words 'FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE.' Several 30-Star postage stamps are scattered across the top of the box, seemingly stuck on at random, bearing stars, wildflowers, and wheat fields.

In the top left corner, the same neat, simple handwriting reads:

Deputy Maize & Family

114 Minnowcreek Lane

Petalfield, Courage Province

Star World

I blink down at the package, feeling rather confused and lost more than anything else.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Knight asks from across the table.

I don't answer, but slowly tug at the string, undoing the bowed knot that holds it together. After pushing the twine off, I carefully peel back the strips of tape holding the paper onto the box, not wanting to tear it.

I've never received anything in the mail before in my entire life, much less a package. I don't know why Deputy Maize is sending me anything. Maybe it's some kind of records or paperwork of mine he came across and thought it'd be important for me to have? But then why would it say it's from his family, too? I don't understand.

Inside the paper, the box is made of matching brown cardboard with a lid on top. Hesitant, and somehow a little bit scared, I carefully take off the lid.

Inside is a thick layer of neatly-crumpled sheets of pink and blue tissue paper, holding two neat rows of some kind of spicy-spelling cookie covered in sugar crystals. A couple of them seem to have crumbled in transit despite the fragile label, but most of them are relatively intact.

On top of the cookies are two sheets of paper, both folded closed.

"From family back home?" Knight asks, voice suddenly sounding slightly sour.

Feeling somehow numb, I shake my head. "No."

"Hm," he grunts, but doesn't say anything else.

Picking up the top sheet of paper, I unfold it and read the note inside, written in the same handwriting as the address on the box.

Private Seraph:

Hey, Kiddo. Me and the Mrs. have been thinking about you a lot lately, wondering how you're getting on up there in the stars somewhere. Bet you're already tearing around the Galaxy in one of those fancy starships they've got. Hopefully you've made lots of friends by now and you're eating well and staying safe.

I hope this isn't too forward of us to reach out like this, but given the little bit I know about your past—I haven't shared it with the Mrs. too much, confidentiality and all, but she knows you don't have family—we just... well, we thought it might be nice for you to know a few someones back on the ground're thinking of you. Plus, the Sheriff asked me the other day if I'd heard anything about how you've been. He's a grouch, but he still cares.

Don't feel like you're obligated to mail us back, but we'd love to hear word from you about how you're doing. And if there's anything from down here that you miss, feel free to let us know—snacks, candy, magazines, what have you. We'll try to send you a few things now and again, if you'll let us. Hopefully help you feel a bit less disconnected from us civilian types, you know?

Anyway, I've already gone on way too long. I'm sure you're staying busy, fighting a war and all. The Mrs. and I pray for you every night for you to stay safe. I hope that's okay. You can tell us if it's not, we won't be offended.

Stay safe, Kiddo. For what it's worth, me and the Mrs. and Daisy are all proud of you. The Sheriff is too, even if he won't admit it. But I know the guy, and I know he is.

You're loved, Private Seraph. And your existence matters, you hear? Whether the world's led you to believe it or not. It does.

—Deputy Maize

And right next to Maize's name, in another, more flowy handwriting: Mrs. Cornflower (I hope you enjoy the cookies, dear. We all worked on them together. Feel free to let us know your favorites, okay?)

Beneath the two signatures and Mrs. Cornflower's postscript is a scribble drawn in orange crayon, with a black arrow pointing to it, and in Maize's handwriting, the words Daisy—she's also the artist behind the drawing. She still doesn't talk a whole lot, being only 2 and all. But she hollered every time we tried to take it out of the box, so we think she wants you to have it.

A drop of water suddenly lands on the paper, making me stare up at the ceiling in confusion, trying to spot the leak.

But then I feel the stream of liquid running down my face.

And that's when I realize I'm crying.

I sniffle and dig the heel of my free glove into my eyes, trying to staunch the tears. It's mortifying enough that I'm crying in front of Knight and everyone else to begin with; I don't need the waterworks to get going any harder and for somebody else to notice them.

But I've never had anyone care about me like this before. I've never had someone reach out to me after I've passed out of their care, either from the orphanage I signed myself out of less than a week after being checked in as the government's ward, or any of the homeless shelters I drifted through in the months after. Nobody's ever sent me a letter. Nobody's ever wondered how I'm doing. Nobody's ever felt the need to send me a care package filled with some homemade cookies.

This doesn't feel real. It feels like a good dream, but it doesn't feel real.

I still haven't managed to stop crying, but setting the letter down, I pick up the other piece of paper and flip it open. Sure enough, it's just multicolored crayon scribbles, but still. It's a gift. And somebody wanted me to have it. Me, specifically. As far as I'm concerned, it's the most priceless masterpiece ever made and belongs in the featured exhibit at the Startropolis Museum of Art.

I swallow back a sob and pick up the letter, reading over it again. Is this what it feels like to have someone care that you exist, care if you're alive or not? Is this what it feels like to be loved?

"Are you okay?" Knight asks. His voice is gentle, but seems tired somehow.

