05-01-2019, 01:34 AM
He was right. Beqanna didn’t need all of his blood. Instead, she took what he freely offered and gave him a small vial in exchange, shimmering silver liquid that gleamed in the light of her magic fire. Fire that shifted and solidified into something new, its light claiming his image and reflecting it back at him. He stared into the mirror-like surface for a long moment, studying himself in a way he’d never been able to before. Weary silver eyes that almost matched the glistening liquid cure stared back at him, just the faintest hint of hope kindling in their depths. Blood still saturated his moonlight pale coat, painted unnatural sunset hues in the flickering magical firelight. The boy who watched him from the depths of the fire was almost a stranger, his young body hardened and scarred by one trial after another, all in the name of a cure.
All in the name of saving a world that didn’t even know his name.
But it was such a small vial.
The image shifted, his reflection fading as the fire showed him Beqanna suffering and dying at the hands of the plague he’d fought so hard to defeat. A few familiar faces, fellow questers he’d encountered in passing, a brief flickering glimpse of Ember’s red and black, but it was a stranger’s face the image settled on. A stranger curled up on the ground and staring up at the moon shining down on his broad, scarred face. A face Nocturne was sure he’d never seen before, so why did his breath catch in his throat? Why did his heart leap inside his chest?
Something inside him just knew, his heart screaming inside him that he was looking at the home he’d never known, scars that all but matched his own tracing lines in ebony skin he could almost see had once been pale as moonlight just like his. A magnificent, stark white forelock fell over that scarred face, his mane spilling down his neck in riotous tangles that Nocturne somehow knew the shape of all the way down to his bones. He could bury his face in that mane and breathe in the scent of home, if he could only reach. Broad shoulders heavy with muscle, shaped just right for him to curl into. His skin ached for an embrace he’d never felt before, seared into his DNA, crying out in every cell of his body leaving him shaking as tears welled up in his eyes because oh!
“Dad?”
<b><i>Mine!</i></b> The truth screamed in his veins, making the air in his lungs vibrate, making his whole body quake with yearning all the way down to his soul. Home. God, he could almost feel what it would be like, to be held. To be loved, beyond the faintest shadow of doubt. For once in his life, to be wanted. One look from mismatched eyes brushed silver and gold, he could live forever on one look, <i>please, just look at me!</i>
The vial floated between them, and he saw beyond the way his heart stuttered and raced in his chest, saw the sickness plaguing his father in the dullness of his dark coat, the blood dripping from flared nostrils, the way his great chest heaved as he coughed. And Nocturne’s heart fell. He could live forever on one look, and watch his father die for want of a sip of silver magic. Or…
Or he could save his father’s life, and die wrapped up in the home he’d never known.
The moment he understood, the fire opened into a doorway before him, the image turning solid, turning real. Nocturne drew a shaky breath and stepped forward on trembling feet, wide silver eyes brimming with tears. He took the vial in his mouth, so careful, so gentle, what good could he do if he broke it? As he stepped through the ring of fire, his father’s head turned slowly, brow furrowed, eyes still staring up at the moon for a moment longer.
Nocturne could feel it too, the way the moon tugged on the man, the gravity between them defying laws of physics as though his father were immeasurably larger than his body could hold, but only for the moon. He could feel the quiet yearning, the ache of ancient sorrow, of old wounds that still scarred far deeper than his skin. Unfocused eyes hazy from fever finally tore free of the moon’s hold and settled on him, and the stranger’s familiar brow furrowed deeper.
“Do I know you?”
His voice was darkness and moonlight, gravel and melodies crooned in the dead of night, and it shivered through Nocturne’s blood, danced along his skin like a quiet touch. Nocturne shook his head and stepped closer, a tear trickling out of the corner of one eye and trailing slowly down his cheek. No, his father didn’t know him, had never even dreamed of him, had no clue he so much as existed. But Nocturne knew; maybe his father could feel it too? The way his bones thrummed with conviction, with certainty that drove him forward one shaky step at a time. He reached his father’s side and lowered his head to offer the vial of shimmering silver. He set it carefully at his father’s feet. “No,” he answered softly, shaking his head again. “I’m just a dream. Drink this, okay? It’ll make you feel better.”
