Reminisce by the Roses

"I think in some ways that makes it easier," Frederick said after some consideration. "Having other people. When people suffer a loss together, they pull tighter. But when you suffer a loss alone, you pull apart. It can be hard to open up to people who aren't feeling the same loss, so you pull away. Your family might feel bad for you, but they aren't feeling the loss in the same way, and it makes it hard to connect."

He thought for a moment about PTSD after the great war, and the lecture he'd watched once. How different things were. How people had pulled together. He'd desperately wanted Halcyon to pull together, but instead they had pulled apart. There was no community organization, no attempt to maintain their history. Many of those without powers had moved off-island.

If they had no powers and were willing to be quiet, integrating into a narrow reality society was simply the better option, wasn't it?

"I suppose I was lucky in that regard," he said, drawing his hand back. His eyes were fixed on a place a bit behind Zora, not quite looking at her, his face falling.

He hadn't lost anyone, after all.

Friends and people he cared about... He'd lost a lot of people, but by the time Halcyon was gone? Not so many.

"No one I was very close to," he admitted. "Things were already sliding downhill before Halcyon ended. I didn't have time to socialize much. Most of my friends had lost contact, or fallen by the wayside. My social circle was always small, but when things kept getting worse and worse..."

He had other things to do. Higher priority things. The constant encroachment of the Gultha had been more important than keeping up with those he'd considered his friends, and he'd never had anyone he considered too close to begin with.

"My parents were already gone years ago. My wife..." He trailed off again. "Wasn't around."

Her mood had sunk again. He should have expected as much, talking of people who were gone, but he supposed it was all but inevitable. No matter what, the conversation was going to come down at times. She'd suffered a recent loss, and it was still fresh and raw.

"No," he said. "I was an only child. Growing up it was just the three of us, so I have to admit I'm a bit envious of large families." Siblings. Cousins. Aunts and Uncles. "Was your family large?"

He was guessing yes. Or at least larger than his own.

He hadn't known she had a son, and the surprise no doubt showed on his face.

"It's good you have people," he said after a moment to recover. "Even if your family situation sounds... complex." He was going to need a map to keep track of it all. An aunt, a grandfather, aunt's children, son... "And I'm sorry to hear about your brother. I've been told losing a sibling is a special kind of pain."

Not something he'd experienced, obviously, but he'd spoken at plenty of funerals. He'd seen that kind of suffering.

"I have to admit I'm envious of you having such a large family. And having them all here, too. My family was never one for large holiday gatherings, but when I visited others I always was quite taken by them."

There was something there, but it wasn't something he wanted to dig into. The way she'd said it was almost dismissive, clearly trying to move on.

He was happy to oblige.

"The opposite of my own family," he said. "I think the loudest it ever got was when my mother tripped and broke a tray of china." He smiled at her smile, happy she seemed to be willing to relax.

"I can't say I know all that much about magic. My own family had an active metahuman gene, starting with my father, but no connection to the magic community of Halcyon. The only wizard I knew was... cagey at best. He didn't like talking about his work."