One spring morning in the Imperial School of Mor, as the gray sky weighed heavily over the courtyard like a leaden blanket, a discreet knock echoed through the suite of Mero. The sound resonated in the room. Mero had changed the decoration during the winter. The walls were draped in deep blue silk, adorned with motifs of waves and seashells embroidered in silver, evoking the tumultuous shores of the archipelago. A mosaic of mother-of-pearl and coral, inlaid in the floor, depicted a stylized map of the islands, while a canopy bed draped in azure linen stood under a window framed by carved driftwood. A salty scent floated in the air, mingled with the subtle fragrance of dried seaweed burning in an obsidian bowl on the fireplace—a tribute to the maritime traditions of his people.
Mero, seated at a polished mahogany desk cluttered with parchments and an albatross feather quill, looked up, intrigued. The door opened softly, revealing the slim figure of the school's secretary, a woman with graying hair tied in a strict bun, dressed in a sober but impeccably tailored gown. She entered without waiting for an invitation, her soft steps gliding over the carpet woven with marine ropes. "I hope you won't forget Mandarine's birthday this year," she said in a dry but intentional voice, her piercing eyes fixing him over her steel-rimmed glasses. "Not like last year." Her gaze, heavy and full of undertones, seemed to carry the weight of a silent reproach.
Mero felt a warmth rise to his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and guilt washing over him like a sudden wave. The previous year, absorbed in his studies and the intrigues of the school, he had neglected to send a timely message for Mandarine's birthday—an omission that now returned to him like a bitter echo. The secretary did not move, her expression still but eloquent, as if waiting for a response that would prove he had learned his lesson. "I won't forget this year," he finally said, forcing a slight smile to mask his discomfort. "Thank you for reminding me."
She nodded briefly, a satisfied gesture, before retreating without another word, leaving behind a palpable tension. Mero set down his quill, his fingers nervously drumming on the smooth wood of the desk. The weight on his shoulders grew heavier—a mix of duty toward Mandarine, shared memories, and lingering doubts between them. Mandarine's birthday, an event as important to her as it was to their fragile bond, had suddenly become a test. What could he offer her this time? How could he show, despite the distance and uncertainties, that she still held a place in his heart? The Sea of Sel seemed so far away, and with it, the easy answers.
Seated in his suite, his gaze lost on the shimmering mosaic that evoked the beaches of his childhood, Mero spent the morning pondering. He had initially considered a gift from the Sable-Gris archipelago, a neighboring region of Sel renowned for its artisans. Perhaps a dagger with a coral handle, or a necklace of rare pearls fished from the deep reefs—objects that would speak to Mandarine's audacious soul. But his letters to the merchants, sent weeks earlier, had gone unanswered, the winter storms delaying the ships. Time was running out, and with each passing day, anxiety rose like a tide.
It was Princess Ki who, by a fortunate coincidence, came to his rescue. As he walked down the corridor of the suites, he encountered the young woman outside her own chamber, a space that bore the imprint of the kingdom of Qit. The walls were draped in dark red velvet, embroidered with golden floral motifs and scenes of snowy hunts, while dark wood panels, carved with elegant scrolls, framed a black marble fireplace veined with gold. An imposing chandelier, laden with cut crystals, cast a cold light on a carpet of Aubusson in shades of purple and gray, and the scent of beeswax and pine resin floated in the air, emanating from a silver samovar standing on a lacquered table. Ki, dressed in a deep green gown with fur-trimmed sleeves, greeted him with a soft smile, her black hair adorned with an amber pin.
"You seem preoccupied, Mero," she said, her warm tone contrasting with the solemn chill of her suite. A slight vapor escaped from the samovar, adding a touch of life to the austere atmosphere. "Something troubling you?"
He hesitated for a moment, then confided in her, his words tumbling out like a wave held back too long. "It's Mandarine's birthday soon," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I missed it last year, and this time, I want to do things right. But I couldn't find what I wanted in the Sable-Gris archipelago. The storms..." He let his sentence trail off, a sigh escaping him.
