The flickering lantern cast shadows along the stone walls, filling the small hideout with a warm glow.
Ritso sat cross-legged on the floor, an old book resting in her lap. Across from her, Kelly lay on her stomach, her little legs kicking idly behind her as she traced random patterns in the dust.
It was supposed to be a reading lesson, but Kelly, as always, got distracted.
"You know," Ritso said, tapping the book, "words aren't just words. They change depending on who says them. And how they feel when they say them."
Kelly perked up, her ears twitching. "Like magic?"
Ritso chuckled. "Not exactly. But close."
Kelly rolled onto her side, her tail flicking. "Explain!"
"Alright," Ritso said, shifting to face her properly. "Let's start with something simple. The word father."
Kelly wrinkled her nose. "That's boring."
Ritso laughed. "Maybe. But it's important."
Kelly sat up, frowning. "What's a father?"
The question made Ritso pause.
She had been ready to explain the difference between father, dad, pa, and papa—but now she looked at Kelly, really looked at her, and realized something.
Kelly didn't know what a father was.
Ritso closed the book, folding her hands over it. "A father is… well, he's supposed to be the person who takes care of you. Someone who protects you, teaches you things, makes sure you have food, a home… He's supposed to love you."
Kelly frowned. "Like a mum?"
Ritso hesitated. "Sort of. But different."
Kelly's ears twitched. "Kelly had a mum," she said matter-of-factly. "But she left."
Ritso kept her expression neutral, even as something in her chest ached. "I know."
Kelly tilted her head. "So… why didn't kelly have a fathaa?"
Ritso took a slow breath, choosing her words carefully. "Not everyone gets one."
Kelly considered this for a moment, her little fingers tracing circles in the dust. "So… fathaa aren't for everyone?"
"…Sometimes they are, but not always."
Kelly's tail flicked. "Then why do people care about them?"
Ritso smiled softly. "Because when you do have one… it can mean a lot."
Kelly thought about that for a while. Then she squinted. "But rito said fathaa is just a word. What about the others?"
Ritso relaxed, glad to move to safer ground. "Well… father is formal. It's stiff, something nobles and scholars say. It doesn't always mean warm."
Kelly wrinkled her nose. "Sounds cold like stone."
"It can be."
"Then what's the warm one like huggy?"
Ritso smiled. "Papa."
She said it softly, letting the word settle.
Kelly blinked. Something about the way Ritso said it made her ears twitch.
"Papa…" Kelly repeated, rolling the word in her mouth. She frowned. "It feels… soft?"
"It is," Ritso said. "Papa isn't just another word. It's special."
Kelly squinted. "Special how?"
Ritso thought for a moment, trying to explain it in a way Kelly would understand. "Okay… imagine you're really, really cold."
Kelly shivered dramatically. "Brrr!"
Ritso smirked. "And then someone wraps you in a big, warm blanket like tight huggy." She wrap her arms around kelly in demonstration.
Kelly's tail flicked. "That sounds nice."
"That's what Papa feels like."
Kelly's ears twitched. She thought about it for a long moment, then slowly nodded. "So… papa not just a name?"
Ritso shook her head. "No. It's not just about being a father. It's about being home."
Kelly went quiet. She wasn't good with big words, but she understood feelings. And this word, Papa, had a feeling attached to it.
She looked up at Ritso. "Did rito have a Papa?"
Ritso hesitated.
A memory surfaced, blurry at the edges—small hands gripping the hem of a coat, a deep voice laughing, the warmth of a hand ruffling her hair.
Then, like smoke, it was gone.
She forced a small smile and ruffled Kelly's hair instead. "Maybe one day, I will."
Kelly didn't ask anything else. She just nodded, as if understanding something without needing more words.
Then, after a few seconds of silence, she smirked. "Okay, but what about old man?"
Ritso snorted. "That's what you say when you want to get in trouble."
Kelly burst into laughter, rolling onto her back. "Kelly wanna try it!"
"Don't you dare," Ritso warned, but she was grinning.
Kelly stuck out her tongue, tail swishing playfully. "No promises!"
.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of ozone, each thunderclap reverberating through the cavernous expanse of the slaughterhouse. Shadows danced erratically as sporadic flashes of lightning illuminated the grim setting. Amidst the chaos, Ritso moved with determined purpose, her voice a beacon of calm authority.
"Keep moving! Stay together!" she called out, guiding the huddled masses toward The Frame. Beside her, Sir Lionheart, Myre, and Zyna assisted, their faces etched with urgency.
As another rumble of thunder echoed, Ritso's gaze instinctively flicked toward its source. Her brow furrowed momentarily before she refocused on the task at hand. Turning to Myre, she asked, "How many more?"
Myre consulted a worn ledger, her fingers trembling slightly. "We've accounted for seventy-seven souls thus far."
