Year 1940, London Dock. Shiki Flores, a 29-year-old journalist, translator, and messenger from Sierra-Madre, prepared to board the ship that would take her back to her homeland. She had just completed her mission of delivering an important message to London's bureaucrats.
Amid the bustling port, Shiki searched for something to eat during the voyage. While sampling free snacks, her gaze landed on an unexpected sight: a frightened two-month-old white tiger cub crouched behind a trash bin, its wide eyes peeking out nervously at the chaos around it.
Initially, Shiki dismissed the pitiful creature, focusing instead on the bag of food she'd purchased. "Thank you," she muttered to the vendor, heading toward her ship. But as she walked, the image of the terrified cub lingered in her mind. Unable to forget it, she found her feet carrying her back to the market.
The cub hadn't moved from its spot. It looked even more frightened now, its small body trembling as people passed by.
Shiki crouched in front of it, speaking softly. "Hello, little friend."
The cub retreated slightly, wary of her approach.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she said gently, extending her palm with a piece of food. "Here, try this."
After a moment of hesitation, the cub sniffed the offering and cautiously ate it. Shiki smiled as she patted the animal's head, her fingers brushing against its soft fur. "You're braver than you look," she murmured.
When the cub finished eating, it licked her hand, its previously frightened eyes now filled with trust. Shiki chuckled, stroking the underside of its chin. "Would you like to come with me? I'll give you a safe place to live."
The cub blinked up at her, its gesture almost like a silent agreement.
Shiki sighed. "Wait here, little one." She stood and scoured the market for a cage. None of the stalls sold one outright, but she spotted a merchant selling live chickens in sturdy wire cages. After some bargaining—paying twice the price of the chickens—Shiki walked away with an empty cage in tow.
Returning to the cub, she carefully coaxed it into the enclosure. "Don't worry," she whispered. "You'll be safe with me."
Back in her country, Shiki arrived at a secluded mansion nestled in the mountains, a private retreat guarded by soldiers under the command of her daughter's father, a high-ranking general. Here, her 14-year-old daughter, Nara, lived in quiet isolation.
Nara waited eagerly in the living room, her heart light with the knowledge that her mother would return today.
"I'm home, my flower from heaven," Shiki called out as she stepped into the room.
Nara ran to greet her, wrapping her arms around her mother in a warm embrace. "Mama, welcome home! I missed you so much!"
Shiki hugged her daughter tightly, smiling. "I missed you too, my princess."
Nara's smile faltered. "Will you leave me again soon?"
Shiki smoothed her daughter's hair. "I can only stay for one night, Nara. But I brought something special for you this time."
"A surprise?" Nara's curiosity sparked.
Shiki nodded and pulled the cage forward, revealing the white tiger cub.
Nara's eyes widened in wonder. "A tiger!" she exclaimed. "Mama, is it really for me?"
Shiki chuckled. "Yes, my princess. I rescued this little friend at the port. I thought you might like her. From now on, she'll be your companion."
Nara clasped her hands in delight. "I'll take good care of her, I promise! Does she have a name?"
"Not yet. I thought you might like to name her."
"Me?" Nara's face lit up. "May I really choose her name, Mama?"
"Of course. What would you like to call her?"
Nara pondered for a moment, her gaze fixed on the cub. "Can I call her Haukea?"
"Haukea?" Shiki raised an eyebrow. "That means 'snow-white,' isn't it? Where did you learn that?"
"I read it in a book," Nara admitted, her eyes sparkling. "Doesn't it suit her, Mama?"
Shiki hesitated briefly. "Technically, it's a foreign name, which might be frowned upon. But if it makes you happy, I'll allow it. Just be cautious when mentioning it around others."
Nara nodded solemnly. "I will, Mama. Don't worry. No one comes here except the guards and the servants."
"True," Shiki conceded. "But always be careful."
Nara crouched by the cage, beaming at her new companion. "Hello, Haukea. From now on, that's your name. I'm Nara—it's nice to meet you."
Shiki opened the cage, allowing Nara to scoop up the cub in her arms. Haukea let out a soft purr, nestling against her.
Nara looked up at her mother with a radiant smile. "Thank you, Mama. I'll be the best friend Haukea could ever have."
Shiki smiled, her heart warm with the sight of her daughter so happy. "I know you will, my flower."
. . .
Over the years, Nara and Haukea had become inseparable. They ate together, played together, and grew together. Now, Nara was a beautiful young woman of 20, and Haukea, the once-fragile cub, had matured into a majestic and strong tiger. Their bond was unbreakable, a source of joy and comfort amidst the chaos of a crumbling world.
On Nara's 20th birthday, her mother, Shiki, returned to the secluded shrine to celebrate. She brought her camera, as she did every year, to capture a picture of Nara and her faithful companion.
