1. In one life, Amara somehow fell in with a band of mercenaries despite his, well known by you and me, usual lack of skill with weapons. But he could cook! And he could do chores! And for a band of essentially olden times frat boys, that was all they needed, his genuine charm and friendly demeanor was just the cherry on top. He became something of a den mother to the group, fixing up food whenever they returned from a job well done and sitting around the campfire joking with them as he did his best to help wrap up any injuries they'd gotten. They of course didn't know that Amara wasn't human, and he did his best to keep it that way too out of a desire to keep things simple between him and his group of friends-- the life he had wandered through the years prior had been a lonely one and he couldn't bear to risk losing it to suspicious and fearful gazes.
There was one young man in particular that Amara enjoyed the company of, one who was also good-natured and with an easy smile of his own. They often ended up alone talking about things of the future, or of their past (as much as Amara could disclose that is). The boy came from a loving family who he sent his earnings back to, and though he worked as a sellsword to earn money, he had ambitions and hopes for the future. A romance soon sparked between them when the other man kissed Amara. Amara felt conflicted about not disclosing his phoenix nature to his love, but felt that it was for the best.
And when a job went sour and the danger followed the troupe back to camp to ambush them, Amara also felt it was for the best to jump in front of the sword aimed for his lover’s back. After all, his love had a family waiting for him to return home to, he had no one. It made sense, didn’t it? And it made sense to Amara as he lay bleeding out in the sobbing man’s arms, to once again keep the truth of what he was a secret from him, because maybe it would be for the best if the man moved on and found someone else he could actually spend his life with. It would be Amara’s last gift to him.
And then he woke up in a shallow grave, scorch marks marring the dirt around him as he clawed his way out to find himself near the remains of some campsite. He was confused to find a wilted bouquet of wildflowers at his feet, and even more confused to find an identical grave next to his.
Something told him not to disturb it.
2. In another life, Amara ended up settled as the scribe in a small European town transcribing bits of poetry or stories. In this life, he found himself accompanied by a small boy with no parents of his own that Amara somehow ended up taking in. Their life was peaceful and idyllic, and the boy to be a fine young son that Amara couldn’t be more proud of. Eventually, of course, as the years wore on, whispers began to spread about the oddity of their resident foreigner with bright red hair and brown skin, of how he didn’t age and remained as youthful as ever. Even to the point that his ward, who he took in as a small boy, now looked as if they could be the same age.
They began to murmur of wickedness and witchcraft, which wouldn’t have bothered Amara had it not been for the fact that his son also became a target of such rumors. And not only that, but the fact of the boy’s aging finally hit Amara the day he greeted him and realized his son, once barely able to reach his knee, not stood taller than him-- a man. And one on the cusp of finally marrying the girl he fancied and creating a family of his own.
Amara knew what the best decision would be for the sake of allowing his son to have a peaceful life unencumbered by his adoptive father’s own oddities, and truthfully...the sudden, painful fear of outliving his own child, of watching the boy grow old and gray, was heartrending. Amara took the boy aside one night and decided to tell him the truth, or the parts of it that would be the easiest to understand, before assuring him that he would always love him before bidding him goodbye. That night Amara left the idyllic town, and his child, behind forever, and he could not left himself look back.
3. In some other life at some other place and time, Amara was completely alone. He didn’t know why, but something in him shook at the thought of falling in with others, or of making friends. And so he wandered from place to place, always friendly and kind to others but never allowing more than that to blossom. He never remained in a town long before he took off again into the wilderness with only his thoughts and the sounds of nature as his company for each pass of the seasons. He lived for many decades like that, always keeping others at an arms-length and never with a friend to call his own.
He made money where he would, slept wherever was comfortable, be it an inn by the side of the road or a soft bit of grass beneath the night sky. Many he came across made the suggestion to travel together, always eager to have a companion so good-natured and friendly for what would no doubt be a weary journey, but Amara always turned them down.
And many decades later, when Amara was all alone with nothing but the birds singing above to keep him company even as he took his last, rattling breaths, he somehow instinctually knew that despite the length of the life he had managed to last this cycle...
“Yes, I don’t know what we would have done if she hadn’t stopped crying, she’s not usually this fussy!”
“It’s no trouble!” The red-haired man chuckled quietly in what would have no doubt been a full laugh had it not been for the currently sleeping child cradled against his chest. He had noticed among the busy crowd milling through the town’s plaza the two parents’ panic to try and calm their baby. They’d looked exhausted and so he offered to lend a hand, simple as that.
“You’re selling yourself short! I don’t think I’ve ever seen any baby quiet down that quickly and that one’s our own child!”
Her mother laid a grateful hand on his arm. “Please, let us treat you to dinner. It’s the least that we can do for your help today and our home isn’t far from here.”
Surprise graced the man’s features and he felt his cheeks warm. “O-oh, there’s no need to go through all of that trouble for me--”
“We’ll be making dinner tonight anyways, there’s very little work in setting an extra plate.”
The other winked at him. “Besides, something tells me the moment we take her from your arms she’ll start back up again. We’re being selfish, and in a way, you’ll still be helping us.”
Dinner... Any night spent not eating alone was something of a blessing to the phoenix, he shouldn’t throw an opportunity like this. “Alright then, you’ve convinced me.” Amara grinned. “Th-thank you!”
