Memories of Days Gone By

Luce stirred awake, a yawn escaping him as the first chill of winter settled in. Snowflakes drifted lazily outside, gradually accumulating behind the glass panes of his windows, though he barely spared them a glance. It was just another day—another chance to make more money.

As he padded his way to the closet, memories surfaced unbidden, lingering in the corners of his mind. He tossed an old scarf around his neck, its green fabric frayed and faded with time.

He hadn't grown old, but he had undeniably grown older, the years gradually creeping up on him. Or perhaps it was the magic of youth that had slipped away, the rose-tinted glasses long discarded in favor of chasing money to send back for his sister’s care.

Pausing at the threshold of his home, he looked out at the winter wonderland beyond. It didn’t matter now, but there had been a time—a long time ago—when he had cared about more than survival. 

Fun, laughter, moments of joy—memories so distant now, they were nearly lost to time.

But for a fleeting moment, they came rushing back.

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Many years ago, in the days of Luce’s youth.
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“Alright Céleste, I’ve got some time.” Luce said, stepping out of the house that he shared with his sister and parents. His winter coat, sleek and thin compared to the fluffy bulk of most other mantibabs. “But I can’t be too—pfffffff.”

Back then… back then, he hadn’t been so quick to anger, so rough around the edges. He hadn’t been so hardened. Time had changed him.

Luce shook his head, his mane of hair ruffling, just as a massive snowball slammed into his face, tumbling into the house behind him.

But that was future Luce’s problem, he thought, quietly sliding the door closed. He’d probably even be able to clean it up without their parents noticing. After all, they were rarely home enough to care. Too wrapped up in their own social lives and popularity to bother checking in on anything.

He looked up at the dark-coated kanti, who stood with a stack of snowballs already gathered by her hind hooves, next to them a snow fort half built but incomplete. “If you’re going to stand there gawking,” she says, her gaze fixed on him. “I’m going to nail you with another snowball.” She taunts, her voice both playful and serious.

“Or are you going to show me today the great powers, or magic or whatever it is you mantibabs have?” Her words are half teasing, half mocking. Despite the history of her kind and all that had passed, Céleste still clung to the stubborn pride of her kanti heritage. It was something that had been instilled in her by her parents and grandparents, an outdated pride tied to old values that served no one.

Luce didn’t respond to the mention of magic. He never did. He knew all too well that if he engaged, they’d end up in an endless debate, or a pointless argument.

Instead he puffed out his chest with a smirk. “Magic? Pah, I don’t need magic to beat you at a snowball fight.” He answers, narrowly dodging another snowball Céleste whipped his way as he spoke, the cold snow grazing his cheek. Even then, Luce was already on the defensive. The kanti had a head start, a stockpile of snowball ready to be launched his way and a half built fort to hide behind—though it barely seemed like much of a defense. Maybe if she crouched low enough it could pass for cover, but he had his doubts about the pile of snow she called a “fort.”

While the kanti stood ready, her snowball stockpile prepared, Luce on the other hand found himself scrambling—caught between making snowballs and shielding his coat against the relentless flurry of cold, fluffy white projectiles pumelling him. And unfortunately for him, Céleste had impeccable aim. 

But Luce wasn’t without his own tricks, and as soon as he had enough snowballs, he flicked his tail through the snow with a practiced move, throwing up the loose snowy powder and creating a brief wall of white to obscure Céleste’s line of sight.

“Gotcha.” Luce trilled, his grin widening. Céleste’s dark coat stood out sharply against the snowy backdrop, an easy target through the makeshift barrier he’d briefly created. With his own smirk he launched his own volley snowballs, aiming for her now-exposed position.

“H-Hey! That’s not fair!” Céleste protested as she was forced out of her defensive position into the open, dodging Luce’s own barrage of snowballs.

“All’s fair in… snowballs and war!” He shot back, his aim more deliberate than the kanti’s lightning fast throws. Though slower, Luce managed to land a hit about half the time.

“That’s not how the saying goes, meathead!” She shot at him, laughing as she ducked and weaved. Luce retaliated with another well-aimed snowball, and soon they were both on the move—creating snowballs as they ran, weaving and dodging between throws. Any thought of building forts vanished as they relentlessly pursued each other, too caught up in the back-and-forth to give any time to build defensive forts.

“Yeah well, it is now!” Luce teased, his laughter bright in the cold air. He rarely got out, not with his responsibilities to his sister. And though he didn’t hold it against her, there were nights when he lay in his bed, selfishly wishing for just a little more freedom—if only for a few hours of unburdened fun.

As they played, it became clear that Céleste was emerging as the victor. While Luce joined in the occasional game with others, the kanti spent far more time with their fellow crederians, playing and socializing with ease. Céleste, seasoned by those countless moments of carefree play, had the upper hand, her movements instinctive and quick while Luce struggled to keep up.

By the end of the snowball fight, both were left shivering, though for different reasons. The cold had seeped deep into Luce's bones, his thin coat unable to ward off the chill as effectively as Céleste’s thick, insulating fur. He trembled, his body protesting the biting cold while she seemed unfazed.

Céleste, poised to hurl another snowball, paused mid-throw, her paw faltering. The snow beneath their feet had been packed down with their footsteps, the once pristine powder now trampled and worn. She dropped the snowball, letting it fall silently to the ground.

“Alright meathead,” she said with a warm grin, despite the odd endearment she’d settled on for him. “I’ve won again.”

Luce shot her an amused look.

“What?” she said, shrugging. “I’m right.”

Luce rolled his eyes. “Fiiiiine. I guess. But only by a little this time.”

The kanti laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Yeah, if by a ‘little’ you mean by an ‘avalanche.’”  She teased, grinning.

“Anyways,” Céleste continued, her voice softening. “I’m freezing. And you look like you’re about to turn into a babsicle right where you’re standing.”

Luce opened his mouth to retort but Céleste raised a paw to interrupt him. “Ah ah. I don’t want to hear it. All I want to hear next is your sweet serenades and how you’re going to make me one of those deliciously sinful hot chocolates with the little marshmallows.”

“Spoiled kanti.” Luce muttered under his breath, getting to his feet. He nudged Céleste playfully as he passed, opening the door to the house and stepping inside. The snowball that had once been lodged in the doorway had since melted into a puddle. A problem for future Luce to clean up as he walked past it.

“You know you love me.” Céleste teased, her voice light as they disappeared into the warmth of the house, the promise of hot chocolates and good conversation waiting within.

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Present Day.
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Luce shook his head, his gaze fixed on the blinding white of the snow outside. It wasn’t as heavy as it had been all those years ago. And it had been decades since he'd last spoken to Céleste.

Since the day he'd left, he hadn't so much as sent a letter, though she'd once been one of his closest friends. But those days were long gone, slipping further away with each passing year. A distant memory.

He stepped outside, the door closing softly behind him with a hollow finality. There was no snowball waiting for him, no water pooling in the doorway—just emptiness. Nothing for the future Luce to worry about this time.