“Take a breath – let the world fall away.”  Azrael steps from the shadows toward the mare of frenzied spirit and golden hair.  In the darkness, there are only the two of them, away – away from the clatter of the world.  Far in the mountains, the shed-star can kiss the heavens.  Far from the light, his stars can shine, brighter than any bonfire, warmer than any cider which passed the lips.  This is not to say that the celestial beast disapproves of such celebration though, for the Night Court needed to heal and to open the gates once more.  It was time.  Still, he strays to the fringes, alone… save for now.

Her breath is labored, a sheen of sweat sparkling in the stardust, the scent of fear - pungent and spicy   lingering near.  Regarding her coolly, Azrael steps closer again, reaching toward her golden frame with a comforting sort of gesture.  He knows it is fear that grips her, and he does not press with an urgent mannerism.  Instead, the old-world beast is simply a quiet beacon beside her, his voice steadily rhythmic and soothing, like water lapping against the hull of a ship.  “Why do you steal away?”  He asks.  “Surely this is a night for dancing, for drinking… for debauchery even.”  There is laughter which meets his eyes, the irony not lost on him – for Azrael too stayed far from the uproarious festival.  It simply wasn’t his style.

He could ask a thousand questions more, but instead, he simply stands beside the mare and looks to the heavens.  The summer wind is uncharacteristically chilled as it stings against him, tangling in his locks like a lover.  Above them, the stars twinkle like a thousand tiny diamonds, and he watches them while reciting their names like old friends in his mind.  Altair.  Deneb.  Vega.  The glow of his coat washes them both with an otherworldly light, bringing an almost iridescent luster to his appearance, interrupted only by the fall of his dark mane.  Like others in the tribe, Azrael’s appearance is a testament to the night – for the shed-stars are said to have descended from the heavens themselves – blessed by Caligo and torn from the sky to walk among men.

“What brings you to Caligo’s gates, if not the bonfires and the festival arch?”  Was it yearning?  Azrael understood what it was to yearn, to wish for something greater than oneself.  Perhaps still, it was the allure of the stars, a love he knew all too well.  She was welcome here of course, to this land of dreamers and performers.  Still, the shed-star is as curious about the sunkissed girl, as she about the mountains and the midnight sky.

“Speaking.”

It pleased him to see the girl relaxing now, her heart beating more quietly as warmth returned to her face.  While he couldn’t claim to know what plagued her, he knew enough to assess her fear, and to wonder.  No one was without their demons.  

Azrael’s upbringing had been one which would be foreign by most standards.  While Elena was born into a warm and loving family, Azrael’s rearing was wholly as one of the Tribe.  He had a mother, of course – a father too… but when a shed-star was born, the child was raised in a communal manner.  He had never known his mother, only that she was one of the Tribe, and that the Tribe cared for their own.

Still, there were happy times in his youth.  He’d learned to read the stars, to listen to the whisper of the wind, to follow the cards, to worship the midnight moon.  Then, the stars had blinked out one by one – as it had been foretold – and the People had come to this place, where they could watch the heavens once more.  Here, the Stars were flung to the wind.  Some stayed, some went.  Some sold their stardust trinkets or whispered fortunes in silken tents.   But all continued to delight in the night.

“There is great power in the darkness, it’s true… but you need not shy from the night.  For only in the darkness can you see the stars.”

The scent of her is different now, with the fear subsiding.  Now, he catches a lingering air of healing herbs and summer rain.   His unusual turquoise eyes find hers of sky blue, holding for a moment before he turns away, back to his stars once more.  “They say the People are descended from the stars themselves,” he offers easily, clearly not finding the question a silly one.  “but I know my mother’s blood ran red, just as her mother’s before.”  It was a beautifully poetic thing to wonder though, for he would have quite enjoyed being a star.

“And you, Elena… you are not from this place.”  It was clear she was a creature born for the golden light of day – a contrast he would not fault her for.  “The stardust suits you though… more than you know.”  It was as close to flattery as the peculiar stallion could offer, never fitting well into social convention.  

He stepped away from her, taking one step toward the mountains, then a second.  “Come with me,” he offered matter-of-factly, an easy smile resting on his lips.  While the question in his voice could be alarming coming from a stranger, there is a warmth to the way he watches her – protective and gentle.  “Let me show you my Dark – you’ll see there’s nothing to fear of it.”  

“Speaking.”