His father frowned up at him, narrowing eyes that struggled to focus on Nocturne’s pale form so bright in the moonlight. “You look…” He shook his head, blinking hard, dragging in a raspy breath that rattled in his lungs like death. “Like me. When I was...small.” Nocturne could see him struggle for words, the sickness stealing coherence from him, burning his mind with fever and snatching the breath from his lungs. “You’re hurt, do--”
“I’m just a dream,” Nocturne said softly, “don’t worry about it. Just drink, I promise you’ll feel better.” No sense in telling him what his heart so desperately longed to shout, to scream, to whisper with shaking breath. It would be selfish, it would be cruel. Still, Nocturne couldn’t help but lower himself to the ground at his father’s side, curl up into his sturdy strength as the stubborn man finally listened and drank the cure. As soon as his moonlight skin touched scarred ebony, silent tears started falling in earnest, shaking his body as he curled tighter into his father’s side.
“Hush, little dream boy, I’ve got you,” his father crooned, tucking him closer, wrapping himself around Nocturne’s much smaller body. “‘s all right. Rest now, there’s a good boy.” Darkness and moonlight washed over him, and Nocturne closed his eyes. For the first time in his life, he was home. It didn’t matter if it was the last time too. As his father held him close, Nocturne knew part of him could live forever on just that one look, just that one embrace. Maybe...maybe instead of darkness, he could be the moon. Maybe when the plague stole his breath and stopped his heart, chased the last of the light from his silver eyes, he could let the moon take him high into the sky, and his dad could stare up at him with love and longing in mismatched eyes, never quite knowing why it made his heart ache all the brighter.
It would be okay, to be the moon. If his dad looked up at him like that, maybe it could be okay.
As his breath grew more labored and his awareness faded slowly, he listened to the sound of darkness and moonlight, gravel and melodies crooned in the dead of night, singing him the song of an old jungle lullabye. Lips brushed his forelock off his forehead and pressed a soft kiss to the center, a rest in his haunting night song, and as his father’s voice picked it up again, Nocturne hoped it was a song he sang to the moon too.
((Using the cure to save the father he never met, Drow, who I play. So, you know, okayed by me.))
All in the name of saving a world that didn’t even know his name.
But it was such a small vial.
The image shifted, his reflection fading as the fire showed him Beqanna suffering and dying at the hands of the plague he’d fought so hard to defeat. A few familiar faces, fellow questers he’d encountered in passing, a brief flickering glimpse of Ember’s red and black, but it was a stranger’s face the image settled on. A stranger curled up on the ground and staring up at the moon shining down on his broad, scarred face. A face Nocturne was sure he’d never seen before, so why did his breath catch in his throat? Why did his heart leap inside his chest?
Something inside him just knew, his heart screaming inside him that he was looking at the home he’d never known, scars that all but matched his own tracing lines in ebony skin he could almost see had once been pale as moonlight just like his. A magnificent, stark white forelock fell over that scarred face, his mane spilling down his neck in riotous tangles that Nocturne somehow knew the shape of all the way down to his bones. He could bury his face in that mane and breathe in the scent of home, if he could only reach. Broad shoulders heavy with muscle, shaped just right for him to curl into. His skin ached for an embrace he’d never felt before, seared into his DNA, crying out in every cell of his body leaving him shaking as tears welled up in his eyes because oh!
“Dad?”
<b><i>Mine!</i></b> The truth screamed in his veins, making the air in his lungs vibrate, making his whole body quake with yearning all the way down to his soul. Home. God, he could almost feel what it would be like, to be held. To be loved, beyond the faintest shadow of doubt. For once in his life, to be wanted. One look from mismatched eyes brushed silver and gold, he could live forever on one look, <i>please, just look at me!</i>
The vial floated between them, and he saw beyond the way his heart stuttered and raced in his chest, saw the sickness plaguing his father in the dullness of his dark coat, the blood dripping from flared nostrils, the way his great chest heaved as he coughed. And Nocturne’s heart fell. He could live forever on one look, and watch his father die for want of a sip of silver magic. Or…
Or he could save his father’s life, and die wrapped up in the home he’d never known.
