#sggsecretsanta19

[tuinendraws]

My gift for @bastionbabble in this year’s secret santa event at @supergiantsecretsanta.  Happy holidays, Babs!

(Watercolours, 24 cm x 32 cm)

[ran196242]

My Secret Santa piece for @almightyjanitor is finished! So it’s like this is what happens if Zag managed to kidnap convinced Achilles to finally come to Pat and have a proper talk with each other.... I hope you like the gift and Happy Holidays!

im tagging @supergiantsecretsanta in just in case Jan didn’t get tagged.

[destructivemaiden]

maybe you’re lookin’ for someone to blame

my secret santa present for @my-siren-song-for-you !! thanks @supergiantsecretsanta for giving me the opportunity to indulge in transistor fanart (-:

[my-siren-song-for-you]

Alexa play Paper Boats by Darren Korb

secret Santa gift for @trilobiteinventor (+bonus mini comic)

this was so fun to do and a great way to get back into drawing again :)

thank you to the mods of @supergiantsecretsanta for setting up this!! you guys did an amazing job.

[laughingpinecone]

My @supergiantsecretsanta for @ms-random1401! Happy holidays! Baby Hedwyn would then take that first defeat as a personal challenge...

[jodaaariel]

HAPPY @supergiantsecretsanta SWAPDAY @laughingpinecone !!!!!!!!!!! ENJOY YOUR CAVES AND YOUR VOLFRIQ 🌝💚🌳no text version here

[supergiantsecretsanta]

Artist Sign-Ups Are Now Open

Hello everyone! This is Supergiant Games Secret Santa! This is a fanmade media gift exchange for creators of all kinds. We welcome traditional art, digital art, writing, or any other form of creation for this event as long as it’s still digitally delivered. All fans of any four Supergiant Games are welcomed. This event is a time for creators to sign up to both create and receive a Supergiant Games-themed gift. All you need to do is head over to the sign-up form here. Sign-ups open on October 26th and will be closed on November 8th. We hope you’ll join us!

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Be respectful during the event

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Both check-ins on November 12 and December 12 are MANDATORY or else you’ll be removed from the event

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That being said, what are you waiting for? Register yourself here and join the fun ^^

[bastionbabble]

Leader (The Kid, Zulf, bonus Zia, 2226 words, worksafe)

Zulf wakes up amongst the animals and people, deep in the darkness of the cold night, and finds they’re missing one: the Kid.

The Kid can't sleep and Zulf comforts him.

(ao3 link)

@supergiantsecretsanta gift for @tuinendraws! hope you enjoy

They’re all asleep, or at least they should be; winter’s icy hand has enveloped the Bastion, and a deep, aching cold has set into their bones. No snow yet, but the grass of the Bastion is tinged with frost and crackles and breaks with every step. The four of them have taken to sleeping in the kitchen, curled against each other with the fire burning. The Squirt and Pecker have joined in, too, and the Squirt always sleeps nestled into Zulf’s side. But tonight that’s not so; Zulf wakes up amongst the animals and people, deep in the darkness of the cold night, and finds they’re missing one: the Kid. Carefully, he wiggles his way out of the nest and makes his way up the stairs. There was only one place the Kid could be.

…But Zulf finds he’s not at that one place. Anytime the Kid has been on his own when the night is dark and the stars are dim, he’s been in the Distillery, nursing a Black Rye or Bastion Bourbon. Or Werewhiskey, when things were particularly rough. But tonight the Distillery is empty except for the many bottles lining its shelves. Where could he be? Zulf scouts the Bastion, but it’s hard to see; violet-grey clouds cover the sky, suffocating the stars and letting through only the barest glimmers of moonlight. But the wind blows its way through them, and the clouds part for the briefest moment. Zulf spots the Kid on the other side of the Bastion, sitting on the edge. Zulf makes his way over as quickly as he can, lest he lose the light of the moon. It’s frigid and Zulf shivers as he heads towards the Kid. How that man can stay warm, Zulf will never know. Once Zulf’s behind him, he hesitates; should he leave him alone? They all need solitude sometimes. But with this weather, no good can come from this kind of loneliness. The Kid needs someone, even if he doesn’t want it.

‘...Kid.’ Zulf sits down beside him and draws his knees to his chest. ‘It’s late.’

‘...Guess so,’ the Kid murmurs. A promising response; if he’s using actual words, he can’t be too opposed to companionship.

‘What’s keeping you up?’

In the past, Zulf used to wait for the Kid to speak, let him pull it from his own heart. But the Kid is reluctant to speak on his own, and he’s willing, sometimes, to let Zulf lead him. Perhaps Zulf is moving a bit too fast tonight, but the frosty air spurs him onwards. He shivers and draws his knees closer.

‘It’s…’ the Kid pauses, then sighs. His response is a simple shrug, that rise and fall of his shoulders he does when words don’t work. Now is the time to let his words come on their own, for the Kid to unlock his heart at his own pace. But the weather doesn’t permit such time, and Zulf stands.

‘Why don’t we go inside somewhere,’ he offers, holding out his hand. ‘It’s too cold to be out so late.’

The Kid takes his hand and hoists himself up. No hesitation; another good sign. Without a word, the Kid moves away and leads them through the dark with sure footsteps, and soon they arrive at the Forge. Once they’re inside, the Kid sets to light the fire he uses to work with the metals. After it’s lit, the Kid sits near it and Zulf follows. The heat fills the air quickly, and soon Zulf feels warmth make its way into his tired bones. Ever since that last time at the Terminals, the cold has made his body ache and groan. His muscles tighten and his bones grind to a halt. It was different when he was young, but then again, many things were different

The Kid slumps against Zulf, as though the weight of the world weighs too heavy on his shoulders and he must pass the burden to another. Zulf reaches out and touches the Kid’s hair, smoothes the fluffy strands, and the Kid relaxes into his touch. Sometimes the Kid was more animal than man; all it took was a little petting and he could be tamed. Anytime he was mad, Zia would just rub his head and all his anger would dissipate; when Rucks would rub his head when he did a good job, he’d look happier than a Squirt. It’s certainly an amusing memory, but there are more important things to focus on now. The Kid needs his help.

‘Will you tell me what’s wrong?’ Zulf murmurs. ‘I want to help.’

The Kid whines, but doesn’t disengage himself. A silence settles between them, but not for long. The Kid takes a deep breath, hesitates, and then: ‘I don’t… wanna be the leader anymore.’

