But I come
With a dream
In my eyes
Tonight
With a dream
In my eyes
Tonight
In the moonlight, sheathed in silver like a blade, Ariel rests on the open balcony of the Sovereign’s quarters. The golden prince of sun, fire, blood—everything a Sun Lion is and would ever be—flicks his tail with the indolence of an old god. Perhaps he is an old god, reincarnated in a mortal form. His eyes, like so much pooled sunlight, gaze out over the dark desert expectantly. The poise, the dignity, with which Ariel rests—all of it suggests a meeting, perhaps at half past zero-hundred, perhaps half-past the intangible hairsbreadth between stars. Orestes sleeps. Solterra sleeps. And the lion lays awake, a king of another realm, patient and knowing and feeling the desert tremble with all the expectation of a birth, or a death.
It is of no surprise, to Ariel, when the teryr’s silhouette crests the citadel’s distant wall. It is of no surprise, in the way it is of no surprise to a deer when the leopard strikes. It has been waiting it’s whole life for the moment which, although not guaranteed, seems a little too much like destiny.
And then, there is a piercing shriek.
And then, the bells are ringing,
ringing,
ringing,
in his sleep.
Orestes rises ghostlike and strange, half awake, stumbling.
Ariel speaks from the darkness—
Ariel becomes glowing rage, bright as a star, and the words come to Orestes later
later,
too late,
trickling as if through water.
“There is a Teryr attacking the city, Sun Prince.”
He is following the Sun Lion down the stairs—had he said a teryr?—
through a haunted throne room, made for tyrants and boy-kings, the banners of Solterra dusky and dark—
and into the sandstone streets, where Solterra is already rising, is already arming.
There is a moment when Orestes realises he is unarmed and alone. The chaos whirls around him, as if he is the center. Soldiers run passed him, swords drawn and spears at the ready. He stands with his pulled-gold mane, his eyes like chaos themselves, wondering if this is what it had felt when in another life he had become a dragon and stormed the gates of a city armed with the gold he wears now in his skin.
There is a courtier in the barracks near the Citadel, handing weapons to the soldiers that stream passed. Orestes is there with Ariel at his flank. “Please, give me one—several, actually.” What feels frantic in his heart emerges as calm, confident words. The fear and confusion he had felt are becoming slowly, slowly, elation. The courtier does as asked and Orestes takes him in his telepathic hand awkwardly—seven of them, at least. They are heavy, but the weight is a reminder that they are for unarmed citizens.
The teryr screams again. In the darkness and lantern light, it is easy to get lost in the streets. Follow me. It is Ariel’s voice, and the lion streams through the equines easily—Orestes follows at a gallop, until they are near the gates.
His heart both warms—and drops—to see his people already engaged. There is El Toro, who he runs up besides. There is Jahin, who appears to have run the bell. There is Locke, stooping to throw a rock, and the grizzled legend of Torstein, who Orestes has never met. Aghavni is next, beautiful and fierce and Efphion, already charging into the fray. Helios has taken to the sky above the teryr and that’s where Orestes’s eyes eventually settle, waiting.
It is Ariel who steps forward, not flesh but light light light. His paws leave singes on the sandstone below, and threaten to turn it to glass. He is streaming golden light like the sun, and Orestes steps back from the wafting, furious heat. “What are you waiting for?” Ariel asks, in the voice of the desert. And as if to answer the teryr, the Sun Lion draws back and roars at the Sovereign’s side, an echoing and resonant sound that fills the courtyard. The teryr turns to look, and screams back.
Orestes throws all but one spear down. The message is clear. Arm yourselves.
