Azrael walked along the mountain slopes, climbing upward to the place where he’d come from, long ago. Far from here, down along the beach, bonfires burn brightly into the night sky. From the mountains, he could still smell the burning wood and see the smoke trails and sparks which rose from their fires. He could still hear the music, muted but lively, and as he watched the event from the mountains, he could even make out the dotted appearance of equines on the beach, mingling and drinking as the festival carried on, late into the night.

A piece of him longs to be among them, with his touch along Elena’s neck, swaying to the music in a soulful and intimate dance. But his beloved had not found her way to the festival yet. Perhaps she had come to the mountains instead, where on another summer’s night, they had lain entwined with each other, staring at the heavens and letting the weight of the world fall away. For in Caligo’s peaks, Azrael found peace and comfort. In the quiet stillness of the night, he felt close to Caligo, as if he were meant to be in this place.

It hadn’t always been the case, for the shed-stars had called the mountains home long before the lands of Denocte. Long ago, the People had lived as close as mortals could, to Caligo’s stars. They had worshipped the heavens, oblivious to the plight of mere mortals, thinking themselves something more akin to gods or stars themselves than to creatures born of blood and bone. This would be their downfall though, for the shed-stars’ blood ran true red, not of light as they were told. On the day when fire came to their home, they had burned as mortals burn, too proud to heed the warnings which were foretold. It was a wonder that any had escaped.

It wasn’t the first time Azrael thought back to that night, with the flicker of fire in the distance bringing the memories to life. It wouldn’t be the last time either. But the memories were enough to drive him to the comfort of home once more, and as he drinks in the mountain air, Azrael finds his center once more. Upward he climbed, following a set of footprints not known, curious to know where they led. As he turns the final curve, he finds the source, pushing away the flicker of annoyance at the interruption in favor of the curiosity which ebbs toward the scholar.

His gaze falls onto Cicatrix, the beautiful soul with a star map painted across their body. Soundlessly, he makes his way forward, clearing his throat so as not to startle the stargazer with his approach. “I thought I might find you here.” He offers the stranger a bright smile, before standing beside them, turning his face toward the stars and letting the beauty of them steal his breath away.

Azrael understood their affinity to the stars, for he too was drawn toward the sky with an inexplicable pull.  If he could, the shed-star would leap into the inky blackness, leaving this mortal world behind and becoming one with Caligo’s stars.  In death, the shed-stars are said to ascend once more to the heaven from whence they had come, each burning brightly as a new star in the sky.  He liked the thought of it, wondering if those who had perished on that fateful day, found their peace now among the constellations.  It was better than believing the alternative, that they had simply faded out of existence, their lives as inconsequential as an extinguished match, burning too fast before turning to smoke.

He stands quietly beside the stranger, both staring at the stars in silence, taking in the wonder of them.  There are galaxies to witness here, patterns in the sky which had been passed through stories from generation to generation.  He knew the tales, familiar as a mother’s song in his memory, but they did not stroke his curiosity tonight.  Instead, he flicks a glance at Cicatrix, seeing unfamiliar starfields on their wings and shimmering ooze where eyes might have peered from.  It is an appearance which could only come from a dream, far different than any other he had known.  But it does not bother the shed-star, his own frame glowing softly with the turquoise light of stardust, casting a blue light against the halo of Cicatrix’ golden shadow.

“Where is it that you’ve come from?  What is your homeland like?”  He is curious to know more of Cicatrix, and of what stories they might share.  In return, he shares the story of the People, his voice little more than a quiet whisper in the night.  “Though I call Denocte home now, it wasn’t always.  There was a time that the People lived deep in the Arma Mountains – into the wilds beyond Denocte’s borders.  Our land was at the highest point in Novus, where the stars were close enough to touch – or so it seemed.  It was a beautiful place, with temples of white marble and an observatory made entirely of silver glass.”  A lump formed in his throat as he thought of the beauty of home, remembering the many hours he’d spent there as a child, learning and growing under the tutelage of the elders.

