Promise of the Parade

The paper flag in my hand was already crumpling at the edges, sticky with rose syrup and sweat, when the float rounded the corner. The brass band’s brass blared so loud I could feel it rattle in my teeth, and the crowd roared like a living thing, people pressing shoulder to shoulder along Jalan Tuanku Abdul Rahman to catch a glimpse. There they were: Blaze glowing golden at the front of the float, fire curling soft and controlled around his shoulders, and Frost calm and cool at his side, her cape shifting like pale blue silk in the afternoon sun. The rest of The Vanguard lined up behind them, waving to the crowd, their symbols bright on their chests.

My mother squeezed my shoulder, her voice soft with awe over the noise. “Look at them, Deva. People who stood together no matter what happened.”

I nodded so hard my cap slipped down over my eyes. That was what I believed, too deeply, unshakably. I’d seen it with my own eyes six months earlier, when the monsoon floods swallowed the low-lying neighbourhoods near the Klang River. I’d sat glued to the television for hours, watching Blaze wade through chest-deep water to lift an elderly woman onto a rescue boat, while Frost froze the rushing currents behind him to keep the debris from sweeping them away. When Blaze stumbled on a submerged log, Frost reached back and steadied him without even looking. When Frost’s hands shook from the cold after hours of holding the ice wall, Blaze wrapped a curtain of warm air around her shoulders. They never left each other behind. They never faltered. To me, they were more than heroes. They were a promise: if you stood with someone good, nothing could ever go truly wrong.

I slipped away from my mother a minute later, my throat dry and sticky from the heat, to buy another iced tea from the stall at the end of the block. The line stretched ten people deep, so I cut through the gap between two temporary wooden barriers, thinking I could loop around the back to the vendor’s side. That’s when I smelled it: sharp, acrid char, cutting through the sweet scent of satay and coconut rice. A vendor huddled by a stack of crates, muttering to himself and brushing ash off his apron, and I noticed the edge of his stall was blackened, the wooden slats warped like they’d been burned.

I froze, pressed against the barrier, when I heard voices just out of sight. Blaze and Frost, hidden from the crowd by a stack of folding chairs, their tones low and sharp.

“The satay stall by the park,” Blaze said, tight with tension. “My fire got too far ahead of me during the drill this morning. Burned half of it. Nearly hit the twelve-year-old working there.”

Frost didn’t gasp. Didn’t scold him. Didn’t even pause. I peeked around the edge of the barrier just in time to see her step closer, brushing a fleck of ash from his collar, her face as calm as it was when she waved to the crowd. “We’ll say the remaining attackers from last week’s warehouse raid did it. Loose incendiary rounds from their weapons. I’ll adjust the ice residue at the scene to match the timeline. No one will question it.”

Blaze’s shoulders loosened as a weight had dropped off them. “You’re sure it won’t trace back?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Her voice was soft, steady, absolute. “We stand together, don’t we? No matter what.”

My throat went tight. The iced tea I’d just bought suddenly tasted like nothing but sugar and metal.

People who stood together no matter what happened. I’d always thought that meant they stood together to protect people. To do the right thing. To hold each other accountable when one of them slipped. I’d thought it was a promise to the city. It wasn’t. It was a promise only to each other.

I crept back to the crowd before they could see me, my shoes scuffing the sun-warmed pavement. My mother was still waving, her face bright, the cheers still ringing in the air. The float passed by, Blaze and Frost smiling and waving like they hadn’t just agreed to lie to cover up a mistake that could have left a child badly hurt. A little girl next to me waved a Frost Ratu flag so hard her arm shook, her face lit up with pure, uncomplicated trust.

I looked down at my crumpled paper flag, at Blaze’s golden symbol printed on the front, and smoothed the edges with my thumb. The line my mother had spoken, the line I’d carried in my chest like a lucky coin, didn’t feel like a promise anymore. It felt like a warning. They would stand together, yes. No matter what. Even when they were wrong. Even when they lied. Even when the people they were supposed to protect got burned.

They would stand together. And everyone else would be left to clean up the ash.