#AHAHHAHAA | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

snowthornes · 1 year ago

Text

FANFICTION | @uroboros-if

Rafaele opened his mouth, then closed it. He had lived for centuries, for endless millenia, but at times like this he still wasn’t quite sure how to reach his son. He looked at Nero. The snowy haired god was sitting wordlessly beside Avriel, lending his strength in his own way — he met Rafaele’s eyes, and nodded in silent support. Finally, Rafaele spoke. “Avriel,” he said, tasting the words on his tongue. Carefully, delicately, he asked: “Is something the matter?” Avriel shot another peek at him, his expressive dark gray eyes morose. He was silent for a moment, before he whispered, “They… they say that eternity isn’t real.” A pang shot through Rafaele’s heart, and he sat up. “They? Who is ‘they’?” “The other gods,” Avriel said listlessly. He looked up at Rafaele, then at Nero, his young eyes searching; seeking the truth. “Are they right? Is nothing eternal?” That was a difficult question to answer. It was so difficult that Rafaele floundered for a few seconds.

As the god of the changing seasons, Rafaele had always been all too aware of the passage of time.

He had been witness to endless seasons, ancient as time itself. He had painted the changing seasons in the colors of dreams, silent wishes and prayers hidden in every bloom, every bough. Spring heralded the coming of life and rebirth, as a bird returning to its nest; summer ushered in blazing colors and vivid skies, as a red sun disappearing on the horizon. Autumn was a portent of playful winds and falling leaves, of farewells and inevitable slumbers; winter itself was time frozen to a standstill, when the skies were draped in veils of silvery gray and the world was blanketed in hushed promises of life and death.

Within the neverending cycles of life and death, of rebirth and slumber, Rafaele stood at the very center of it all. It was said that he was the artist of the seasons, the painter of change and life and death and inevitability — it was his life, his role, his place in the endless tapestry of the universe.

Rafaele thought he was accustomed to change. Not indifferent, no, never indifferent, but accustomed in the way that mortals were accustomed to the dawn of the sun and the vesperate of the evening.

And then his child was introduced into his world. And he was shown just how very wrong he was.

SUMMER

Rafaele watched with a smile as Avriel tumbled gracelessly through the grass, laughing in delight. Beside him, Nero watched in amused yet concerned bemusement, ready to swoop in at a moment’s notice should their son’s antics become too hazardous.

The skies stretched overhead in an endless train of blue, dotted with wispy clouds that lazily drifted by. A sparkling river wound its way through an endless expanse of green dotted with trees, shrubs, and wildflowers. A soft breeze caressed their skin, sunlight pouring over them in gentle rays.

“Avriel,” Rafaele called. The young god immediately whirled around, beaming up at them with sparkling, dark gray eyes. Blades of grass clung to his clothes, some even settling in his hair. He looked perfectly mussy, more like a mortal child gamboling through the grass than an all powerful deity created from the very fabric of the universe.

“Yeah?!”

Rafaele grinned — his son’s excitement was infectious. “Do you want to dip your feet in the river?”

Avriel’s eyes rounded. He looked breathless. “Can I?”

“If you want,” Rafaele said, with mock solemnity. “You indeed can.”

Avriel cheered, the sound clear and bright in the glassy air. He immediately ran off, Rafaele hot on his heels — Nero followed at a more sedate pace, a silent smile resting in his eyes all the while.

Rafaele and Avriel skidded to a stop at the riverbank at around the same time, both beaming in delight. Avriel immediately reached for Rafaele’s hand, tugging at it as he jumped up and down, “Are you going to dip your feet in too?!”

“Of course!” Rafaele said, unceremoniously plopping down on the riverbank and taking off his shoes. Avriel, who was already conveniently barefoot, gleefully plopped down and dipped his feet in the water, giggling with delight. Rafaele turned around and, with a loving smile, held out his hand to his husband to invite him down, which Nero wordlessly took. He settled comfortably beside Rafaele, a soft look in his eyes as he watched them giggle and play in the water.

Suddenly, Avriel gasped. “Fish! There’s fish!”