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Ki listened attentively, her dark eyes gleaming with a reflective light under the flickering glow of the chandelier. Then, her smile widened slightly, an idea taking shape. "In my country, Qit, we have a unique animal, the Kuitkuit—named for the little 'kuit-kuit' call it makes in the frozen steppes. Its fur changes with the seasons: it turns white under the winter sun and gray under the rain or melting snow. It is incredibly soft, almost like the finest silk. But there is a rare variety, raised in my father's domains near the frozen lakes of the north. Its fur is blue when the sky is clear and turns pink when the clouds gather. It is a treasure of Qit, a symbol of the beauty that persists through harsh winters."
Mero looked at her, captivated by the description. Fur that danced with the climate, a reflection of the northern sky's whims—it was a rare and poetic gift, perfect for Mandarine, whose heart seemed as indomitable as the storms of Sel. "Do you think she would like it?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his voice.
Ki nodded, her smile imbued with quiet assurance. "I am sure Mandarine would appreciate such a present, especially since it comes from a rare lineage of our land. This fur is not only soft—it tells a story, much like your bond with her, which changes and persists through the winds, doesn't it?" Her words, simple yet profound, touched a sensitive chord within him, reviving memories of starlit nights on distant shores, of shared laughter amidst the waves.
She then offered to help him acquire this rare fur. "I can write to my father," she said, already considering the details. "He will send a sample. With a bit of luck, it will arrive in time for her birthday." Together, they spent the afternoon planning in her suite. Ki scribbled a letter on parchment adorned with the seal of Qit—a double-headed eagle in gold relief—while Mero chose a carved ebony box from his own chamber to hold the gift, lined with white silk to enhance the changing hues of the fur. The dispatch was entrusted to a school messenger, a robust man dressed in a thick fur coat, with the promise of swift delivery despite the winter storms sweeping through Mor.
When everything was arranged, Mero turned to Ki, a sincere smile illuminating his weary face. "Thank you," he said warmly, his voice filled with deep gratitude. "Without you, I would still be lost, searching for a gift that would never arrive."
Ki returned his smile, her eyes crinkled with simple joy under the cold light of the chandelier. "It is a pleasure to help a friend, especially for such a significant occasion," she replied, her voice soft as a breeze gliding over the snow. "I hope Mandarine appreciates this unique present. She deserves something as special as she is." She gently tapped his arm, a friendly gesture that sealed their complicity, before returning to her samovar, leaving Mero alone with his thoughts.
Standing by the window of his chamber, he watched the snow fall in tight swirls, each flake a second bringing him closer to the fateful day. A weight had lifted from his shoulders, replaced by an anticipation mixed with apprehension. The Kuitkuit fur, with its changing hues, was more than a gift—it was a message, an attempt to revive a bond that wavered under the weight of distance and silences. He imagined Mandarine opening the box, her delicate fingers brushing against the soft, shifting colors, a smile—perhaps—forming on her lips tanned by the sea. But a part of him still doubted. Would it be enough? Could he repair last year's oversight with a single offering, no matter how rare?
The following days passed in feverish anticipation. Mero spent his mornings in his suite, rereading old letters from Mandarine—words hastily scrawled on yellowed paper, filled with tales of pillaging and vague promises. Each line revived images: her laughter on the deck of a ship, her dark eyes gleaming under a starlit sky, the warmth of her hand in his during a night when the sea seemed to belong to them. But these memories were tinged with recent bitterness—the letters had grown sparse, her responses to him fewer, and the oversight of her birthday the previous year weighed heavily on their shared past.
One afternoon, as he walked down the corridor of the suites, he passed by Sven's chamber, a space that evoked the tropical island of Fer. The walls were painted a deep red, adorned with motifs of banana leaves and exotic bird feathers, while a bed carved from palm wood stood under a golden canopy. The scent of ripe fruits and burning wood floated in the air, emanating from a terracotta brazier. Sven, leaning against the doorframe, called out to him with a teasing tone. "Still daydreaming about your pirate, Mero?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.
Mero hesitated, then confided, "I'm preparing something for her birthday. Ki helped me find a gift—a rare fur from Qit. I hope it will be enough."
Sven nodded, a look of approval in his eyes. "That's a good choice," he said. "Something unique shows you put thought into it. She'll see the effort, even if she doesn't say it out loud." He patted Mero's shoulder with a light camaraderie, a silent reminder that he was not alone in his doubts.
