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krillking · 19 days ago

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“I mean, I know some things about them,” the child continues, “I’ve heard people say that they were a bad person, that they killed light creatures and started a war, which is a bad thing, too, but I’m not sure what exactly it is... But I- I don’t really understand much about them. Could you explain to me who they were?” With the reaction elicited from other Elders, Daleth probably should have expected this kind of question. They did, in a way, anticipate that the Ruler might be brought up, but it did not make them feel any more prepared for this conversation. “I can try,” Daleth says, “but it isn’t an easy thing to explain. Or a happy one.” ___ A young moth seeks answers. Daleth gives them what they need.

Read the fic here or below the cut

Daleth is feeding the birds when someone appears behind them, quietly, almost shyly. The Elder feels the warmth of a flame before they see it. They do not turn around just yet, nodding at the birds to explain their meal may be disturbed — even the quietest of children can be loud. Not to mention how many of them are still too young to understand other creatures and their need to be left alone, from time to time. Daleth does not blame them: kids are supposed to not understand things — otherwise, how would they learn?

The birds chirp and fly away through the back door when the newcomer finally speaks.

“Uhm… Can I ask you something? Sorry.”

Daleth looks at them fondly.

“No need to apologise, little one. Do you need to go to Prairie? The gates are open.”

“No, I just… I wanted to talk,” the child says, their bright eyes looking at Daleth.

There is something in that stare that makes their heart ache, but not necessarily in a bad way. Maybe it is the trust they put in Daleth so willingly. Maybe it is their genuine curiosity, not yet dulled by the time they have spent alive. Maybe it is the fact that, despite everything they have gone through, the little moth remains, essentially, a little moth: not growing bitter, not closing off. There is beauty in their charming naivete, and this beauty both gives the Elder hope for the future and fills them with regret. It was them, after all, who took part in the actions that led to this child having to battle darkness since a young age, and it would be impossible for Daleth not to feel guilty over being unable to give them a chance of a better childhood.

So, the least they can do is keep the moth company.

“What is it that you want to talk about?” the Elder asks, a soft smile on their face as they get on one knee.

“I have some questions,” the child replies, a bit less nervous than before.

“I’ll be happy to answer them. Let us sit down somewhere.”

They look around, and the temple suddenly feels so empty, with no furniture to properly sit down and talk. Maybe they should get some? They have been having quite a few guests lately, after all.

As Daleth ponders what seat to offer to the child, the latter settles on the edge of the stone floor, their feet dangling above the clouds below the temple. The Elder is not sure whether they approve of such recklessness or not — the kid’s ability to fly does not really calm them down, — but right now, they find it rather endearing.

“Look what a nice seat you found!” they say sitting down next to them. The process takes them some effort, but they manage, in the end. They may be old, but they are also an Elder, and one does not become an Elder for nothing, “Ask whatever you want, I’ll tell you everything I can.”

A small smile creeps on the moth’s face, and they start swinging their feet as they talk.

“I really didn’t want to bother you, but I asked all the spirits I know, and I still can’t figure some things out. I- I tried asking other Elders, too, but they didn’t tell me anything.”

Daleth hates to see the disheartened expression on their face and puts a tentative hand on the kid’s shoulder. They do not back off, so the Elder leaves the hand there, squeezing a little. The child raises their eyes to look at them.

“What exactly did they do?” Daleth inquires.

“They just… didn’t answer my question. Lamed said it’s all in the past and there’s no point in talking about it anymore because it’s too late to change things. The twins told me I’m too young to know and wouldn’t understand. The Wasteland Elder also said I’m too young and the truth is too horrible for me to hear. Teth said they were busy, but I think they just wanted to avoid the topic,” they look away again, rubbing their arms slowly, “and Ayin… Ayin admitted they don’t want me to know because they’re ashamed of what happened,” they finish sadly.

Daleth understands. Despite all their differences, Daleth understands. All the Elders have been — and still are — going through a lot of guilt and remorse. But this is not about them. It is about the child, the child that was not there when everything happened and does not get why the Elders act the way they do.

“They were honest, at least…” the kid mumbles bitterly.

“They didn’t mean to upset you, little one. The past — which, I assume, was what you asked them about, — is a… complicated topic. We all did bad things — things we’re deeply sorry for. We — they — aren’t really ready to discuss those things. Besides, they are trying to protect you,” they add and immediately realise that their last statement did a poor job clarifying things, confusing the moth instead.

