Submission (#597) Approved

(Lumiora used with permission from Galaxy_Feathers)
The summer air shimmered with heat, the sun floating lazily overhead like it had nowhere better to be. A soft breeze drifted through the sprawling sunflower fields that lined the village outskirts, brushing tall golden stalks into gentle sways. The petals glowed like miniature suns, forming a yellow sea that rustled with contentment.
In the middle of it all, Nadira stood uncomfortably stiff. A daisy crown had been plopped on her horns. She had been given a pair of sandals that squeaked with dew. She looked, in her words, like a tourist in a tea commercial.
Around her, Tatsukoi villagers sat on woven mats, pouring herbal tea, sharing quiet stories, or braiding flowers into long garlands. There were no explosions. No duels. No sarcastic retorts. It was like the entire place was allergic to stress.
Nadira exhaled slowly through her nose, reciting in her head:
I am calm. I am helpful. I am not a walking chemical hazard. I am calm—
“Would you like to pour next, Nadira?” an elderly villager asked kindly, gesturing to the iron teapot.
Nadira blinked. She looked down at the delicate porcelain cup, then back at the group watching her. She nodded, standing up carefully, trying not to let her tail knock over anything fragile.
Okay. Easy. Just pick it up. Tip it. Be normal.
She reached for the teapot. Her claws were steady, her magic dimmed. She poured.
Only… she misjudged the angle. The hot tea splashed out awkwardly, soaking the mat, the cup, and partially the elderly villager’s robes.
“Oh—! I—I didn’t mean—!” Nadira jolted back, eyes wide. Her tail lashed.
There was a beat of startled silence. Then a polite chuckle from someone nearby.
“It’s alright, dear,” the elder said, dabbing her robes. “Just a little spill.”
But Nadira's cheeks flushed a deep, glowing pink. In her mind, the laughter stretched into ridicule. Her chest tightened. Heat curled low in her gut — her control slipping.
No. Not here. Not now—
She staggered back, bumping into a flower tray. The daisies spilled. Her emotions surged.
A sickly hiss escaped from her scales as her body magic crackled — acidic steam hissing at the edges of her palms. And before anyone could stop it—
FWSSSHHHHH—!!
A blast of heat burst from her tail, slicing through the field like a rogue flare. Sunflowers withered and blackened in an instant. Smoke and steam curled skyward, the air suddenly thick with burning pollen and regret.
Horrified, Nadira stumbled back, eyes darting to the gasping crowd. Someone shouted her name. Another tried to douse the flames.
But she didn’t stay to hear it.
She turned and bolted — into the trees, away from the field, away from the mistake, away from them.
The forest just past the sunflower field wasn’t particularly dense, but it felt like a wall to Nadira as she slipped between the trees, her tail leaving faint, acid-singed streaks in the grass. Branches snapped under her frantic feet, and her shoulders heaved with every panicked breath.
She didn’t know where she was running to—just that she had to be away.
Away from the smoke.
Away from the stares.
Away from the part of herself that always ruined everything.
She finally collapsed beside a crooked tree whose roots rose like claws from the earth. Her bioluminescent scales still glowed faintly, flickering with residual heat and emotion. The daisy crown had fallen somewhere along the way. Good riddance.
Nadira clenched her jaw and buried her face in her arms, coiling her tail around herself like a protective shield. Her voice came out rough, broken:
“I didn’t even mean to do it…”
The forest responded only with the sound of crickets and a distant birdcall. She sat there, trembling, waiting for someone to come yell at her. To banish her. To confirm the exact thing she’d always feared:
That she didn’t belong.
But instead… there was only a soft rustle.
Then, a warm voice — calm and gentle as rain tapping on leaves.
“You forgot your crown.”
Nadira looked up, startled.
Lumiora stood a few feet away, still wearing her usual serene half-smile, holding the slightly crushed daisy crown between her fingers. A few petals had singed, but most were intact.
“Y-you shouldn’t be here,” Nadira stammered, trying to shrink further against the tree. “I might… I could… I’m not—” Her voice cracked again. “I ruined everything.”
“I saw,” Lumiora said simply, approaching with no fear in her step. “It was an accident.”
“That doesn’t matter.” Nadira’s voice grew sharper, bitter. “They trusted me to help, and I torched their summer. Literally. I can’t even pour tea without turning into a walking meltdown.”
There was silence for a moment.
Then Lumiora knelt beside her.
“You know,” she said, carefully placing the daisy crown near Nadira’s tail, “sunflowers grow best after a fire.”
Nadira blinked, confused. “...What?”
“It’s true,” Lumiora nodded. “Their seeds thrive in scorched soil. Sometimes it takes a little chaos for something stronger to bloom.”
Nadira stared at her, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “You always have some poetic forest wisdom, huh?”
Lumiora’s expression softened, her tone dipping quieter. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know what it feels like to be afraid of yourself. To think the worst part of you is the only part anyone sees.”
That made Nadira pause.
“I am dangerous,” she muttered. “I hurt things.”
“Only when you’re scared,” Lumiora said gently. “And scared people need gentleness, not exile.”
That... hit hard.
The anger in Nadira’s chest fizzled into confusion. The tears she’d been holding back finally slipped down her cheeks, glowing faintly with bioluminescent shimmer. “They’re gonna hate me.”
“Then let them see you fix it,” Lumiora said softly, rising to her hooves. “Come back with me. We’ll replant. Together.”
Nadira stared down at her claws, the faintest wisp of steam curling off them. She didn’t trust herself. But...
Maybe if Lumiora did, she could try.
With a shaking breath, Nadira stood. She plucked the crumpled daisy crown off the grass and—awkwardly—placed it back atop her horns.
