weat drips as blood down my neck, winding further and further away from pale, braided hair. It is tight along the arch of my neck, pressed into skin, pulled into a shape meant more for war than mere practice or daily life. The only indication of who I am, what I am (for I am starlight, I am terror incarnate, I am Death), is the golden circlet pierced by a single arrow just behind my ears. My father places it there daily when I do not, but by now it is more ritual than anything to put it in my hair.
Everyone in my family wears something along these lines. Some bear constellations, some insignias of battle, but all of us are star-forged and fierce. Ready for when the Courts turn against one another once more. Ready for when another tyrant rises and must fall. Ready for when the skies scream and monsters rain down onto all that we know.
The Dumas will not let Terrastella fall.
Years before, they stood strong by Vespera. They whispered her words into the world as they came to the battlefields, they prayed to her for glory and life, they prayed to her for victory. Their prayers were answered generation after generation. Even now, we pray to her still.
And it is her body of dusk that coats my home in swarthy shades of starlight and sunsets. They mingle flirtatiously on the walls that are far from the fields I now train in.
Another pull of my muscles as I thrust forward. The man before me is nameless, near faceless. I do not need to know him to defeat him. When we fight, we will not know those we kill so intimately, so I do not care for him before me now.
Satisfaction purrs through me when I hear his labored breathing, the flash of triumph is quick and biting as he falls to the ground with a cry, and I am sure the smile on my lips is all teeth with nothing gentle nor friendly. ”Well fought,” I intone, leaning down to pull the man up regardless of his namelessness, his lack of station.
In these fields where bodies press against bodies, coming together in a thunderous show, we are all Warriors of Vespera. I let that settle gladly in my stomach, let it curl over the ashy thoughts of a brown and red woman that could look like any one of these soldiers, let Solterra fade like the sun in the sky.
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
The beating of his thundering hooves against the soft earth matched that of his racing heart. His nostrils flared and sucked in the fresh air with shrill excitement. The vast open stretches filled him with anticipation of his capabilities. With each day he was growing in strength, growing into his awkward features. He could zoom faster in the field, he could sprint harder and longer. There were no grounds like this in his homelands. Only the sky was ever this open and free. Flying in the sky had never been an option for Aeon. Grounded until his wings grew into his body.
His flesh was still charred and healing, a token of his suffering. Punishment for perceived misdeeds in his previous life. Encounters since landing here were slowly starting to shake some of those worldviews; but for now he would swallow his guilt and run onwards. Experience and consequences had taught him that running with his eyes open was wise. Stretching his strides and basking in the physical freedom of pushing his limits. Aeon could believe he was flying.
Ahead a cream figure stood over another figure appearing vanquished. His neck was arched starting to show the tell-tale signs of his gender and strength. He snorted and watched them curiously, slowing his speed significantly to allow himself to stop. This was also something he had recently learnt with experience; stopping suddenly wasn’t easy or often wise. Looking like a shaggy creature Aeon approached closer.
He wasn’t itching to be bested, but to simply test his capabilities. He had never been allowed within the training grounds at home. The mare was much shorter then he was, but her stance and her confidence only sparked his curiosity. He was fast, but he’d never fought any truly intelligent creature. The single horn on her head also intrigued him; was it sharp, was it for battle, like his mothers horns?
“I am Aeon, I am a Dusk soldier. It seems like there's a few things you could show me; if you were willing to give lessons that is.”
lared wings and flashing colors, the look of blood that is not blood. Both my fallen soldier and I look to the boy who looks to us. Even with our heaving sides, I know our eyes scream for the taste of flesh slamming into flesh, of torn skin and bloody smiles. And he, this little warrior, wears youth on his skin like a summer storm. It flashes in the curve of his muscles not quite filled out yet, in the broadening of his jaw that still is learning to be a man. But he has years to go.
My cousins were leggy like this soldier once. Some of them still are. But this burned, brave boy is not them, and I do not have to worry retribution should I scrape his sides that already look to ache.
Pale brows raise, I know they do, when I assess the burns upon him, just once, and tilt my head. Taller. Someday, likely, stronger. He would be a beautiful tank in the sky, barreling through opposing forces like a bolt of hellfire or lightning. “Sofia,” I purr while helping my partner up. “All you need to know about this guy is not to be like him.” Fond laughter leaves my lips, or perhaps it is fierce in the way its edges glisten like broken glass or the scream of a crow. Muttering, Arik rolls his shoulders before walking away, hiding his limp the best he can. None of us remember how many times we’ve fallen, all we know how to do is rise once more.
“Why do you fight, Aeon, my dear falcon?” I do not need his name (do I need to, truly, when he is blessed by the skies and could be so much more?), and I wonder if he is here from the Halcyon. Birds of a feather flock together, and that rowdy bunch have plenty of old birds up their sleeves. Juniper likes to dance around the fields once in a while, but even she is called back to her aerial unit to train relentlessly. Dainty and darling, pressing herself into the sides of others like a snake about our necks. Dalmatia hasn’t been seen in Dusk properly for months, but every now and again there are sightings of the old fool. I know (we all know) her pride will kill her.
Truly, I’m not sure anymore if she even cares. Once, I know, my father knew her well in their youths. Dalmatia had been something to boast about. Something my mother loved, too, so the story goes. But even onces fade as people do. “I fight, simply, because it is all I know.” And how my monster purrs at that, stretching and rolling to her back gaily. She reminds me with that saccharine sickness, that wickedness curled inside, that fighting is not all I know – well, perhaps it is a different kind of battle when teeth clash and eyes yearn to devour another’s soul from across the room. Perhaps, she reminds me darkly, there is more than one type of fighting that we know.
{ @Aeon"speaks" notes: <3 harhar let's see if I can actually fite LOL }
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
Sofia’s confidence and ways of speech stirred an unfamiliar feeling within him. It felt uneasy and electric. The way she purred made him feel as though he had sprung a carefully hidden trap and there was no backing out now. The feeling zipping from the tip of his tail to the end of his nostrils. He fought back his uncertainty in an attempt to not let it show. He knew better than to show vulnerability. It had been beaten into him from birth, that weakness was unacceptable. Rather than creating an emotionless colt it had created a youngster that avoided social interaction.
Novus had shaken his perception of the world, inspiring a deep growing hope within Aeon. He could be something more, something greater. It was unlikely that he would ever return to prove them wrong, but he would live his life with the burning yearning to do so.
He listened to the dismissive words towards her battle partner and watched the other horse shrug and walk off stiffly. The lack of reaction and acceptance of her words was curious. Was his spirit broken because he was beaten by Sofia? “I think he will feel that battle for some time. How do I not be him, beyond not losing?” Aeon asked simply. His young brain being unsure of what else to remark on the situation.
The question she posed next wasn’t something he had actively thought of before. He needed to pause and think for a second. Why did he fight? He fought to survive, to continue to breathe. To escape danger and prevent a beating. “Out of necessity. To survive, to escape danger.” The tone of his voice conveying his honesty. His kin had fought to train, to improve and to impress each other. This however wasn’t something that he had been given access to, being grounded and outcast.
“Everyone is fighting all of the time for different things. My kin trained for strength and bravado, but I was never allowed to join in. I want to get stronger, to fight for the Dusk Court.” He felt the motivation behind the words flaring with each word spoken. Headstrong, young and bursting with ambition. It was brewing in his blood, generations selectively raised for tenacity and courage. He may never have been included in his kins traditions, but his bloodline still flourished within him.