Zulf swallows the urge to ask for me. Instead he waits, pets the Kid’s hair, grows sleepy in front of the fire. His body says to go, lie on the floor, drift to sleep, but now is not the time. There is time for that later.

‘Feel like… everyone’s always countin’ on me. Always gotta do what’s right. But I don’t always know what’s right. Don’t know how to do any of this. Don’t…’ The Kid sighs and rubs his face. ‘M’tired of being in charge all the time. Want someone else to take over.’

Throughout the Kid’s words, Zulf continues to stroke his hair, tangle his fingers in the messy strands. There are many things he could say, but he quiets them, saves them for later. Now is the time for the Kid to speak.

‘Just want a few days… just do somethin’ like Zia does. I could garden. Or take a nap, like Rucks. Or smoke cigarettes, like you.’

‘I do more than smoke cigarettes,’ Zulf says, too light to be a proper chiding, and smiles a little. ‘But you could all those things. We can take over.’

‘But what if…’

The Kid trails off.

‘But what if…?’ Zulf pushes.

‘What if they… think I’m weak, or somethin’. On the Walls, had to do everything. Had to handle everything. No one else to pick up your slack. Didn’t do enough, they gave you more. Didn’t finish work in time, had to skip meals. Sleep. Didn’t do it right, had to do it again. No whinin’. Made you weak. If you were weak, made you worthless. If you were worthless, you…’

The Kid’s breath hitches in his throat, something like a sob rising up. Zulf pulls the Kid into his arms and squeezes him. The Kid whimpers, whines, and hot tears bleed into Zulf’s clothing. Zulf rocks him back and forth, pets his hair, whispers soothing words into it. ‘It’s okay,’ he murmurs. ‘No one will think you’re weak. You’re so, so strong. We’re all so proud of you. Taking a break makes you strong. Taking care of yourself makes you strong. Letting us take care of you makes you strong.’

Zulf murmurs encouragements, promises that he is okay, that he will be okay, that they all love him. The Kid just cries harder, weeps like Zulf’s never heard him before. Many years have passed on the Bastion, and all of them have wept, but the Kid, only rarely. He spent seven years on the Wall, at least; the Kid was never quite sure. Said time moved differently there. This is something special the Kid is giving him, something Zulf will keep locked in his heart, remember with a strange sort of fondness.

Finally, the Kid’s sobs begin to subside, and he collapses entirely onto Zulf, nearly knocking him over. Zulf rubs his back and holds him up as best he can. ‘You don’t have to be leader,’ Zulf murmurs. ‘You can take a break, for however long you need. We’re a family, Kid; we take care of each other. Zia and Rucks and I can handle things. You never have to be the leader again if you don’t want to. We can do whatever needs to be done to support you.’

‘Ya promise?’ the Kid mumbles. ‘Will everyone else feel the same?’

Zulf smiles and gives him a squeeze. ‘I promise, and I know everyone will agree with me. All we have out here is each other, and we’ll do anything for each other.’

‘That mean you’ll do anything for Rucks?’ the Kid asks, and Zulf can hear the smile in his voice.

‘...Well, that’s pushing it. But we’re still a family, and this family supports each other.’

The Kid shifts his weight off of Zulf and moves back into a sitting position. Zulf barely represses a sigh; Gods, he really is heavy. ‘Never really had a family before,’ the Kid mumbles. ‘Had my mama, but… didn’t have her for very long. And I always had to take care of her. Always had to work. Don’t know what I’ll do.’

‘You can do anything you want, Kid. Just try different things. Help people. What do you want to do?’

The Kid pauses, hesitates, shrugs. Zulf frowns. All he really does do is work, it seems. All of them work here, they have to; the Bastion requires constant care and attention. Just four people is barely enough to keep everything going. But they still manage to have their free time, time to talk and play and relax. Less so the Kid; he always stayed up late doing what needed to be done, even when the others were sleeping. If he wasn’t building or fixing something on the Bastion, he was out scouting the strange lands they floated by, picking up supplies or looking for new people. It’s been like that since the beginning, since before they even took off into the wild blue yonder. But that can change. They can do what the Kid did, and he can do what they did. Everyone can work together now, play together now, relax together now.

‘Here, Zia and I were going to practice painting tomorrow. Why don’t you join us?’ Zulf offers.

‘Don’t know how to paint,’ the Kid says.

‘You don’t have to know. Just mess around, play with colors. There’s no right way to do it.’

The Kid sighs. ‘But…’

‘But?’

‘Still gotta work. Don’t know if I got time for it.’

‘Listen, Kid, I’m the leader now, and I’m saying you have to take time off and have fun. Understood?’

The Kid looks a little wary, but he breaks into a smile. ‘Can’t say no to that.’ He stands. ‘Better get some work done now.’

Zulf sighs and pulls the Kid back down. ‘No, I said ‘time off.’ What we’re doing now is going back to bed, it’s far too late.’

The Kid whines, but doesn’t get up again. Instead, he lies back on the ground. ‘Let’s sleep here. Too cold to go back to the kitchen.’

Well, that certainly is true. Zulf lies down next to the Kid and curls up against him. ‘Mm, good idea. Goodnight, Kid.’

‘G’night,’ the Kid returns, and they both drift off to sleep.

---

Zulf rummages through the various stuff piles in his tent, a bundle of brushes tucked under his arm. Zulf’s tent is a chaotic collection of fabric and trinkets, one only he knows how to navigate. But there’s a method to his disorganization, and he knows where everything. Usually. Today, he’s looking for jars of paint, but can’t seem to find them.

‘Zulf!’ a peppy voice calls out. Zia bursts into his tent. ‘Are you ready to paint?'

'Zia,' Zulf sighs, 'please don't enter my tent without announcing yourself. I could have been naked.'

'Oh, I've seen worse things,' Zia says, sticking out her tongue. 

'Gee, thanks, I really appreciate that.'

'Don't get grumpy on me. Are you ready or not?'

'I still need to find the paint,' Zulf replies. 'I could have sworn I had them in the corner.'

'If you organized your tent, everything would be a lot easier to find.'

'Everything is organized,' Zulf grumbles. 'You just don't know how it's organized.' He moves away a pile of books on the ground and finds a variety of glass jars filled with a vibrant rainbow of colors. 'Ah, they're we go. Zia, come help me carry these.'

Zia comes over and loads her arms with the jars. 'So the Kid said he's painting with us today. Is he finally taking a break?'