“…Still crooked,” Lumiora observed with a small laugh.
Nadira huffed. “So am I.”
They walked back through the woods, side by side, toward the smoke and the sunflowers, and whatever redemption waited there.
The sunflower field looked like a graveyard when they returned.
Charred stalks curled like ash-blackened fingers, reaching for a sky that was now painted a soft pink and gold — the colors of a fading summer afternoon. The heat had died down, but the damage remained. Soot clung to the earth. A few unburnt patches trembled in the breeze, standing like silent witnesses.
Nadira winced at the sight.
“I did this,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
Lumiora didn’t reply. She simply walked forward and sat in the dirt, right in the middle of the ruined field. Then she looked over her shoulder.
“Well? You coming?”
“…You’re just gonna sit there?”
“Mm-hm,” Lumiora said, patting the spot beside her. “It’s the perfect place to start over.”
Nadira hesitated… then, slowly, she stepped into the burned soil. Her tail dragged a long line in the ash. As she sat down, a puff of grey dust swirled up, settling into her fur and scales. It smelled like smoke, sunlight, and scorched pollen.
She exhaled shakily, letting herself be still.
Summer’s not supposed to feel like this, she thought. It was supposed to be breezy picnics, lemonade, laughter — not failure and fire and—
Suddenly, a thump hit her back.
She blinked. “Did you just—”
“Sunflower seeds,” Lumiora said matter-of-factly, tossing another small handful in Nadira’s direction. “They said they were saving them for a harvest festival. Guess we’ll just start early.”
Nadira caught one in her claws. It was small. Plain. Nothing special.
“You think they’ll still grow here?”
“I think they’ll grow because of here,” Lumiora said, beginning to press the seeds into the soot. “And you’re going to help me plant every last one.”
And so they did.
Together, they dug and planted, row after crooked row. Nadira’s claws trembled at first, afraid she’d melt the seeds just by touching them — but Lumiora never flinched, never left her side. Her calm steadiness was like a cool breeze over hot skin.
By the time they were halfway through the second pouch of seeds, a soft voice rang out behind them.
“…Hey.”
Nadira turned sharply, muscles tensing—only to find a small figure standing at the edge of the field.
A child, with messy hair and a sunflower tucked behind one ear. One of the villagers.
More followed behind.
They didn’t yell. They didn’t throw anything. They just… came forward. Curious. Quiet.
One of them — a freckled teen with dirt-stained hooves — held out a little tin watering can.
“…You missed a few spots,” they said.
Nadira stared.
“Y-you’re not mad?”
Another kid shrugged. “It was kinda awesome. I mean, terrifying. But awesome.”
“You were trying to help,” said another. “We all saw that.”
More voices chimed in, and soon they were fanning out across the field, filling the air with chatter and laughter. Someone found a wheelbarrow. Another brought lemonade. A pair of twins started turning a broken crate into a bench.
And just like that—just like summer—life returned.
Nadira stood there, stunned, watching as the community she thought she’d ruined folded her back into itself without hesitation. Like she’d never burned a single thing.
Lumiora came up beside her, gently elbowing her side. “Still think you’re only good at breaking things?”
Nadira scoffed under her breath, but a crooked grin crept across her face. “Still think you’re insufferably poetic?”
“Always.”
As the sun dipped low, turning the soot into gold and the air into honey-thick warmth, Nadira looked over the field — blackened but seeded — and felt something inside her shift.
She wasn’t fixed. Not yet.
But maybe this summer wasn’t about being perfect. Maybe it was about growth. And just like the sunflowers… She could start over. As the golden light of afternoon spilled over the half-replanted sunflower rows, Nadira sat a little apart from the group, elbows on her knees, expression unreadable. Dirt and smoke clung to her scales.
A gentle slurp and squelch rustled beside her.
“…Don’t even start,” she muttered.
Her tail oozed up beside her shoulder, its eye-mouth bubbling open with a goofy, toothy grin.
“Start what? The part where I say ‘I told you not to stomp off in an emotional whirlwind?’ Or the part where I remind you you didn’t even melt the villagers this time? Progress!”
Nadira groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “This is not the time.”
Her tail wiggled, unfazed. “Okay okay, how about: ‘Hey, Nadira, good job not setting everything on fire!’ You like affirmations, right? I’ve been working on my supportive tone.”
It cleared its… throat? “You are a stormy, smoldering cinnamon roll and we are so proud of your mildly restrained destruction.”
“Go away,” she grumbled, though her lips twitched. Just a little.
The tail softened, curling up beside her shoulder again. “They’re not afraid of you, y’know. Not the real you. They just don’t wanna get toasted like marshmallows by accident.”
“I am an accident,” Nadira muttered.
Her tail flicked her forehead.
“Ow!”
“You’re not,” it said, quieter now. “You’re just… figuring stuff out. Like everyone else. It’s called growth. Yuck, I know. Gross. But you’re doing it.”
She turned, eyes locked on the distant shimmer of Lumiora laughing with a child as they patted soil around a tiny sunflower sprout.
“…She didn’t leave.”
“Nope.”
“She should’ve.”
“Nope.”
“I don’t deserve—”
“You’re trying,” her tail interrupted firmly. “That’s more than most. Even your acid spit is growing on me.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “You are the worst conscience ever.”
“I’m adorable and you love me.”
“…I tolerate you.”
The tail patted her cheek with a drippy limb. “You need me.”
“…Unfortunately,” she admitted, watching Lumiora again. “Let’s go help.”
“YES! Let’s go plant something and only destroy like two rows this time!”
“Tail.”
“Right, right. One row. Max.”

Reward	Amount
Gold	5
Summer Daze Music Festival - Design and MYO Raffles (Raffle Ticket)	1