Chapter 31: Words Whispered in the Dust of Time
The sound of Himeko, Mirajane, Léo, and his friends' footsteps faded, leaving the Cine Theatro Esperança once again plunged into its almost sepulchral silence.
For Joey, huddled in his dark corner, the noisy group's departure brought physical relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his chest, allowing him to breathe a little deeper.
The ancient dust, illuminated by oblique sunbeams penetrating through broken tiles high above, seemed to dance more slowly now, each particle a tiny secret floating in the still air.
Beside him, Lyra remained motionless, a slender and elegant silhouette against the gloom. The embroidered silk handkerchief Mirajane had given her was carefully folded in her lap. She wasn't looking at Joey, but he felt her presence as a subtle vibration, a mixture of caution and a stillness that mirrored his own.
Her choice to follow him, to remain there with him instead of joining the more imposing and seemingly capable figures of Himeko and Mirajane, was still a shock to Joey.
It was a burden and, paradoxically, a comfort.
A burden because he felt an immense responsibility for her, a responsibility for which he felt utterly unprepared.
A comfort because, for the first time in a very, very long time, someone had chosen him, had seen something in him other than inadequacy or strangeness.
Long minutes passed in that shared silence. Joey could hear his own heart beating, an irregular rhythm against the vast silence of the cinema. He wondered what Lyra was thinking.
Was she afraid of him now that they were alone? Did she regret her choice? Joey's social phobia whispered insecurities in his ear, telling him he was an inadequate host, a flawed protector.
It was Lyra who broke the silence, not with a loud or abrupt sound, but with a hesitant movement. She turned slightly in his direction. In the dim light, Joey could see the silvery glint of her eyes fixed on him, her expression unreadable.
Then, she spoke.
It wasn't the elven language he had briefly heard before, melodic and incomprehensible. These were hesitant, fragmented sounds, words pronounced with a strange accent and a cadence that betrayed the effort.
"A... re... you... okay?"
Joey froze. The question, so simple, so human, coming from this creature from another world, hit him with the force of a revelation.
She was trying to talk to him. In his language.
He stared at her, his mouth agape. Lyra watched him with expectant intensity, a vulnerability in her eyes that disarmed him.
She must have spent her time in the library not just hiding, but desperately trying to learn, to decipher the codes of this strange world she had been thrown into.
"M-me?" Joey stammered, surprised by his own voice. "Yes. I-I'm okay. And... and you?"
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Lyra's lips. The relief in her expression at being understood was palpable.
She brought her hand to her chest. "Ly... ra," she said, pointing to herself. "I... Lyra."
Joey felt a lump in his throat. Her name. So simple, so beautiful. "Lyra," he repeated, the word strange and yet familiar on his lips.
He then pointed to himself, his heart still pounding. "I'm... Joey."
"Joo... ee," Lyra repeated, testing the sound. She frowned slightly, as if concentrating hard. Then, her eyes lit up with a flash of understanding.
She picked up a small twig from the dusty floor beside her and, carefully, began to draw in the accumulated dust between them.
First, she drew a circle with rays emanating from it – the sun. Then, she pointed to the broken cinema ceiling, where the light entered, and to the drawing. "Sun... day," she said, the words still hesitant, but clearer.
Joey watched, fascinated. This was incredible. She was using what she had learned to communicate.
His shyness, for a moment, receded before the wonder of this interaction. He nodded. "Yes, Sun, Day."
Lyra smiled again, a more open smile this time. Encouraged, she continued.
She drew a shape resembling a tree, then pointed to herself and the drawing, and said a word in her own language, something like "Eldoria," before shaking her head and saying, in hesitant English: "My... home... far."
She then made a broad gesture with her hand, as if indicating a great distance, and her eyes suddenly darkened, a deep sadness veiling their brightness.
Understanding hit Joey. She was talking about her home. The enchanted forest he had imagined.
The pain in her expression was so genuine that Joey felt a pang in his own chest. He, who dreamed of a world without evil and suffering, saw before him the personification of loss and displacement.
"Your home," Joey repeated softly. "You... miss it." It wasn't a question, but a statement.
Lyra looked at him, and in her silver eyes, he saw tears forming. She slowly nodded. A single tear escaped and traced a path through the dust on her face. She made no move to wipe it away.
An impulse, strong and unexpected, surged in Joey. A desire to comfort her, to say that everything would be okay, though he had no idea how that would be possible.
But the words wouldn't come. His social phobia, though momentarily lulled by the wonder of communication, was still a heavy chain.
Instead, he did the only thing he could. He reached out, hesitantly, and lightly touched her arm, a brief, almost imperceptible touch. A gesture of silent solidarity.