'He's taking an extended break. He doesn't want to be leader anymore. So I'm taking over.'

Zia puffs out her cheeks. 'Hey, why do you get to be leader? I want to be the leader too!'

Zulf laughs. 'We'll take turns, then. You can be the leader next week.'

'And then Rucks can be the leader after that?'

Zulf baulks. 'Let's not get ahead of ourselves,' he says. 'Now, come on. Let's show the Kid how to have some fun.'

They exit Zulf's tent and enter the chilly world of the Bastion. It's frosty but the sun still shines down, and across the island Zulf sees Rucks and the Kid talking. It hasn’t even been a whole day and Zulf can already see the tension absent from his shoulders. Being the leader will be a big responsibility, but if it allows the Kid to rest, the Kid who has worked harder and longer than all of them combined, it’s worth it.

[trilobiteinventor]

My piece for @ms-random1401 for the @supergiantsecretsanta 2019 gift exchange!

[under-snow-vixen]

happy swap day @tieflng!

@supergiantsecretsanta

[summersquashpatch]

Farrah Yon-Dale practicing her sky art for @dolly-omega ~  I hope you enjoy and Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!

And thank you to all the hard working mods at @supergiantsecretsanta​

[hino-of-the-dawn]

Supergiant Secret Santa

Surprise @jodaaariel , I was your Secret Santa for this year! You asked for a fic about the Archjustice post-exile and the Reader doing some Rites together, and I did my best to deliver.

- The blackwagon is far quieter without a good handful of the Nightwings, but the Reader doesn't find the silence unsettling. In fact it's a comfort; each moment of precious time spent without sound a sign that their friends have made it home, back to the Commonwealth where the revolution has taken place, and the new Sahrian Empire has come into power.

"Honestly Reader, how can you stand such cramped quarters?"

Well it's quieter, but not silent. The Reader sets down the book they're tending to and slowly gets to their feet, feeling their aching bones protest as they shuffle from their chair to the sleeping quarters. There stands the Archjustice- Former Archjustice, seeing as he'd been stripped of all his titles by Volfred in the revolution before being cast downriver. He looks quite different outside of his golden robe and mask, with short blonde hair and a patchwork jumpsuit that does not suit him at all.

Calmly, the Reader comments that the quarters are not cramped, and that Brighton (a name they stress much to the annoyance of the man) must be too stuck up and pampered to deal with 'commoner quarters', relishing in the irritation that Brighton wears.

He crosses his arms. "That is not the issue," he says, although it is. Being cast down twice does not do the body any favours, and the corruption that the Downside brings to Nomads and Moontouched seems to have come back in full force, greeting Brighton with slightly sharper nails and the beginning of horns in little less than two months. "There's just too many beds packed together."

It is not the first time Brighton has stayed in the wagon, the Reader reminds him, clambering into their own little bed. There's enough room for them and for a shelf of knick-knacks left behind by their fellow Nightwings. They continue, explaining that in time, he will have to get used to such small spaces.

"It's undignified," Brighton complains. The reader informs Brighton that his mother is undignified, much to the surprise of the man.

"I'll have you know that your father is undignified, Reader!" he shouts back for lack of a better insult. The Reader has kept their name under lock and key, and it seems with the amount of Exiles the Commonwealth was turning out, Brighton has forgotten theirs. They like to use it to their advantage.

Before their argument can go any further, the blackwagon lurches to a halt. Brighton groans, having only just settled down in his quarters. "Are we there already?"

It seems so, the Reader says as they hop to their feet. It's not a smooth action, but it happens. They say they're going to feed the Imps, and go look for Barker. Brighton merely hums in acknowledgement.

The ladder to the Imps is rickety and narrow, but the Reader manages just fine. They have a small bag of feed to give them, and as they reach for it, Brighton enters the common area.

They call out to him, asking what he's doing. Above them the Imps are getting impatient, so they make sure to dish out some food while also trying to keep their attention on Brighton.

He doesn't answer them. Instead he stands by the Beyonder Orb, his hand set atop it. Whatever conversation he's having is quiet, enough so that even the Reader can't hear it, nor can they sense anything that Sandra is radiating.

As they finish feeding the Imps, Brighton finishes his conversation. "She's just as bitter as ever," he grumbles as the Reader passes them by, looking for their Raiments. Ever since the Rites had finished for good and Barker had started up his own mockery, the Reader had taken every chance they could to participate. They weren't good at it by any stretch of the word, but their attempts earned cheers from the spectators.

Pulling the Raiments off the wall, they turn to Brighton and ask if he will be participating.

Brighton scoffs. "Of course," he answers, taking another set from the wall and holding them close. "I was a champion back in my time. Earned my own freedom, even without the help of..." he trails off, the words heavy on his tongue.

As the Reader dons their robes, they look to Brighton and ask a question they have had for a long time. Did he see it happen? Did he see Erisa push Oralech from the Shimmer-pool.

He slips the robes over his head and doesn't answer, covering his face with the mask of a Nomad as he steps out into the dusty plains of the Jomuer Valley. After a moment, the Reader follows after him.

The heat that usually assaulted the valley is gone under the moonlight, but the humid, thick air is still present. Despite it, there's a decent crowd around the Cairn of Ha'ub as chairs are filled and empty spaces are taken up by those who prefer to stand. Blackwagons are parked around the area, with some exiles choosing to sit atop them for a better view of the field.

The Reader wonders what Tariq and Celeste would think of their commodification of a once-sacred place. This particular site doesn't mean much to the Reader, but they do not enjoy playing on the Ridge of Gol, nor atop Mount Alodiel.

"I can't believe that Barker defiled such a place," Brighton grumbles, startling the Reader. He's right beside them now, having somehow appeared without a sound. "Anyway Reader, I suppose we must find a third for our team, and mayhaps a Reader. Although, considering the name you chose, you might be our best fit."

It's a surprise, so much so that the Reader laughs. They state their surprise at Brighton permitting them to read for him, which makes Brighton sigh. "You were an excellent Reader, one I had thought to be my successor. If someone has to boss me around, I would prefer it be you."

That's oddly flattering of him. It's the closest thing the Reader will get to a compliment anyway. They don't say that aloud however, and instead motion for Brighton to join them as they look for two more to join their Triumvirate. There are still some Nightwings in the Downside, but they have their own lives to attend to, and the Reader doesn't try to bring them to these False Rites unless they're asked.

