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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    held on tightly, anyone
    #1

    She found it by accident.
    When her mother made her walk miles and miles and miles to meet others that she didn’t really want to meet. Back when her glow was pale, barely there at all. Back when the heart was ordinary, too.

    She found it by closing her eyes up real tight, while she choked out another strangled cry, and wished fiercely that her knees would stop hurting from all the walking. And they did. Just that simple. Like magic. And she had stopped crying then and gasped and told her mother, who she’d been angry with only moments before. But it was easy to forgive her when the knees didn’t hurt anymore. And her mother had been happy, too. And she had explained quite patiently what it meant, that it really was magic. Her mother called it healing and said that she had it, too. This made the child angry because that meant her mother could have helped her but had chosen not to.

    But that was weeks ago now and there are other things that are different. The pale pink glow. The fact that sometimes she feels so much love for nothing in particular that it makes her throat tight and she can barely breathe around it. Her mother doesn’t have these things but she says they’re magic, too.

    It is near daybreak when her mother drops her off at the playground. Because there are no children where her mother is going and she doesn’t offer any further explanation, just says that she’ll be back soon. So, the child stands in the center of that great big meadow and puts on that same nervous smile she’d worn when she’d met her father. Looks around for someone to save her from her unease, blinking boldly into the rising sun. And all that sunlight dampens her glow, makes her look almost ordinary.

    And this is perhaps her first major dilemma: her want to blend in railing harsh against her want to look just like her father. It makes her anxious and her nervous grin starts to look like a grimace.

    heaven's gate had such
    eloquent graffiti
    basilica
    Reply
    #2

    It gets easier to explore, once he has done it already. Gets easier to move past the Tephra border—although his heart still pounds in his chest with both fear and excitement every time that he does. It just requires him to move past the edge of his terror, the place where his mind grips onto itself so tightly that he sometimes forgets to breathe, and dive into the parts of his mind soaked in wonder. The parts that thirst so much for what the world has to offer, even if it is only from behind the glass of his separation.

    The distance closes each and every day though. Closes as he makes his way around Beqanna, avoiding others as best he can. He has seen the borders of most kingdoms—even looked into the distance to see the looming shape of the Isle—and visited the forest. Each one is so different, he thinks, and he cherishes his time in them all. Whether it’s admiring the flowers in the meadow or standing in awe of the redwoods.

    It baffles him that someone could walk through and not be struck dumb with joy.

    But it is the consequences of having such a poet’s heart, as his father has told him. You get to experience such delicate beauty, but also the searing pain of its loss. Not everyone mourns the withering of spring.

    He holds the words close today as he moves into the playground, allowing himself to watch each and every change of terrain. It is daylight and Astrum is not there to keep him company. He still looks up though, almost expecting the small ball of star fire to be there. To be dancing above his head or in front of him like his own personal north star. He wishes desperately that she was, that it was night—or, at least he does, until he sees her. The way that the sunlight sets her afire. The glow is different than his own, different than his father’s, but it is familiar and it sets him somewhat at ease.

    Enough that he does not immediately retreat.

    Instead he wanders closer, his eyes serious and mouth somber. Showing nothing of the tender heart inside that aches for more. “Hello,” he says quietly, wishing for his sister’s exuberance and confidence.

    AUREUS
    — we need the dark to know the light —
    Reply
    #3

    She begins to shiver.

    And the child wishes that her mother were here or that she’d never left her here in the first place. Because she is shy, perhaps shyer than she’d realized, and children are pairing up all around her and she feels so dreadfully exposed out here in the open. She wishes for something to pitch herself against, something solid to lean on, but this magic is not available to her and she has no choice but to go on standing out there in the open, her teeth gritted and her eyes burning.

    Would her mother be upset if she slunk into the shadows and waited for her there? The child swallows and listens to the earnest beating of her own heart, her strong, strong heart just like her father’s.

    She is looking for a way out when he comes closer, abruptly distracting her from her plans for escape. The child turns her head sharply, all wide-eyed, and blinks at him. He is pale where she is dark, a stark contrast to the blackness to which she has become accustomed. Her mother, her father. And she has to blink thrice before she convinces herself that the way he glows has nothing to do with his light refracting the sun. His glow is born from something inside of him, just as hers is born from something inside of her.

    The child grins.
    And this time it bears no resemblance to a grimace.
    It ignites a smoldering ember in her eyes.

    Hi!” she blurts, perhaps too eager. But the child is too young to know how to temper her happiness. She will learn eventually, for better or worse. But for now, she does not know how not to let all that delight show plainly on her dark face.

    My name is Basilica,” she tells him, just as her mother had taught her, “what’s yours?

    heaven's gate had such
    eloquent graffiti
    basilica
    Reply
    #4

    Her own shyness mirrors his own and there is something about it that bolsters his confidence. Something that tells him it will be okay—that he can do this. He straightens a little, tries to look more ready than he feels, and blooms brilliantly as she turns all of her attention toward him. Her wide grin sparks something in his heart, something clean, pure, and entirely child-like in wonder, and his answering smile is honest.