Quick as a flash, the young god had leapt off the riverbank and into the river with a splash, gleefully chasing after the silvery fish that darted here and there within the river’s clear waters. Nero snorted as he leisurely wiped off the water that had splashed onto his robes, turning to Rafaele with raised eyebrows as he wryly remarked, “He takes after you.”

Rafaele grinned, unperturbed. “It seems that our child loves nature just as much as we do — isn’t it wonderful?”

“Tell that to those poor fish,” Nero said, though the softness in his eyes belied the dryness of his words. They continued to watch as Avriel gamboled through the water, exclaiming in wonder ever so often at a stray fish or snail.

There was a rather chaotic moment when Avriel actually managed to catch a respectably sized fish in his hands — Rafael had let out an exclamation of both shock and wonder, Nero sitting up from his lackadaisical posture, before the fish leapt out of their son’s small hands, smacking him in the face with its tail and diving back into the water with a splash, leaving Avriel sputtering with shock.

“There, there now,” Nero said, patting Avriel’s fluffy head in amusement as his son hugged his waist for comfort, Rafaele nearly crying tears of laughter beside him. “I’m sure that fish wasn’t very happy to be caught, either.”

“I just wanted to play!” Avriel said, looking aggrieved. He was completely soaked through by his antics in the river, looking very much like a drowned puppy.

“It must have been surprised,” Nero said placidly, moving on to patting his son’s back. “After all, you didn’t ask if it wanted to play, did you?”

Guilt slowly seeped into Avriel’s expression. “No…” Then he perked up, looking expectantly at his fathers. “Does that mean they’ll play with me if I ask them?”

“Well–” Rafaele began.

But Avriel was already running off. “Fishies! Do you want to play? I promise it’ll be fun!”

And with that, the school of fish were once again forced to scatter.

Once Avriel had miraculously tired himself out and his fathers had explained that, no, the fish probably weren’t very interested in playing with him right now, the family of three moved to the shade of a drooping willow tree. Avriel laid down with his head on Rafaele’s lap, playing with the tree’s drooping leaves. Wonder sparkled in his eyes. Nero sat comfortably beside Rafaele, shoulders touching his.

The two husbands exchanged a look. Rafaele rarely saw Nero so relaxed, so content. He smiled, nearly wanting to sing with joy. He looked down at his son, gently running a hand through his dark brown hair. This was his son. Their son. Sometimes, Rafaele couldn’t believe that he was so lucky. That in his long, endless existence he had met his beloved and his child.

It was times like this that gave Rafaele strength. Perhaps it was selfish, but he could never bring himself to ever regret bringing his child into the world. Not when there were moments such as this. Precious moments with his family, suspended in a time where all was well as long as they had each other.

…He still remembered the look on Avriel’s face. He still remembered the look on everyone’s faces; how confusion had flooded among the watching deities, how Ellera’s delicate brows had furrowed. How Avriel — his child, his child, his and Nero’s — had taken a confused step back, eyes widened in hesitant confusion as he watched the crowd murmur before him.

“I am the deity of eternity.”

He had declared it so boldly. So proudly.

And Rafaele had to watch his face fall as he realized that something was… wrong.

Nero had been the first to surge forward, then Rafaele. They had shielded Avriel behind them as the newborn god hesitantly clung to their clothes, choosing to place his trust in them despite his confusion. And as Rafaele felt the light pressure of small hands clinging to his back, he vowed: he would not fail that trust. He would take it, he would treasure it, and return it with love a hundredfold.

“...Father? Father?”

Rafaele blinked, startled out of his reverie. He looked down to meet Avriel’s eyes — the young god had scrambled into a sitting position on the grass, looking up at him with curious eyes. Feeling a warm presence beside him, Rafaele turned his gaze to see Nero, leaning over to him in silent concern.

“...Ah.” Rafaele smiled, and shook his head with a laugh. “I’m sorry, I was– distracted. What was that?”

“I want a pet fish,” Avriel announced.

Rafaele almost thought he heard the fish in the river splashing in alarm.