Finding two others for their Triumvirate is easy enough. There's a small handful of hopefuls who attend the False Rites as backup players, ready to make a team if nobody shows up, or to fill a space if someone is lacking players, much like the Nightwings are.

Soon enough, Brighton finds himself with a Wyrm and a Cur on his team. They won't be big scorers on their own, but their speed might make up for that, he supposes. "Surprised you didn't opt for a Demon, Reader."

Looking over their copy of the Book of Rites, the Reader quips that Brighton's build still falls into that of a Nomad. Just a very slow one.

He bristles at the comment. "That's rude."

The Reader raises an eyebrow, face not obscured by a mask. They say that hypocrisy isn't smiled upon in the Downside, and Brighton sighs but doesn't answer.

Their conversation has no time to continue as Barker's voice rings out over the masses. He stands atop one of Shax Six-Shoulder's many ribs, looking down on the field. "Alright kids, we're ready to go! Our teams tonight are veterans, so lemme hear you all howl!"

A cacophonous sound rises up, startling Brighton. The Reader bites their lip to hold back a laugh.

"With the blue pyre, we have our Nightwings!" Barker motioned to the pyre; a hoop with blue streamers that danced in the air, reaching up towards the Sahrian Union. Brighton stood front and center, with his two new comrades at his side. The Reader stood on one side of the field, giving them a nod of encouragement.

The crowd cheered for the Nightwings, falling silent as Barker continued his announcement. "On the other side with the pink flame, we have The Chastity!"

Once again the crowd came to life as The Chastity appeared. Their team consisted of a Nomad, a Sap, and a Harp. They played without a Reader, which in most cases meant they had a Reader on their team.

Brighton gave the opposing team a once-over, turning his gaze to the Reader a moment later. He would trust their judgment and gave them a nod, signifying that fact.

"Are we ready to go? When the Orb hits the ground, we're on!"

A cur standing on the sidelines opposite the Reader readied the Orb; a glass orb purchased from the store Bertrude had once operated, which meant it was almost impossible to shatter. The cur looked to both teams carefully before tossing it into the field.

All eyes fell on the orb as it fell in a perfect arc, hitting the dusty ground with a thump. Barker howled, and the Reader raised their voice, ready to shout their commands.

As it turns out, Brighton is rather good at the Rites. The Reader's word is law in the Rites, but without the forceful guiding of the Reader overriding the free will of the Exiles, some of the moves Brighton makes precede the Reader's own decisions.

The Nightwing's Cur passes the ball to Brighton, who catches it without any effort. His motions are fluid as he dodges the thick weighted ribbons thrown at him to represent a cast aura, and the hoops attached to the Exiles which represent presence. It's like a dance, and the Reader finds themselves invested in each of his steps.

They call out for Brighton to plunge into the flame, but before the core of their sentence can get there, he casts the orb into their Pyre, netting them twenty points. "The Nightwings score first! Just like the old days, hey boys?" Barker's voice rings out over the field and the remaining members of the Dissidents all howl in glee.

With the ball in the hoop, the Chastity and Nightwings return to their respective sides, and the Reader waves Brighton over. As he approaches, they raise their voice to shout over the howling and hollering of Barker's crew, explaining that Brighton should have leapt into the Pyre.

"What, and leave us disadvantaged for the next turn? They weren't even close!" Brighton answers with crossed arms. The Reader shakes their head, explaining that the Chastity's Sap had a Sapling nearby, and that it could have taken him out if he wasn't careful. Brighton removes his mask. "But I was careful. I'm not a bumbling idiot like your Nightwings."

Irritated, the Reader covers their face. Brighton should behave, they say, which makes Brighton scowl. "You should make better decisions with your Triumvirate," he says forcefully. "Maybe then they wouldn't feel Banishment Sickness as much as they did."

Taken aback by his bluntness, the Reader states that Brighton agreed to let them read for him, and Brighton laughs. "You didn't tell me you could play with a Reader in the team, did you?" His gaze is critical, but the Reader does not flinch under it. "Maybe if you did-"

"Excuse me mates."

Barker appears beside them, causing the Reader and Brighton to put their arguments on hold. "As much as I like a good fight, we got some Rites here t'conclude. If you wanna throw hands after, then you'd better tell me and I'll have payouts ready." There's a smile that shows Barker is genuine, which makes the Reader and Brighton sigh.

"We'll talk about this later," Brighton says, sliding his mask back on. "Don't make any stupid decisions."

The Reader nods, and kindly informs Brighton that every decision he makes is stupid, so surely hearing their advice is a step in the right direction.

Barker snickers and trots off to find his betting table.

[msrandom1401-arts]

SGG Secret Santa 2019 ( @supergiantsecretsanta ) back-up gift time! Manley Tinderstauf and Lendel the Liar for @hino-of-the-dawn Sorry for the delay and I hope you still like it :D

[kaijuuryoku]

Men of their word.

The signal of the last trial manifests itself in the most radiant beam of light ever seen, just above the centre of the judgement plaza, where those who once were exiles come back to their people once more. Amidst the shining curtain of the Shimmer-pool, a crackle, and then a booming wave of dust washes the light away. The cloud settles. An enormous shadow stands over it. White haired demon of a man, in a golden mantle draped over a blue-and-red shawl, powerful set of horns, and skin darkened by the years waiting in the deserts of the exile.

He walks a few steps, and then collapses on his knees.

An ash-colored sap comes running to his aid. Soon, they embrace.

“I told you that one time…” whispers Oralech… “I would see you here or there, once again.”

“I know,” sobs Volfred, “I knew you were a man of your word.”

***

The alcove whitened under the slowly falling snow. The dark evening accentuated by the cold, had a single dot of roaring and warm red. The hearth besides the Blackwagon, with wood piled up high, provides a bit of solace against the incoming storm. Right on the top of the stockpile, full of stones and lumber, rests a very satisfied Ti’zo, smiling and tired. At the first sign of his trembling sleep, Tariq walks towards the little imp, and leaves his hat over the quivering body of the true winner of the match, with enough care that he can breathe. When Tariq turns around, he finds himself observed by Volfred, curious and smiling, and by Oralech, stifling poorly a laugh

-         “I would say that you need your hat, Minstrel, since it’s confusing to ask where does the white of your head end and where does the snow start.” Volfred quips and Oralech loses control. His booming laughter is contagious enough for Tariq to trace a smile in his pale face.