    (Perhaps not as wide or as brilliant as her own—but it is there. It is his own. It is true.)

    “Basilica,” he repeats it. Says it more times in his own head as he commits it to memory. Tries to remember each and every syllable so that when he is back home in Tephra, curled around his family, he can repeat it to himself like kindling that will keep the flames of his own heart warm.

    He hesitates at giving her his own name, but not for long. Just long enough to twitch a shoulder, flick his tail behind him. “Aureus,” he says finally, finding his voice and then catching her gaze. Does she know that he has only introduced himself twice now? That each time, it gets both easier and harder?

    Can she tell how inexperienced he is at making friends?

    (Will that make her like him less?)

    He doesn’t know the answers to it just yet. Doesn’t know whether she will find the soft spots of his heart only to destroy it, find him pathetic, or even just find him not worth any thoughts at all.

    The uncertainty trips through him and causes him to avert his eyes for a moment.

    He looks at the ground beneath him, kicking slightly with his sapphire hooves.

    “Do you come here a lot?” he asks without looking back up. “I haven’t been here before.”

    AUREUS
    — we need the dark to know the light —
    Reply
    #5
    It sounds different coming out of his mouth.
    Because the child has only heard it out of her mother’s mouth, her father’s mouth, her grandmother’s mouth. It sounds like a song and she delights in it. It makes that heart swell to fill up all that space at the base of her throat and she swallows and grins and tries not to let it choke her. She wonders how it feels in his mouth, if the edges are sharp or soft. If it fits neatly on his tongue or if it takes some effort to hold its shape.

    And the child wonders why she wonders these things when she has certainly never wondered them before.

    He shares his name and she holds it like a marble on her tongue. Rolls it against her teeth. Tests its weight and its shape before she repeats it back to him, too. “Aureus,” she murmurs and her grin deepens. She presses it against the roof of her mouth and prays that her tongue will remember the shape of it, the specific way it felt.

    The child is shy, certainly, just as he is shy. But she had walked miles and miles and miles alongside her mother only to be introduced to new faces, virtual strangers, and perhaps that has given her an edge. Because her pulse is thrumming wild in her veins, the heart beating so hard that it makes her head swim, but she feels no trepidation.

    She shakes her head in response to his question and then laughs, one peal of bellsong laughter, quiet. “I’ve never been here either,” she confesses, a secret just between the two of them. And then the child ducks her head and whispers across the distance that separates them. “I think it’s really scary.” And it’s true, certainly, but perhaps there is more to it than that. Perhaps she admits it because she has sensed his discomfort, the way he averts his gaze and digs a toe through the dirt.

    I’m glad you’re here,” she adds, just as quiet.

    heaven's gate had such
    eloquent graffiti
    basilica
    Reply
    #6

    If only he had his sister’s exuberance. His sister’s ability to slip into a situation like she was born into it. He had never envied her—never wished for anything but her absolute joy—but he could see how much easier his life would be if he had not only this appetite for life, but the tools with which to meet it. Instead he is left as a dreamer on the outside. His face pressed to the windowpane, his belly rolling with a hunger for more. A hunger that he turned into dreams and wishes and hopes—but nothing more.

    She meets him though and does not mind the way that his face grows serious despite how much he is enjoying this exchange. How he studies her instead of laughing in response, his smile a small thing that teases at the edge of his lips but does not claim them entirely. “You’re scared?” he asks, ears perking at the thought. His heart pounds in his chest as he considers it. For everything that he felt, he had not considered whether this was a place to be truly afraid of. That they were in danger.

    (He was intimidated, perhaps, but not afraid—and he wonders if the difference matters.)

    It stokes at the fires of a courage he was not aware that he had.

    He takes a step forward, almost protective in nature, his gaze a little more steady as his amethyst eyes look up and find hers. “I’m glad too,” he says, his voice still a little too serious for such a young boy but not unkind—softened just a little on the outside. “I’m glad that you’re here too.”

    A pause as he frowns just a little, looking around them.

    “Do you want to go explore? We can do it together.”

    AUREUS
    — we need the dark to know the light —
    Reply
    #7
    She is scared.
    Or, rather, she was.

    Because the child had never been tasked with making friends before. Because she had been introduced to adults and she had been perfectly polite and she had smiled sweetly and minded her manners. But that was different. Just like it had been different to hear him say her name when she had only heard it come out of the mouths of adults.

    Because, like him, she had not been certain she could do it. And then he had found her and it assuaged her fears, bolstered her confidence. Made her think that maybe it wasn’t so hard to make friends after all.

    But she nods now and smiles a secret little smile. Slanted and uncertain. “I was,” she says, “because I didn’t think anyone would want to be my friend.

