Art cr bluestock
Prelude. E.
Ch1 Flight
Warm rays contradicting the cold lifeless atmosphere of the airport reflected through glass windows like they could save me with their warmth. I wasn't afraid, I'd get out of my homeland. I wasn't in anguish over it either. The plane I'd board in an hour could go down in less than a second if they wanted. My whole life could end where it was supposed to start.
I'll keep going forward, no matter what. I wouldn't be a hero, or a survivor, or a martyr. I'll be the one who abandoned her country for her own future. I was never contributing to it anyway. There was nothing but being stranded in constant grief over what could've been, if only I was born into the other world.
I fidgeted with the phone in my hand, no one to call, to say goodbye to. Maybe if I closed my eyes and opened them I'd be on the other side of the world.
The next hours were blurry, people squirming to get on board like the plane would take them to heaven . The land of the free, of hope- the land of opportunities. Marley. I followed the crowd, to the heart of the alliances that own everything just to destroy it. Maybe their foreign diplomacies worked. Even if civilization fell on humanity in the third world countries, their empire of blood-stained gold and money continued rising. I hope- I do too. No matter what it takes.
Through the turbulence that felt like death, with cramped seats next to windows that didn't promise to stay intact, the plane landed, and I dared to open my eyes with longing.
I was in Lakua, the capital of Marley, a diverse nation. The city was like something I had never seen, tall monumental buildings, slight tones of Victorian and Gothic architecture somehow blending into this metropolitan layout. No sight of plain fields or vast lakes surrounded by hills- just man made creations.
I walked through it, timidly carrying my luggage, searching for places to stay at on my phone. The cash i had was nowhere near enough, so i had to look for jobs before i could go rest anywhere.
Three weeks passed, No one noticed if I stayed in libraries overnight., I was saving up whatever I was making from working at the library. I didn't waste a lot of time enrolling at a public school, I liked the possibility that if I worked hard enough I might be able to make something out of myself. I did so. I worked tirelessly through school and work, making up for undocumented backlog, pretending I didn't notice the way people would look at me like they could sense someone from the middle eastern allies from miles away, pretending the counselors were not purposefully holding prejudice against me, pretending it was okay if i was the only person in my own world. Just like that time went on.
I'd often spend my day cramped up in the gold mine of a basement I found underneath the library when I was not working. It was as if the place was made for me to reside in, there were alot of documents and books, many of which I couldn't exactly decipher, but I read them anyway. Most of the place had a different section for history books I couldn't find in the central library itself so I skimmed through them to see how they were written compared to the ones from MEA.
I truly enjoyed being in the library after what school would put me through. It was peaceful and I really liked to notice the little things that would make me happy despite harboring a steady sorrowful nature. I liked walking back from school and listening to music, the kind that was inherently sad but made me hopeful. I liked watching the cars go by, the unwavering sun shine after solemn rain, the interior of the library, the occasional food I'd treat myself with, and the way some people were kind to me. I liked the maze of books I could read, especially since they had some of my favourite superhero comics as well. I noticed the way everyone would quietly do their work, the old man who'd visit often just to read an old collection of novels, the young girl swooning in the romance section, a closed off long-haired boy in black reading history books, multiple people not meant to be judged by their cover.
One cloudy day, I had gotten out for some coffee and returned during the afternoon to resume my shift. I began checking the data for borrowed books when I saw someone reluctantly approaching the counter. I looked up with the nicest expression I could muster up, hoping he wasn't another demeaning racist kind, “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”
“Um Hello, I was just wondering if you could point me to the marine biology section, I can never navigate through libraries this big.” the blonde boy chuckled.
“Oh of course let me show you.” I motion for him to walk after me as I get up.
“Sorry for disturbing-”
“No worries, the library is pretty big” I reassure him, looking away as I feel slightly guilty for being the one to judge by the cover earlier.
After a few steps of silence, he speaks up again, “I prefer going to my local library, it has just my kind of collections, but the book I'm looking for now is only available here..”
“What's the name?” I engage in his attempt at conversation.
“Fire water, Land made of Ice. It’s anonymously written, really hard to find.” His eyes almost sparkle as he mentions it. I look back at him, smiling slightly, “Never heard of it.”
He smiles back as we continue walking through the labyrinth of books. I take a stop in front of a wide section of shelves, “This should be where all the books related to marine biology are, and the ocean in general. Should take some time but hopefully you'll find your book here.”
I lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, fingers brushing the spines as if I might recognize the title through touch alone, as if it was my responsibility to find him this book. The smell of paper and dust settled back into me, grounding, comforting.
“Thankyou….uhh” He paused. I told him my name. He told me his, before I promptly left him to find what he was looking for. I returned to the counter, the familiar rhythm of stamping dates and typing codes settling me back into myself. Still, I caught my eyes drifting toward the marine biology section more than once. I averted my gaze to my coffee, now cold and distasteful somehow. It ended up in the dustbin as I continued mindlessly surfing through the records.
“Armin” I whispered, as if it had to be said out loud, like it would be of no meaning if I didn't. I still couldn't think of what it meant, I'd never heard the name before.
The hours dragged on quietly after that, papers shuffled, keyboards clicked, footsteps passed and faded. I busied myself organizing returns, but my mind betrayed me, replaying the way his voice had sounded when he said the book’s title. Fire water, Land made of Ice. It didn’t sound like marine biology. It sounded like folklore or some forbidden knowledge one can’t comprehend even if they read it over and over.
Moments later I looked over my shoulder and I saw him find his way back to me, posture slightly defeated. My defaulted smile fell, “Did you not find it?” I questioned, immersed in this more than I should have. He shook his head, almost sulking. I awkwardly shuffled, looking down thinking of how I could comfort him, before I realized I didn't have to. “Maybe next time.” I said swiftly. He nodded as a sigh escaped him, “Well, I'm sorry-” “Not at all” I intercepted “No really, your coffee went cold helping me out too” He noticed the dustbin behind my chair. I smile, taken aback, “It wasn't even good.” He laughs lightly, “Well let me make up for it, I know a good cafe nearby.”
“I see.”
“Um if you want of course! It's totally okay if you’d rather not, I wouldn't want to bother you-”
“I wouldn't mind finding new cafes.” I say, I don't know why. Going somewhere with someone didn't sound so bad.
I noticed his blue eyes light up for the second time. “I'm free Friday afternoon.”
“Right—of course.” He hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag, then smiled again, softer this time. “I’ll see you then.” I watched him leave, his figure swallowed by shelves and spines and quiet. Only when he disappeared entirely did I realize my heart had been beating faster than usual, it was pathetic. The rest of the night went by with people retreating back home, even the history boy went back early. It was going to be cold.
Friday came sooner than it should have.
The day dragged with unbearable slowness, classes blurring together, the city outside looking sharper somehow, more observant. I didn't have work, but I'd still go to the library. It was my home. I got presentable in the vacant rooms my things were in.I stepped outside the library, my breath fogging faintly in the cooling air. He was already there. Leaning against the stone railing, hands in his beige coat pockets, blonde hair stirred by the wind like skin slightly flushed like he’d been standing a while, When he noticed me, he straightened instantly. I gave him a small wave.
“You’re right on time,” he said as he walked toward me, smelling slightly of vanilla and cologne.
“So are you,” I replied, adjusting the strap of my bag. “Is the cafe nearby?.” I squint at him, the sun slightly blinding me. He nodded, turning toward the street. “It’s not far.”
We walked side by side, footsteps syncing without effort. The city hummed around us–cars rushing, voices overlapping, neon signs flickering to life. Yet something about the silence between us felt intentional, like neither of us wanted to disturb it, it was a comfortable silence.
After a few blocks, he spoke. “You’re not from here.”
Great. Now instead of grabbing coffee, the authorities would grab me as they hear of my nationality, demanding papers and then make me stand in the middle of the city as people throw tomatoes at me as they all point and laugh.
I glanced at him, then ahead. “What makes you say that?”
He smiled faintly. “Only because you look at everything like it’s.. temporary. Like you’re memorizing it because it's not familiar, so I just assumed.”
“Everything is temporary.” I make no effort to get defensive. I didn't confirm it either.
“Mhm”
The café appeared tucked between two taller buildings, its windows glowing warm against the gray. As he reached for the door, I felt the tug of a thread tightening around something buried deep in me. Like as if I should be doing something worthwhile for my future--that this was a waste of time. He closed the door, entering after me, and for a second, the noise of the city died behind us.
Warmth wrapped around my skin instantly, the scent of roasted beans and sugar settling in my lungs. The café was small, narrow, tucked away like a secret meant for people who knew where to look. I liked it.