-         “Ti’zo earned this small boon.” Tariq sighs. “We wouldn’t want to make our little star of the night sick due to this cold day. Even Erisa felt the brunt of the weather up here, as she is finally fast asleep in the Blackwagon. The night promises an even colder time.”

-         “You’re not wrong. Oralech, please fetch something to stoke the fires higher.”

Oralech, still smiling, ambles to the stockpile and brings out four of the biggest logs he can carry, throws them in the flame unceremoniously, and returns to the stone where he was sitting. A small pleasant silence fills the atmosphere, as the fire soon grows and rages. The storm placates, and the three men envelop themselves in their coats. Oralech and Volfred bundle together, the fire reflecting in their eyes.  Tariq brings out a lute and plays a small song, the one about Plurnes.

-         “You know… I think I’m going to miss Brighton dearly, all in all.” Oralech says with sadness.

-         “We all will.” Tariq replies “But he earned his reprieve.”

-         “And you will soon follow him.” Volfred adds. “Perhaps you will regain the chance to practice medicine, even.”

-         “That’s somewhat a relief, if I’m honest!” Oralech beams with the chance, and the flame shines in his eye. “I’m afraid I could lose my healing skill… I only practiced on the battlefield. It’s not the same to be able to attend wounded soldiers, with a permanent sense of urgency, than to bring health to a child. I would very much like that.”

Volfred pulls his head lower into his coat. A tinge of bitterness in his eyes betrays the signal of fear and loss he might experience, but beyond that, a feeling that he may not be able to conceal anymore.

-         “I would also like to return to the city, too… but I would be always afraid. Even if I were to be free, the literacy ban would just eventually return me to this place.”

-         “If I were there, I would protect you. That’s why I think I need to return before any of us returns. I must protect those that would be sent to the downside for reading.” Oralech insists with fervor, looking at the diminished sap with interest.

-         “Then you would be sent back too. You know how the ranks of the military are. You’ve told me before.”

Oralech is overcome by a cold anger. His memories come flashing by, uncalled. His eyes set on the flaring coals.

-         “Forget the high ranks. I believe it is unfair how our soldiers die for the pleasure of older men who don’t see blood in their lives. Young men run a thousand miles to make war, in the name of people who wouldn’t walk ten meters to sit and talk with their enemies. I wonder how many wars would have been prevented if the great generals had made the right call at the right time… They enforce the literacy ban to make themselves necessary. Many years I wondered if the highway remnants were right when they attacked us, but now I’ve roamed this land, this endless desert, and now I believe their generals may not be that different. Fools, all of them. I damn them for sending us here.”

He stops to catch his breath. Volfred moves with his hand a strand of the brown mop of hair away from the man’s eyes. Tariq’s song switches to a slightly livelier tune about the old king.

-         “I’m sorry that you feel that way. I understand your motivations, but a single nightingale won’t make our summer. We’ll need more of us up there”

-         “So you agree with me, Volfred?”

-         “Oralech, I told all about you my revolutionary plan. Of course, I agree with you. However, it requires both time, and faith. Faith in ourselves and faith in others to come.”

-         “What do you mean by that?”

-         “He states the obvious, Oralech.” Interrupts Tariq while still aptly playing. “The Nightwings are a barely working team as it stands right now. You are four. Were you to leave, that would make them three. Erisa, Volfred, and the Great Star, Ti’zo. What would happen were both you and Volfred disappear from the Downside?”

Volfred sits up straighter, and Oralech hunches back a bit.

-         “The Nightwings would disappear.”

-         “That’s very much right.” Tariq agrees with his small smile disappearing. “Volfred is Right. You need to set a legacy.”

-         “And that will not be done by us sitting here wondering how to fix our situation upside, and not thinking of our remaining days here.” Volfred pleads. “The stars dictate our path, but that means we must grow. That is our purpose, here. To bring everyone under our wing and protect them. I want us to be more than the team that oversees and judges of the future liberation. I want us to be also a symbol of hope.”

-         “But it will take time, and I might be discovered.” Oralech mumbles. “They might kill me. They might kill you. We need safety in numbers and in position.”

-         “I know, but that’s why we need the plan.” Volfred turns and grabs Oralech by his hand. “We’re little more than aggrandized sphinxes, asking for others to solve our riddle. We must be on the proposing side. We must come to the light, and face it undaunted. If we do things right, I’m sure we will find each other eventually. I will be there. I will rejoin you.”

-         “I’d hate to wait. Were you not to come, I’d seek you, and I’d find you, and I’d berate you for taking so much of my time.”

The two of them look at each other happily, and they recline one into the other. A thought crosses the mind of Oralech: a question he now gets the chance to answer.

-         “Tariq. You’ve seen most of our wars, have you not?”

-         “I have, though not gladly nor by choice. I do get to see their sons.”

-         “What is your take on them?”

The music stops. The lute master opens his coat and produces a green, ethereal crystal, and looks deep into it. His voice is soft, and yet, it reaches into them as if he were right beside them.

-         “I think nothing of wars, though I hate conflict. It’s easy to hate something that you can see, feel or touch, but wars, to someone forced to be in the sideline, are a shapeless thing. A mass of cut limbs, sad people, and strewn tears. In the beginning, all I could think of was how lucky I was to be paired with someone whom I love so profusely…” Tariq looks at the summit longingly. “But now, even love has become a medium line. It is what I breathe, what I live, and what I am. When you are eternally happy in your station, you see others justifying themselves in the horrors they perpetuate through the power of their love, and you ask yourself if the nature of love is one alone. Can we really be driven to war because we love too much? Is our love of our country dangerous? The territory, the people, the culture… is this a valid excuse to snuff one another? I soon saw that only the dumb believe in a destructive love. They are not ready for real love, and so, they hate, and they despair, and that is what they bring to others.”

He looks at the couple, and sees them in fear.

-         “That is why I enjoy love in purity and simplicity. Love in the form of a postcard, a good meal, the commonality of community. I enjoy being with you, and I will ride it out with you for a little while more, if you allow me. That is, until I must return to Celeste.”

-         “You’re always welcome.” Volfred responds.

-         “And even if we lose each other… We will meet whenever the stars align.” Oralech agrees.

***

“Have the stars aligned, my dear?” Oralech asks innocently.

“I will see them once your eyes stop shining bright.” Volfred Replies.

“Took me long enough to find you, but Tariq is not with me…”

“I know, and it saddens me, but now, it’s up to him to find us.”

