Story Reader / Event Story / Magpie's Fortune / Story
Evening lights come on, and the fireworks show outside the garden square draws couples eager to watch the spectacle.
In a corner of the garden square, a lone white mechanoid sits on a bench, staring at the canvas in front of it.
Commandant?
I'm studying these; please, take a look.
The brown linen is covered in unsightly graffiti—random scrawls and signatures clutter every inch.
All these markings are left here by human visitors.
According to my research, in the Golden Age, public spaces often included similar walls where people could leave their graffiti.
Even though most of these drawings aren't about technique, they express what the creators feel while putting pen to wall.
It reminds me of my own "record," which you recommend—using painting to capture each day as it happens.
But based on my calculations, there's almost a 100% chance that any tourist who leaves graffiti never sees that "record" again in their life.
I'm not entirely sure I follow. What's the real point of creating this "record" then?
So, are you suggesting they're expressing themselves to other people?
You sit beside Haicma, taking in the scattered graffiti across the canvas. Most appear in pairs, and some even have hearts circling the names.
I see.
Seeing you place the palette on your lap, the mechanoid gives a slight smile.
All right. I'll do it with you.
The distant chatter and laughter remain just as lively, while you are busy mixing paints on the bench, wondering where to place the very first stroke.
But as soon as Haicma finishes blending the colors and raises the brush, her arm suddenly stalls in midair.
Time slips away. By the time twilight's last glow vanishes, you have already planned the painting, but Haicma still hasn't touched the canvas.
No—there are too many possibilities. I have no idea how to choose.
I'm aiming for a piece that really stands out, but every approach I've considered predicts almost the same result.
What feels right in this moment...
...?
You apply gentle pressure, holding the brush steady as Haicma and you lay down the first stroke of color.
Your palm feels so warm... just like I remember.
The mechanoid stops hesitating and focuses completely on painting.
The brush glides precisely between the graffiti lines, and soon a brilliant lily takes shape on the canvas.
Its petals, so clearly defined, rest gracefully while the once-chaotic scribbles now shine like morning dew...
They're not covered up; instead, they highlight the petals and become part of the lily painting.
Every ounce of joy and every memory on this canvas bursts into vibrant color under the mechanoid's brush.
Commandant, how does the painting look?
I turn off my data analysis module and let my thoughts wander... what kind of creation can truly "record" the moments we share.
A single firework streaks across the night sky, bursting with brilliant light among the stars.
As you tilt your head back, Haicma notices the smudges of paint on your face.
It seems you've been a bit careless while painting. Make sure you keep your face a safe distance from the canvas.
Haicma reaches out, gently wiping the paint off your cheek with a fingertip.
I see your silhouette, and I recall that ancient legend.
Even though Lyra α and Aquila α rarely align, everyone still believes that, just like in the myth, the cowherd and the weaver girl will reunite on the day of the Double Seventh Festival.
Do you remember? I once wished that on this exact day every year, we'd have a 100% chance of meeting.
Even if the odds are slim, you always show up right by my side.
Just like the legend says—across the Heavenly River and through the Magpie Bridge...
Haicma gazes at the Milky Way, watching bursts of fireworks light up the night sky like a living masterpiece.
Light from millions of years ago mingles with the fireworks overhead, bathing everything in brilliant color.
The air grows chilly, so I switch on the temperature control. If you don't mind, please move a bit closer.
Tonight, I still have many questions I want to ask you...