“A friend of mine knows the chef owner, so we all crash here a lot.” He spoke softly. “That's nice.” I say as we take a corner table close to the window. He nods, a little stiff, like he isn’t sure what to do with his hands now that he’s sitting. “What do you usually like?” he promptly asks.“I just chose hazelnut latte and went with it forever.” I huff out, thinking of whether I should be more knowledgeable on different types of coffee or not. He chuckles as he gets up to order, asking me beforehand about preference.
Doesn't take long for our order to arrive, seems as though the cheerful blonde knows all the workers, he engages in small talk with the server as he brings the coffee back to our table.
“What did you get?” I question shyly. “Oh I got a vanilla cappuccino!” He chirped, as if waiting to be questioned by me. “Wanna try?” He offers. “Uh sure.” I fluster slightly, “Try mine.” I say as I exchange the two drinks. We both take a sip, he grimaces slightly, nose scrunching up.
“You don't like it?”
“Nono– It's just too hot” He hisses slightly, before covering it up with an embarrassed grin.
“Noo be careful” I hold a laugh back “You okay?” He wordlessly nods, still thinly smiling.
“You sure?” I ask, already reaching for my cup back. “Yeah—yeah,” he says quickly, waving a hand like the burn is a minor inconvenience and not a personal betrayal. “I just have zero patience.” He exhales, relieved I’m laughing, and sets the cup down carefully near my grasp.
I take a sip of his cappuccino. It’s lighter than mine, sweeter, the vanilla subtle. “This is good,” I admit. “Right?” His face brightens like he personally invented it. “I get it every time. I tried branching out once and immediately regretted it.” “I'm the same, once I like something I like it forever.” I say, handing him his cup back, retreating my hand before he places it. I sip on my latte with content.
“So,” he says after a moment, tapping his cup lightly, “do you always work the evening shifts?”
“Evening to night.,” I answer. “It’s quieter.”
“Yeah,” he nods. “I like that.”
“I might come by again,” he adds quickly, like he’s afraid the thought will evaporate if he doesn’t say it out loud.
“To the library. I mean. Not to bother you or anything.”
“I wouldn't be bothered, I spend most of my time there.” I look up at him. “So, why’d you invite me to hang out? Doesn't seem like you have a shortage of friends?” I ask directly, genuinely curious. I see him fluster again, he clears his throat, “I don't have any librarian friends who like books as much as me.” he smiles like an idiot this time.
I blink at him once, then twice,“That’s.. a very specific category,” I say.
“I know,” he admits immediately, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it felt important.” I huff out a quiet laugh, lowering my gaze back to my cup. The coffee’s cooled just enough now, the hazelnut stronger. “Well,” I say, “I do like books. Buut I don't know about ocean facts 101.” I snicker.
He acts offended.
“Speaking of which, I came across something in the library inventory” Like I didn’t break my back crouching to look for it in the basement the past few days. It was my turn to smile like an idiot as I pulled out ‘Fire water, Land made of Ice’ , an almost intact book, and placed it in front of his gleaming eyes. His reaction is immediate. He freezes, just for a split second. Like his brain needs time to catch up with what his eyes are seeing. Then his gaze snaps down to the book, hands hovering over it without touching, like it's forbidden.
“You’re kidding,” he says, voice dropping.
“I don’t kid,” I reply lightly, sliding it a little closer to him across the table. He lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, finally picking it up.
“No way!” he turns it over, fingers tracing the worn edges, the faded lettering on the cover. It's quite old.
“I’ve been looking for this forever,” he says, almost to himself. “I was hopeless after I couldnt find it in the central library.” He breathes out.
“Well,” I say, trying to keep it casual, “guess it was hiding from you.” He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh at that, he runs a thumb along the spine again, then glances at me, something a little sheepish in his expression. “I thought maybe I imagined it. Like I made it up in my head or something.”
“That'd be understandable.” I reassure, taking a sip of my coffee. I smile, leaning back in my chair. He closes the book carefully this time, holding it against his chest for a second before realizing what he’s doing and lowering it again.
“But… thank you,” he says, more firmly now, “Truly.”
“Anytime,” I reply. The café feels smaller now, like the moment has filled it up. Outside, the sky has dimmed another shade, streetlights beginning to flicker on.
“Next time I see you, I'll introduce you to my friends.” He exclaims like it's on his wish list. “…If you want,” he adds quickly.
“I won't bite.” I answer without thinking much about why I actually feel like wanting to meet new people now.
