THE PHOENIX AND THE FORM: Chapter Six

 As Blue walked through the door of her villa, the atmosphere shifted. The compass needle, which had been silently floating in the air, seemed to sense her presence. It zipped through the room with renewed vigor, its whistle rising in pitch to a joyous crescendo. It flew in circles around her, almost as if it were greeting a long-lost friend.

Blue beamed at the display, her eyes softening as she said, “It’s great to see you again too, old friend.”

Victor, still seated and stunned, watched the scene unfold. “Old friend? You can communicate with it?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration and bewilderment.

Blue nodded, her expression serious. “Yes… Victor—this… is the High Lord Keeper’s compass needle.”

“The High Lord Keeper?” Victor echoed; confusion evident in his tone. “And who is that, if I might ask Ms. Blue?”

“To be honest… I don’t really understand it fully either,” Blue admitted, her eyes meeting his.

Victor’s frustration bubbled to the surface. He abruptly stood up. “And you didn’t think to tell me about this earlier? You didn’t think this was worth mentioning?”

Blue exhaled, a mix of weariness and understanding in her gaze. “And… would you have believed me, Victor? Would you have even comprehended it? You’re a scientist. This is the only way I could have given you enough proof of the things I’ve been claiming. And here it is—the proof that everything I’ve been saying is true. The evidence you’ve been asking for from the start. This is what the Phoenix can do for you; for us.”

The compass needle, now calm, hovered above them, its presence a silent testament to the extraordinary reality Victor was struggling to grasp.

He stared at the compass needle, his mind racing to make sense of everything. He looked at Blue, frustration still flickering in his eyes. “So, you’ve been hiding this from me all along? The High Lord Keeper and his…?”

Blue nodded, her expression serious but calm. “Yes, but you know the truth now.”

Victor shook his head slowly, his frustration shifting, replaced by a deep uncertainty. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think.”

Blue took a step closer, her eyes softening as she looked at Victor. “I understand it’s a lot to take in. But you needed to see it for yourself. Now you know the truth, and we can move forward together. Trust me, Victor.”

Victor felt a tumultuous mix of emotions swirling within him. The rational part of his mind struggled to reconcile the extraordinary events unfolding before him, with the scientific principles he had always relied on.

His thoughts raced as he tried to process Blue’s words and the implications of the compass needle. The trust she was asking for, felt like a bridge he wasn’t sure he could cross yet. He felt a strange combination of relief, confusion, and a lingering trace of disbelief. Yet his frustration, now mingled with a hesitant curiosity, still held a faint glimmer of possibility.

He flinched. His body seizing up as he slumped back into the chair, clutching at his right hip. Blue’s brow furrowed, unsure of what was happening. He began to writhe and grunt in pain. She rushed over to him, “What’s wrong!?” she screamed; concern etched on her face.

Victor let out a deep guttural grunt as he pursed his lips and made a fist.

“Victor, talk to me.” She demanded.

“Old… injury… from… the accident!” He grunted.

“The car crash?!” she asked. He nodded his head solemnly.

Victor sat up straighter on the couch, and began taking in, slow deep breaths, grunting with each exhale.

“Yes. Just… breathe.” Blue said as she calmed down. Victor had broken into a sweat. He eyed Blue, who was kneeling beside the couch, hands akimbo, watching him closely. He blushed a little.

She noticed and said, “I’ll get you a glass of water.” Victor nodded curtly.

She stood up and made her way to the kitchen. Victor heard the drawer pull open, the clinking of glass, then the sound of rushing water, before she returned, glass in hand. She sat beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him the glass.

Victor sat up, taking the water and tipping the glass to his lips. Blue rubbed his back gently.

“I’m fine,” Victor said. She withdrew her hand and scooched on the couch a little.

“You sure.” She asked.

“Yeah,” Victor exhaled.

“You don’t need ice or something?” she asked.

“No, I’m fine. It happens from time to time,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “but it passes,” he added with finality.

Blue let out a deep sigh, and they sat there in silence, Victor sipping his water before she finally intoned, “Anyway! That was close.”

Victor looked at her quizzically. “Back at the castle.” She clarified.

“Oh… yeah,” Victor rejoined, sighing deeply and leaning back on the couch, still not fully processing everything that had happened. Blue looked at him. “I’ll go change, and then I’ll make us some dinner,” she said. She stood up and headed toward the stairs.

