"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
that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
He has been putting off this encounter.
Not because he did not want to see her—he did, oh, he did—but because the pain of it was more than he could bear. Even when the curse bled from him. When the magic filled his lungs. When he became bent under the weight of a gift that cost him with every use. None of it rose to the agony he felt when he saw the pain in her eyes before the quest. The way she had looked at him as realization set in.
His magic had peeled back the film of his memory so he had to live every moment in stark relief. He had to remember the way she had seen him. The horror. And each second of it burned into him, tattooed onto his very underbelly—a brand he would never escape. Because his curse had never only harmed him.
How he wish that it had.
How much easier he might have borne it.
Instead, he was left with the knowledge that it had harmed those around him worst of all. His mother more than most. So you can understand why he avoided this confrontation. Why he shied away from having to relieve it in real time, having to face the angelic one of his mother when this demonic power now flowed so readily through him. How he would have to explain to her that his curse had left.
And he was damned instead.
But Firion, for all of his faults, is not entirely a coward and he does not simply run from it forever. He wakes one night, the sunlight-induced headache barely beginning to fade behind his eyes, and he opens a portal to Hyaline. He steps through with his shadow companion barely a step behind, the darkness pulling tightly over his shoulders in a nearly defensive maneuver. His aim is, for better or worse, impeccable, and as he steps forward, he feels the painfully bright glow of her and without meaning to, he flinches.
When he blinks away the strobing light, tinting his own vision to bite back the headache that threatens to form, he realizes the light is coming from his own mother and something in him twists in reaction.
But the only thing he says is a single word.
The word of a young boy, not a demon.
“Mom?”
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
She has worried over him ever since she last saw him. When she had returned to Hyaline, a ghost in every way except for actually being dead, it was only Firion that she could think of. The gauntness of his face, the flesh that pulled away from bone—the way that he had looked at her, and the realization that she was powerless to help him. To realize that she had not only failed Este, but him as well, was nearly more than she could bear. She is sure she would have collapsed beneath the impossible weight of it all if only she had been tangible enough to do so.
Instead all of her pain slips right through, clattering against rib and bone and settling to dust on the floor.
In the days that followed the return of the sun she had searched for him, following the exigent ache in her chest. Should she be surprised that he had not come to her, that she had to find everything out by accident? She knows that she should not, and the pain buries itself deeper with the acceptance of it. She loves her children—all of them—in a way that is unmatched, but she had a way of letting other things consume her. She had not always been as easy to find as she is now, with a place permanently alongside Atrox.
It tears her apart that he had not looked for her, but nothing says he would have even found her if he had tried.
When he comes to her in Hyaline she is alone, Atrox having slipped away not long ago. The feel of someone so close when she did not expect him to be back this soon is enough for her to turn to meet them with a defensively bright glow, a shower of stardust shimmering toward the ground with her abrupt movement. She is not a fighter, but the days in the darkness have left her still on edge, and these newfound archangel powers are unfamiliar to her — a strength that she cannot quite control that sometimes rises, unbidden.
The sound of his voice is all that she needs for every defense to fall, and the relief that rushes through her is enough to nearly bring her to her knees. “Firion,” she says his name with every ounce of sorrow and regret and happiness that is possible to feel, a tangle of emotions that tighten in her throat. Her aura, though brighter than it had been previously as an angel, dims just slightly from what it had been before, and she wastes no time wrapping her slender neck around his. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” she says quietly into his mane, and the apology is all-encompassing—sorry that she was not there for the curse, sorry she was not there at the mountain.
She pulls away, noticing the darkness that clings to him, but mostly notices that he did not look the way he had when she last saw him. “You’re feeling better?” She asks him with a cautious hope, a small smile on her pale mouth.
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
How easily she misunderstands his absence—and he cannot blame her. Can see where she would take his avoidance on commentary on his lack of love instead of his overwhelming abundance of it. His mother was his northern star. The kind, gentle light that permeated his life. She was what kept him softened when he threatened to turn to granite. Stayed his hand when he nearly tipped over the edge. He kept her tucked away in the deepest pockets of his heart, holding her kindness near to him, and when he ran away from the truth—he had to run away from her, too. He could not bear to see his pain reflected back in her dark eyes. Could not bear to look at her and finally see himself there. The hurt that it would inflict upon her.
He is not certain, now, though, that it is worse than inflicting this worry on her.
The wound cuts deep and he wonders if he could have ever avoided it.
But she says his name and he nearly buckles. He stands still as she wraps around him and he takes a shuddering breath before he drops his chin, holding her close and ignoring the ache that her angelic light induces—the weakness that creeps up in the back of his mind in its presence. “You were always there for me,” he answers before he can stop himself. “Even in the dark, you were the light I carried with me.” He smiles a little, golden eyes closing as everything familiar about her wraps around him, soothing his frayed edges. “I don’t think that I could have survived it if I didn’t have you there with me.”
When she pulls back, he lets her, studying her and noting that which was different.
The stardust. The amplified light. The strength.
A ripple passes over his expression and he pushes it to the side, instead focusing on her question.
“Yeah, mom,” he laughs—the picture of health with flashing white teeth and bright eyes.
“I’m feeling much better.”
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
As he speaks, she finds herself pulling back and shaking her head. “You don’t need me to survive, Firion,” she tells him, with a small, almost wistful smile. “You are so much stronger than I have ever been.” She only knows a fraction of what he has endured—only the smallest part that he has let her see, even if it was only by accident. It hurts to know that he likely would have never told her about his cursed state had she not found him that day at the base of the mountain. It stings, knowing that her own son felt as though he could not come to her, but she knows she cannot be surprised.
Perhaps because he is the son of her and Atrox—both masters at harboring everything about themselves they didn’t want the world to see. She knows she would have done the same as Firion, only, she is sure she never would have gone to the mountain at all.
Her son is, thankfully, not nearly as selfish as she is.
“I’m just glad you’re safe now,” she finishes softly, with another gentle touch of her lips to his brow. There is a shadow of concern though once she looks at him—really looks at him. He of course does not look like he had when she last saw him, but there is still something that feels off. Perhaps he is just tired, she reasons, or maybe he senses that something is different about her. She would explain it to him, if only she knew how; if she had any idea of all the things that have changed about her, other than the stardust that drifts from her wings.
“You’re not lying to me, right?” she asks him with a light smile that could have passed as teasing if not for the pointed stare that accompanied it. “I’ll find out.”
that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
Could he ever hide the truth from his mother? Really hide it? He’s not so certain. Not sure that he could keep it tucked away from her piercing dark gaze. But, for now, he does his best. He keeps it pushed to the back of his mind and tries to focus on being the rambunctious, golden child of his youth. He flashes her another grin, widening his smile in earnest. “I would never lie,” he winks for good measure, mimicking a gesture he’s seen from his dad with a frightening accuracy. “Not from you, mom.”
There’s a laugh in the back of his throat, this genuine, and he grows a little more somber beneath her gaze, rolling his shoulder. “I really am better,” he promises, trying to skirt outside the way he had looked the last time that she had seen him. His bones breaking, flesh peeling back. How he had responded to a call without knowing what it meant, not really, and how that didn’t feel like bravery at all.
He slips away from her gaze and focuses his attention on her again once more, his mouth quirking to the side in thought. Something in his chest recoils from her angelic light and he curses that fundamental part of himself that cannot handle looking at for too long—that weakness. As if in response, his shadow companion leaps forward, crawling up his leg and clinging to his neck before curling onto his back. He barely notices the movement of it. “Let’s talk about you now though,” his eyes find hers again.
“It certainly looks like you have something of your own to share.”
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