Fin. **************************************************************************

I really hope they appreciate it. I’m not a very good writer, so I took extra effort and it took some time in the making, so, as luck would have it, here it goes. @Venhediss

@supergiantsecretsanta

[supergiantsecretsanta]

Just another day in the country Click here for tangentially related story to this comic The artist is @_m3zix_ on Instagram for godlike krusty (Twitter)

[bastionbabble]

Festival of Lights (Zia, the Kid, Rucks, Zulf, Original Characters, ZiaKid, 4086 words, worksafe)

The Bastion sails on, and it's not long until the crew finds new life, a town full of people who speak only with their hands. The townsfolk show the four a new festival and a new way of life.

(ao3 link)

merry belated christmas to @ohnomybreadsticks! here’s my pinch hitter gift for you for @sggsecretsanta

They haven’t traveled long before they find new people. The lands of the Wilds spoke of destruction, but as the Bastion sails, she shows not everywhere was touched by the cruel hand of the Calamity. In a valley shadowed by tall mountains, mountains worshipped for their protection, resides a small town. The Bastion touches down, and the four of them find a place bubbling over with life. As Zia, Zulf, Rucks, and the Kid enter the town, they are greeted by a group of survivors, plump and smiling.

Zulf steps forward. ‘Hello,’ he says with a bow.

One of the survivors, an older man, tan and dark-haired, makes a flurry of motion with his hands.

‘Do you speak Cael? Oda Yura shasheh?’

The man shakes his head and does more motions with his hands. The Kid makes an excited noise and comes forward. He makes his own motions, and the two go back and forth for a while.

‘What are they saying?’ Zia whispers to Rucks. Rucks was the Kid’s interpreter. Zia and Zulf had learned a little sign from their time with Kid, but he spoke quickly and strangely, with stilted words and poor grammar, so Rucks did a majority of the translating.

‘Kid’s tellin’ him ‘bout how we all got here,’ Rucks answers. Cuttin’ out the… unimportant parts, though. They don’t need to know about Zulf’s little mishap.’

Zulf huffs at ‘little mishap’ but doesn’t fight it. They all have to get along, in some way or another. Zulf has to choose his battles now.

The Kid returns, bright-eyed and with a bounce in his step. He and Rucks sign quickly to each other for a moment, then Rucks turns to Zia and Zulf. ‘Kid says these fine people are welcoming us in. All of them sign; say they follow an Old God, Yashe, the Goddess of Silence and Words. They’re all forbidden from speaking. Us outsiders can, though. There’s a festival tonight they’d like us to join. Called the Festival of Lights. S’pose you all would be interested?’

‘Oh, yes!’ Zia agrees. ‘What do we do during it?’

‘Eat some good food, set some lights. Sing. Dunno how they’ll pull off that last one. The Man’s name is Olwar. Says he wants to show us around town, so we best be headin’ out.’

The four of them follow Olwar and the small party with him through the town. The town is small, cozy, with brightly colored houses crowded close to one another. People lean out their windows and doors to watch them go. Their clothes are Cael-styled but Ura-colored, with loose frocks accented with blues and reds and golds. The people themselves are tan and sun-kissed, with their dark hair worn long or pulled back. It’s as if Ura and Caels converged here and made something new, a mix of both but clearly their own. People wave from the windows and call out, a sound free from words but excited all the same. They wave back and repeat the excited noises. A few children race out from a house with a picket fence and rush over to them. One little boy, his long hair braided, his eyes a vibrant green, runs over to Zia and jumps and waves to her. Zia laughs and waves back. The boy signs something to her. Zia doesn’t know what it means, so she settles on smiling, and that seems to work well enough.

As the group goes on, Olwar points and gestures to things around town and signs to the Kid. The Kid signs back, and they go like that the whole way through, signing and laughing. On more than one occasion, Olwar claps the Kid on the back. Zia’s never seen the Kid get along so quickly with someone new; he was normally quiet, withdrawn, but now, he’s as chatty as he’s ever been. Rucks siddles up beside her and Zulf.

‘He’s takin’ us to the temple,’ Rucks tells them. ‘Seems these folks are mighty religious. Zulf should get along well with ‘em.’

Zulf says nothing to that. They continue on until they reach a large building with tall, swirling spires and a bell hanging from a tower in the middle. The bell rings and the people come out of their buildings and head towards the temple. Children run and laugh with adults following close behind, and they file into the temple, Zia and her group following suit. The temple is white stone with stained glass shining in its windows. Large tapestries of red and gold hang down, with images of a woman Zia can only assume is Yashe. The temple is free from chairs, but has a number of pillows laid out across the floor surrounding a circular raised platform in the middle. The townsfolk come in and kneel in front of the platform, with the youngest in the front and the oldest in the back. Zia, Zulf, the Kid, and Rucks kneel in the back on extra pillows. The people sign to each other, but stop once a squat man comes to the center of the platform. He's dressed in a long robe of a deep red with a gold lining. 

The squat man gestures towards the Bastion crew. Zia waves, for lack of anything better to do, as do the rest of them. The townsfolk wave back. The man claps his hands and the people turn their attention back to him. The service starts, and the man leads it with gusto, throwing up his hands, clapping, and crying out wordlessly. Even though Zia can't understand his signing, she can feel the passion from them. She glances over at the Kid and his eyes are wide and his mouth is open. The Kid's never been the religious type, but now he seems entranced  by the sermon. All of them are, but there's a special understanding the Kid has of the man's words.

Is this what home feels like for him? On the Bastion, only Rucks could fully understand him. Zia had picked up some sign, and Zulf more so, but conversations with him were pretty one-sided. Ura had taken its place, but Zia wasn't much versed in that, either. Just as she regretted not knowing more Ura among the Ura, she regrets not knowing more sign among signers. The Kid looks so happy to be among people who understand him. Will he want to stay? Zia's always wanted to be among people who understood her. And she found that on the Bastion, four misfits who made a home. But maybe the Kid doesn't want to be a misfit anymore; maybe he wants to be among people who can understand him in a way Zia and the others can't. Maybe… 

The people stand up, and Zia doesn't have any more time to think about it. The man bows, and the people bow back, and they all leave the temple. 

'Wasn't that something?' Zulf says once they've left the temple. 'Even without words, he had such a command over the crowd. Now that was a sermon.'

'Just like I said, Zulf would get along with these fine people mighty well,' Rucks says.

'Well… I suppose you were right,' Zulf mumbles. Zulf admitting Rucks was right? Now that's a first. 'Perhaps we should stay here for a few days. I'm curious to see what else is around here.'

