Beyond Memory

The storm raged outside, gusts of wind battering the windows while snow flurries swirled so thickly that even a few feet of visibility seemed like a distant luxury to anyone foolish enough to venture out. The house groaned under the pressure of the storm, its joints creaking in time with the deep aches that had suddenly flared in Luce’s own limbs—old wounds, long healed, rearing their heads once more in response to the drop in temperature.

‘So, it’s going to be one of those days’, he thought grimly, feeling a familiar, throbbing pain pulse through his foreleg with each shift in the cold air. The injury, a reminder of youthful recklessness, had never healed quite right, and now, in this biting winter, it seemed to come alive again with every chill breeze.

Outside, the winter would keep him indoors, but Luce wasn’t concerned. He had endured many such storms before and had stocked up on preserved food and non-perishables. There was no immediate need to worry about provisions.

Yet, at that moment, hunger wasn’t what occupied his mind. Slowly, he made his way into the living room, his steps measured and careful as he favored his right foreleg, the one that did not twinge from the old injury. His movements were deliberate, as if the ache in his limb mirrored something deeper, something tied to the past. The injury wasn’t just a scar on his body—it was a mark of the mistakes he had made, the brashness of his youth.

But in this storm, there was no adventure waiting outside. No fights to win. No coins to gamble away and send to his sister. No reason to be cold or distant, despite the wariness others often felt in his presence. Most Crederians, normally drawn to the unusual colors of his pelt, were hesitant to approach—his scars and past made them wary of the trouble he carried. And most, content with their simple lives, preferred to leave well enough alone.

Luce couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t the life he’d envisioned, either. But it was the life he had chosen, a life of quiet responsibility. A life spent caring for another who couldn’t care for themselves.

With a heavy sigh, he moved toward the hearth, where a metal basket held thick logs stacked for moments like this. He picked them up one by one, carefully arranging them in a triangle, before gathering scraps of old paper and twigs to help kindle the flames. The act was familiar, comforting—a small ritual that offered solace, even on days like this.

Sometimes, Luce wondered if the gods, whether benevolent or mischievous, found amusement in the lighter hue of his coat. Was it some cosmic joke? Or perhaps a blessing? He wasn’t sure. Normally, he’d brush aside such thoughts, but today—on a snowed-in day like this—the weather had a way of making him more reflective, drawing out the old, buried memories.

Shaking his head, he cleared the thoughts and struck a match, carefully lighting the paper at the center of the logs. He waited for it to catch before pulling the grate into place. Soon, the fire crackled to life, its warmth slowly spreading through the room, pushing back the cold and filling the space with its comforting glow.

Luce stepped back, picking a blanket his sofa and wrapping himself with it. He curled up on the floor, his tail coiling around him as his head settled on his paws, the colors of the fire dancing before his eyes. The warmth seeped into his body, and his eyelids grew heavy. As the flames flickered, his mind drifted—memories, old and faded, flashed behind his eyes.

It must have been the storm, the stillness of the day, making him so reflective. Normally, he wouldn’t linger on the past. Yet, in this quiet moment, the past felt inescapable—its shadows long cast over the present. As sleep began to take him, Luce thought, for the briefest moment, that perhaps his past was not just a part of him, but the very thing that had shaped the man he had become.

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Many years ago, in the days of Luce’s youth.
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“Luce! Luce!” Mitsuko’s voice rang out, bright and full of eager excitement. “Do you think Noel will make me better this year?!” The question was asked with all the hopeful anticipation of a babling still clinging to the wonder of the world.

Mitsuko had been ill for as long as Luce could remember. A fragile little soul, never allowed outside for fear of worsening her condition, she lived in a world of warmth and care—her gilded cage, tended to daily by Luce. Though they weren’t related by blood, Luce loved her as fiercely as any sibling could.

As they made their way to the living room, Luce leaned down, pressing his cheek softly against hers, his voice gentle and warm just for her. “Well, if you’ve been really good this year, I’m sure Noel has at least stopped by. He’s a very busy bab, after all—got to bring gifts to all the other Crederians too.” The answer, though soft, was a kind refusal she likely already knew. "And if he spent all his magic on you, he might not have enough to share with the others." Luce’s voice held a note of care, though the weight of the truth made him ache. He hated to have to be the one to break her heart.

Before he could say anything more, Mitsuko interrupted, her voice thoughtful but still full of the optimism only a child could have. “Then… I don’t want Noel to fix me. I want other bablings to enjoy the holidays too. He shouldn’t have to stop just for me... well, as long as he leaves me something.” She mused, her tone a mix of sweetness and sadness, the edge of her words betraying the quiet hope that this year, maybe, things would be different. Someday, she told herself, she would be better.