“How can they protect me by not telling me stuff? What if- what if I do one of those things? What if I do something bad because no one told me it’s bad?” they ask, an expression of horror on their face.

The Elder cannot help but laugh a little at this idea. Oh, sweet child, they think, you would never.

They do try their best to stop as soon as they can. They would not forgive themself if their guest began to think they cannot count on Daleth, either.

“I apologise for my outburst,” they clarify when the child starts eyeing them with suspicion, “Trust me, it’s highly improbable that you repeat our mistakes. Believe me with this one.”

The moth looks uncertain but nods slowly.

“They don’t want to scare you. Or you to think less of them. I don’t necessarily agree — I think you’re allowed to know the truth, however horrible it might be. But I do understand why they’re hiding things.”

“But you’ll tell me, right?”

Those bright eyes again. Daleth suddenly regrets their promise and then reproaches themselves immediately: the moth is no ordinary child. They have seen death and destruction, they have fought darkness — they have died, for the stars’ sake — all because of the Elders’ failure to keep the kingdom safe and sound. They deserve to know the answers more than anyone else. Besides, it would be extremely unfair to betray their trust like this.

“I will,” they reply simply.

There is a pause as the child thinks in silence, weighing the different questions they could ask. Daleth can hear birds chirping and a wind blowing in the distance and looks out of the window. There is not much one can see from there nowadays, just endless white clouds. They have grown in the Elder’s absence, it seems.

It is baffling how much has changed, and it is even more baffling how long it takes them to notice all the tiny details. Did the time spent in the void make them forget what their own realm looked like? Is it their age starting to show? Or is it how it has always been, things shifting and moving behind their back without them ever realising until it was too late?

“Who was the King?” the visitor asks after a while.

Daleth is immediately brough back from their thoughts.

With the reaction elicited from other Elders, Daleth probably should have expected this kind of question. They did, in a way, anticipate that the Ruler might be brought up, but it did not make them feel any more prepared for this conversation.

“I can try,” they say, “but it isn’t an easy thing to explain. Or a happy one.”

“It’s okay. I can handle it.”

The child’s words sound reassuring, yet they do not change the fact that the moth has no idea what they are going to hear, which they may, in fact, not handle. They have faith in Daleth now. Will they keep it after the story ends?

The Eder sighs and begins:

“The King — or the Prince, as they were called at the start — was the Ruler of our kingdom for some time. They were not above us Elders — but it didn’t feel like they were below us, either, especially when they became the King. They started off by doing… good things, mostly. At least with good intentions. They tried their best to improve lives, and, I would say, succeeded.”

“And what happened then?” the moth asks when Daleth pauses.

“No one really knows. Some say they spent too much time in contact with darkness and became corrupted by it. Others think they lost their mind. Some even claim they had been evil all along and the good things were just a ruse to make us trust them — but I never believed in this conspiracy and still refuse to.”

“Why?”

The child beside them looks genuinely intrigued, and Daleth cannot deny them an explanation.

“Because by separating people into inherently good and inherently bad ones, you overlook the complexity that there is in all of us. We’re all capable of doing bad things and good things, intentionally and unintentionally. If someone does more good than bad, it doesn’t make them perfect, and vice versa, if someone ends up harming people more than helping them, it doesn’t automatically erase all their good deeds. People are complicated like that.”

They tear their eyes from the clouds below, where they have been avoiding the child’s gaze, and turn to look at the moth’s face again. They are eyeing the Elder with curiosity, listening attentively to their words. Taking their silence as an invitation to proceed, Daleth continues:

“I’m sure the Prince’s acts weren’t a ruse. At the beginning, at least. There was a face they would make when they were excited, talking about and seeing the improvements that were being made in the kingdom. Their eyes would light up, as if reflecting their happiness, even if they tried to hide it sometimes. I know they didn’t always tell the truth, but that expression couldn’t have been a lie. It would be impossible for anyone to fake that shine.”

Daleth’s guest cocks their head, their own eyes as bright as the sun, and Daleth prohibits themself from looking away.

“And were the bad things a ruse?”

This is not something Daleth would even consider, but the simple-hearted child does. They know so little about the world, the Elder thinks to themself, despite everything they’ve been through.

“I don’t think they were,” they respond with a sigh, “But we’ll never know.”

“Did their eyes still light up when they did harm to people?”