"You look so beautiful, Nara," Shiki said as they sat together at the garden's tea table, the lush greenery framing them.
Nara blushed lightly, her smile shy. "Thank you, Mama."
"I have a gift for you," Shiki said, handing her daughter a small painting of the northern lights.
Nara's eyes widened with wonder. "This is majestic, Mama! Can we really see this in the sky?"
Shiki nodded. "Yes, Nara. In late August or early September, the northern skies light up like this. It's a breathtaking sight."
Nara turned the painting toward Haukea, gently patting the tiger's head. "Haukea, we have to go to this place someday with Mama. It will be amazing."
The tiger let out a soft sound, as if agreeing.
"Thank you for this gift, Mama," Nara said, her voice filled with gratitude.
Months later.
Nara reclined on a soft bed of grass near the shrine's fountain, a book resting in her hands. Haukea lay beside her, the tiger's rhythmic breaths blending with the tranquil sounds of nature. It was a rare peaceful day—free from the smoke and sulfur of war that often marred the skies.
Nara read aloud from her book, her voice soft and melodic. "The French astronomer Pierre Gassendi is credited with naming the Aurora Borealis, but these lights have been observed by ancient Chinese, Greek, and Scandinavian peoples for centuries."
She glanced at Haukea, who stirred slightly but remained resting. "Isn't that amazing, Haukea? One day, we'll see those lights together. I just hope the world will find peace by then."
Her gaze shifted upward to the clear sky. The birds were returning, their silhouettes sharp against the bright blue. But her peaceful reverie was interrupted by a sudden, thunderous explosion. The earth trembled beneath her as thick smoke rose in the distance.
Haukea, startled, bolted upright, trembling in fear.
Nara hugged the tiger tightly. "What's happening?" she asked as guards rushed toward her.
One of them spoke urgently. "Lady Nara, rebels are attacking! They've discovered the shrine. We must evacuate you immediately!"
Clutching Haukea, Nara followed the guards to a hidden escape route. But Haukea froze, paralyzed by fear from her traumatic past.
"Haukea, come on!" Nara called desperately.
The tiger looked at her with anguished eyes and tried to follow, but a bomb struck nearby, the force of the explosion throwing them apart.
"Haukea!" Nara screamed, tears streaming down her face as she rushed to her injured companion. Blood seeped from the tiger's wounds, and her body trembled in pain.
The guards shielded Nara from the chaos, fending off the attackers. Just as the rebels seemed unstoppable, the General arrived with reinforcements, driving them back and rescuing his daughter.
. . .
In a makeshift shelter at the General's camp, Nara sat clutching an urn containing Haukea's ashes. Her eyes were red and swollen, her heart shattered.
The General sat beside her, his voice heavy with guilt. "Nara, I'm so sorry. I failed you. I failed Haukea."
Nara didn't look at him. "You never visited me before, General. Why are you here now? I don't need your apologies."
Her words cut deep, but he continued, his voice trembling. "You're my daughter, Nara. I've kept you hidden all these years to protect you, not because I was ashamed of you. I never wanted you to face the darkness of this world. I only wish I could have kept you safe."
Still, Nara said nothing. She hugged the urn tighter, her thoughts consumed by the loss of her best friend.
Noticing the painting of the northern lights by her side, the General spoke again. "Your mother told me about your dream to see the Aurora. I can help make it happen."
Nara's eyes finally met his. "You can?"
He nodded. "I'll arrange everything. But until the rebellion is over, you can't return to Sierra-Madre. You'll need to live in safety, far away."
"I'll go," Nara said quietly, "but not for myself. I'll go for Haukea. She wanted to see the lights too."
. . .
Accompanied by her mother and a team of guards, Nara traveled to northern Europe. In September, she finally stood beneath the night sky, the northern lights dancing in vibrant hues above her.
Clutching the urn, she whispered, "Haukea, can you see it? Just like we dreamed."
As tears threatened to fall, she steadied herself, remembering her promise to be strong.
Gazing into the icy water's reflection, she saw a glimmer of white. She turned, her breath catching as Haukea's spirit appeared. The tiger stood tall and majestic, her ethereal form glowing softly under the lights.
"Haukea," Nara breathed, her voice trembling.
For a moment, they stood together, sharing the view they had both longed for. Haukea brushed her cheek against Nara's hand, her touch warm and familiar. Then, with one last look, the tiger turned and walked into the horizon, her form dissolving into the wind.
Nara smiled through her tears. "We'll meet again, my best friend. I promise."
She scattered the ashes into the wind, letting them join the lights above. For the first time in months, she felt a sense of peace. Haukea might be gone, but their bond would endure forever.