Amara’s eyes opened to the darkened room, the only light within being a small sliver of moonlight that peaked through the curtains. A soft sigh escaped him and his eyes closed once more, arms reaching out to wrap around Noita’s waist. When he encountered nothing but the sheets of their bed, a momentary frown slid through his expression and his eyes opened. It was late, where was she? After a moment of thought, Amara sat up with a yawn and a stretch and rose to his feet to softly pad out of the room. His suspicions were confirmed at the soft glow of candlelight emanating from the room where Noita liked to work and a wry smile grew at the sight of a figure with a dark head of hair busily scribbling away at something. Amara came up behind his wife, knowing full well that she could hear him approach (he was rarely ever able to sneak up on her) and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
“That’s weird, I think I remember marrying a person, not some nocturnal being. Sleep’s an important thing, Noita.” He waved away the expected protests and reached down to gently take the book from her hand and set it to the side. With a warm chuckle, Amara gave her a look and that smile he knew she had trouble saying no to. “Keep that up and I’ll just pick you up and bring you to bed myself.” He knew then from the look in her eyes that she’d given in and, with a kiss to her cheek and a smile that was a little too innocent, Amara leaned over to blow out the candle.
Amara glanced over in surprise at the sudden question. His son had taken his eyes from the lake and fishing pole in from of him, which, something that Amara had begun to note was that for his first time fishing Selim didn’t seem to care too much for it, to fix them curiously on his dad when he asked his question. “Taika’s name is for magic, right?” he continued, “Because magic is important to mom. But what made you think of ‘Selim’ when naming me?”
Amara looked back out over the shining water of lake in front of them, his gaze distant, an expression Selim recognized. He always had a tendency to look like that whenever he was trying to remember something about his past. Selim knew that it was best to just wait instead of pushing for an immediate answer and was rewarded when, after a few moments of silence, he spoke up again.
“I don’t know.” Amara answered honestly. “Obviously, the meaning of you name was reason enough, what dad wouldn’t want for their kid to be safe?” He reached out to lovingly ruffle the boy’s hair, something he endured without complaint. Withdrawing his hand, Amara continued, “But even then, I don’t know why that name in particular popped into my head. I just knew that, for some reason, I wanted my son to be named Selim. So,” suddenly, Amara rose to his feet and grinned down at his son, holding out a hand to him, “that means the name must’ve already been something pretty special to me when I gave it to you. And now since it’s yours that doubles, if not triples, how special it is. Does that answer your question?”
Selim stared in stunned silence up at him, but slowly, a smile grew on his lips and he nodded. “”More or less.” He took his dad’s hand to be pulled up and watch as Amara began to pull his fishing line in from the water with a sigh. “It looks like the fish aren’t biting today,” he mused out loud as he pulled. “I guess we’ll have to think up of something else for dinner tonight. Too bad, your mom mentioned having a taste for fish today too.”
“I think she’d be fine with whatever you decide to cook, dad.” Selim quipped while picking up his pole.
“Yeah, but I just wanted to surprise her.” Amara sighed once again then perked up. “But that’s okay, I’ll just have to try and make up for it with whatever I do end up making.” With everything packed up and a smile thrown towards Selim, Amara said, “C’mon, let’s go.”
send “◀◀” to get a glimpse at a memory from my muse’s past.
“Khepri, Khepri, look!” The red-haired child scrambled over to a patch of berries nearby. “They’re so bright and pretty! They look like our hair!” He reached out to grab a fistful and bring them closer for inspection. The older girl caught up, slightly out of breath from trying to keep pace with her excited sibling. “Careful there, Amaraki, those are poisonous.”
“Huh?!” The boy’s amber eyes grew comically wide as he dropped the berries and jumped back, staring at the hand that held them. “Is-is my hand going to be okay?! I’m not going to–?!” Before he could finish, his sister’s laughter interrupted him. He stared, bewildered and nearly on the verge on tears. “It’s not funny! I don’t want to forget you yet!” At that, the girl’s laughter quieted and a silent look of guilt entered her eyes. Moving closer, she pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry, that was mean of me. They aren’t poisoned, little one, I was only making a joke. Remember what I told you? I promise you I will always do my best to make sure you go as long as possible without forgetting, okay?”
Looking up at her, the boy gave a tearful nod, sniffed and wiped his eyes, and in an instant the bright smile was back on his face. “Okay!” Tilting his head, a colorful fluttering caught his attention and he was off again, scampering after a butterfly. With a quiet laugh, Khepri followed after him.
His fingers brushed gently over the page of his journal as his eyes flicked over the image draw on it. His expression was unreadable, save for the slight furrowing of his brow. It was a picture, a drawing of two people, and while one was easily recognizable as himself, the other was of a woman with dark hair. His lips pursed, a strange aching filling his heart, it wasn’t unusual to come across notes or scribbling about people who he had long forgotten but this picture filled him with a sense of...nostalgia. The image was skillfully drawn, obviously not by him and if so then it must have been the woman who did it. The phoenix admired the swooping lines, his image was drawn with such care...His eyes wandered over to the few words scribbled on the next page, this time in his own handwriting.
Rune Noita.
At least he had her name. Eager to learn about the mystery woman he flipped through the pages, hoping to find more information about her. While it was true that he wasn’t the best at writing information down, Amara hoped he at least tried to, since it seemed she had been special to him. His question was answered as another page revealed more, although it was a bit disjointed. It was more like phrases written down to jog his memory rather than actual sentences.
‘She has a journal too, writes down in it a lot. Better than me. Good at drawing. Very ticklish. Scary when angry. Don’t let her cook. Beautiful eyes. Likes spider lilies. Love her.’
Amara chuckled sadly at the writings. Whenever this was it almost seemed like he was writing in a vain and desperate attempt to bring back his memory whenever he would inevitably forget her. Closing the journal he leaned back, the smile still on his face but with sadness lurking deep in his eyes, a sharp pain stabbing his heart. “Sorry, friend,” he sighed quietly, as if his past self could hear him now. “Despite your best efforts it looks like the grip our blood holds on us is just too tight.” How odd it was to miss someone he didn’t even remember.
