remember who you are; warrick

[Warrick]

we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight

The Overseer is not surprised that it is the heavens that call down to him. Orani had always told him stories of the starlight and galaxies as a child, and how his family is spun from the very fabric of the cosmos. He can feel his heart leap with anticipation, the swell of suspense nearly palpable as the meadow breathes to life beneath the rolls of cloud and gentle rumbling of thunder. There is laughter from the nameless god and it shakes the foundation of the earth, quaking beneath Warrick’s hooves. The stallion keeps his balance, the wind pulling his salt-dried mane and forelock away from his slack-jawed expression, his cerulean eyes wide with wonder as he stares up at the being. The laughter is not benevolent as it reverberates through the meadow; somehow it is callous, almost cruel.

As the sentient god speaks again, a prickle of uncertainty tugs at him inwardly. Not enough for Warrick to disregard anything that had been said, but enough to exude caution in his next few words. This is it - this moment, the bay stallion knew, will be the moment that defines all moments.

‘Your mother, who can say, or care? But your father, well...you are looking at him.’

Warrick can feel his knees quiver at the being’s confession. He nearly could have stumbled, fallen to the ground in both awe and despair. The Overseer doesn’t, however, but there is a lightheadedness that comes over him that makes him sway beneath the clouds, head swimming. It all made sense, it all aligned with everything he had been told by Orani - there was no reason not to believe him. His father has to be a god, one of the cosmos and starlight, of black matter and planets and galaxies who has returned to allow Warrick a semblance of peace to put a face and a name with what once used to be a nameless, faceless idea. His mind swims with questions, though he has no idea that diving deeper into his lineage would reveal more than he would ever want to know.

“Father,” he breathes, though it is almost a question as it passes through his cobalt lips. It cannot be, can it? Oh, but it is - alive and breathing before him, in all of his glory. There is almost as sense of pride that washes over him, to know that his father is no ordinary man but fashioned from stars themselves. A cosmic entity, a powerful being - and his blood runs in Warrick’s viens. “Who are you? Where is Orani, Beyah? Why was I left here alone?” Why are you all a part of the stars, but I remain?

He leaves his questioning there; questions that once plagued him many years ago and were left to lay dormant in his mind, because he knew there would be no answers. But now...now, there just might be.

Warrick