The moment he understood, the fire opened into a doorway before him, the image turning solid, turning real. Nocturne drew a shaky breath and stepped forward on trembling feet, wide silver eyes brimming with tears. He took the vial in his mouth, so careful, so gentle, what good could he do if he broke it? As he stepped through the ring of fire, his father’s head turned slowly, brow furrowed, eyes still staring up at the moon for a moment longer.
Nocturne could feel it too, the way the moon tugged on the man, the gravity between them defying laws of physics as though his father were immeasurably larger than his body could hold, but only for the moon. He could feel the quiet yearning, the ache of ancient sorrow, of old wounds that still scarred far deeper than his skin. Unfocused eyes hazy from fever finally tore free of the moon’s hold and settled on him, and the stranger’s familiar brow furrowed deeper.
“Do I know you?”
His voice was darkness and moonlight, gravel and melodies crooned in the dead of night, and it shivered through Nocturne’s blood, danced along his skin like a quiet touch. Nocturne shook his head and stepped closer, a tear trickling out of the corner of one eye and trailing slowly down his cheek. No, his father didn’t know him, had never even dreamed of him, had no clue he so much as existed. But Nocturne knew; maybe his father could feel it too? The way his bones thrummed with conviction, with certainty that drove him forward one shaky step at a time. He reached his father’s side and lowered his head to offer the vial of shimmering silver. He set it carefully at his father’s feet. “No,” he answered softly, shaking his head again. “I’m just a dream. Drink this, okay? It’ll make you feel better.”
His father frowned up at him, narrowing eyes that struggled to focus on Nocturne’s pale form so bright in the moonlight. “You look…” He shook his head, blinking hard, dragging in a raspy breath that rattled in his lungs like death. “Like me. When I was...small.” Nocturne could see him struggle for words, the sickness stealing coherence from him, burning his mind with fever and snatching the breath from his lungs. “You’re hurt, do--”
“I’m just a dream,” Nocturne said softly, “don’t worry about it. Just drink, I promise you’ll feel better.” No sense in telling him what his heart so desperately longed to shout, to scream, to whisper with shaking breath. It would be selfish, it would be cruel. Still, Nocturne couldn’t help but lower himself to the ground at his father’s side, curl up into his sturdy strength as the stubborn man finally listened and drank the cure. As soon as his moonlight skin touched scarred ebony, silent tears started falling in earnest, shaking his body as he curled tighter into his father’s side.
“Hush, little dream boy, I’ve got you,” his father crooned, tucking him closer, wrapping himself around Nocturne’s much smaller body. “‘s all right. Rest now, there’s a good boy.” Darkness and moonlight washed over him, and Nocturne closed his eyes. For the first time in his life, he was home. It didn’t matter if it was the last time too. As his father held him close, Nocturne knew part of him could live forever on just that one look, just that one embrace. Maybe...maybe instead of darkness, he could be the moon. Maybe when the plague stole his breath and stopped his heart, chased the last of the light from his silver eyes, he could let the moon take him high into the sky, and his dad could stare up at him with love and longing in mismatched eyes, never quite knowing why it made his heart ache all the brighter.
It would be okay, to be the moon. If his dad looked up at him like that, maybe it could be okay.
As his breath grew more labored and his awareness faded slowly, he listened to the sound of darkness and moonlight, gravel and melodies crooned in the dead of night, singing him the song of an old jungle lullabye. Lips brushed his forelock off his forehead and pressed a soft kiss to the center, a rest in his haunting night song, and as his father’s voice picked it up again, Nocturne hoped it was a song he sang to the moon too.
((Using the cure to save the father he never met, Drow, who I play. So, you know, okayed by me.))