“Thank God, cuz that would've been hard to explain,”
We lose complete track of time as we talk for what feels like eternity, or like I've already been friends with him. Because for some reason, I don't feel cornered, he asks enough to get to know more about me and I do too. We talk about books, certain media we like, the way the city is, he tells me about his friends and his living here. Despite being given a book he was most passionate about, I find him getting more excited whenever we discovered a new common interest. The sky outside becomes engulfed in darkness ,only streetlights and the moon providing some light,
“It's getting dark, I should get back home.” I say. He agrees, as we both stand up, tidying a bit before greeting the cafe owners goodbye.
Outside, the air is colder now, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. He walks a bit with me before stopping, hands back in his coat pockets. We walk briskly, commenting about our surroundings here and there. He briefly asks me about how I've experienced life, perhaps to get an idea of where I was raised. I could already tell he was sure I wasn't from around, so I decided to tell him. The meeting was at its end, and if he wanted to develop ill feelings towards me because of where I was from, we wouldn't have to meet again.
“MEA.” (Mid East Alliances)
He slows his steps just a little when I say it. Not stopping—just enough that I notice. I brace without meaning to. Not outwardly. Just that quiet internal thing, waiting for the shift. The questions. The assumptions. The sudden distance that usually follows. Instead, he hums once, thoughtful.
“That’s… far,” he says. “I’ve never been. Only heard about it. I’m Dutch, my parents migrated to Marley during the development.” he shares.
I breathe out. “Oh,” I say. “That explains the accent.”
He blinks. “I have an accent?”
“Very faint,” I add quickly. “Barely there. I wouldn’t have guessed unless you said something.”
“Well I almost guessed where you were from as well.” he counters.
“Sure.”
He laughs softly, I can bring myself to smile.
“Well are you getting settled in?” He politely continues.
“I'm working on it.” He turns to me, his eyes hold nothing but kindness.
”If you ever need anything, I'm here. Oh and I am taking you to ALL the cafes I know around here, it's my favorite pastime.”
“That’s… ambitious,” I say, half-smiling. “You might regret that.”
“No. I am very committed to my hobbies..”
We stop at a corner then,meet the intersection where I turn to the street that leads to the back of the library, the crosswalk light glows, painting everything in a soft wash of color.
“Well,” he says, shifting his weight, “this is me.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.”
He pauses, looking at me again,
“I’m really glad you came,” he says. Not intense. Just honest.
“Me too,” I reply.
He hesitates, then smiles. “I’ll see you at the library.”
“You know where to find me.”
“Goodnight.” He beams, giving me a wave before turning away, nearly bumping into a passing cyclist and muttering a quick apology. I scoff lightheartedly and walk to my destination, as if this was the beginning of a renaissance in my life. I felt hope for the first time through the bluest eyes I had ever seen. My hidden room in the huge library welcomed me warmly like a mother would embrace her child after a long time.
It wasn't long before that embrace became suffocating again. In the hidden pocket of the library,I had continued spending my nights. Except now I'd already felt a glimpse of something more. The same thing I wanted more of. Freedom. Not living in a burden, having enough abundance to sustain me for the life I'd want to live on. It had been days since I'd heard from my new friend, or was I too quick to call it that? I'd dare not call, but I did want, A friend. As if I hadn't been alone forever even with people around me.
I went through the routine anyway. School. Work. Shelves to organize, returns to log, hours to survive. I caught myself looking up more often than I should, glancing toward the entrance whenever footsteps echoed between the aisles. It was annoying, how easily I had fallen into this false hope of living the kind of life that was never my fate. I was meant to be here, doing what I was doing, making it further on my own accord, and that was it.
It was during one of those nights, when the library was almost empty and the air felt heavy with dust and routine—that I noticed him again. He was seated in the history section, same place as always, black leather jacket draped over the back of his chair, hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck. He looked like part of the shelves at this point, as if he’d been there long before I ever arrived. I remembered noticing him on my first week in Lakua, when everything still felt foreign and sharp. Back then, I’d given him a smile as I walked by, he looked almost bewildered that I had dared to look his way. I’d moved on then, thinking nothing of it. People in libraries came in all kinds. Some wanted to detach from the world. Some already had.