    The child shuffles her feet. And she doesn’t know that her candor should embarrass her. But even if she blushed there would be no way of telling. So, she rolls her slim shoulders and wrinkles up her nose. And then she smiles because he’s glad, too, and she realizes that there’s no reason to be scared. Because he’s here and at least some of their magic is the same and that must mean something.

    She perks up at his invitation and her smile dissolves around the soft edges of a beaming grin. “I’d love to.” She likes the idea of doing it together. She likes that she learned about her other magic, too. The magic that makes the legs stop hurting when she’s done too much walking. Because it means that she could walk to the edge of the world with him if she wanted to.

    Where should we go first?” she asks, turning to survey the vast meadow.

    heaven's gate had such
    eloquent graffiti
    basilica
    Reply
    #8

    He has given too much thought to the idea of friends. To the notion that someone might want to spend time with him and unearth what lives beneath the surface. That someone would be interested in finding that beneath the somber eyes and the quiet glances there was a boy who lived in daydreams as vivid as his father’s creations. It is difficult to think that there is such a rich dreamworld buried in Aureus’ eyes, that he lives trapped in his own head as his father, but is it, and he does.

    Still, his young chest aches at the idea that she thinks the same. That she would ever fear that someone would not want to be her friend, and he frowns. His face folds, crumbles, and his amethyst eyes darken a little, but it is not for long. Soon enough, he washes his features clean and straightens until his face is void of any of that emotion—blank except for the seriousness of his eyes as he turns it forward them.

    “Anyone would want to be your friend,” he says firmly, trying to press the truth of it into her. “Everyone.” He feels certain of it. Certain that had he not walked toward her that others would have gravitated. The fact that it was just the two of them now was a fault of his own—not a reflection of her.

    He doesn’t elaborate though. Doesn’t delve into his own insecurities. Instead he just smiles back and turns his attention to the world that folds around them. “Over there,” he says, after a minute. There is no real reason for it. He has no idea what lies beyond the horizon where the land dips away from them, but he knows that they can’t just stand here and she is looking to him for some kind of direction.

    He couldn’t disappoint her on the very first request.

    AUREUS
    — we need the dark to know the light —
    Reply
    #9

    He gets real serious.
    Real, real serious.

    Like the child’s mother did sometimes when she cried about how badly her legs hurt, about how much she hated the walking, about how much she hated her mother for making her do it. All these things that fill the child with such crippling embarrassment now that she cannot even think about them.

    So, she just fidgets. And then she grins, because it’s a kind thing for him to say even if she doesn’t believe it to be true. It would have been endless hours of waiting for her mother to return, only to disappoint her by admitting that nobody had wanted to be her friend. Certainly not everyone. But that big old heart’s not going to let her try and prove him wrong. The only thing that big old heart, which seems to be expanding with each second that passes, will let her do is grin and mutter a sheepish thank you.

    The child doesn’t know why he says it, but she supposes it doesn’t matter. She will learn early not to question a stranger’s kindness. And perhaps it will be her undoing someday. But for now, there is no reason to fear ulterior motives. Because they are just children.

    And he gestures off in one direction, says that’s where they’ll go, and she nods. She doesn’t question it, just smiles real big because he’d smiled at her when he’d said it. Sets off in that direction without hesitation because she knows how to make the legs stop hurting.

    I like that your magic is like mine,” she says – or blurts – and glances at him out of the corner of her lilac eye. “You glow, like me.” She clarifies, grinning. “At first I thought maybe it was just the sun, but it’s not, is it?

    heaven's gate had such
    eloquent graffiti
    basilica
    Reply
    #10

    Aureus is incapable of having ulterior motives. Incapable of being dishonest. He was not always great at putting such truths forth—of giving himself openly to others—but he did not purposefully misdirect them. He was not cruel and he did not know how to deceive others. Did not know how to try and pull apart someone and then inject the kind of poison that would later pull them under.

    So he just looks at her with his quiet, somber eyes.

    Wishing that he was better at shielding himself.

    Because she is so sweet and open and he wants nothing more than to be the kind of friend that she can trust. The kind of friend she relies on—the kind that stays. So his smile grows when she points out that they are made of the same magic. It feels like a connection, a tether, and he holds onto it tight.

    “It’s not the sun,” he affirms, his serious lips tilting into a shadow of a smile. “I got it from my father.” Just like the sapphires on his hooves, the immortality that he has yet to discover runs through his very veins. “Do you look like one of your parents?” he asks as they move forward, not knowing that there would be some people that he would meet that would consider it a sensitive subject to broach.

    He is quiet for a while longer, content to just listen to her as she answers his question. Finally though, he circles back to her statement because it has yet to leave his mind. Yet to not be tattooed on his heart.

    “I like that yours is like mine too,” he whispers, not sure whether he hoped she heard him or not.

    AUREUS
    — we need the dark to know the light —
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