The villa’s subtle lighting casting gentle shadows, highlighting her form as she moved out of view. Her bare feet made soft sounds against the polished marble floors as she crossed the open space. Victor heard her ascend the stairs, then a distant creak and click as the door to her room opened and closed.

Finally, he heard her emerge and descend the stairs. He sat up and swiveled his neck to see her descending; she was dressed in gray sweatpants and a deep blue sweatshirt. Upon reaching the kitchen, she tied her hair back into a loose ponytail and rolled up her sleeves, revealing her defined powerful arms.

She turned to face him. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked, a look of worry flashing across her face. Victor nodded silently.

She gave him a slight smile. “You eat mac and cheese right?” she asked rhetorically, turning back to the kitchen, her voice carrying a casual familiarity.

Blue stood in her sleek, modern kitchen, the soft glow of pendant lights casting a warm ambiance around her. She opened the fridge and started pulling out ingredients as she prepared to cook. A block of aged cheddar cheese, a carton of fresh milk, and a block of butter.

Victor watched her as she started prepping for the dish, her hands working with a practiced ease. She filled a pot with water, setting it on the stove and turning the burner to medium-high. As she waited for the water to boil, she reached into the pantry for a box of elbow macaroni. Once the water reached a rolling boil, she poured in the pasta, the familiar clink against the sides of the container echoing in the kitchen as she stirred it with a wooden spoon. Steam rose in wisps, carrying with it the comforting scent of cooking noodles. The compass needle hovered over her as she worked, as if fascinated by the cooking macaroni. The simple, homey act of cooking, grounding the surreal atmosphere; a touch of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary day.

As the pasta cooked, she grated the cheddar cheese into a bowl, the rich aroma mingling with the air. She set a saucepan over medium heat and added a knob of butter. As the butter melted, she whisked in a couple of tablespoons of flour, creating a smooth paste. The mixture bubbled gently for a minute, cooking out the raw flour flavor.

Blue slowly poured in the milk, whisking constantly to avoid lumps. She watched intently as the mixture thickened, transforming from a thin liquid to a smooth, velvety sauce. Gradually, she added the grated cheddar cheese, a handful at a time, incorporating it fully before adding more. The rich, melty cheese swirled into the sauce, blanketing it in a golden hue. A hint of nutmeg and a pinch of salt completed the symphony of flavors.

She drained the cooked pasta and returned it to the pot, pouring in the creamy cheese sauce she had prepared, mixing it gently until every noodle was coated in velvety goodness.

Plating the mac and cheese with a flourish, Blue garnished it with a sprinkle of freshly ground black pepper and a few chopped chives from a small pot on the windowsill.

With dinner ready, Blue called out to Victor, her voice carrying a warmth that matched the meal she had prepared. “Dinner is served! Come and eat.” She said, setting the plates on the kitchen island, where the soft glow of the pendant lights, danced across the glistening macaroni noodles.

Blue and Victor sat next to each other on the kitchen island. The mac and cheese, creamy and comforting, steaming invitingly on their plates.

Blue, her hair still tied back and her sleeves rolled up, took the first bite, savoring the familiar flavors with a contented sigh. Victor picked up his fork—hesitating, before tasting the dish. The cheesy aroma wafted around him, comforting, yet bizarre, amidst the extraordinary circumstances. He glanced at Blue, engrossed in her plate, finding solace in the normalcy of their shared meal.

Meanwhile, the compass needle hovered quietly above them. It floated in gentle rotations, its needle pointing steadfastly upwards.

As Blue and Victor ate, they sat in silence and quiet reflection. Blue occasionally glanced at the compass needle with a fond smile, as if sharing an unspoken understanding with the ancient artifact.

The night wore on, enveloping them in a sense of quiet companionship. The compass needle continued its gentle dance above, a silent observer in the unfolding story.

Seeing Victor’s state, Blue said gently, “You should get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.” Victor gave her a curt nod as she got up and moved to the sink. She washed her dish, the running water echoing softly in the kitchen.

When she was done, she racked her dish and, turning to him, whispered, “Goodnight Victor.” He nodded gently at her, offering a weak smile. She turned and left, heading towards the staircase.

With one hand on the balustrade, she turned, “Hey Victor!” His head swiveled, turning to face her. “Thanks. For everything. You were amazing tonight.” Victor nodded once more.