The library lights cast soft halos over the tables, and he was still there, resting his face in his palms, absorbed, jaw set, eyes scanning lines like he was looking for something the book refused to give him. History again. It always was. Wars, borders, revolutions, the things that ended and began in blood, depending on who wrote them. For some reason, I could never pinpoint exactly when he entered the library, and he’d never borrow a book, just sit there for hours reading it, sometimes till the last quarter of night.
It was already late enough, so I mustered up the energy to reshelf the books that were returned today. I could hear the low murmur of people packing up echoing faintly through the aisles. I was pushing a cart of returns, spine-deep in routine, barely looking up as I followed the call numbers, when I found myself standing right next to where he was seated. He hadn’t noticed me yet, or if he had, he didn’t show it. I stopped the cart quietly and reached for the first book, sliding it back into its place. As I went on, I realized a whole batch of the books belonged toward the top of the shelf, it was too high. I stood there for a second, book in hand, tilting my head back to read the label. It definitely belonged up there. Of course it had to. I glanced around for a ladder. Nothing.
I sighed softly, adjusting my grip on the book and stretching up on my toes anyway, like that would magically make me fly. I couldn't reach anywhere near it. I’d have to climb the damn shelf. I tried again bleakly, balancing the book on the tip of my fingers, when it inevitably fell with a thud echoing throughout the library.
The cart rattled slightly as I bent down to grab it, face heating. My hand almost brushed with another before it could touch the book.
“Here. Let me,” a voice said softly in front of me.
I froze, blinking up at him. The long-haired boy from the history section was crouching looking at the ground, carefully lifting the book. His green eyes flicked to mine for a fraction of a second, calm and unassuming, before returning it to the shelf. I let my eyes bask in the glory of his face as he averted his gaze to the shelf, almost timidly glancing at me again before looking at the cart behind me.
“Do you need help?” He quietly asked. I hesitated, heat rising to my cheeks, more from accepting help than anything else.. “Uh… maybe just… these ones up top,” I mumbled, pointing toward the highest shelves. He nodded once, like it was no trouble at all, and stepped closer.
“Hand them to me,” he said softly.
I passed the books one by one, directing him where. He already seemed to know before I told him, but he would let me finish. He placed each book carefully, sliding them into their spots with ease. I handed him the last of the stack, this time accidentally feeling the touch of his hand for a burning second before it retreated. He paused, still looking at the shelf, then gave a small nod, as if confirming the task was complete.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t look at me, only gave the tiniest shrug, hands in his pockets now, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly, like a passing shadow.
“No problem,” he murmured, voice low, careful.
I gave him a departing smile, unable to continue the conversation, I almost fled along with the cart before I heard his voice again.
“Um, Is it ok if I borrow a book before you close the library?”
I stopped mid-step, the cart rattling slightly under my hands. “Uh… yeah,” I managed finally, my voice a little too high, “of course. Which one?”
He hesitated for a split second before grabbing the last book he’d put on the shelf. I blinked, caught off guard. “Oh… that one?” I asked. He gave a small, almost shy nod, holding the book carefully as if it might crack under his fingers. “Yeah… I want to… read it tonight,” he said quietly, eyes flicking briefly to mine before looking back down at the cover. I put the cart away as I motioned towards the main desk, “Sure” was all I said. He swiftly slid his belongings on the table into his bag and paced faster to catch up to me.
At the desk, I gestured toward the scanner. “Do you have a library card?”
He paused, “Uh, no.”
“Do you have your id, or driver's license? I could make the card right now.” I suggest. He shifted the book nervously in his arms. “Uh… yeah, I think I have my ID,” he said quietly, fumbling in his bag. After a moment, he pulled out a slim card, handing it to me with slightly trembling fingers, maybe he felt cold. I took it, glancing at it quickly, and then tapped a few keys to create the card. “Alright, all set,” I said, sliding a new card toward him. “Eren, is it?” I don't know why I felt the need to mention that.
He blinked, fingers curling slightly around the new card as if testing its weight. “Yeah… Eren,” he said, voice low again, almost like he wasn’t used to saying it aloud in this quiet space. I nodded, offering a small, awkward smile. “Well, now you're a part of this library's record,” I said, stupidly. He gave a faint, almost shy smile in return, tucking the card carefully into his bag along with the book. “Thanks,” he murmured. Then, as if remembering something, he glanced up briefly at me before stepping toward the exit. “I… uh… I’ll return it on time.” I smiled with more warmth than I should have, “Mhm. Goodbye.” I quietly spoke. If my mind wasn't busy short circuiting, I would have heard his “Goodnight.”