“They wore a mask that covered them,” Daleth answers simply.

The moth gasps.

“Oh. Why?”

“No one knows this, either. There can be dozens of reasons why a person would hide their face.”

Silence falls once again. The moth frowns and purses their lips, thinking. This information — or this interpretation of the things they have already heard — must be new to them. Daleth does not interrupt their stream of thought. The child might be reevaluating their whole worldview, for what it is worth.

They expect more questions, but what comes out of the kid’s mouth catches the Elder off guard.

“People say you were close to the Prince.”

It takes Daleth a few seconds to formulate an answer.

“I was.”

“Then why do you say you don’t know?” the child proceeds.

“Because I was close to the Prince, not the King.”

“Weren’t they the same person?” they ask, perplexed.

There is no right answer to this question, but Daleth tries to find the best one.

“They were, in the purely physical sense. The Prince grew up to be the King, but they changed so much in the process they became unrecognisable to those who knew them,” they clarify, “they became unrecognisable to me.”

There are no more birds outside, and the wind has calmed down. The sun is setting, painting the temple bright orange and pink. Rays of sunshine entering through the temple windows make the room seem different, almost enchanted. The little moth’s hair seems darker now, glowing as if it were fire.

The child looks down at the peach clouds below and starts swinging their feet again, but a lot slower this time.

“That’s sad,” is all they say.

“I told you it isn’t a happy story. But it is what it is.”

Daleth is afraid they will not understand, but they do. Judging by them not leaving, not moving away from the Elder, they understand. Perhaps the Elder was wrong to doubt them. Young or not, this child — and many others — is willing to accept things the way they are. Maybe it is because of what they have been through. Daleth forgets sometimes how different the sky children are from the kids they have encountered before.

Well, from most kids they have encountered before. There was one who was almost the same as them. But that child is gone. Has been gone for a long time.

“Can you tell me more? About the bad stuff they did,” the guest speaks again after a brief pause.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Daleth inquires.

The child does not hesitate.

“Yes.”

Daleth looks at the sky outside.

“The Prince didn’t change overnight. The process was long and gradual. Perhaps I should’ve noticed the seeds. Perhaps I should’ve talked to them. But I didn’t, and there’s no use talking about what ifs. So, little by little, they started changing. They spent more time with people who only wanted entertainment and didn’t care about nature. They expanded the darkstone industry, greedy for money and power. Their good intentions started fading — at least, this was what we could see. The King didn’t listen to those who disagreed with them, cutting off their opponents instead. But people began to see the damage the Ruler was doing to the world and rebelled against them. Some of us Elders remained loyal to the King. Others opposed them.”

“And you? Which did you do?”

“Neither. I don’t tolerate armed conflicts,” the Elder explains, suddenly feeling ashamed and guilty, “to be honest, I thought they all would’ve calmed down by themselves and solved the problems together. Turns out, I was mistaken.”

They fall silent, their eyes fixed on the wall. If only they had interfered…

Daleth feels a hand on their arm and looks at the child by their side.

“It looks like everyone was mistaken,” the kid says, “if the world… you know…”

And this is true. It does not necessarily make Daleth feel better, but it helps the rational part of them to stop the stream of accusations in their head.

“You’re right, little one. Going back to our story, that was how the war started. A war,” they continue, recalling the moth admitting they do not know what a war is, “is not a nice thing. In a war, people try to kill those who disagree with them instead of trying to reason with them.”

The kid scrunches their face in confusion.

“Why?”

Of course they cannot understand why. All this time, they have been dealing with the consequences of death, desperately trying to bring back life. How would they comprehend people doing the opposite?

“Well… Because if there’s no one who disagrees with you, you automatically win the argument, I suppose. Although if the argument can only be won by eliminating completely your opponents, I don’t see how it proves your point. If anything, it just highlights that either you or your enemy is stubborn and unwilling to negotiate. Which is usually something that can’t be solved by taking other people’s lives.”

There is no satisfaction on the child’s face. If anything, they look even more upset than they did before. But instead of voicing their thoughts on the matter, they ask one more question:

“What does it look like?”

Daleth does not want to answer.

“Horrible. You don’t want to know. But,” they add, noticing their interlocutor is about to start protesting, “you can try to imagine it. If you walk into Wasteland, you will see some… traces. That the battles left.”

“Like the giant holes in the walls and spears and shields lying around?”