She hesitated for a moment, a look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher. Her eyes darted to the compass needle, still hovering over the kitchen island, before meeting his again. His brow furrowed slightly at her; he shifted his gaze to the compass needle before returning to face Blue, who averted her gaze, then met his eyes again. “Goodnight,” she breathed.

Ascending the staircase, her footsteps echoed faintly on the varnished wood, a gentle rhythm against the stillness of the night. Victor watched her disappear up the stairs, then got up and moved to the sink. He washed his dish in silence, the warm water soothing his nerves. After drying it, he placed it carefully on the rack and followed Blue’s lead, heading to his quarters. In his room, Victor settled into bed, his mind slowly unwinding from the day’s revelations.

The lights gradually dimmed throughout the villa, casting a tranquil ambiance over the sleeping estate until full darkness. The compass needle continued its silent flight, moving to float gently beneath the chandelier, rotating slightly, its point aiming steadfastly upward. Night settled in peacefully, wrapping both Victor and Blue in a cocoon of quiet solitude, promising solace and renewal until the new day dawned.

 

The Blue Sprite descended gracefully through the clear African skies, its wings catching the last rays of the afternoon sun. Inside the cockpit, Blue’s hands guided the Piper M700 toward Nairobi’s busy airstrip. Nairobi city sprawled below, marking the end of their journey.

Victor, seated beside her, gazed out the window in quiet contemplation. His thoughts raced back over the events of the past weeks. The mysteries unraveled, and the truths discovered. The hum of the engines and the gentle turbulence as they descended reminded him he was finally home.

She touched down on the runway. The landing was smooth, a testament to Blue’s skill as a pilot. The plane taxied to a stop, and the engines powered down with a soft rumble. Blue and Victor exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had taken together.

“Welcome back to Nairobi,” she said, her voice tinged with relief and a hint of exhaustion. She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to Victor with a reassuring smile. “We made it.”

Victor nodded, gratitude and weariness mingling in his expression. They disembarked and took their bags out of the cargo hold, making their way to customs.

Victor stood outside Wilson Airport, adjusting his backpack nervously under the bustling Nairobi sky. Beside him, Blue checked her phone one last time before slipping it into her purse.

A black Uber sedan pulled up beside the curb. Victor opened the door, gesturing for Blue to enter first. She slid into the backseat, her eyes scanning the Nairobi streetscape. Victor followed suit, settling in beside her, his thoughts a whirlwind of the journey they had just been through.

The driver, a middle-aged man with a warm smile, greeted them. “Hello, good afternoon?”

“Good afternoon,” Victor responded, “Parklands.”

The driver acknowledged and pulled into the lane. They drove on, navigating through the city’s traffic. Leaving behind the city’s bustling heart, the landscape began to shift gradually. Tall buildings gave way to lush greenery and quieter streets. Blue gazed out the window, noticing the change in scenery as the urban sprawl faded into a serene suburban setting.

Victor leaned back, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. “It’s good to be back home,” he murmured, more to himself than to Blue.

She nodded, understanding the sentiment. “You did amazing out there,” Blue reassured him, her voice soft with admiration. “I’m glad we’re heading home now.”

The Uber turned onto a tree-lined avenue, where quaint houses and gardens dotted the neighborhood. Victor pointed out landmarks along the way, helping the driver get a better sense of direction.

They arrived at Victor’s bungalow—the modest yet cozy home with a small garden and a veranda. The Uber came to a stop, and Blue stepped out first, taking in the strange surroundings with a smile.

They grabbed their bags. “Haya asante.” Victor said. The driver gave him a curt nod as he pulled away.

“Welcome home,” she said, turning to Victor as he joined her on the path to the front door.

Blue followed Victor into his house, stepping carefully over the threshold as she took in the surrounding disarray. The bills and letters scattered on the floor caught her eye first, and she tactfully stepped around them, making a mental note to help organize them later.

“Victor,” she began, her voice soft but concerned, “it looks like you’ve been quite busy.” She glanced around, noting the cobwebs and the layer of dust that seemed to have settled over everything.

Victor sighed, a mixture of embarrassment and resignation flickering across his face. “Yeah, it’s been a bit chaotic lately,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t had much time to keep things in order.”