“It is beautiful here,” he assures the scholar, “but nothing will compare to the skies over my home.  At night, they were painted with great streaks of stardust, a kaleidoscope of colors.  When the sun faded, we would turn down all the lights, so only the starlight would shine upon us… and it was always bright enough to see.”  He sighed, nostalgia clear as he reminisced on times past, before turning to his companion with a strain in his voice.  

“But now, that place is gone…  What I wouldn’t give to lay eyes on it once more.”

He felt at ease beside the stargazer, finding a kindred spirit in them which he hadn’t felt in some time.  There had been other shed-stars to come to Denocte – yes.  But the shed-stars had never been a particularly close knit group.  The People had valued knowledge and fortune above all others.  Children were born, taken from their parents, and raised as simply another cog in the wheel.  Stories were passed, more out of necessity – to teach instead of entertain.  Youth were cherished, but as the continuation of a bloodline instead of the warmth of a child.  He had never been given the opportunity to know love and affection, never understood it, until he came to this place.

Denocte had given him everything he hadn’t known in his past life.  But there was still a piece of him which longed for the homeland he’d known and lost, most of all, for it’s closeness to the stars.  But they were warm and near here too, bright and shining as they always had, if not a bit further than he’d known them before.  “Your world sounds beautiful too – idyllic.  Were the stars different from what you see here?”

He watches as the heavens turn, as minutes click by.  They might have stood together for hours, each in awe of the way the starfields changed as dusk turns to night, night back to dawn.  Lazy clouds pass by in front of them, but he knows the patterns well enough to recite them from memory.  “Cepheus.  Carina.  Centarus.”  He whispers as he counts, taking in the beauty of them as if seeing them for the first-time all over again.  “I find the brightest ones each night, wondering all that they have seen.  Wars, the birth of nations, their fall....  They are three just there, forming in a triangle… Altair, Vega, Deneb.”  He pointes out the stars as if they are his friends, naming them with a fondness, his voice warm with wonder.

“The People believe that when you die, your soul ascends to the heavens and a star is born.  But I have seen a star die too… have held one in my touch.”  For in a strange and poetic turn of events, Azrael’s own glow had come from a dying star, clinging to him as a last beacon of hope in this mortal realm, passing on its light before it faded into the earth.  It was Caligo, he had decided, who blessed him with the starlight, and he whispered a prayer under his breath when thinking of it, a prayer that only the goddess could hear.

“What do you think they see, when they look upon us?  What would they wish for, if stars could dream a wish to life?”

When the other speaks of immortality as a curse, Azrael has to agree – for he too was an immortal being, one who would roam this earth long after the others had left their mortal bodies behind.  There was a certain sadness to it, paired with his longing to know the stars as intimately as he could – and he would dedicate his immortal life to their studies, watching the way the stars would be born and would die, watching the way the skies would change as seasons turned to years, and years to lifetimes.  Still, he knew it could be a lonely existence, taking solace in knowing Elena would be by his side (for at least as long as she would have him) – and infinity was far from enough time with her.

He smiles to Cicatrix, nodding understandably at his mentions of star walking.  Though Azrael had never been blessed to walk among the stars, he knew those who claimed to do so.  The People were granted many gifts, and some chosen ones had spoken of being transported in the cosmos – of dancing in the night sky with nothing holding their earthly body to this world.  It sounded like a beautiful experience, one he’d had a small taste of long ago, on the island.  Then, the starfield had been but an illusion – but oh, how beautiful the false-stars had been.

“I hope they are not lonely,” he whispers to the night, “ for there are many who gaze longingly skyward – many who wish and whisper with hopes that they will listen.  For myself, I know they have been a constant companion.  For you, as well, I presume.  For only one who knows the stars intimately could speak of them as you are now – as friends, and as something more than simple lights in the sky.

Please, stay and enjoy the night.”  He nods to Cicatrix, turning toward the court once more and watching the residents within milling about.  “I should go, for someone waits for me, beside the sea.”  He thinks of his lover now, a soft smile on his face.  IT was good, Azrael decided, to have more than the stars to live for now.  He hoped Cicatrix would find his purpose here too, soon.  “Thank you for the company.”

And the shed star leaves the mountains, turning toward Terrestella, where Elena and her daughter waited in their home by the sea.