Luce smiled softly, rubbing his cheek against hers as she skipped ahead toward the living room. She wasn’t meant to exert herself more than necessary, but Luce often let her get away with little freedoms—she would push against the limits regardless, and if she didn’t get a little room to stretch her wings, she’d simply find a way to hurt herself doing it.

Still, as she trotted ahead, Luce’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment as he looked at the pastel hues of her coat. Many, including their parents, saw it as a sign of something grand, something blessed. Luce didn’t share that belief. As long as she remained ill, her coat felt more like a curse than a gift.

The moment passed, though, and Mitsuko’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Come ooooon, Luce! I want to open my gifts!” She whined, a playful whine that reminded him that despite her maturity, she was still very much a young babling at heart.

Chuckling, Luce hurried to catch up with her. “Alright, alright, Mitsu. I’m coming,” he said, his voice laced with affection. The house was large, taking time to navigate from one place to another, but Mitsuko’s room was always close to the living room—just a short distance away when she needed a break, something to rest her weary body.

As they entered the living room, the fire he had set earlier crackled warmly behind the glass door. In the corner, a  tree stood, its ornaments gleaming under the soft glow of the room. Outside the windows, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland—snowbabs, snowlokos and snowkantis were out in the snow, wrapped in hats and scarves, each piece painstakingly crafted for hours by Luce the night before.

The sight of the tree brought Mitsuko to a stop, squealing with delight as she raced over. “Look, Luce! Noel brought us a tree and decorated it!” Her voice was bright with excitement, her eyes wide as she took in the beauty of the tree and its ornaments. She pulled a small, delicate ornament from the branches, her eyes sparkling with joy. “And look! He even made us!” she chirped, presenting the carefully crafted ornament—a representation of herself and Luce, something he had spent weeks saving for and commissioning from a local artist.

As she held the ornament, a sudden coughing fit wracked her small body, and she nearly dropped it.

Luce caught the ornament just in time. “Now, now, Mitsuko. You’re getting too excited.” He chided gently, nudging her toward the warmth of the fire. “Why don’t you get nice and warm? I’ll make us some hot cocoa, and we can read some stories before opening presents.” His voice was soft and soothing, and she nodded, wiping away the tears that had come with the coughing.

Once she was settled by the fire, clutching the ornament carefully, Luce left long enough to prepare the warm drinks. He frothed the cocoa until it was creamy and topped it with extra marshmallows—just the way Mitsuko loved it. When he returned, he settled next to her, the drink placed carefully beside her on the wooden table, a small pile of books already waiting for him.

He raised an eyebrow at her, the sight of the pile making him chuckle, though she was supposed to have been resting. “And which book would you like me to read to you today, Mitsu?” he asked, pulling a blanket around them both, though the warmth from the fire had already filled the room.

Mitsuko’s eyes flickered over the titles, but instead of choosing carefully, she seemingly picked a book at random, sending the rest of the pile tumbling to the floor with a soft thud. The cover was worn, the spine broken in places, the pages frayed from countless readings. Luce smiled fondly at the book, then glanced back at her. “Are you sure? You practically know this one by heart by now.”

Mitsuko nodded eagerly, her smile wide. “I’m sure. It’s my favorite, after all. I love how you do Noel’s voice.” Her excitement was infectious, and Luce couldn’t help but laugh.

“Alright, alright.” He opened the book, its age showing as the pages creaked with each turn. The story, ‘How Noel Saved Christmas’, told the story of how Noel, with the help of other Crederians, had beaten back the Miasma and celebrated its defeat by bringing gifts to all the bablings every year.

As Luce read, the world outside faded, and time seemed to slow. By the time the story ended, Mitsuko had fallen fast asleep, her empty cup of cocoa by her side, and the fire burning low in the hearth.

Quietly, Luce stood, careful not to disturb her. He hesitated, his gaze lingering on her peaceful face, before walking over to stoke the fire and add more logs to keep the warmth alive. He cleaned up the books, stacking them neatly, and then returned to the couch, curling up beside his sister once more.

Gifts could wait for now. For today, the warmth of their home, the quiet peace of the moment, was all that mattered.

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Present Day.
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For Luce, those memories now seemed like distant echoes. As the wind howled outside, the older mantibab drifted off to sleep in the warmth and quiet of the living room. In the peace of his slumber, his dreams wandered through the forgotten corners of his past, where memories his waking mind had long since lost still danced.