Blue nodded sympathetically. “No worries. We can take care of this together.” She moved further into the living room, trying to find a clear spot amidst the scattered papers and books.

“It’s not usually like this,” Victor said apologetically.

“I understand,” Blue reassured him with a warm smile.

Blue stood in the center of Victor’s cluttered living room, her eyes sweeping over the disarray with a mixture of curiosity and restraint. Uncertain of where to place her bag, she held onto it, her posture slightly awkward in the space that seemed frozen in time.

Victor, equally unsure, hovered near the doorway, catching her glance.

“So? Can I… see it?” She eventually asked, her voice breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

A hint of relief flickered across Victor’s face as he nodded. “Yes, of course,” he murmured, stepping aside to usher her towards the back room. He gestured for her to follow, his path a winding course through the labyrinth of scattered papers.

The back room, once the guest bedroom, now held the faint, metallic tang of oil. Victor flicked on the lights, pausing at the threshold, the weight of his creation pressing down on him like a physical burden.

“Is that her?” Blue whispered, her voice barely audible. Victor met her gaze for a fleeting moment before silently guiding her to the center of the room.

There, on the bed, it lay. A shroud—shimmering faintly under the subdued workshop lights veiled it. Victor reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he pulled the shroud back to reveal the face.

Synthetic skin, eerily lifelike, bore the unmistakable features of Sophie. The eyes, a rich dark brown, seemed to stare sightlessly back.

Blue approached cautiously, her breath catching at the sight of the lifelike creation. “It’s… incredible,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe as she examined the meticulous craftsmanship.

Victor stood beside her; his gaze fixed on the form. “It’s the last connection I have to her,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and sorrow.

He watched as Blue studied the robot; her expression, thoughtful. “The detail, the precision… it’s remarkable Victor,” she murmured, her eyes lingering on the face.

“Thank you,” he replied, a flicker of gratitude warming his eyes

Blue reached for the necklace nestled against her neck, the faint outline of a compass needle visible beneath her shirt. She pulled up the compass needle and, with a practiced motion, she unclasped the chain; the chain disappearing into the needle as it began to float, hovering effortlessly above her palm. Victor watched, as enthralled by the disappearance of the chain, as he had been when it had appeared, earlier that day.

It seemed to notice the form and approached with what seemed to the Dr. as a sense of reverence. Its movement took on an almost sentient grace drifting closer, a purposeful gentleness guiding its approach, as if responding to an invisible call.

A heavy silence settled upon the room, broken only by the ragged breaths escaping their lips. The sight of the animated compass needle filled Victor with a kaleidoscope of emotions; wonder, battling with a tremor of trepidation.

Blue’s eyes reflected the fascination and respect she held for Victor’s creation. “It’s drawn to her,” she whispered, the sound barely a ripple in the hushed workshop.

They stood side-by-side, their breath mingling in the cool air. The levitating compass needle, hovering reverently over the form’s face.

The silence stretched, eventually pulling Victor’s gaze toward his equipment. He began to pull back the sheets, folding them neatly and placing them aside. Each sheet he peeled back revealed his machines and tools that had seen countless hours of meticulous work.

The sleek form of the 3D printer emerged first, its surface catching the workshop lights like a polished mirror. Beside it, the VMC milling machine, its metallic body gleaming in the afternoon sun, filtering through the windows. One by one, he uncovered the Wire EDM machine and ultimately, his trusted computer.

With the equipment exposed, Victor paused, his fingers trailing along the cool, polished surfaces. A sense of release seemed to permeate the workshop, as if the room itself exhaled in relief, finally free from its shroud.

Finally, he crossed over to the safe and dialed in the code. It swung open, and he took out the wand. He turned, expecting to find Ms. Blue still beside him, but she was gone.

His gaze returned to the form, the levitating needle hovering serenely above it. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he observed their silent interaction.

He placed the wand back on the stand on his workbench and ventured into the rest of the house. The fading daylight painted the neglected state of his home in an even starker contrast. Cobwebs, intricate tapestries of neglect, draped from the corners, catching the last rays of sunlight like morbid chandeliers. Dust motes, long undisturbed, pirouetted in the air as Victor disturbed the once-familiar space with his hesitant steps.

But to his surprise, the sink, usually overflowing with forgotten dishes, gleamed, its contents washed and neatly stacked. Blue emerged from the back door, a hint of an earthy fragrance clinging to her. A small, enigmatic smile played on her lips.