“Yes, like those. Maybe even things that are more… subtle.”

Children are not particularly adept at noticing subtleties, but it is better this way. The moth would benefit more from uncovering details layer by layer as they grow older than from being shown everything at such a young age. They do not yet have the capacity to understand the cruelties of the world, and Daleth is glad they do not. The Elder does not want to hide the truth, but they do not want to expose innocent kids to the information they are not prepared to hear and process, either.

They hope they are doing the right thing.

“You said that in wars, people fight their opponents,” the moth sounds a little unsure, “but… what about people who don’t have any opinion about the argument? What do they do? Do they just go on like usual?”

“You mean, those who are neither politicians nor warriors and just try to live their lives?”

They nod.

“They are not directly involved, most of the time, but they’re never left unaffected. They suffer the side effects — the destruction of their homes, the instability… the loss of loved ones.”

The child makes a funny sound and their eyes go wide.

“Oh, I have some friends who went through this!” they say with enthusiasm — too much enthusiasm, perhaps.

Of course they do. Daleth mentally reproaches themself for not considering this before. With so many spirits still trapped in the realms, there must be some who witnessed the war, civilians and soldiers alike.

No wonder the moth knows so little about it. It is not something survivors would enjoy talking about — not directly, at least. And children do not always pick up on what is implied, especially if they do not have a broader picture to associate it with. They may be acquainted with things that are part of the war, but not with the concept itself.

“I’m deeply sorry for them,” and they are. They really are.

“I think they’re alright now,” the child says and does not elaborate further. Daleth wants to coax them into continuing, but ultimately decides to leave this conversation unfinished.

“Do you want to know what happened after the war?” they ask when no question follows from the kid’s side, “or is this enough for you?”

“I do!” the child replies, “Was the King still bad when it ended? I mean,” they correct themself, “did they continue doing bad things?”

It is a good question. Daleth needs a while to recall that time and to give a decent answer.

“I wasn’t near the King during that time, so I can’t tell you this. But then again, no one was close to them after the war. Even their most loyal followers. They stayed in Eden all alone, not really doing anything, good or bad. Things were the way they had been for quite some time — no noticeable changes. This is what people used to say, at least… The King didn’t care about their people, but they didn’t torture them, either. It was rather stable until the Shattering. But you know about the Shattering far more than I do.”

The ending of the story leaves a better taste on their tongue, but they could not enhance it even if they wanted to. It is no fairytale, after all — with no happily ever after.

But with some hope, perhaps.

“Is this all?” the kid sounds disappointed.

“It is. For the King, at least.”

They sit there in silence until Daleth adds:

“You can try asking other Elders. They might know details I’m not aware of. It’s always good to know different points of view.”

“But they don’t want to talk about it!”

The sky is dark-red outside, and the child’s eyes shine like a beacon in the dark. Which they probably are, in a way.

“They need time,” the Elder says, “time and reassurance. They will tell you, I’m sure of it. When they know you better. When they’re ready. Give them a chance. Do you think you could do this?”

The kid reflects on this question for a while.

“I think I could.”

It seems that the conversation has reached its conclusion, but neither of the two stands up. Daleth does not move, giving the child time to speak up in case they have anything else they want to discuss.

When the Elder starts to think they will not and prepares to get up, the figure next to them turns to ask one last question.

“Is the King gone?”

The Elder is ready to say yes, they are, but the little moth hurries to clarify:

“I- I know everyone who lived before the Shattering is dead, but you all aren’t completely gone. Spirits are trapped in the realms, the Elders are trapped in the Temples, and we can talk to every spirit we know if we call them in Orbit. Can the King be trapped somewhere, too? Waiting to be found?”

This is not something Daleth has never considered before, but they have not allowed themself to dwell on this thought, either.

The thing is, they do not know if they want this to be true or not. They do not know whether it would be better if the King stayed gone forever. They do not know if there is a chance things would improve if the Ruler came back. They do not know if they are still preserved somewhere. They do not know if they can be redeemed. If they can be changed. They have no idea what the King was like right before they died. They have no idea how their death went. They cannot even say they know for sure the King actually passed away. They were not there when it happened. No one was.

There is no right answer to this question, Daleth realises. There cannot be. But they have to give one, regardless. Because this is what their guest needs. Answers.

And who is Daleth to refuse a person in need?

They look at the child and smile.