AUTUMN

Sometimes, Rafaele had to wonder if there was ever a parent who truly understood their child.

Most times, Avriel seemed so simple, so in love with the world. He cried when he was sad, which was rarely, and he laughed when he was happy — which was often. He ran to his fathers for hugs and headpats whenever he wanted, and rolled around in the grass with Salvatore whenever the other god came to visit. And although in his simplicity he could be slow to understand the emotions of others, to comprehend the complexity of most entities, he was always quick to apologize, vying to make things better again with all his power whenever he slipped up and made a mistake.

But there were times when his son would fall silent, when he would retreat to a world of his own–

Times like now.

Avriel had been silent for a while now.

He was sitting on the grass in their garden, quietly rocking back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knees as he looked up at the boundless sky. There was a listless energy to him — one that reminded Rafaele of autumn, of falling leaves and wilting foliage.

Silently, Rafaele went to sit beside his son, his husband sitting on Avriel’s other side. Avriel shifted, shooting peeks at them when they sat down, but he didn’t say anything; his attention soon returned to the skies, and his listless rocking returned.

Finally, Rafaele spoke. “Avriel,” he said, tasting the words on his tongue. Carefully, delicately, he asked: “Is something the matter?”

Avriel shot another peek at him, his expressive dark gray eyes morose. He was silent for a moment, before he whispered, “They… they say that eternity isn’t real.”

A pang shot through Rafaele’s heart, and he sat up. “They? Who is ‘they’?”

“The other gods,” Avriel said listlessly. He looked up at Rafaele, then at Nero, his young eyes searching; seeking the truth. “Are they right? Is nothing eternal?”

That was a difficult question to answer.

It was so difficult that Rafaele floundered for a few seconds.

It was said that gods were all knowing, almighty — but Rafaele didn’t feel very almighty right now. No, he felt lost, helpless in a cruel reality that he wasn’t able to protect his child from.

It was Nero who spoke. “Nothing lasts forever,” he said simply, gently. “But it doesn’t mean that nothing matters.”

Avriel looked down and nodded.

To his horror, Rafaele saw his lips quivering.

“Avriel–”

And then Avriel was sniffling, and then he was sobbing, and then he was heaving great big gulping sobs, crying helplessly as his fathers were forced to look on. And Rafaele was reaching for Avriel, pulling him into his lap, and while the young god gave a token struggle, he eventually gave in and laid his head on his father’s shoulder, sobbing. Nero crawled closer and wrapped his arms around both Rafaele and Avriel, gently patting their child’s back.

The two exchanged looks — the same helplessness mirrored in their eyes. What could they do? What could they say? They had walked endless eons, but nothing had prepared them for this.

“Avriel?” Rafaele tried again, because what else could he do but try? “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing lasts forever,” Avriel choked, staring up at him and Nero with red eyes. “So that means– that means– you’ll be leaving me.”

…Oh.

Rafaele was stunned.

“I don’t want you to go!” Avriel sobbed, his voice almost rising to a wail. His chest heaved, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t, I don’t! I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want you to disappear…”

…Well. He hadn’t been expecting this. Judging by the rare stunned look on Nero’s face, he hadn’t either.

“Eternity means forever and eternity isn’t real,” Avriel blubbered on. Now that he had spoken, it was like water had burst forth from a dam; his earlier silence was long gone, replaced by incessant tears. “That means that forever isn’t real and you won’t be with me forever.”

What do you say when faced with such an accusation from your child?

Rafaele didn’t know.

He could say that they were gods; they would be around for a very, very long time. He could say that nothing would take them from Avriel, that nothing could ever separate them… but then he remembered the war and the loss and the devastating, shattering grief of a world gone mad.

And suddenly, he couldn’t.

Rafaele swallowed. And then he gently stroked Avriel’s head, running his hand through his hair. He searched for the right words — were there even any? — as Avriel continued to sob, heartbreak clear in his eyes.

Finally, Rafaele spoke. “Avriel,” he said, softly. “We don’t know how long we’ll have together, but I promise — it will be for a long, long time.”

