As Mero and Sven continue to oversee the reconstruction of the riverside neighborhood and manage their duties at the Imperial School of Mor, a letter finds its way into Mero's hands one gray autumn morning. The envelope, sealed with a familiar red wax emblem, bears the seal of Mandarine. The paper, slightly yellowed and marked by the spray of a long journey, exudes a subtle scent of salt and smoked wood, a fragrance that instantly evokes the wild shores of her native island.
Mandarine has written a few simple words, yet imbued with her usual mischief: a "Happy belated birthday" scrawled with a quick pen, almost insolent in its acknowledged tardiness. A discreet smile forms on Mero's lips as he reads these lines, an amused gleam crossing his hazel eyes. She has had her revenge, he thinks, a small payback for a past oversight—perhaps that package he sent with a similar delay for her own birthday. Mandarine has a unique way of marking her rebellions, a delicate game that never fails to charm, even in its simplicity. It is rare for someone to dare play with his emotions like this, and he savors the light complicity she infuses into her message, a thin but strong thread that connects them despite the distance.
The office where Mero reads this letter is a haven of calm within the school, a room with walls paneled in dark wood polished by the years, where shelves sag under leather-bound volumes and rolled maps with yellowed edges. A tall mullioned window overlooks the inner courtyard, its panes slightly fogged by the morning humidity, filtering a pale light that illuminates the table cluttered with parchments—reconstruction plans, commission reports, bulletins to approve. A black stone fireplace, where a fire crackles softly, casts dancing shadows on the walls, warming the air filled with the scent of melted wax and fresh ink. The broken seal of the letter rests on the table, its red gleam contrasting with the smooth wood, while Mero holds the paper between his fingers, almost as if he could perceive Mandarine's laughter in the curves of her handwriting. Even without the lipstick kiss that sometimes adorns her missives, this discreet signature is imbued with her essence, a presence he feels with bittersweet acuity.
Sven, busy adjusting a map on a nearby wall, raises an eyebrow as he notices Mero's smile. "Good news?" he asks, his voice echoing in the room with a hint of curiosity.
"Mandarine," Mero simply replies, carefully folding the letter before tucking it into a drawer of the table, its wood marked by years of use. "She never fails to surprise me."
His thoughts linger on the letter, oscillating between amusement and a deeper tenderness. Will he respond immediately, or let this message hang in the air like a suspended note, a silent challenge in return? The growing love he feels for Mandarine, a sentiment that has taken root through their exchanges and silences, transcends these little teases. He decides to respond to her, not just with words, but with a thoughtful gesture. He chooses to send her a small package containing the necklace he bought on the volcanic island, a delicate piece of jewelry he found in a shop in Aiguille, in the heart of the island's vibrant market.
The necklace rests in a polished wooden box, its walls carved with marine motifs—stylized waves and fish with delicately engraved scales—a case that evokes the shores of Sel. Inside, on a bed of dark green velvet, the jewelry sparkles: a fine silver chain adorned with a pendant of polished black volcanic stone, reflecting the light like a shard of obsidian, set in a twisted silver mounting reminiscent of tropical jungle vines. This is not just a gift; it is a part of him, a tangible memory of their shared adventure, a token of the affection blossoming in his heart. The package, carefully prepared with a midnight blue silk ribbon tied around the box, is accompanied by a letter he writes at the corner of the table, his pen scratching the paper in a light rustle, the black ink flowing in neat lines under the flickering light of the candles.
The gesture is delicate, thoughtful, and imbued with an intention that goes beyond words. This offering symbolizes a deeper bond, woven through silences and actions, an affection he materializes here with sincere attention. As he seals the package with a wax seal marked with the trident of Sel, he wonders if this necklace will rekindle in Mandarine the flames of a feeling he has never seen completely extinguished, or if it will evoke specific memories of their journey—the silver sand beaches under a scorching sun, the distant rumble of the volcano, the turquoise waves caressing the tropical shores.
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
---
Mero sets out to describe their adventure on the volcanic island in detail, his pen gliding over the paper with a vivacity that reflects his enthusiasm. He describes the unique shape of the island, resembling a butterfly spreading its wings under the brilliant sky—the northeastern wing, arid and dotted with ochre-hued thorny bushes, contrasting with the southwestern wing, lush and dominated by the volcano whose dark, imposing slopes were crowned with grayish smoke. He paints the landscapes they discovered: the fine sand beaches sparkling like silver shards under the relentless sun, bordered by turquoise waves gently lapping against black rocks polished by the ocean; the tropical jungle with immense trees, their knotted trunks draped in green lianas, sheltering birds with brilliant plumage whose songs resonated in the humid air; the volcano itself, rumbling like a sleeping beast, its steep slopes streaked with cooled lava flows and its craters exhaling an acrid sulfur scent that floated in the morning mist.
He confides that this island, though distant and different, reminded him in some ways of her pirate city—a place where danger coexists with beauty, where narrow alleys lined with taverns with thatched roofs open onto bustling quays filled with the cries of sailors, where the Green Ocean stretches as far as the eye can see, shimmering under an azure sky streaked with wispy clouds. These similarities, he writes, brought his thoughts back to her, even in the heart of the adventure, weaving a connection between the volcanic island and the wild shores she calls home. The words he traces on the paper are tinged with a personal note, revealing deeper and more intimate feelings that he does not fully name, leaving Mandarine the freedom to perceive them in the silences between the lines.
He evokes the emotions this expedition stirred in him, feelings of love that he conveys with delicate restraint, without revealing everything. He describes the warmth of the sand under his feet, the salty breeze caressing his face, and the sense of freedom that overwhelmed him on those tropical beaches, but he subtly hints that these moments would have been even sweeter if he could have shared them with her. "I would have liked to be with you on the edge of that beach," he writes, his pen lingering on these words like a caress, a touch of nostalgia mixed with hope. He paints the scene with sincerity that shines through every line—the turquoise waves gently rolling onto the shore, their white crests sparkling under the burning sun, the silver sand stretching as far as the eye can see to the edge of the jungle, where palm trees with inclined fronds cast moving shadows on the golden ground.
This beach almost becomes a symbol in his words, a place of tranquility and pure beauty where he imagines their thoughts intertwining with each other's dreams, an intimate space he could only experience in spirit. The streets of Mandarine's pirate city, with their taverns with salt-weathered wooden walls, their quays lined with ships with patched sails, and their bustling markets where merchants hawk silver-scaled fish, resonate in his mind like an echo of this wild place. He offers her this message, light but filled with heart, as an invitation to one day share such a moment—feel the sea by her side, walk on the warm sand, and perhaps dream together of a future in a place as free and alive.
The package he prepares with care—the carved wooden box, the necklace nestled on its velvet bed, the blue silk ribbon tied with precision—accompanies this letter, a gesture that combines the reality of their volcanic island adventure with the wish for a deeper connection. As he seals it all with a wax seal marked with the trident of Sel, the scent of warm wax filling the paneled room, he imagines Mandarine receiving this gift in her pirate city, surrounded by taverns with flickering lanterns and quays where waves lap against the hulls of ships. He hopes that this necklace, with its black volcanic stone sparkling in the twisted silver, will rekindle in her a flame he has never seen completely extinguished, a fire he has silently nurtured since their last encounter.
Sven, who has resumed his place by the window, watches Mero fold the letter carefully, an amused smile playing on his lips. "She still has a hold on you, doesn't she?" he says, his voice echoing in the room with a hint of teasing.
Mero looks up, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "She never quite escapes me," he replies, slipping the package into a worn leather satchel on the table. "And I don't intend to let her."
