azrael
“War seldom has a why… or at least not one that I could find." Azrael sighed deeply, pacing back and forth on the soft loam of shoreline, gnawing his lip as he considers the very question he’d wondered about so many times before. “The priestesses who watched the stars made mention of the end of days, spoke with certainty that Cailgo would lead us from our mountains to her earthly home.” His voice is a whisper now, his turquoise eyes clouding with something darker – grief, still raw despite the passing of time.
“Not everyone listened to them, too proud to believe that we could fall. They stood there – faces turned to the heavens, defiant as they watched the fire rain down, certain that the stars would save us.” His gaze turned to her star-map as he offers a reassuring smile – as much for himself as for her. “Stars were never meant to be our saviors – they merely guide us and leave the choices to man.
There was a time when I thought the lore simple stories for childs play, but I have found great comfort in tracking the constellations. There’s just something about the way they remain unchanging, even when the earth falls to ruin and chaos. Perhaps on another night – a clearer night – you could show me how you write the stars? I have never been taught to use instruments, only intuition."
When he thinks of her story, Azrael can almost imagine a proud father sitting by firelight, teaching his daughter to trace the starpaths and name the constellations. It was clear in the way that she touched the map, tenderly and with great care, that he recognizes the poignancy of her memory. His voice is gentle as he questions the pale mare.
“Are you alone now?”
He didn’t mean for it to sound ominous, but the star-shed wore genuine concern for the stranger as he wondered of her family’s fate. War was rarely kind. In his own case, there were only a handful of shed-stars who had made it off of the mountain. Some had come to Denocte and taken up roles as entertainers like himself – reading the stars and the cards. Others had become merchants here, imbuing baubles with star fire and weaving tales of magic to gullible buyers. But too many had gone, turning their back on Caligo for abandoning the people, turning from her lands and spreading to the four winds. What was once a proud people was left to the few now, and only they could carry on the traditions of old, keeping Caligo’s stories alive through their memories.
He was alone, in many senses of the word – but unlike so many of the others, Azrael had resigned himself to move forward instead of looking back. It would have been too easy for him to lose himself in the stars, praying for the retribution which would never come. Praying for all that was lost to be reborn like the night which shifts to day…
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