“Where were you?” Victor asked curiously as he took in her earthy scent.

“Oh—just throwing out the garbage,” Blue replied, her voice soft yet carrying a hint of satisfaction.

A silent pact of restoration formed as they launched themselves into re-establishing order. Victor wielded the vacuum cleaner like a knight with his lance. Blue, a whirlwind of focused energy, swooped over surfaces, her touch leaving a trail of gleaming countertops and polished shelves; their movements synchronized in a silent dance of renewal.

What remained of the day stretched before them, the sun slowly tracing its descent across the dusty windows; the day surrendering to the twilight, as they worked. With each vanquished cobweb and each grime-caked corner liberated, a wave of satisfaction washed over them—a sense of renewal blooming in the air, mirroring the one blossoming within them. Exhausted yet fulfilled, they finally slumped down on the couch in unison, deep breaths escaping their lips in synchronized sighs. They looked at each other, faces smudged with dust and sweat, and then laughter erupted in a joyous peal.

Their gaze lingered on one another, relief and accomplishment mingled in their eyes. Victor’s voice, almost a whisper, broke the silence. “Thank you.” He said, his words heavy with the weight of the gratitude resonating deep within him.

Blue met his gaze with a simple nod of acknowledgment, yet within that nod flickered a deeper understanding, her eyes sparkling with empathy. A hint of a smile played on her lips, a deeper glint of something unspoken that left Victor’s heart skipping a beat.

He averted his gaze, eyes drifting across the expanse of the room.

“The house hasn’t been this clean since…” His voice trailed off, a tremor catching in his breath. Blue sat up and leaned in. He noticed and finished, “…since Miranda.”

A thick silence settled. Finally Blue asked, “How did she die?”

Victor swallowed hard. “Brain tumor,” he rasped, the word raw and painful. Blue’s face softened. She offered a solemn nod, a flicker of empathy crossing her features.

“Thirty-five,” Victor continued, “I… still haven’t wrapped my head around it.” He looked up, his eyes welling with tears, and he sniffed. Before he could retreat further, a warm hand settled on his elbow. Blue leaned in; her gaze filled with quiet understanding.

He let out a shaky breath, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.” He murmured, the words barely audible.

Blue’s grip tightened ever so slightly, her eyes holding his gaze. Time stretched, measured only by the quiet rise and fall of their breaths. Finally, Victor stirred. “We should, uh… we should probably get some rest,” he suggested, his voice hoarse.

Blue nodded slowly, a small, genuine smile gracing her lips.

Victor led Blue up the creaking wooden stairs, the soft groan of each step echoing in the dusty silence. The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of aged paper and forgotten things. Reaching the landing, Victor paused before a door on the right. His hand hovered over the worn brass knob; a tremor, subtle yet undeniable, ran through his fingers.

He pushed the door open—it swung, slowly revealing a room frozen in time. The faint scent of old flowers and untouched linen greeted them, mingling with the scent of old books and the unmistakable smell, of stale air. Blue stepped in beside Victor, her eyes scanning the room with a gentle reverence.

The room was a testament to Sophie’s life, filled with the echoes of joyful laughter and hopeful dreams. Shelves were lined with stuffed animals and books. Framed family photos filled the space - Sophie with Miranda, with Victor, and all of them together as a family.

Her own photos and those she shared with her friends were stuck on the wall alongside the posters of her favorite bands adorning the walls, now slightly yellowed with age. A small desk stood against one wall, cluttered with notebooks, pencils, and half-finished sketches. The bed, with its neatly made floral comforter, seemed to be waiting for its occupant to return.

Victor broke the silence, his voice hushed and strained. “I left it just the way it was when the… uh… Accident… happened.” The silence settled back down, heavier this time.

“That’s why its… uh… ”

Blue turned to him; her eyes filled with empathy. She reached out and gently squeezed his hand. “I understand,” she whispered. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

Blue set her bag down on the edge of the bed and began to tidy up, her movements deliberate and respectful. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small towel. She started with the dust-covered shelves, gently wiping away the layers of neglect that had settled over the years.

Victor, picking up the hint, moved to help her. He reached for a dusty stuffed animal, but Blue stopped him, placing a firm yet gentle hand on his arm.

“Victor, you should get some rest,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“But I—” he started to protest, looking around at the room that held so many memories.