Avriel sniffled. “But–”

“–And even if we were to one day be gone, to disappear from this world,” Rafaele smiled lovingly, his heart filled with so much love and pain and loss that it felt like he couldn’t breathe, “We will never truly be gone, not completely.”

“How?” Avriel asked, staring up at his fathers with tearful, searching eyes. He seemed to be looking for a promise, a vow that would hold him in security. “How can you promise that?”

“The world is full of chaos,” it was Nero who spoke this time, dark eyes gentle as he looked at his son. “And there are many, many things that we don’t understand. But one thing will always remain true: and that is our love for you.”

Avriel sniffled, looking down. “But… you’ll still be gone.”

Nero shook his head. “No,” he said, voice firm. He leaned forward and gently cupped Avriel’s chin, raising his head and wiping his tears away. “As long as you remember us, as long as you carry us in your heart, we will be with you.”

“The laws of the universe may be as they are,” Rafaele said, softly, “But if there is anything, anything, that shall remain eternal, it will be our love for you. Like the stars in the sky and the tides of the sea, we will always be with you, no matter where you are, no matter who you have become. You will always be our son — and you will always be our love, our life. That is our eternity.”

Avriel’s lip quivered — and then he was bawling fresh tears once again, flinging his arms around both his fathers and burying his face into their shoulders. “Okay,” he said, his voice muffled. “But you have to stay with me for a long, long time! If I have to remember you forever, then you’ll have to stay for almost forever!”

Rafaele laughed — and when Nero wiped his husband’s face, his eyes impossibly soft, he realized that tears were running down his cheeks, too. “Okay,” Rafaele said, smiling.

He and Nero spoke as one, their voices winding together in a melody that permeated the air, sealing their oath within the dust and earth of the universe.

“It’s a promise.”

WINTER

The seasons passed, as they were wont to do. The years passed by, first in a trickle and then in an unforgiving tide. Birds returned to their nests, and left once again. The sun continued to chase the moon, and the moon continued to chase the sun. Still the universe remained as unfathomable as ever, heedless to the doubtful eyes and questions cast by those residing within its cradle.

Avriel had been sent to Lucidio.

Rafaele had known it was coming. It was inevitable, given his child’s domain.

Eternity. A transient dream, as fragile and precious as the wings of a butterfly. That was Avriel’s domain. And for that, the others had deemed him worthless; the others had deemed him nothing.

Lucidio was a good place. A peaceful place. It was managed by Luciel, who was just about the kindest deity Rafaele knew. They would take care of Avriel. Rafaele knew it in his heart.

It didn’t alleviate the pain that shot through his heart.

Avriel had tried to keep a brave face. Rafaele had thought that he would cry, that he would once again weep like he had so long ago when he was just a young child, but he hadn’t. Instead, he had wrapped his arms around his fathers, hugging them tightly and insisting that they visit him the moment they could.

Rafaele had been the first to start bawling. He had cried, and then Avriel’s lip had quivered, and suddenly he was flinging his arms around his fathers and burying his face in their shoulders, mumbling muffled gibberish into their clothes. When he pulled back, his eyes were red — but no tears fell.

And then he had laughed, saying that they had better visit, or else. And Rafaele and Nero had promised to visit so many times that he would get sick of them. And Avriel had laughed again, the sound bright and clear in the crisp air, and suddenly he was hugging them again.

And he had whispered one last goodbye, then turned and ran to Luciel, who was waiting a respectful distance away, gazing at them with gentle eyes. He didn’t look back. And Luciel had met Rafaele and Nero’s eyes, and nodded.

They would take care of him.

Rafaele nodded back.

They left.

Nero’s arms wrapped around him.

He didn’t stop crying for a long, long time.

Rafaele and Nero came to visit many, many times — as much as they were able. Avriel always greeted them with a smile, running to them and flinging his arms around them the moment he reached them.

