26.1 Fic: Mirage Reflection 6

The sound of clinking glass and silverware on porcelain is muffled in her ears as she stares, unblinking, at her dinner plate.   Home.   Her limbs and eyelids are heavy, but for the first time in months, her chest feels light. Every inhale is a surprise, and it makes her wonder - how long has it been hard to breathe? Since Ignia? Amir’s prison? All she knows is that this sense of freedom and home flooding her veins is both sweet and surreal.   Lifting her gaze, she makes eye contact with Dad. The expression in his dark eyes is knowing, and he sends her a comforting smile over the rim of his glass.   The corner of her mouth lifts in response to her mother’s thundering voice, “Wallah, you have seen so much, you must eat to regain your strength. Yalla, let’s eat!”   Saeldor’s easy laugh rings out, “We sure appreciate your hospitality, sister.”   “Your gratitude is unnecessary. You are ‘aa’ila to my Marwa, so we are yours.” Saeldor nods graciously, lifting his glass to her.   Seeing her friends befriend her parents has always been on her bucket list, but watching it happen in real time is a stranger experience than she’d anticipated. As the central topic of so many conversations, her stomach can’t help but squirm.   Cri looks engrossed in her discussion with Julius, the food on her plate long forgotten. Baba sounds like he is explaining various airship maneuvers to Ta’lok, which could not interest her less.   Cypher - Mika - is seated at the far end of the table and has not made eye contact with her since their landing. Despite her efforts to ignore it, his avoidance rankles.   Is he angry? Does he look at everything my parents have built and see only excess?   The thought elicits an anger and a defensiveness she hasn’t felt towards him in weeks, diluting some of her joy at being back in her childhood home.   Intricate geometric designs spiral across the surrounding walls, connecting to stained glass windows aglow with the last of the day’s light. Beams of crimson and indigo sunshine filter through the colored glass and dance along the surface of the table, sparkling against gilded chandeliers and cutting through the faint haze of incense smoke. Traditional Aurian rugs woven with shimmering threads adorn the floors beneath their feet, depicting rolling clouds and astronomical patterns.   Mirage’s toes curl in her shoes, wishing she could feel their softness.   As she glances around, she acknowledges how different this room is from the one the Oliviera’s entertained them in back in Midnight. In her eyes, it is no less loved.   A scuff on the right side of the table bears witness to a time when Mirage, running from Baba as he chased her giggling around the room, knocked over her mother’s favorite sculpture.   She knows that if she lifts the rug closest to the door behind Ta’lok, a burn mark Dad never magicked away still adorns the floor, shaped like a crescent moon (evidence of one of many failed attempts at evocation).   At the sudden sound of Pops’ gruff laugh, she’s flooded with visions of other meals in this room.   Parties, family meetings, study sessions, late night heart-to-hearts.   “These are just things, habibi.” Her mother had said, holding her close and gesturing to the shattered pieces of marble. “You could break everything I own and it would not make me love you any less. Do you know why? Because you are my greatest joy, habibi. Not things. You and your fathers. Ahabbuk.”   The thought occurs to her that where Cypher is from, it must have mattered a lot when things broke. To build a city you do not get to own, as Saulo and Melody have done, must colour his perspective the same way her upbringing does hers.   Perhaps they still have a lot to learn from one other, she concedes. “Stormcloud!” Erik’s voice interrupts the memory. “You have been gone from us for so long, do not let your thoughts drift away too. Tell us that these stories of you dancing with the Fey are not true!”   “No no, certainly not. My baby knows better than to try to trick a trickster.” Baba’s frown veils a poorly-concealed smile.   The lighthearted banter fills her with warmth.   “Okay first of all,” she says, rushing to her own defence, “I absolutely tricked that trickster, so feel free to acknowledge that. Second of all,” Her eyes dart over to Cypher’s corner of the table, where his furrowed brow gives her hope that he’s at least a little bit engaged in the conversation, “how was I supposed to know they were Fey!?”   “Because they were an asshole.” He drawls without missing a beat, causing her to laugh in surprise.   “So does that mean you’re Fey?” She openly smirks in his direction.   He looks uncomfortable at the retort, as though he regrets drawing the group’s attention.   “MARWA HALAH NOOR, are you calling one of your stalwart defenders an asshole?”   Mirage winces and glances back at her mother.   “No, Mama -”   “IT CERTAINLY SOUNDS AS THOUGH YOU ARE! Did we raise you to be so rude?”   “No Mama, I -”   “I know I certainly wouldn’t insult someone who stood between me and a kidnapper,” Julius’ expression is as serene as ever.   “What are you talking about, amor, you insult me all the time!” Alejandro interjects.   “But with affection, dear.”   Amidst the momentary distraction, Mirage chances a quick glance over at Cypher. His eyes flick up at hers briefly before darting back down to his food. A small, genuine smile graces his face.   The sight soothes her.   Ugh, why do her parents always have to be so annoyingly right? I do owe him another thank you, she sighs. If he’ll let me.