Blue shook her head, cutting him off with a soft, but insistent voice. “No, Victor. I’m okay, I’ll handle this.”

Victor hesitated, looking at her with a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. He nodded slowly. “Okay,” he conceded. “But let me help a little first.”

Blue gave him a small smile. “There’s something else you need to do first,” she said, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “You need a shower. Trust me, you’ll feel much better afterward.”

Victor managed a tired chuckle. “That bad, huh?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “It’s not, that bad, but you definitely need it.”

He nodded, accepting her advice. “Okay, okay! I’ll take a shower. But if you need anything, just call.”

Blue’s smile widened. “I will. Now go, I’ve got this.”

Victor left the room, feeling a strange mix of relief and trepidation. He headed to the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the quiet house. Blue watched him go, then turned back to the task at hand.

 

As the minutes passed, she moved methodically through the room, her hands hovering over Sophie’s belongings before settling gently. The college brochures on the desk; a well-loved yet worn teddy bear. Each dust cloth swipe was deliberate, each misplaced photo was straightened. The room began to breathe again.

 

As the night wore on, Victor lay in bed, unable to find solace in sleep. The events of the past days swirled in his mind, refusing to let him rest. With a resigned sigh, he threw off the covers and pulled on a T-shirt. Quietly, so as not to disturb Blue, he slipped out of the room and made his way downstairs to the back room.

The door to the back room creaked softly as he opened it. He flicked on the light scones on the wall, lighting the room with a soft glow. As he stepped inside, his gaze immediately fell upon the compass needle, still hovering over the form of the humanoid robot. Its presence had shifted from that of a curious admirer to a vigilant guardian, almost protective in its stance.

Victor paused in the doorway, the sight of the compass needle facing him sending a shiver down his spine. For a moment, he stood frozen, staring at the floating needle. The needle, as if acknowledging his presence, seemed to shift slightly. Gathering his resolve, Victor closed the door behind him and crossed the room to his workbench.

He settled into the chair, the familiar creak of the seat providing a strange comfort. Swiveling to face the form, he crossed his arms and let his gaze linger on the creation before him. The room was silent except for the soft resonance of the compass needle, which hovered protectively above the form, the light from the sconces casting a gentle glow over its features.

Victor’s thoughts drifted back to the countless hours he had spent crafting the form, pouring his heart and soul into every detail. Each servo, each sensor, each part had been a labor of love. The lifelike skin, the meticulously recreated features—it was as if she was almost there, just out of reach.

His eyes, heavy with a mixture of exhaustion and sorrow, traced the contours of the form’s face. The synthetic eyes, dark and unblinking, stared back at him, holding a depth that was both haunting and comforting. He let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of his emotions settle heavily on his shoulders. He sat in silence, lost in thought, as his eyes glazed over.

 

“Rise and shine early bird!” he called out as Sophie stumbled into the kitchen; her hair tousled from sleep.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” she said, attempting to justify herself.

“Right, call me alarm clock from now on,” Victor remarked.

“Morning alarm clock!” she replied, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Hmm! What smells so good?”

Victor burst out laughing, the dad joke hitting him right in the gut. “That was so bad—so bad!” He said, shaking his head as he flipped a pancake expertly onto a plate. Sophie smiled gleefully to herself.

“Sit down and eat,” he ordered, placing the plate in front of Sophie on the kitchen island.

“Okay, okay!” she said, plopping into a chair and immediately reaching for the honey.

Victor leaned against the counter, watching her with a mischievous glint in his eye, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “So, the university is hosting an award ceremony for me today. You wanna call in sick at school and hang out with a bunch of snobby intellectuals all day?!”

“Hmm, let me think about it…no,” she quipped.

“Oh c’mon, a chance to hang out with your old man, and a day away from—what did you call it… Kamiti Girls’ Prison?!”

“No.”

“Oh c’mon, I’m coming for your graduation this year, aren’t I?” Victor pressed.

“Really?!” Sophie asked, eyebrows raised.

“That’s right, it’s only fair!”

Sophie shook her head, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You know, a wise man once told me, it’s wrong to lie; especially to the principal of the high school!”

“Hmm,” Victor said, nodding sagely. “I hear you. But have you considered this: you won’t be lying. I will!”