“Your mother sounds very wise.”  For a moment, he paused, wondering if his own mother had been wise.  It was a strange thing, not knowing the woman who gave you life.  There were days he longed for the idea of a mother, but then, Azrael had never known the comfort of a mother’s touch, the love in her embrace, the warmth in her gaze.  It wasn’t possible for him to know how much he had missed out on, but Azrael liked to think she would have been as kind as she was beautiful.

When she asks about his father, Azrael explains, “My people are called the Shed-Stars, and we come from a place far beyond these mountains.  I know no father, and no mother.  We know only the Tribe – and the tribe takes care of their own.”  It was an overly simplistic way to explain his communal upbringing.  While he didn’t have familial bonds to fill his childhood with laughter, there were different memories to warm his dreams.

He wonders where she came from – but she does not offer, and so Azrael does not pry.  It was not in the stallion’s nature to steal away one’s secrets.  To be honest, it wasn’t in his nature to even offer so much of his own story.  Normally, Azrael was far from the others, lost to his mountains and his stars.  But tonight, something had called him to this place, to her company.  Call it intuition, or maybe an intervention of Caligo herself… but whatever the reason, Azrael was grateful.  Despite his best intentions, he found the girl a rousing sort of company.  He knew that beyond tonight, she would still be in his dreamscape.  A vivid dreamer, it never failed to surprise Azrael when powerful events in his wakeful times assaulted his dreams.  Elena, at least, would be a welcome addition.

When she nods to his suggestion, Azrael lets out of breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding – a breath of anticipation.  “You cannot lose me, for the Caligo’s light will never leave me,”“Here…” he leans forward, slipping his glowing amulet from his neck and offering it to her.  “To help you see, and to chase away the darkness.”  As it nestles against her, there is a soft turquoise light which splays ahead, just bright enough to illuminate her path.  “Be careful,” his voice is a hush against the wind, “for the path is crude and uneven.”  It is not so dangerous to climb the mountains, but requires at least some dexterity and attention to one’s footing.

He led her through the Eventide Arch – stopping to gaze at its stained-glass windows, facing westward toward the setting sun.  It is a beautiful symbol of hope, he muses – as Denocte’s gates opened to the world once more.  Moving past it, they begin to climb together, leaving the festival behind.  Upward they climb, toward the heavens, and through the fog layers which kissed the mountains.  As the misty haze cleared, it became evident why Azrael loved the peaks so much.

Above them was nothing but heaven and indigo skies.  Stars burst through the darkness like shining diamonds, several blazing across the sky, begging for wishes to be made.  Azrael could count the constellations now, his own breath in his throat as he is taken once more by the beauty of it all.  Every time he watched the night sky, it never failed to leave him breathless.  “Look, just there…” he motions Elena toward a cluster of stars.  “It is Aquila, the eagle… and there beside it, the Milky Way.  On a night like tonight, the hazy band of stardust is brilliant and bright, like a great swath of silver painted across black.  There is enough light now from the stars alone, that they need not rely on his glow for guidance.  Now, it is Caligo who leads them – Caligo and their stars.

He turns to watch Elena, wishing to see the wonder through her eyes, and wishing to reach out and brush the strands of wind-tossed hair from her cheek.  This touch was reserved for lovers, he knew, and so the man of aurora stardust resists… but Azrael offers her a quiet smile as she turns toward him as well.  

This time, he doesn’t look away.  “Have you found your mystery yet?  His voice is a hushed whisper, almost stolen away on the summer wind, a whisper for only her to hear.

“Speaking.”

When she talks of her family, Azrael can feel the warmth and the love which emanated from her memories.  Though her parents were gone, Elena could quite clearly recall them, even with the haze of grief of loss.  Through her words, he can almost picture the girl of sunshine beside her mother, scrying for Venus with hope in her wide blue eyes.  “Sometimes…” he admitted to her question, “Sometimes I wonder what they were like.  I wonder if they saw me and knew me as theirs – if they see me still… For all I know, they may well be alive and among us.  It’s a strange thing, not knowing…”

They walk alone in comfortable silence for a time, with only the stars and Azrael’s light to guide their way.  There is a relaxed peace between them which is effortless and light, and the boy of stardust and light is lost to her charm.  He watches her as she climbs adeptly skyward, ears flicking as they stop and she begins to count the stars with him.

