The words broke the man from his brief stupor. What was a glance at the nearby bastion of flame had become a flight into his thoughts. The hesitations that flickered his heart as the flame licked the wood were etched onto his features. The young man shook his head in denial of those thoughts.
The one who had so broken the spell walked over toward him. Her hand was cold, fingers against his palm prompting him to close his own digits to warm them. She took that as a signal of acceptance, drawing him into step toward the destination above.
Each stone step was a bother now, a trudge that ached his calves though he did not protest. Though they had yet arrived, he felt the moment of such protest had long since passed. Now it was the inevitability that made him nervous.
As the summit of the stone steps fell into view, the man felt his apprehension both grow and numb in equal measure. Men and women across a spectrum of races, outfits, and social status situated sparsely within the extensive span of the temple grounds. Cliché, he so thought, but the entirety of the gathering felt opposite to that fact.
He passed by a group of men his own age, who eyed him and his guiding partner with a keen, amused eye. He felt once more as he did on the first day of academy. A man out of his element with a beacon of purity above his brow. His guiding force remained the woman he had come to adore. The woman with the chestnut hair.
She so turned to face him, once again meeting his cautious gaze with her calm countenance. He stopped, allowing her fingers to slide from his grip and draw to her pack. Extending out, a simple thing.
A mask, decorated in the shape of a mallard. The man claimed the mask on instinct alone, confusion barring the potential to effectively analyze the situation. As his gaze swept up with questions upon his tongue, they were silenced. Her eyes beaming with delight behind the face of a mouse. A mask as his own, now sliding over his features to set into place.
“So what now?” Kirrek inquired, trying to mask his concerns and nerves under the deadpan humor that he knew she adored. “Do we make a blood oath or something?” He issued a humorless laugh.
She watched his efforts, her expression hiding behind the mask beyond what could be seen in her sparkling gaze. Her head shook, soft, gentle, yet the sway of her hair and the denial of his humor was akin to an eternity in his perception. Was it too late, he wondered, to turn back.
“No need, Kirrek. You don’t have to live up to your expectations. That’s behind you tonight. We’ll go back to being Amber and Kirrek tomorrow. For tonight..?”
She stepped closer, her hand extending out. The man flinched back, finding his spine pressed to the chest of a tall figure posterior to him. Two hands rested against his shoulders, more men and women coming forward to extend their grip upon the pair.
Though Kirrek felt panic, Amber exuded peace. She lowered her voice to a sweet, serenading whisper.
Her hand met to his mask, their eyes locked, the air thin as to deny his breath.
His breath drew in as a cloud of cyan dust passed between them. The air tasted sweet. His fingers felt numb. Her eyes burned bright.. brilliant.. beautiful..
And the darkness followed.