'Can't say no to that,' Rucks agrees. 'Kid? Zia?'

The Kid claps his hands and jumps up and down. Zia doesn’t think she’s seen the Kid so excited about something in the entire time she’s known him. If it makes him that happy, she certainly can’t say no. She nods her agreement and Zulf smiles.

‘It’s settled then,’ he says. ‘It’ll be nice to have a break from the Bastion. Rucks, could you tell Olwar we’d like to stay for a little?’

Rucks nods and heads over to Olwar, who’s outside the temple, talking to a group of older women. Rucks and he sign back and forth for a little, then Rucks returns.

‘Olwar says he’d like to have us around for a few days. Says they can fix up some rooms for us, too. He wants to show us around town.’

Olwar comes over to them, then motions to the four to follow him. They walk through town, with Olwar signing as he goes and Rucks interpreting for Zia and Zulf. Zia only half listens, instead focusing on taking in the surroundings. All around them, everything is splashed with color, from the brightly colored doors on the houses to the laundry drying on lines set up between them. The large mountains surrounding the valley cast a shadow over the town, but a bit of sunlight still peeks through. People watch them move through doors and windows, curious but not wary. More than one person stops them as they go and signs to Olwar, most likely asking for more information on who they are. The Kid takes over Zulf’s diplomatic role and retells the story of how they got here. It makes the day drag on, but half of that is just because Zia can’t understand what he’s saying.

Again, she wonders if this is how the Kid feels. A stranger among peers, a forced silence because his words must be translated. How long will they stay here? How long will Zia be quiet, unable to speak with those around her?

How long will she be silent around the Kid?

Dwelling on that does nothing. Instead, Zia focuses her attention back to the group. They arrive in front of a massive stone statue of a long haired woman covering her mouth with her hands. The statue is intricately detailed, with her robes rubbed to look like silk, her loose hairs chiseled out finely, gemstones inlaid in her wrists and around her neck. Rucks interprets Olwar’s explanation:

Many generations ago, there was a terrible storm over the valley. It lasted for days, until lightning struck a huge boulder and carved out the statue. The statue spoke to a young man and told him of invaders that were coming to raze the town. She named herself Yashe, Goddess of Silence and Words, and said if the whole town were to hide and stay quiet, they would escape unharmed. The boy told the town of Yashe’s words, and the townsfolk were unsure, but followed her command. That night, they hid in their houses, silent as the eye of the storm, and foreign men came through the town. They overturned carts and dug through stores, but the people were quiet, so they went unnoticed. The townsfolk survived. They went to the statue to pray, and Yashe imbued them all with the knowledge of sign, and told them if they were to cease speaking, she would protect the town for as long as she stood.

A hush falls over everyone after the story. Could a Goddess really do something like that? Zia’s never been the religious type, and found most of the religious stories to be questionable. Not that she’d ever tell Zulf that. But the town was protected from the Calamity, something few places could say. Well, it wasn’t really her place to decide. She wasn’t Zia’s Goddess, afterall. Olwar signs something to Rucks, and Rucks turns back to Zia and Zulf.

‘Olwar says he’d like to show us the market. Get us prepared for the festival. Whaddya say we go check it out?’

Zia and Zulf nod; the five of them continue on. Zia gravitates towards the Kid. He seems… happy, happy in a way she hasn’t seen before. She wants to be near that happiness, share that happiness. But how? She doesn’t know how to speak to him. She thinks of holding his hand, then quickly pushes away the thought. There’s no sense in holding anyone’s hand. But then she wonders if holding hands is like a kiss to him, is like pressing mouth to mouth, and her whole face blooms red. Oh, no, she definitely can’t think of that. Zia crosses her arms to keep her hands from getting any wise ideas. The Kid notices, and turns to look at her. He points to her cheeks and makes a questioning noise.

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she mutters, face growing even redder. She looks away, to anything else, and her eyes fall on Zulf. Zulf is grinning like a buffoon. Zia doesn’t think her face can get any redder now. She hurries ahead until she’s next to Olwar, and nods as he signs, as if she knows what he’s saying.

The sun has started its descent as they reach a large market square. It won’t be long until the sun will dip below the horizon, and the moon and stars will make their way up the sky. There are many stalls lining the paths, with sellers inside the stalls banging drums and waving chiming instruments to get the attention of those walking by. People go from stall to stall and buy food and goods, laughing and signing to each other. They all wear robes of red with gold patterns on them and gold strings spun through their hair. Olwar leads them to a shop with gowns and busts in the window. He ushers them in and they find the wall lined with red robes, and a grey-haired woman sorting through them. Olwar comes up to her, signs some things, then gestures to the rest of the group.

‘Olwar is sayin’ he wants Maren here to outfit us in some festival fixins,’ Rucks explains. ‘Says he wants us to really experience the Festival of Lights. On the house, too, along with all the food we can eat.’

The Kid claps. There’s few things he likes more than food. Maren eyes everyone up and down, then grabs a robe off the wall for each of them. They take turns changing behind a curtain, and once they’re done, the whole crew is decked out in red and gold. Maren strings gold through their hair, and soon they look as natural as all the townsfolk do. The Kid keeps his red bandana on, as he always does. Zia keeps her hair down and loose for the event, and she catches the Kid’s eye sliding over to her repeatedly, his face as red as his robes. Zia can’t help but go a little red, too; it might be too scandalous to have her hair down. But no one else seems to mind, so she clears her mind of it. Maybe the Kid grows red about something else.

They head back outside, and the first purples of dusk are shooting across the sky. In the center of the square, the chairs and benches have been moved to be in a circle around a stage. On the stage, a group of men play different instruments, thumping and drumming and blowing out a sweet song. People sit and eat on the benches or dance by the stage, and an excited energy thrums through the town. Paper lanterns hang on strings by lampposts and glow with flickering candles inside. Even as the sky grows darker, the lights keep the whole place aglow.

Zia turns to the Kid. ‘Do you want to get food?’ she asks.

The Kid nods and they head to the stalls. Because Zia can’t sign and the Kid doesn’t speak, it’s difficult getting by. So she just gets whatever the Kid gets, and soon her hands are full of different kinds of eats. Meat and vegetables on skewers, fried fruits, balls of bread stuffed with sweet mashed roots. They find a bench by the stage and set to eating, stuffing themselves full of the foreign feast.

‘This is really good!’ Zia chirps between bites. It’s hard to eat just one, so she takes different bites off all of them.