Ritso adjusted her glasses, the familiar gesture failing to soothe the unease gnawing at her. "Seventy-seven…" she murmured, her mind racing. An unsettling realization gripped her. [I haven't seen Kelly.]
Panic edged into her voice as she scanned the crowd. "Myre, have you seen Kelly?"
Myre's eyes widened. "She was with us before we left the hall, but… I didn't count her among those who entered The Frame."
Heart pounding, Ritso turned to Zyna. "What about you? Have you seen her?"
Zyna shook her head, concern mirroring Ritso's own. "No, I haven't."
Desperation mounting, Ritso approached sir Lionheart, her voice strained. "Sir, have you seen Kelly?"
Lionheart's expression hardened. Without a word, she stepped into The Frame, disappearing momentarily before returning with a young boy. Her gaze, cold and unyielding, bore into him. The boy fidgeted under her scrutiny, eyes darting nervously.
Ritso knelt to the boy's level, softening her tone. "Have you seen Kelly?"
The boy hesitated, then produced a small, tattered bag. "She left this with me," he whispered. " She said she forgot something in the hall and went back to get it."
Ritso's composure shattered. "And you let her go? Alone? Are you out of your mind?" Her voice rose, eyes blazing with a mix of fear and anger.
Tears welled in the boy's eyes, his lower lip quivering. "I… I didn't know…"
Myre, Zyna, and Lionheart exchanged uneasy glances, the gravity of the situation settling over them. Kelly was missing.
Without hesitation, Ritso turned on her heel, intent on retracing their steps. A firm hand clamped around her wrist, halting her. She looked up to find Lionheart's steely gaze fixed on her.
"Where do you think you're going?" Lionheart's voice was low, measured. "This wasn't part of the plan."
Ritso met her gaze squarely, her voice steady but laced with urgency. "I'm going to find Kelly. I won't leave her behind."
Lionheart's grip tightened momentarily before releasing her. "You have ten minutes," she said curtly. "After that, we proceed without you."
Nodding gratefully, Ritso adjusted her glasses once more, a determined glint in her eye. "Thank you, Sir."
Without another word, she sprinted toward the hall, the weight of responsibility propelling her forward. The echoes of thunder seemed to urge her on, each rumble a reminder of the stakes. She had to find Kelly—there was no other option.
"BEAST WILL – TAURUS'S PACE"
.
The lesson with Ritso lingered in Kelly's mind long after they had closed the book and returned to their daily routines. Words were just words, but some of them carried weight—Papa was one of them.
Kelly wandered through the winding alleyways of their hideout, her tail flicking absentmindedly as she watched people move about. Every so often, she would squint at someone, tilt her head, and mumble to herself.
"Hmm… too grumpy."
She turned away from an old merchant whose deep frown made his whole face look like a crumpled rag.
"…Too scary."
She hurried past a burly fighter sharpening a blade, his muscles tense with quiet menace.
"aghh…Too smelly."
A drunkard stumbled by, reeking of ale. Kelly scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue. "Bleh. Definitely not a papa."
She wandered aimlessly, weaving through the crowd, mumbling under her breath. [Does she even have a Papa? She didn't remember one. Didn't know if she ever did.]
Then, as if struck by lightning, she stopped in her tracks.
A face flashed in her mind—wild red hair, golden eyes that flickered like embers, a sharp-toothed grin that could be both terrifying and oddly warm.
Her small hands clenched into fists at her sides.
She remembered.
She had been smaller then—barely more than a kitten, scrawny, cold, alone. Her mother had disappeared like a shadow at dawn, leaving her in the clutches of predetors. They had called themselves her "masters."
She had learned quickly what that meant.
Until he came.
She could still feel it—the crackling energy in the air as Ash stood before them, a storm wrapped in scaly skin. The way his golden eyes burned as he glared at Ronny. The way his presence had sucked the breath out of the room, making everything feel small in comparison.
He hadn't spoken much. He hadn't needed to.
She remembered his hand—warm, rough, scarred—reaching out.
She remembered the way he had crouched down, lowering himself to her height, looking at her with something she hadn't recognized at the time. Something that wasn't ownership.
And then—his hand on her head, ruffling her hair.
"C'mere, kelly."
Not a command. Not a demand. Just… words.
And she had gone to him.
She had chosen to.
Now, standing in the bustling street, Kelly lifted a hand to her head, as if she could still feel the weight of his touch.
Her tail flicked.
"…So does that mean he's my Papa?" she mumbled to herself, glancing around as if someone might have the answer.
No one did.
She bit her lip, deep in thought. If papa was supposed to be warm, if papa was supposed to mean home, then… maybe.
Maybe she had one after all.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she continued walking, her tail swaying behind her. She didn't need to tell him. Didn't need to say it out loud.
She just knew.
And that was enough.
Until now.