“Your crown is here, nestled between the Serpent and the Herdsman.” he gestures to a small arc  of seven stars in the northern sky. “It is said that crown was given to Ariadne for her marriage to Dionysus, and that he placed it in the heavens so all the world would know of their union.”  He smiles fondly at the thought – for there could be no mark of love more powerful than painting it across the canvas of the night sky for all to see.  “There are seven stars, the brightest one being Alphecca.”  Although the conversation could be almost clinical, there is a fondness as Azrael speaks of his stars – as if they were almost friends instead of distant astronomical objects.  He had spent a lifetime memorizing their trails and names, listening to the myths spun by priestesses around the burning fire.

“There are eighty-eight star families in total, but not all are here during the summer months.  The sky is ever changing with the seasons.”  It was a beautiful and poetic thing – a perfect metaphor for life itself.  For the sun would always rise to a new day, the world always turning despite what befell the men who walked upon it. Through the chaos and the uncertainty, Azrael could always find the stars, and count them to soothe his weariness.

“It is good,” he decides, “to want for something more.  One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mystery of things.” He sighs, turning into the warmth of her touch, meeting it with one of his own, feather-light against her nape. “Take the stars for instance – time moves the world forward, stealing away each fragile life in due time - and yet the same stars which shined a thousand years ago still watch the world today.  What tales they could tell... what things they must have seen.” Azrael’s voice is a reverent whisper, as he delights in the thought of it.  “The People say that when you die, your spirit becomes a star.  I quite like the idea.”

And so, there is a note of hope for Elena and all which she had lost.  Perhaps she would find her answers and her solace in the darkness she so feared.  Then, she need not fear the night, but instead, embrace its wonder.


“Speaking.”

There is such hope in the golden girl’s eyes – wide and blue as the sea.  If the eyes were windows to the soul, then her being was as pure as the summer sky, Azrael decided, even as he swallowed down the feeling of butterflies leaping within his chest as her gaze finds his once more.  The pull of attraction was fierce, and yet the shed-star was a creature of restraint and calm, pushing away his own baser instincts as he focused instead on her questions.  It was refreshing to hear such interest in his stars, for there was nothing the stallion loved more.  

“I cannot miss the stars, for they are with me always.  Even when I cannot see them, whether they are drowned by the sun or hidden by clouds, I know them.  All I have to do is close my eyes, and dream of the starry night.”  She could not know how true this statement was, for more than just a shed-star, Azrael was a magician.  He was called a Dream Walker by the People – one who manipulates dreams.  In his own, Azrael could take an active role, changing the circumstances and outcome through his decisions and whims.  

“But I cannot help but wonder what they see – when they shine on places far from here.  What curiosities the world might hold, beyond our plane of understanding”.  It was something he thought of often, the marvel of what lies beyond.  Beyond the mountains, Caligo’s lands, and even Novus itself.  He shivers at the wonder of it all, noting for the first time the chill that came from the mountain air.  His own breath was sheer now against the cold, and he steps closer still to Elena, warm to the touch as his light spreads to wash over her too.  For the light which shines upon him is one borne of the stars, blessed by Caligo herself.  It is the glow of a fallen star which possesses him, building in strength as the night wears on.

There is a peace to the easy quiet between them, as his turquoise eyes filter over the constellations one by one, then back to her again.  As she mentions the gift of star-speaking, he offers a smile once more.  “There are those who can talk with the stars – the priestesses of Caligo.  They can read the messages, transcribe them to the People, foretell what is to come.  He stops, something akin to sorrow flashing briefly in his eyes, as he remembers the fateful words of the star-speakers.

“It is true,” he whispers sadly, “But not everyone understands or even believes.”  Pacing slowly from side to side, the vision of his homeland plays out in his memories.  “The shed-stars came to Denocte when our land was destroyed by dragon fire.  The stars knew, of course, that our end was inevitable.  The star-speakers even told the People what would come… but not everyone believed their words.”  Those who hadn’t – those who had defied the caravan as it moved down the mountain, had perished in that place – faces trained skyward as they blinked their last look at the very sky which had tried to warn them.

“We would do well to heed when they speak,” he offers, “to be receptive to their message.  Perhaps their secrets are around us all the time, if only we were to listen.”

“But nevermind that now, dear Elena…” his voice is quieter now, gentle and warm once more as the warning fades away.  “Tonight, the stars speak of brighter things – of hope, of warmth, of new beginnings.”  What else would Denocte’s festival be for, if not for a symbol of rebirth.  “Where will you go, when the stars fade to morning?”

“Speaking.”