ROUTE 217 HAD NOT THE MOST HOSPITABLE WEATHER, but Cyrus did not mind it as much as his grunts. He, unlike them, bore the brunt of the snowy assaults stoically, and did not complain of the bitter cold. In fact, he did not speak much at all save for to issue the occasional order, which was rarely needed.
The small band, a team of two grunts, a scientist, Commander Jupiter, and himself, had thus far made the journey. Their destination: Lake Acuity. He so desired to see the lake spirit there, Uxie, or at least to study the environment in which it lived. Someday, he would capture that creature and make use of the gem centered upon its forehead. For now, he needed to be sure that Jupiter and her small team would be able to acclimate to the environment readily, for they will be remaining here for quite a while until they receive their next order.
And the order to commence the capturing of Uxie was still far, far away.
Cyrus had planned to move on and finish the last leg of the journey to Snowpoint City along with his companions, but the weather had grown too violent to continue. It was only with LUCK that they had been able to find a cabin, in which an elderly couple had been more than willing to welcome the beleaguered travelers. In return for the kindness, the little group of Galactics made sure to keep the couple’s doorstep clear of snow ( save for Cyrus, whose strength was not great enough to maintain such physical activities for long).
So he watched and generally spent his time inside with the elders, conversing cordially ( though falsely ) and reading the tomes that they offered for him to utilize when he could no longer carry the conversation forth. In the evenings, Cyrus often sat and peered out of a cabin window into the night. Sometimes, the clouds parted to reveal the stars, but mostly they blotted out any light the sky had to offer.
Until one night, when he caught a glimmer of something in a snow-capped tree not far from the cabin. His curiosity was piqued, for its placement in the trees was so peculiar. When he saw it again the next night, Cyrus did not wait any further. He wrapped himself in the thickest of winter gear ( for the nights were terribly bitter! ) and ventured out into the cold. When he found the base of the glimmering tree, he paused.
Their first instinct was to descend, to drop down on top of whatever poor soul had thought they had the right to approach them, to envelop them completely in the taut skin of their wings and smother them until they choked on stardust, but they held themselves steady (more out of curiosity than of any moral virtue; they could not possibly care less about an individual creature’s life, especially, from the figure of the stranger as they drew nearer, of a human’s life). The heavy coat they wore was too thick for them to make out enough of their body to leap to assumptions on their age or fitness, but in retrospect it was all the same to them. They were confident enough that no human could ever hope to match them.
When the stranger looked up Lunala looked back down, peering into steel blue eyes with their own deep crimson ones, the red of their sclera so intensely luminous that the virgin snow surrounding them was tinged pink with its light. There was a fainter violet glow emanating from their body, a certain fluctuating brightness that dimmed and lit back up again with the passing of stars and other celestial objects across the starmap that made up their skin, but other than the constant dance of the universe on their body the bat held itself still.
They said it quietly, almost in a whisper, as though they were afraid of breaking the silence the snow had settled around them.
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