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bastionbabble · 5 years ago

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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.

#sggsecretsanta19 #bastion #bastion game #bastion (game)#tuinendraws #the kid #zulf #zia #writing

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trilobiteinventor · 5 years ago

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

#sggsecretsanta19 #supergiantgames #supergiant games hades #transistor supergiant

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under-snow-vixen · 5 years ago

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happy swap day @tieflng!

@supergiantsecretsanta

#if you (tieflng) want the pdf of this dm me #sggsecretsanta19 #pyre #tariq/hedwyn/reader implied

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summersquashpatch · 5 years ago

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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

#SGGsecretsanta19 #farrah yon-dale #transistor #supergiant games #secret santa #sorry if the coloring is weird #i'm still a newbie

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ohnomybreadsticks · 5 years ago

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My @sggsecretsanta gift for @that-hoopy-frood is posted! I hope you enjoy this very soft gen fic! I loved writing it so <3 Merry Christmas/Happy Holiday of your choice, I hope you’re having a wonderful day!

Red spends a day preparing for an outing with all of her friends, both new and old. Out here in the country, everyone is welcome.

Post-Canon 'what if' where everyone lives happily in the country together, working out their differences and enjoying peace.

Rated G, Chapters 1/1

#SGGsecretsanta19 #Transistor #supergiant games #transistor supergiant #bready's fic #hey ya'll I write things that aren't robos sometimes!!!#and I love SGG!

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msrandom1401-arts · 5 years ago

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The one who always charmed her audience A @supergiantsecretsanta gift for Jorge Valencia (twitter)

#sggsecretsanta19 #transistor #supergiant games #gift #illustration #fanart #singer #stage #video game #red #sgg #MsRandom1401 arts #secret santa

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hino-of-the-dawn · 5 years ago

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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.

#sggsecretsanta19 #Pyre #Supergiant Games #Jodaaariel

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kaijuuryoku · 5 years ago

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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

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