At that, Sophie feigned shock, her hand flying to her mouth in exaggerated disbelief. “Yeah!? Yeah!? Rules for thee not for me huh?!” she said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head, a smile spreading across her face.

Victor chuckled maniacally and picked up the phone, dialing the number for the school’s principal’s office. After a few rings, the phone was answered, “Good morning,” he said in his most professor-like tone. “I’m calling about Sophie. She’s come down with something—I’m afraid—it’s rather serious, so she won’t make it in for classes today.”

He paused, listening to the secretary’s response, then nodded. “Great! She’ll be better in no time and I’ll have her right on your doorstep as soon as possible.” With that, he set the phone down and turned to Sophie, who was blushing, barely managing to contain her laughter. She burst out laughing. “Oh, my goodness! You were so a rebel when you were a kid!” She declared.

“I always stuck to the straight and narrow Sophie!” She mimicked, imitating her father.

He stretched out his fist at her and they fist-bumped. A conspiratorial bond shared in a moment of playful rebellion.

 

As the memory faded, Victor found himself back in the present, seated in his armchair. His face—etched with a haunted look. The weight of the past pressed heavily on him, intertwining with the grief that never fully dissipated. He stared at the form on the bed, feeling the chasm between memory and reality widen with each passing second.

 

Blue piloted the Blue Sprite with practiced precision. The date was February 29, 2044, and the sun-bathed Wilson Airport in Nairobi Kenya with its golden rays. The departure time was set for 10:00 AM local time, and the weather was perfect, with clear skies and a gentle tailwind. Blue double-checked the Terminal Aerodrome Forecast (TAF) to ensure no unexpected changes would disrupt their journey.

Their destination was Saudi Arabia. The flight path would take them over the Red Sea, skillfully avoiding the restricted airspace near Yemen. The Blue Sprite was well-prepared for the trip, carrying 80 gallons of aviation fuel—more than enough for the journey ahead.

Seated in the cabin was Khalid Al-Mansoori. His eyes were a window to a soul burdened with sorrow, mingled with a fierce determination. In the cargo hold, a polished mahogany casket lay secured. And it bore the nameplate: “Layla Al-Mansoori”.

As Blue navigated the pre-flight checks, she glanced back at Khalid. He held a photograph close to his heart, a personal memento that spoke volumes of his loss. The flight’s manifest included all necessary documentation for transporting human remains, and Khalid carried a letter from the Saudi embassy, granting permission for Layla’s last journey home.

The engine roared to life, and the Blue Sprite began its taxi down the runway. Blue’s hands were steady on the controls, her mind focused on the task at hand. The aircraft lifted off, climbing ever higher, the landscape of Kenya shrinking below them. Blue’s gaze flicked to the fuel gauge, confirming they were well within their limits. The journey ahead was long, but the skies were friendly, offering a smooth passage.

Hours passed in a silent vigil. Khalid’s eyes never left the photograph, his thoughts a thousand miles away. Blue maintained her course, the Red Sea glimmering beneath them, as they continued toward their destination.

 

The man stood tall, a dark silhouette against the panoramic cityscape sprawling behind towering glass panes, cradling a wolf-headed cane; an ouroboros ring resting on his index finger. A man dressed in his utility uniform approached the 6’5’ figure in the dark suit, cautiously.

“Sir,” the man began respectfully. “We have them.” His voice was steady, matching the composed demeanor he maintained under the boss’ intense gaze.

The man reached out his hand and the henchman approached further. “Today at 10:00 AM local time, the Blue Sprite departed for Riyadh Saudi Arabia,” the henchman continued, handing over a discreetly printed document. “According to the flight logs, the passenger is a Saudi-Arabian national named Khalid Al-Mansoori, and aboard the aircraft is a mahogany casket marked ‘Layla Al-Mansoori’.”

The henchman awaited his employer’s reaction as his eyes scanned the document. He nodded once. “Good. Keep monitoring their progress,” he instructed, his tone brooking no room for error. His voice cut through the room. “Prepare for departure. We move in one hour.”

The henchman nodded sharply, knowing the implications of the order. “Understood, sir,” he replied, swiftly turning to relay the command to the waiting operatives.

With the directive given, the atmosphere shifted. The henchmen moved with purpose; their preparations accelerating. The 6’5’ figure stood silent; his gaze fixed on the horizon beyond the window. “Hmm! What’s in the casket?” he wondered out loud.

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