“I don’t know. Nobody does. But, if they are still here,” they get on their feet, “it’s up to you and your friends to find them.”

The child smiles back.

“And if we find them? What do we do?”

“Do what you do best,” the Elder replies, “bring them home.”

#rattling the bars of my cage op when i GET you #rb #daleth #alef #the prince

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krillking · 19 days ago

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“Calling it moonlight is, technically, incorrect,” Mekh once said. They were watching a play organised by some amateurs that were mediocre by their standards but not bad enough to reject the invitation. “The moon doesn’t actually emit any light. It only reflects the light from the sun. So, all this ‘moonlight’ is just made-up stuff for sappy romances.” Alef thinks about these words, sometimes, and they wish they did not. They wish the words were not as painfully true as they are.

you can find the fic here or below the cut

And Alef had to agree, to pretend that they knew it, that they had any idea about anything, that they were not just a good-for-nothing overgrown child with barely any knowledge in their head.

They think about these words, sometimes, and they wish they did not. They wish the words were not as painfully true as they are.

***

They catch themself saying things in bird when no one is around, or humming old islander tunes absent-mindedly while working. They try to stop saying words no foreigner understands, yet a few still find their way onto their lips from time to time. They bite their tongue each time they call non-islanders ‘foreigners’ and Isle ‘back home’. They brush off any mentions of the Prophecies and the Trials in a desperate attempt to forget the part of their life that haunts them the most, pretending they already did, pretending they do not remember the ancient texts word by word. It does not help much, but Alef is positive they just need to try harder.

It almost feels like they are, in a way, the moon. Reflecting the light that has been projected onto them since their childhood, with nothing of their own to offer. And yet, people find them unique, not knowing — or unwilling to learn — that there is nothing special about them other than their lack of any remarkable trait, which, paradoxically, is a remarkable trait in itself. But not a good one. Not one anybody would want the Prince to have.

They realise they have adopted some of the twins’ mannerisms way too late to correct their behaviour. They laugh at jokes in the same way Sah does when they see a stunt go wrong. They mumble insults just like how Mekh mumbles about plot holes and cheesy lines. They speak with the same exaggerated, dramatic tone of voice that the two use for surprise announcements and grandiose speeches.

Alef finds themself stopping in the middle of what they are doing to check if they are copying Samekh, and, more times than not, has to reprimand themself for acting exactly like the twins would. It is ridiculous how, in an attempt to get rid of the traits they had borrowed, they just ended up picking up even more.

Will they ever become their own person? Or should they remain a bleak reflection of their surroundings for the rest of their life?

Alef happens to speak with an excessive number of technical terms, like Teth sometimes does, or to address creatures whose language they do not speak, just like Ayin. Alef notices that they use the pre-made overly polite phrases they often hear from Lamed and stare people in the eyes trying to copy the very same stern expression that helps Tsadi say things without even opening their mouth. The Prince hates themself for their inability to find their own strategies to navigate the world, stealing bits of everyone else’s instead. But were it not for the borrowed ideas, they would have none at all.

And what would be the point of the moon if it had no light at all? Neither reflected nor made?

Little does this thought comfort them.

They were supposed to be special, they were supposed to be unique, they were supposed to be the Brave Hero, they were supposed to be the Wise Ruler, they were supposed to be a miracle. They were supposed to know what to do without any help or instructions, they were supposed to be the one people looked up to.

Then why is it them who must look up?

Alef despises their life, the constant fear of not being good enough and the ever-present need to be. They are tired of reflecting others’ light. They want others to reflect theirs.

The moon may be an unfortunate piece of rock, stuck forever in its defective, lightless form, but Alef is better. They are smarter, they are more creative, and, most importantly, they have technology.

And with technology, the moon could gather enough light to outshine the sun itself.

With technology, they can fix themself to match the descriptions from ancient prophecies.

With technology, they will strip themself of everything that makes them the moon. With technology, they will become the sun.

***

“I don’t care if it’s ‘technically incorrect’,” Sah responded. The play was over, and the three of them were getting ready to leave, “pretty much everything reflects light, for that matter. Besides,” they added, looking up at the night sky dotted with hundreds and thousands of unreachable stars, “light’s supposed to be shared.”

#GOT GUTTED BY THIS HI.#it's just so 💥💥💥💥💥💥#the whole thing w mimicking and copying just AUGH. Alexa play moon will sing crsne wives #rb #alef #the prince

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