He asked about their days, and they told him about their duties in the mortal world, of the seasons changing and the moons passing. And he told them about his duties in Lucidio: of how the mortal souls were so lively, so interesting, with their myriad of trials and tribulations even past death; of how Luciel was so kind, so good, and how Avriel wished he could become his friend; of how he wished he could befriend the mortals, but he didn’t know how; of how his training in the art of the sword was going supremely well, and talks of bestowing him with a title were already in progress.

Avriel appeared to be thriving.

But there were moments when he slipped. Moments when his face would fall and he would clumsily attempt to change the subject to happier matters, avoiding his fathers’ eyes all the while.

“He’s settling in very well,” Luciel said, during one of their visits. Avriel had run off on another mortal errand, promising to come back soon, and Rafaele and Nero had taken the chance to talk to Luciel while he was away. The deity of death took a sip of his cup of tea before they spoke again, their eyes gently gazing at them over the rim. “The mortals love him. He’s especially popular with the children, often playing games with them when he’s able.”

“But?” Rafaele prompted, as Nero looked on with discerning eyes.

Luciel sighed.

“As you know,” they said, “Not all mortals are so welcoming.”

Luciel looked away, their eyes settling on the view overlooking the entirety of Lucidio. A light breeze ruffled through the land, through each carefully placed treetop and wildflower and shrub. Lucidio was a paradise in its own right, a resting place for the dead, but Luciel knew just how restless the dead could be.

“And he misses you,” they continued, slowly. “He’s been throwing himself into his training — he’s well on his way to mastering the sword, I’d say — but he misses you. And Salvatore, Ellera’s child. He talks about you all often.”

Rafaele smiled, painfully. “Is there anything we can do?” He asked hopefully, leaning forward even as he held Nero’s hand. “Anything at all we can do to make things better?”

Luciel gently shook their head. Kindness as old as time, hardwon from millenia of endless living, shone from their eyes. “Your visits are enough. To know that he has you with him, always — that is enough. This is something he will have to overcome himself.”

Nero patted his hand as Rafaele deflated. “Thank you,” the god said, eyes serious as he looked at his old friend. “For looking out for him.”

Luciel smiled, their eyes squinting with the gesture. “Of course. That goes without saying.”

And then Avriel had come barrelling back into Luciel’s residence, effectively putting their conversation to an end.

Weeks later, after one of their visits, when Rafaele and Nero were once again about to leave, Avriel spoke.

“Fathers,” he said, softly. His eyes were uncharacteristically serious. “You’ll be with me almost forever, right?”

“Of course!” Rafaele said, taking his son’s hands. “We promised, didn’t we?”

“We don’t make a habit of breaking promises,” Nero said mildly, though his eyes were soft.

Avriel smiled. “...Yeah. I just wanted to be sure.”

Rafaele’s hand rose to run through Avriel’s hair, and he was suddenly struck by how much he had grown — by how his physical form had grown to accommodate his maturity, by how different yet similar he was to his childhood days. Gone were the days when Avriel would come crying to them at the most minor of inconveniences, confident that they could always, always, make things right again.

Luciel’s words echoed in his ears. This is a path Avriel has to walk alone; this is something he has to overcome himself.

Echoes of sunlit days long gone shimmered through Rafaele’s memories. Visions of him and Nero walking through wildflowers and blades of grass, with Avriel between them, laughing and holding their hands. Suddenly, the Avriel in his visions broke free from their hands and ran forward, towards a strange, untrodden path that led towards an unknown future. And he looked back, as if urging his fathers to follow — but they couldn’t. As if some force were stopping them, freezing them in place. Rafaele was left to stand, helpless, as his child grew farther and farther away from him, changing in ways that he wasn’t there to witness.

“Is it hard?” Rafaele whispered, out of the blue.

Avriel blinked, staring at him. Then slowly, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little thick. “But I’ll– I’ll be fine! I promise!”

Rafaele smiled. “I know,” he said softly. “I know you will.”

Even so, he felt a strange sense of loss.

SPRING

The years continued to pass.

Time was a constant stream flowing down a valley, and the people, both gods and mortals, were merely fallen leaves floating along its current.

Lucidio alone remained unchanged.