The Kid nods his agreement, happily munching on his own food. Zia tries to remember some of the sign Rucks taught her. It’s not much, but he did show her a few things. Zia makes the sign for ‘good’ across her chest, and the Kid’s eyes immediately light up. He makes an excited noise and bounces up and down. Zia can’t help but grin.

‘You really like it here, huh?’ she says. The Kid nods and takes another bite of his food. She pauses and bites her lip. ‘Do you want… to stay here?’

The Kid is finally among people who understand him, who can speak to and with him. It’s only been a few months since they took off on the Bastion, followed the wind and stars; Zia thought they’d travel for years, maybe forever, before they found other people. But here there are, in a place bursting with life and love, a place with people who welcomed them so openly. Zia doesn’t want to stay; there’s still too much to see out there, too many possibilities. But if the Kid wants to stay here… would they all stay here, too? Would they settle down, learn to speak with their hands, accept their silence?

Would they leave him behind and go out on their own?

Before the Kid can answer, there’s a great commotion by the stage. Zia and the Kid turn to it, and find the squat man from the temple in the center. He cries out to the crowd, and they return his cry. He starts a rhythmic clap with his hands, and the crowd follows suit, Zia and the Kid joining in. The musicians start a rousing beat, and the squat man dances around in time to it. He twirls and spins, his feet ever moving, and does a few flips, much to the delight of the crowd. Just as the music reaches its crescendo, it stops abruptly. There’s a long silence, then the man opens his mouth, and a noise like Zia’s never heard comes from it, wordless but powerful all the same. It’s a low reverberation, something that comes from the back of his throat, and it carries out over the crowd. The music starts up again, and people leave their seats to dance around the stage. Zia and Kid follow suit, and move in time with the music. Everyone hoots and hollers, and Zia can’t help but do it, too. Beside herself with giddiness, she takes the Kid’s hand and pulls him towards her. Grabbing his other one, she pulls him forward and back, swings his arms from side to side. The Kid is stiff at first, then relaxes, and follows her movements where they take him. The singing dies down with one last croak, and the music stops. A raucous clapping rings out from the crowd, everyone crying out joyously. Zia looks down at her hand in the Kid’s then up to his face, which is burning red but grinning. Zia’s face must be the same. She leans in, then jerks back. No, no, she can’t do that here, not in front of everyone. She drops his hand and looks anywhere but at him.

People start filing out of the square. Zulf and Rucks come over to them, both of them looking equal parts smug and pleased. Oh, they probably saw Zia and the Kid holding hands. They don’t need to have that expression. Jerks.

‘Time for the light show,’ Rucks says. ‘Olwar says there’s something that’ll really knock our socks off. Come to the top of the hill with us.’

They all head out of the square and towards a large hill. Zia glances at the Kid, and she can’t quite read the expression on his face. She hopes she didn’t mess anything up. Her relationship with the Kid is… complicated. He brought up feelings she had long since stashed away, feelings she promised herself she’d never explore again. Last time only ended in anguish. But the Kid… he’s not like that. He saved her, he searched for her. He faced danger and death, just for her. But oh, it’s so complicated. What if he doesn’t like her back? What if he wanted their relationship to be friends, close friends, friends who never held hands. Or if he didn’t… what if they broke up? The awkwardness of a break up would be bad enough, but what if it was messy? What if she broke his heart completely? Or he hers? There’s just the four of them on the Bastion, and little room on it; they certainly couldn’t avoid one another. This could only lead to problems.

Zia groans and shakes her head. She’s getting ahead of herself here. Right now, all there is is to focus on the light show. The moon is full and the stars are bright, and the glowing lanterns illuminate the path they walk. Soon, they reach the top of the hill. From here, Zia can see the whole valley, make out glinting rivers reflecting the light of the sky above. It really is something. People sit in groups, signing to each other and pointing up at the stars. Rucks and Zulf sit with plenty of room for Zia and the Kid, but the Kid takes Zia by the wrist and leads her away. Just where does he want to go? He takes her off to the side, to a place still high on the hill but away from everyone else. They sit next to each other, their shoulders nearly touching. Zia’s heart thumps wildly in her chest, and she takes a deep breath to calm it. Don’t overthink this, don’t overthink this. Just relax and wait for the show.

And they don’t have to wait for long. There’s a long silence, and then an earth shaking boom; something whistles as it flies through the sky before exploding into a burst of colors. The Kid yells and claps his hands. Another boom, another whistle, and more colors. Some are green and fizzly, some slow and gold. There are pops of red and blue, little blips of colors so vibrant but so quickly fading. The lights trickles down and disappear, leaving sparkles in their wake. Zia claps wildly and stamps her feet as excitement courses through her. This is greater than she could have ever imagined. She turns to the Kid, and the joy on his face is nothing like she’s seen from him before. Something she won’t name wells up in her chest, and before she can think better of it, she takes his hand in her own. The Kid looks to her, eyes wide, questioning, but not rebuking. She lifts his hand to her mouth and kisses his fingers, his palms, presses that big, big hand to her cheek.

The Kid makes a quiet noise, then pulls her hand to his own mouth, brushes his lips across her slim fingers, the soft skin on the back of it. Rucks had taught her a little sign, not much, but enough to say a few words. He taught her one he didn’t name, just said, ‘When the time is right, you show it to that boy.’ He refused to explain more, and in Zia’s confusion, she had forgotten about it until now. She taps her fist to her chest three times, makes a circle around her heart, then taps the Kid on the chest twice. The Kid’s whole face lights up, and he does the same to her, his hand shaking as he does so. She squeezes his hand, presses her shoulder to his, and they watch the rest of the light show together like that.

The finale comes, and a large purple star explodes in the sky, bigger and brighter than all the rest. The last remnants of it fizzle below the horizon, and it’s not until the sky is completely dark again that they stand. They find Zulf and Rucks in the crowd and head over towards them.

‘Olwar was right,’ Rucks says, still staring into the sky. ‘That really was something that would knock our socks off.’

‘We certainly were lucky to land here on this night.’ Zulf looks to Zia and the Kid, and grins when he notices them holding each other’s hands. ‘Perhaps Yashe brought us here for just this reason.’

Zia and the Kid shrug. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was the Goddess. Either way, there certainly was something magical about this Festival of Lights. They head back into the town, Rucks and Zulf talking to each other with a surprising friendless, and Zia and the Kid travel behind them, silent except the words the language of their hands speaks.