in sunshine and in shadow
Asterion thinks of all the times he’s walked this path before and how strange it feels to do so now, alone.
Not that he is the only traveler this evening. There are groups scattered through the deepening night, clusters of silhouettes lit by lantern strung high in the pines. Fireflies blink between them like miniature constellations, and sometimes the quiet is pierced by laughter, or singing. But this time there is no Isra or Florentine beside him, no Eik or Moira waiting ahead. This time there is no disaster behind him, or trouble ahead. This time it is only himself, and the night, and the mountain that holds his memories like roots.
Yet the once-king is not quite lonely. There are the stars for company, like old friends - he remembers how strange and new they’d seemed, when he first arrived in Novus. And there is the knowledge that, for once, there is a peace across the continent unmarred by gods or rulers.
That alone is enough to keep his gait easy, his expression untroubled. And then the forest starts to thin, and the ground to grow more even, and there in the night like a lighthouse is the Eventide Arch.
The bay stops walking, his breath catching. In the violet night the colors it casts are a dream-colored rainbow, purple and indigo, rose and soft orange. The last time he’d seen it, he and Katniss had been helping clear rubble from the recently destroyed gates; he remembers the sunshine warm on their backs, their quiet conversation. Asterion remembers when the gates had been locked, and why. He remembers, with Isra queen, walking through them together with his people behind him, refugees fleeing flooded Terrastella. In sorrow and hope he’s been here, in fear and fury and love.
The beauty of the new structure is more than he could have dreamed. It feels somehow holy.
For a long time Asterion stands at the base of the Eventide Arch and does not pass beneath. When he finally does, there are tears prickling in the corners of his dark eyes, and a faded, faraway smile on his mouth.
@any
Not that he is the only traveler this evening. There are groups scattered through the deepening night, clusters of silhouettes lit by lantern strung high in the pines. Fireflies blink between them like miniature constellations, and sometimes the quiet is pierced by laughter, or singing. But this time there is no Isra or Florentine beside him, no Eik or Moira waiting ahead. This time there is no disaster behind him, or trouble ahead. This time it is only himself, and the night, and the mountain that holds his memories like roots.
Yet the once-king is not quite lonely. There are the stars for company, like old friends - he remembers how strange and new they’d seemed, when he first arrived in Novus. And there is the knowledge that, for once, there is a peace across the continent unmarred by gods or rulers.
That alone is enough to keep his gait easy, his expression untroubled. And then the forest starts to thin, and the ground to grow more even, and there in the night like a lighthouse is the Eventide Arch.
The bay stops walking, his breath catching. In the violet night the colors it casts are a dream-colored rainbow, purple and indigo, rose and soft orange. The last time he’d seen it, he and Katniss had been helping clear rubble from the recently destroyed gates; he remembers the sunshine warm on their backs, their quiet conversation. Asterion remembers when the gates had been locked, and why. He remembers, with Isra queen, walking through them together with his people behind him, refugees fleeing flooded Terrastella. In sorrow and hope he’s been here, in fear and fury and love.
The beauty of the new structure is more than he could have dreamed. It feels somehow holy.
For a long time Asterion stands at the base of the Eventide Arch and does not pass beneath. When he finally does, there are tears prickling in the corners of his dark eyes, and a faded, faraway smile on his mouth.
@any