The sun was gentle as ever, its rays never too warm nor too cold. The skies were an endless expanse of blue, cradling the city within its embrace. The lives — or un-lives of the mortal souls still continued to turn. Reunions were had; those parted by the merciless embrace of death were reunited under a gentle sky. Folly and virtue both continued to run rife among those dwelling in Lucidio, almost as vivid and alive as they were on the mortal plane.

And the Eternal Guardian was there to witness it all.

Standing atop a towering roof, the young god surveyed the city below him. The wind blew through his hair, playing with the ends of his sleeves. Although he gazed down at the city with a bright smile, eyes sparkling ever so slightly, his posture was proud and strong, cutting through the wind and the sky. His hand rested gently on the sword at his hip.

Avriel’s eyes traced the faces of the mortal souls going about their days, milling through the city that he had come to know like the back of his hand. His eyes shifted towards the rooftops of familiar buildings and homes — rooftops that he had run and jumped and climbed on top of, much to the delight or consternation of their residents.

This was Lucidio.

This was both his home, and his not-home.

Avriel straddled a strange boundary between mortals and the divinity. He did not belong completely to the gods, for he had no domain, but he did not belong to the mortals, for he was divine. This was what he had learned in his time at Lucidio. Although he tried his best to integrate with mortals, to play with them and learn their games and cultures, there was always this inexplicable sense of distance between them — a gaping chasm that they refused to bridge, no matter how hard Avriel tried.

Some would say that he had no place in the universe. No role to truly call his own.

But not Avriel. No, over his years at Lucidio, he had realized that he possessed something far more precious to call his own.

He only needed to show them…

As if hearing something, the young god suddenly turned his head. There, in the distance, were his fathers: Rafaele and Nero, both making their way towards him. A bright smile shone on Rafaele’s face even as Nero walked poker-faced beside him. The two looked as harmonious as ever, two entities fortunate enough to find each other in the millions of years that encompassed the universe.

Avriel lit up. It had been a while since his fathers had come to visit him together! Without missing a beat, he leapt down from the rooftop, and ran towards his fathers. He skidded to a stop before them, laughing at their surprised faces.

“Fathers! You’re here!”

“Of course!” Rafaele beamed. “We thought we’d come to visit!”

“You’re just in time!” Avriel laughed. “Wait– come with me! I want to show you something!”

Nero raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What–”

Avriel grabbed his fathers’ hands, dragging them forward. “Come on, come on! I’ll show you when we get there!”

Nero made a noise of protest while Rafaele laughed, delighted, but the two ultimately followed.

Rafaele glanced at Avriel, striding in between him and Nero, determinedly holding their hands. He suddenly felt a faint sense of familiarity, an echo of a time years and years ago; a vision of Avriel, still young and small, holding his and Nero’s hand as they walked along a sunlit path.

He looked at his son, now so tall and upright, his every step graceful and steady — and he suddenly felt a bit dazed.

They soon came to a clearing in the middle of a forest. Sunlight dappled through bright green foliage; a mixture of old leaves and soil carpeted the ground. Towering trees surrounded the clearing, forming a rough circle. Rafaele glanced around, curious — he had never been here before. “What is this?”

“This is where I train!” Avriel grinned. His gray eyes sparkled with expectation. “Wait– stay here.”

He let go of their hands and ran forward, to the middle of the clearing. Rafaele and Nero’s hands slowly dropped back to their sides.

Avriel stood in the middle of the clearing, right in front of his fathers. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled.

“Watch me, okay?”

And before Rafaele could reply, Avriel was moving.

The young god’s feet slid against the dust in slow, deliberate movements. Slowly, his feet turned and spun and shifted, his hand on the sword at his hip, his feet moving gracefully against the forest floor. His eyes were closed. The sounds of the forest seemed to quiet — the entire world seemed to hold its breath.

Rafaele realized he was also holding his own.

And then Avriel opened his eyes, and a light shone within them: clear and bright and sharp, like the wind cutting through a mountain.