"I've never gotten a letter before," I say in a shaking voice. The tears won't stop coming. "It's—it's not from family, not exactly—I mean, not really. It's from... it's hard to explain. There's this cop in a tiny Courage Province town, and he... it's because of him I'm here. In the Army, I mean. Or at all, on some level, I guess. And he's actually a good person even if he's a cop and his family made me the cookies and sent me this letter and—" I realize I'm rambling and saying way too much about myself, so I snap my mouth shut.

I look up at Knight, who's glancing between me and the letter from across the table, his masked eyes narrowed in what seems to be confusion. They're ringed in gray, a color I've never seen them show before. "Is it bad news?"

I shake my head, looking back down at the letter, which I'm holding out from myself a bit to avoid getting more tears on it. My free glove is resting on the table, clenched in a fist as I try to regulate myself. "It's not really any news. They just wanted to check on me." My voice cracks on the last words, and it's all I can do to keep from bawling like a baby. "I've never had anyone want to check on me before."

A glove closes around my clenched fist and gives a gentle squeeze. I look up at Knight in surprise, feeling the lump in my throat grow ever bigger.

"Private," he says gently, his eyes still ringed in gray. "You deserve to have people care about you."

My reaction is to start blinking faster and to snap my glove away with a blubber of "Sorry." I quickly throw the letters back into the box and the lid back on top.

"Private?" Knight questions in concern. The gray is quickly taking over the entirety of his eyes and not just the edges.

"I have to get out of here," I choke out, jerking my head at the room in general as I grab the box towards me and stand up, stumbling, my vision blurred by tears. "I can't cry in front of these people."

Knight seems to understand, because as soon as I'm standing, he's there to grab my arm for stability. He leads us out of the mess hall and into one of the rooms this wagon-spoke hall leads into, one I've never been in before. But even through the tears, I can tell it's quiet, it's dim, and the floor is carpeted. And it smells nice.

"We're in the library," Knight tells me softly, leading me away from the door and down what I guess must be an aisle of bookshelves. "Nobody really comes in here anymore, not since the librarian left. Just me, really. So nobody will hear you in here."

Grateful, I plunk down into a sitting position on the floor, leaning against the nearest shelf for support. Knight sits down beside me, several inches away. And then, hugging the box to myself, I let myself go.

And I sob, and I cry, and I bawl like I haven't since I was 16, since the day I finally processed that my parents didn't love me even though I should have figured it out so much sooner, since the day I realized my life was worthless, since the day I realized that I have no one in this whole wide Galaxy except for myself.

Knight sits silently next to me the whole time. I can't see anything past my tears, so I have no idea if he's looking at me or staring off into space. I don't know if he's waiting in patience, or sitting there seething in annoyance at the dramatics that I can't help. But what matters is he's there. And for some reason, right now, that means the world.

There's not a single other soul on this base who'd be willing to be where he is right now. But this box tells me that maybe, just maybe, there's a few other souls in this Galaxy who would.

Finally, after what feels like forever, I can feel the tears starting to slow down. Sobs turn into hiccups turn into sniffles. My head and my throat both hurt, and I can't remember the last time I've been this congested. But at the same time, I feel better somehow. It doesn't make sense. But it's true.

Something soft pokes me in the side, and when I glance over, Knight is offering me a handkerchief. I accept it with one glove and begin wiping my face off, still hugging the box with my other glove. Just before I finish clearing off all the tears and snot, I get poked with another object. This one turns out to be a bottle of water.

"It's important to hydrate after having a cry like that," he says simply. I don't know where he got the water from; I didn't ever hear or sense him get up to leave. But then again, I was crying pretty loudly the whole time.

"Is water allowed in the library?" I ask hoarsely, crumpling the handkerchief up and setting it down on the floor beside me before accepting the water. Without waiting for the answer, I twist the cap off and start chugging it.

Knight gives a tired sort of laugh. "Not technically. But I'd argue these are special circumstances."

I snort despite myself, finishing the water. Closing the now-empty disposable bottle and setting it aside, I resume hugging the box with both gloves. With a heavy sigh, I lean my head back against the bookshelf and stare up at the ceiling. I can see there are florescent light fixtures set in it, but they're not turned on. I finally realize that the small amount of light in here must be coming from lamps. I didn't realize there were any quieter, dimmer rooms like this that the normal soldiers could access. I thought they all belonged to the brass.

I need to come in here more often.

Knight waits a minute before speaking again. "Do you want to talk about it? I completely understand if not."

"I don't know," I answer honestly. On some level, I want to explain, want to tell him everything. But on another, I really don't. I don't know how he'd take it, for one. For another, I don't want to have to think about it all right now when I'm already so emotionally wiped out. Finally, I get out, "I just... it's overwhelming. Knowing there's someone who cares about you. You know?"

He sighs. I tilt my head slightly to look over at him. His gloves are resting on his metal-booted feet, and much like I am, his head is leaned back towards the ceiling. But the slot in his mask is empty and dark; his eyes are closed. "Yeah. I know."

