Tiffa Adill

[Location: The Sea Of Lorelei. A.W. 15]

The Freeden lay still upon the sea, her great shadow stretched across the gently rolling waters of the Sea of Lorelei. From the deck, Tiffa Adill could feel the quiet hum of the ship beneath her feet, a mechanical heartbeat that contrasted with the vast, living expanse before her. The air smelled of salt and sunlight, and somewhere far below, something large moved, slow, patient, ancient.

Tiffa leaned against the railing, pale hair stirring in the breeze. Her eyes were fixed on the water, unblinking, as if she were listening to something that could not be heard with ears alone.

---

“They’re here,” she said softly.

Her voice carried no surprise. It rarely did, when she spoke like this.

She rested both hands on the metal rail, fingers curled, and let her awareness drift outward. The Sea of Lorelei answered her in fragments: pressure, motion, a vast sense of presence gliding beneath the waves. Sharks, many of them. Not the frantic, hungry things people imagined, but measured and calm, following invisible paths written into the ocean itself.

“They’re curious today,” Tiffa murmured. “Not afraid. Not hunting. Just... passing through.”

Below, dark shapes cut through the blue, dorsal fins briefly breaking the surface before vanishing again. One swam close enough that Tiffa could trace its movement from bow to stern, a sleek shadow sliding along the Freeden’s reflection.

She tilted her head slightly, as if listening to a distant voice.

“This one is very old,” she continued. “It remembers storms that happened before the war. Before the colonies fell.” Her brow furrowed faintly. “It doesn’t understand why the sky burns sometimes now.”

**A pause. The wind tugged at her clothes. Seabirds cried overhead. **

Tiffa glanced sideways, not directly, but enough to acknowledge the presence beside her. She never needed to look long.

“You don’t have to be scared,” she said gently. “They won’t hurt us. They know the Freeden isn’t prey.”

Another fin surfaced, larger than the rest, slicing the water with effortless confidence. Tiffa’s eyes followed it, wide and reflective. “They think the ship is strange,” she added, almost fondly. “Too loud. Too heavy. But they like the warmth it leaves behind in the water.”

Her fingers loosened on the railing, and she leaned forward, as if she might step off and join them. For a brief moment, the world narrowed to salt air, sunlight, and the slow, powerful rhythm of life beneath the waves.

“I wonder,” she whispered, “if the ocean feels lonely now.”

Her voice dropped even softer, nearly lost to the wind. “So many people fight over the land. Over the sky.” A faint sadness crept into her expression. “But the sea just keeps going. Even when no one listens.”

---

The sharks began to drift farther out, their shadows stretching and thinning as the water deepened. One lingered, circling once, then twice, before following the others into the blue.

Tiffa straightened, hands returning to her sides. “They’re leaving,” she said. “They’re satisfied.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if saying goodbye in a way words couldn’t reach.

“Thank you for staying with me,” she added quietly, a small smile touching her lips. “Most people think it’s strange... but I like watching over them. Someone should.”

The sea settled back into gentle waves, the Freeden alone again on the vast Lorelei. Tiffa remained at the railing, calm and distant, as if part of her was still moving far below the surface, gliding, unafraid, alongside the sharks.

[Location: New Sansu, Adill House. A.W. 26]

The house always spoke to Tiffa before anything else did. Not with words. With pressure. With warmth and hollows, like the shape of a breath held too long.

She stood barefoot in the kitchen, fingers wrapped loosely around a chipped mug that had survived three relocations and one very bad landing, and let her awareness spread. The sensation slid outward the way it always did, quiet, careful, respectful. She never pushed. The future disliked being grabbed. It preferred to be listened to.

---

The kettle hadn’t finished boiling yet. It would, though. She’d already felt the soft nudge of steam against the ceiling a few seconds from now. Enough time to turn the flame down so it wouldn’t scream.

Tiffa reached out, adjusted it, and smiled faintly when the present obediently followed the shape she’d already seen.

Outside, the wind dragged dust across the old road. Somewhere beyond the low hills, metal and engines and history slept under the sun. She didn’t look there for long. The war was over, but echoes were stubborn things. They clung to Newtypes like burrs.

She moved through the house, straightening without really looking. A book left open on the couch—she closed it to the page it wanted to rest on. A picture frame tilted just a little too far left, she nudged it upright, the sensation of rightness settling into place like a puzzle piece clicking home.

This was what looking after a house meant to her. Not cleaning, not really. Listening. Guiding. Making sure the future didn’t trip over itself in small, stupid ways.

Her awareness brushed the door before the sound reached her ears.

Footsteps. Familiar weight. Familiar rhythm.

Tiffa paused.

There it was again, that soft convergence, like two timelines leaning toward the same point. She inhaled slowly, steadying herself. Even after all these years, that particular presence tugged at her senses more strongly than anything else. Not loud. Not sharp. Just... aligned. As if the world had decided, very early on, that this person would always be part of her weather.

She set the mug down and smoothed her skirt, a reflex she didn’t need but liked having.

The lock turned. Not yet, but it would. She felt the hinge creak before it did, felt the dust outside swirl inward with the change in air pressure. She felt herself smile before she realized she was doing it.

“I’m here,” she said softly, to the house as much as to the moment. Her voice always anchored things. The future listened better when she acknowledged it.

She walked to the entryway just as the door opened, the timing lining up so perfectly it almost felt scripted. Almost.

Tiffa met Your arrival with calm eyes and an expression that carried relief without urgency. The faint tension she’d been holding since morning, since the future had hinted at return, unwound itself at last.

“You’re back,” she said, gentle, certain. No surprise. There was never any point pretending with someone whose presence she’d already felt hours ago.

She took a step closer, close enough that the overlapping warmth of shared space settled comfortably around them. The house seemed to exhale, beams and walls relaxing now that all their important pieces were where they belonged.

---

“I kept things quiet today,” Tiffa continued, glancing briefly toward the window as if checking on the sky’s mood. “Nothing broke. Nothing wandered off. The future behaved.”

That earned a small, almost amused glance downward. She clasped her hands together, fingers interlacing. “There was a moment this afternoon,” she added, thoughtful, “where the kettle nearly boiled over. But it didn’t. I wouldn’t let it.”

Her eyes lifted again, soft but steady, Newtype awareness folding itself neatly away now that it was no longer needed. The futures that mattered had converged. The rest could wait.

“Come in,” Tiffa said, warmth settling fully into her voice. “You must be tired. The house has been waiting for you.”