There was a gust of wind, a flash of a sword, and Avriel was dancing, spinning through the air while his sword wove through the air at an impossible speed. Like a viper riding the wind, he spun and curved through the air, his sword following his movements as if it were naught but a mere extension of himself, or as if he himself had become an extension of his blade; the fallen leaves on the forest floor slowly rose along with his movements, shivering in the air.

I am Avriel.

The fallen leaves joined him in his dance, hypnotic and flickering in their movements. They swirled around him, a mesmerizing partner to the young god’s dance with the blade.

The Eternal Guardian.

Avriel’s movements became faster and faster, weaving and darting with an impossible speed till it was almost as if he was suspended in the air, as if time had frozen around him to accommodate his intrepid dance.

The Deity of Eternity.

His robes flared from his body as he danced; the fallen leaves spiraled around him in a stream, like they were mere ribbons flying from the end of his sword. Rafaele reached to hold Nero’s hand, intertwining his fingers with his and squeezing.

Son of Rafaele, god of the changing seasons, and son of Nero, god of chaos and purity.

His feet landed on the forest floor and then he leaped, his waist tracing a graceful arc through the air as he leapt backwards, his blade cutting a striking arc through the air. In that moment, it was as if time had stopped; the dancing leaves swirling around him froze, as if suspended in the air; and then he landed on his feet with a swing of his blade and the leaves blasted outwards, flaring through the air and fluttering harmlessly at Rafaele and Nero’s feet as Avriel dropped into a bow, breathing heavily.

And that… that is enough.

Avriel rose from his bow, eyes sparkling even as his chest heaved. “How was it?” He asked, breathlessly. “I think it wasn’t perfect and I may have made some mistakes but I really wanted to show you and I–”

“Avriel,” Rafaele interrupted. Avriel stopped. “It was beautiful.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?!”

Rafaele nodded, sniffling. Avriel’s eyes widened, looking very much akin to an affronted owl. Nero gravely echoed Rafaele’s words, his eyes suspiciously misty. “It was wonderful.”

“W– wait,” Avriel said, panicked. “Father, are you crying? Don’t cry! Father! Tell him to stop crying– wait, you too–?”

“Oh, just come here and give us a hug already!” Rafaele huffed, still sniffling.

And then Avriel was barreling towards them with his arms outstretched and he had flung himself onto his fathers, nearly knocking them onto the ground. Two pairs of arms came to rest on his back and he laughed, beaming brightly at his fathers until he saw that Rafaele was still sniffling and Nero’s eyes were still suspiciously misty. The laughter faded from his face, and he looked seriously at his parents. There was a gentleness contained within his eyes, a kind of wisdom hard earned from his years of mingling with mortals — of witnessing their joys and triumphs and follies and irritations in the endless stream of time.

“Fathers,” Avriel said, softly. “That dance was for you. Thank you for everything.”

“Oh, my silly child,” Rafaele choked. “What are you thanking us for? Ah, Desatana, my eyes–”

“Ah– ah, father, are your eyes burning? Father, you should blow on his eyes to make it better!”

“What are you asking him for help for?” Rafaele sniffled, wiping his eyes “He’s too busy bawling his eyes out.”

“I’m not bawling my eyes out,” said Nero, also wiping his suspiciously misty eyes.

Avriel laughed, and the sound rang clear throughout the forest, joyful and loved and content.

A breeze blew lightly through the forest, stirring the fallen leaves on the forest floor.

Sunlight dappled through the foliage, haloing the dust motes floating in the air.

A sword laid on the ground near the little family of three, sunlight reflecting softly off of its blade as if it was also silently rejoicing in its own way.

Nothing in life is eternal. There is no banquet that doesn’t end, no reunion that doesn’t end with a farewell.

Lush crowns will turn to fallen leaves and fallen leaves will turn to dust.

Yet on the other side of winter, spring will come again.

And I will carry you with me, for as long as my eternity will allow.

#AHAHHAHAA. HA. don't look at me.#i got emotions and the emotions got me #head in hands #thank you for clicking on my humble fic ahem #i send kiths #aspen writes.txt #uroboros-if #oc: avriel

54 notes · View notes