I sigh too, looking back down at the box and feeling my throat swell again when I realize I didn't grab the packing paper. I can't help but sniffle again and whimper, "All the cute little stamps—"

"I grabbed it for you," Knight interrupts me gently. "While you were putting it back together." He reaches down by his side, under his cape, and pulls the paper out, carefully folded. "Thought you might want to keep it."

I give a weak, tired laugh as I accept it in relief. "You were right."

"I'm glad I grabbed it, then." He opens his eyes finally, glancing over at me. "Are you okay?"

I nod slowly, still staring at the box. "I think so." I look back over at him. "Are you?"

His eyes close once more. "I think so."

I don't fully believe him, but I know I've promised not to pry. "...Okay." Finally, I slide the box back open, looking over its simple contents once again. "Can I borrow some paper, maybe? I want to write them back."

"Of course. I'll bring you some when I come get you from your quarters tomorrow morning," he says. "I don't have any postage or envelopes though; we'll have to stop by the base store so you can get those."

"That's fine," I agree softly. I guess that really proves he's not mailing any of those letters. And yet, it's clear they matter to him; otherwise, he wouldn't keep writing them. I wish I understood.

After a pause, I reach into the box and finally pull out a cookie, holding it out towards him. "Do you want one? They smell amazing. Or at least they did, before I cried so much that I stuffed my nose up so bad I can't really smell much of anything now."

His eyes open once more, looking first at the cookie, and then at me. "No thank you, Private." His eyes curve inwards at the bottoms, telling me he's smiling. But they're filled with another color I've never seen there before.

Blue, and not the bright blue of half my skin or the medium blue of his, but the same deep blue as his cape.

I don't know what that means. But I don't think it means he's happy.

"Why not?" I ask gently, holding the cookie out slightly closer to him. "I know you like cookies; it's like, the only kind of food I've ever seen you show any kind of interest in."

He gently reaches out, shoving my glove away. "I appreciate the offer, Private. But no, thank you."

"Alright," I accept with a shrug, pulling the cookie back towards myself and taking a bite out of it. It makes a satisfying crunch, and my mouth floods with a warm, homey flavor that almost makes me start crying again, and probably would if I hadn't just been sobbing my face off for who knows how long. But even as I enjoy the sweet, I feel a little off.

I don't think Knight is okay. But I also know he won't tell me about it, even if he's not.

Swallowing the bite of cookie, I look over at Knight again. He hasn't moved, but his eyes are closed again. And his gloves seem to be curled into fists. Not in anger, but I'm not sure why instead.

"Hey, Corporal?" I say quietly.

"Mm?" he answers, not moving or opening his eyes.

"I care about you, okay? I'm, uh... I'm glad you're here." I look away, down at the box and my gloves. "I'm not really good at expressing stuff like this; I've never really had any experience with, like... having friends or whatever. But I want you to know I'm glad you exist. And I want you to know that you're the closest thing to a friend I've ever had."

He sighs heavily, and even though I know he's barely any older than me, he sounds so old, somehow. "I'm glad you exist as well, Private. I do consider you a friend too, at this point." His gloves clench slightly tighter. "I'm sorry I'm not better at showing it."

I wait to see if he'll keep talking. When he doesn't, I reply, "I'm sorry I'm not better at showing it, either."

The room goes quiet for a moment as I take another bite of the cookie. I've never had food that felt like a hug before, but this does, somehow. I swallow and speak up again. "Corporal?"

"Yes, Private?"

"Can I... I mean, if we're friends, and all... May I just call you Knight?"

He hesitates for a moment, but then nods once. "That'd be alright, on one condition."

I tilt my head. "Hm?"

"If I may simply call you Seraph."

I grin despite myself. "Of course, Knight."

"Thank you, Seraph."

Once more, silence, but not for long this time. I'm yet again the one who breaks it. "I've never had a friend before."

"Well, now you do," he says gently. "Again. I'm glad you exist."

And in this moment, sitting here holding a box of cookies made purely from care. Next to the first Star Warrior who's ever called me 'friend.' Despite all of my failures, despite all of my shortcomings, despite being rejected by the very people who made me, despite everything I am and everything I'm not...

...For the first time ever, I can say, and mean it:

"I'm glad I exist, too."

Author's Note:

This chapter is one of the many examples of the story of Heroes of Dreamland writing itself. I've had this chapter outlined for more than a year. And initially, the second half was going to go very differently. Seraph and Knight were going to stay in the meal hall. Seraph was going to stop crying very quickly. Seraph was going to ask Knight for some paper to write back with; he was going to say no, telling her to buy some herself. And when she offered him a cookie, he was going to not only say no, but also get up and storm off.

But this was one of those times where the story said, 'No. That's not how I go. This is what I have to say.'

And as the author, all I can say when that happens is, 'Okay. I believe you. Show me how you go.'

But I guess I'm not too surprised. Knight is Meta, after all, even if he's trying so hard not to be. And this is HoD. All roads eventually lead to libraries.

Thanks for reading. I hope to be once again be back with the next chapter next Saturday (Feb. 11th, 2023).

And hey, dear Reader?

I'm glad we exist.