There is still no sign of sand, no flicker of seaweed shaped into wings, but the trees seem to be leaning close, and listening. The birds seem to follow them, flitting from branch to branch, bright spots of color amid the dark green.

If they are listening, Asterion wonders, what might they understand? And who might they be telling what they see?

Must be a portal thing, she says, and the king gives a low, soft laugh and a nod. But what he doesn’t say is that he wonders if it’s a Novus thing - maybe the gods’ magic, deafening anything else until…what? Until they proved themselves worthy, or proficient? As they continued on, picking their way carefully over logs and through tangles of branches when the path narrowed to nearly nothing, Cirrus (increasingly uncomfortable, in trees this dense and strange) laid her bright beak against his shoulder. Enough questions, she said through the bond they shared. “Be here. Gods know there’s enough going on. The bay turns back one slim ear, but as usual the gull is not wrong.

He can tell from the weight of Corr’s voice that his story had made her somber, and Asterion offers her a smile. If he’d known her better, he might have added a brush of his nose to her shoulder - but then he is always slow to touch, except with those as close as Florentine. Instead he only adds, “It was. And I’m not sorry - I never truly found my place there. Not like in Dusk. It is family, as you say.” At that, his smile curls into a grin; family, maybe more than grey pegasus knows. No part of him had expected to find a sister here.

The tune of the forest around them changes; the trees begin to open wide again, and there is the sound of water, musical through the trees. It is not the deep breathing of the sea but the laughing of a brook, and he trades a glance with Corr before continuing forward, ducking beneath the leaning trunk of a fallen tree.

“In a way,” he answers her, as his dark gaze goes back to searching the path. “Though I’m not sure who followed who. There was a unicorn, Calliope, who I knew first in that world. She was here, for a time. And then Florentine - I never knew I had a sister. But she came from another world, one that had others from Ravos. It makes you wonder just how many there are, and how near the borders…” It is uncharacteristic for him to trail into silence, for him to cock his head as if listening; but suddenly he wonders if, as Corr had suggested, the island is a portal, with all the borders of the world worn thin. Humming on the other side, just out of sight, waiting —

This time he gets a nip from Cirrus, and shakes his head as if he can clear such thoughts as easily as flies. “And what of your home, Corrdelia?” he asks, glancing back at her, eyes dark on the crow and the girl.

Ahead of them, the trees fall away to meadow, and the meadow ends at a wide river running quick, and there is no sign of a little dragon made of sand.

Maybe he has gone into the water, dissolved to pieces, been swept out back to sea.



@Corrdelia <3

if you'll be my star*

All the strange world fades away as he listens to the woman’s story. Though his ears are tuned to her, his gaze still wanders; it touches on the necklace against her dusky skin, it glances across Hasta, it strays to the woodland behind them and the meadow they stand at the edge of. But her words wash him like rain, falling into his mind like silver drops in soil.

He does not interrupt, though there are parts where he wants to - her nostalgia, her love, is clear in her voice and it is hard not to exclaim in wonder at their magic, or sigh at the sorrow of war. How many of them, he wonders, bore such stories woven through with scars? He thinks of Samaira, of Moira, of Isra and Eik, and how strange it is that their complex lives in Novus were all proceeded by another, equally intricate.

Sometimes Asterion feels like his life will end with Novus, that he will fall asleep a silver-muzzled man looking out to the sea from the cliffside, Rhone’s tree shading him as the sun dropped below the horizon, and never wake. But all their stories, and something about this place - it makes him wonder.

And there are other questions that cross his mind like waves - whether Florentine’s magic could help others visit their families. Whether such a war would come to Novus, too, with its superstitions and prejudices as ancient as dead bones in the soil of Tinea.

They can be better. They must.

It’s difficult not to touch her, to put his shoulder to hers or the soft touch of his nose to her cheek. But Asterion has always been more guarded than his sister about such things, and instead he only offers her a smile, soft as dusk on the horizon, and a slow sigh as he looks away. It is easy to picture a spread of constellations in the blue sky above them.

“Thank you for sharing with me,” he says, quietly, as though they stand in the doorway of a cathedral and not a meadow of humming insects and chirping birds. “It’s to Terrastella’s benefit that we have someone with your knowledge and experiences. I should love to hear what you’ve learned of the stars…and as for your magics, I hope someday the world will know there is no light without dark.” It is not hard to think of Denocte, then, and its goddess and queen. Perhaps more worlds are alike than any of them can guess. Perhaps the same stories are written again and again, until someone changes the ending.

When she turns away he does too, following a few paces behind her, Cirrus sleeping on his back. “I should love some,” he says, and the king is smiling as he follows, though some piece of his thoughts remains in the meadow long after.



@Corrdelia <3 that would be wonderful, I'm so glad we had them properly meet! She is fantastic.

if you'll be my star*