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.
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