ii. fire
You leave just as you said you would, armed to the teeth and with a fair amount of provisions, right at the following sunset. It was so simple to do, considering how long you have been planning this excursion. Perigees of gathering information, resources, evidence, with hardly a word breathed of it to others. There were people you wanted to tell– Kanaya, Equius, Darkleer– just in case something went amiss, but would they prevent you from going? Would they believe that you could do it at all? And where was the time to say anything? The worry that no one would notice your absence looms over every choice you make, serves as a sword dangling above your head. It is a very real fear, but what can you even do about that? All you can do is hope for you to return home, and plan for if you never do.
In the event that you die, you have left boxes for several people– Mandy, Darkleer, Dwayne, Aitar, and your children– each holding letters, keys, notes, items you believe are worth something... As your moirail, Mandy is in charge of informing everyone, if necessary, and setting people to their tasks. It is heavy work, you know, but you would do the same for her. It would be an honour to be so trusted. Still, you hope that it will not come to it, and that the boxes will be set aside for a point far, far in the future. There is a comment, from Mandy, about knowing timelines and ensuring the right ones come to pass, and while you do not know much about time and altering it, you know that the two of you love each other, and there is nothing you both would not do to protect each other. She is hardly sentimental, but this is beyond proof of affection, proof of devotion.
You think of her as you pack, as you walk through the woods to visit Pyralspite, as you ask for his assistance, and as you leave the woods you were raised in on dragonback. The faces of the people you love play in a loop in your mind as you and your lusus soar above land, sea, and clouds, the light of the moons glowing on both of your features. White scales glimmer with pink and green shine, and you keep your eyes on them while trying to calculate how many nights until the next double full moon. You have kept track of how long it has been since you have seen your beloveds last, and bemoaned that even a wipe is far too long. It is, you think. Nearly three perigees is much worse. You can hardly stand another light alone, desperate for someone's hand in yours, waiting for something, for someone, to change your circumstances.
You told Saevus you needed to find your slave deed. That is true. But you need to find Dwayne just as much, and you will search every sea until you do. You refuse to return home without both.
After hours of quiet flying, the sun starts to rise behind you, and that is as good of a sign as any to rest for the day. You and Pyralspite scan below for a spot to land, and you decide that the mountains below are perfect. High perches for him and a hidey-hole for you mean both of you will be kept safe in unfamiliar territory, and will allow you to breathe before beginning the next leg of your journey. One more night of flying is all you need, but the nights are still long. The dark seasons see less of the sun, for better and worse here.
The cave you've taken refuge in is suitable for a single day, dark and dry, and while Pyralspite is hunting for himself, you set up your own camp: a nest of blankets, a meal to be eaten, and the beginnings of a campfire. You could always ask your dad to spare a spark to expedite the process, but your fire for the day has more than the tasks of light and warmth. Your flame is a messenger, meant to carry a prayer far beyond the mountains, far across the sea.
You have made altars before, all done with care and love, and this one is no different. Your other prayers had been made with such precision, though– every word and offering were made to be perfect. Here, in a cave, such things can't be. Hopefully, they will be perfect enough, and you hope that this act will not offend. The fire is lit with ease, kindling catching and spreading to the logs you've brought, and the fire is fed part of your meal, and a few drops of blood from your fingertips. You would offer more if you could, but this is all you have to give. This, and your words.
Your voice is gravelly when you first speak, but the further into your prayer, the clearer you sound. "O God of Love, of yearning and wishing and waiting and wanting... God of knowing when something is good, of feeling when something is right, God of fonder hearts, even without absence. Please, hear me. Please... let me speak to you so that you may know my wants, my fears, my heart, my love for you."
There is a moment of hesitation– the fire remains red, gold– and your heart sinks. Your offering is not good enough, and neither is your prayer, but you will keep trying. Shutting your eyes and folding your hands in your lap, then twisting the ring Dwayne gave you around your finger, you take a deep breath, and continue to pray.
"I... I do not know what to say or how to say it, exactly. There was an attempt to write another letter for you, one as beautiful as all of the ones you sent me, but I have been so nervous that it feels like all of the words have been lost. So much has happened since your last letter. Even more since mine, too. There is so much I want to talk to you about, but... but I want it to be face to face. I have loved every letter. I have loved making every prayer. But it has been seventy-two nights since I have seen your face. Yours. That, I must tell you, is entirely too long. Longer is how much time you've been away from home, and I cannot stand it anymore. I want you home. I want you back.
“This is not a demand, or even a request. This is... this is just. A hope, that perhaps I have not lost your love entirely, and that there is still the chance that we will be able to make more of it together. I cannot say if I am truly allowed to miss you, but I do. I miss you so much. I miss hearing your laugh across the hive, and the showtunes you belt out so passionately just the same. I miss making breakfast for you after taking a shower together to wash off all of the sopor. I miss sitting in the same room as you while we both read, and getting to look up at you, watching your face shift with the emotions of each page. I miss braiding your hair for you, and getting to admire every colour woven into it, even the teal. Especially the teal. I miss kissing you, and touching you, and getting to appreciate every scar and tattoo and inch of skin in my hands. I miss hearing your voice, your stories, your heart... I miss every bit of you. I do not expect the sentiment to be reciprocated. But, if it was..."
Tears threaten to fall, and your emotions tighten up your throat, but you keep going, even though you aren't certain he can hear you. "I want you to know I am looking for you. I do not want you to look for me, though. It is not because I do not want to see you, but there should be effort here, from me. After everything we have been through, after everything I have done… And everything I could not do… Let me prove that I am sure of you. That I mean everything I am saying. I do. I love you. I miss you. I will not go home without you.”
A held breath, and your eyes remain shut tightly. If you open them and the fire has not changed in colour, you might lose your nerve. This is a desperate plea, no different than any other mortal’s prayer, asking a god to hear just one of their words. Any other mortal is not owed a response, either. There is the fear that you are no longer loved as yourself, as an individual, but just as any other person might be– faceless and ordinary and requesting something beyond their means. You are part of the burden of divinity.
After everything that has transpired, you may not be so beloved by the god anymore. Will the man feel the same?
That thought is enough to make you cry, face in your hands as you try to compose yourself, sighing as you press the heels of your palms against your eyes. “...I am sorry. For everything. You do not have to forgive me, though I can only expect a god of Love would know forgiveness best. I just hope– I pray– that I will be given a chance to make things right.”
With a sniffle, you pull your hands away from your face, then nod to the fire– you still do not know exactly how to end prayers. You think you may be afforded some grace in this, though, and there is a warm idea that occurs to you: perhaps, when you return together, you will be able to ask Dwayne how to finish prayers properly, and how to make them better. But for now? Acknowledgement, and allowing the flame to burn out on its own. You do not open your eyes as you move away from the fire, turning your back to it fully before allowing yourself to look for your nest. Eyes to the floor, vision still a bit blurry with tears, and unwilling to verify the fire’s colour, you cuddle into your blankets and hope for a dreamless, restful sleep.
As you lull yourself into slumber, though, you swear you see blue light reflected in the stone above your head.
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