To be a star, you must shine your own light
God knows why he was back on this forsaken island. Maybe it was lunacy, or maybe it was because the island reminded him that life could become even more chaotic. In an ironic way, it made him feel better about his own plight in life. For on the island, Azrael became the pawn he truly was in Tempus’ game. He is reminded that his life is so insignificant on the grand scale of things – that mortals were little more than playthings for the gods. And strangely, this made him feel better. Morrighan would have called him a fool, the thought drawing a laugh from his pursed lips as he presses onward to the place where a bridge once stood, but found now only sea.
The island stood in a distance, taunting him – calling him. With resolve, he stepped upon the sea, expecting to feel the wash of waves against his legs, but finding the water strangely solid. So he takes one step, two. After a while, he finds himself on another distant shore, stepping onto the emerald hills with only a moment of hesitation before he loses himself in its magic.
He walks where others before him have run, knowing enough to be cautious as his guard flares up around him. For this world is too calm, too peaceful. In all the times he has come to this place, it has not resembled such an idyllic and restful world. In front of the shed-star, the island stretches with green as far as he can see. Hills rise like waves from the earth, some large and others just tall enough that he can crest and descend to the other side in only a few paces. Birdsong fills the air, the sunlight beaming warmly from the sky. And Azrael finds himself alone with his thoughts… alone, except for a myriad of strange statues, staring at him as he passed.
They were all shapes and sizes, some creatures which he had seen before – elk with ornate antlers, rabbits with detailed fur, looking soft enough to stroke. Others still were great mythical beasts – a fiery phoenix with wings stretched toward the sun, the fire so real it seemed like it might burst to life. A dragon, each pristine scale different from the next, some glimmering with a sheen of iridescence in the light. But Azrael presses on, appreciating the statues for their beauty but finding little calling to stop and absorb every detail of them.
He moves as if called toward something in the distance, and as he nears a taller hill, he begins to climb. Up, up, up toward the heavens, past the clouds where they kissed the earth, toward the sky. The hill becomes a mountain, the grass becomes thinner, the skies become darker. And the stars – oh the stars. They shine brightly now, calling to his vagabond soul like a lover, beckoning him further than others had dared to climb.
Until he finds himself beside a statue, twice as tall as he – a great shed-star king carved in stone. Recognition flickers for a moment, as Azrael wonders if he had walked alongside this giant or simply heard fables of him told around a bonfire, whispered by the elders in the night. His turquoise light falls over the smooth stone, washing it with stardust, bringing clarity to its intricate details.
The shed-star king has eyes of silver ore, sparkling and glittering where Azrael’s light falls onto them. They watch, as he takes in the curve of the mane, each strand lovingly carved, caressing a supple neck and muscular shoulders. There is strength in the statue’s pose, one leg poised to step toward the heavens, caught mid-stride as if climbing the mountain itself. And where the stardust shines upon it, glittering bits of metallic rock come to life, throwing prismatic light In all directions, as bright as the stars themselves.
@Tenebrae