Lyra started at the touch but didn't pull away. She looked at his hand on her arm, then at his face. The sadness in her eyes was still there, but now there was something else: surprise, and perhaps a gratitude even deeper than she had shown for the food.
Meanwhile, outside the cinema, Himeko and Mirajane guided Léo and his friends through the streets. Léo, despite his earlier surprise, had quickly recovered his enthusiasm and chattered about the "mysteries of the city," now with two new fascinating listeners.
"So," Léo said, turning to Himeko, who walked beside him with her characteristic elegance, observing everything with scientific interest. "You're like a... space scientist? Your outfit is really cool, looks like something from a movie!"
Himeko smiled. "You could say that, Léo. I'm a navigator and researcher. And I appreciate your good taste in exploration attire." She discreetly consulted her tablet, which continued to record environmental and energy data.
Mirajane, walking beside Beto and Kiko, answered their more hesitant questions with her usual "gentleness." "And you, Mirajane?" Kiko asked. "Are you a researcher too?"
"I'm more of a... caregiver, I think," Mirajane replied, her smile warm. "I like to help people and make sure everyone feels well and safe. My family is very important to me." She was being vague, but genuine.
"Do you think there are more... like Lyra... out there?" Beto asked, his voice full of awe.
Himeko and Mirajane exchanged a quick glance. "The universe is a vast place full of surprises, boys," Himeko said diplomatically. "It's quite possible there are other travelers who have found themselves a little... off course."
"And do you know how they ended up here?" Léo persisted, always seeking answers.
"That's one of the questions we hope to answer," Himeko replied. "There are certain... dimensional instabilities in this region that are quite unusual. My job is to study them."
Mirajane added, with a softer touch: "And if we find others who are lost or scared, like Lyra, our first instinct is to offer help and comfort. No one should feel completely alone in a strange world."
Kael, the Tracker, maintained a safe distance, but his acute senses followed both Himeko's group and the abandoned cinema. The attempted communication between Lyra and Joey was a crucial development. It demonstrated the elf's adaptability and deepened Joey's central role.
Himeko and Mirajane's interaction with the local youths was also informative; they were skilled at deflecting direct questions while gathering information.
In the cinema, silence had returned between Joey and Lyra, but now it was a different silence, less tense, more laden with a mutual understanding that transcended words.
Lyra eventually moved her arm slightly away from Joey's touch, not out of rejection, but perhaps out of her own shyness. She returned to drawing in the dust.
This time, she drew a small, agile figure, with what looked like large goggles and a tuft of spiky hair. Beside it, she drew an object resembling the gear Joey had found. She looked at Joey, questioning.
Pip. She was asking about Pip.
Joey felt a shiver. Did Lyra know Pip? Or at least know of her existence?
He slowly nodded. He picked up the twig and, next to Pip's drawing, drew a small bundle – the one he had left in the warehouse. Then, he pointed to the drawing of the gear Lyra had made and to the bundle, and made a "handing over" gesture.
Lyra's eyes widened in understanding. She pointed to Pip's drawing, then to the bundle, then to Joey, and a small "Ah!" of surprise escaped her lips.
She then touched her own chest and then Joey's, a gesture that seemed to mean "you helped her too."
That moment of recognition, of seeing the pieces of his secret fit together through rudimentary communication with Lyra, filled Joey with a complex emotion. There was fear, yes, the fear of the vastness of it all, but also a pang of... pride?
He, Joey, the failure in his father's eyes, the social recluse, was at the center of something extraordinary, helping beings from other worlds.
Lyra then drew something else: a tall, hooded figure, with eyes that seemed to glow. Kael. She looked at Joey with an expression of caution, almost fear.
Joey felt his own fear mirror hers. He had also seen Kael, felt his menacing presence. He nodded, confirming that he also knew him, or at least, had seen him.
Their communication was slow, full of hesitations and partial misunderstandings, but it was real. They were building a bridge, thread by thread, over the abyss of their different worlds.
The library had taught Lyra some words, some symbols, but it was the desperate need for connection, and Joey's unexpected kindness, that were truly breaking down the barriers.
Joey thought of his dream. A world without wars, without evil. Perhaps it began there, in that dusty cinema, with two beings from different worlds desperately trying to understand each other, offering not grand solutions, but small gestures of humanity – or, in Lyra's case, of "elfness."
The journey was frightening, the responsibility immense, but for the first time, Joey felt he wasn't just passively dreaming. He was, in some tiny, terrifying way, participating in building something new.
And beside him, Lyra, with her silver eyes and silent sadness, was an unexpected companion on this journey.
Outside, the sun was already approaching its zenith, and Saturday morning moved on, oblivious to the whispers and drawings in the dust that sought to unite lost stars and hearts.
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