Untitled

The pitter patter of the rain against the car ceiling rung like a broken lullaby in his ears, as he drove through the empty streets to the hospital. His eyes darted to the clock on the dashboard, a tired yawn escaping his lips when he read the time. 3:21 AM. The police had phoned him at 1:06 AM, asking him to come. Normally, he should have arrived already, but the phone call woke up his grandchildren who came to stay the night with him, and it took longer than he thought to soothe them back to sleep. He then had to prepare a spot for the possible new addition to his family, and make a list of all the things he would need to make them comfortable. At least, his grandchildren helped out and he got to do more things together with them, which made him happy. However, part of him dearly wished he wouldn’t walk out those doors with another infant in his arms. These last few days had been rough, with one bad thing after another, and he dearly hoped tonight wouldn’t be another tragedy.

A vain dream. He knew that.

The tone of the officer on the other end of the line was more than enough to let him know the situation was dire. Still, he wanted to believe a miracle will happen. One way or another.

He pulled into the parking lot just as the rain began to slowly cease and the dark clouds overhead started to dissipate. He got out of the car and made a dash to the main gate, the automatic doors opening just in time for him to avoid a collision.

“That would have been a funny tale to tell the child. Of how I ran into a door on the day I took them under my wings.” he thought as he stepped into the waiting room.

He began looking around for the officers when a nurse came and asked him to follow her to the maternity wing. He did, his heart picking up pace as he went, his eyes darting through the hallways, looking for anything to distract himself from the multitude of emotions assaulting his heart and brain. New mothers radiating happiness as they held their newborns while others were eagerly waiting to bring theirs forth, soon-to-be fathers worrying themselves sick whether or not things would be fine, or if they maybe forgot to do something and would be yelled at later. Overall it was a mess of anxiety, joy, love and fear, mixing and filing the air like a block of water looking for a sponge to be absorbed by to make room for more of itself. And Adyr was that sponge. Unfortunately for him.

The officer along with two other policemen were waiting for him at the end of the corridor, near the window pane giving sight into the room with the newborns. The three of them greeted the god with a bow and he could see the sweat dripping down their brow, taste their own concerns on his tongue.

But worse than that...he knew the worst had come happened already.

“Good morning sir,” the officer began, “and thank you for being with us despite the late hour. We humbly apologize for-”

“How are they?” Adyr cut him off, too tired and angry at what transpired to endure through this meaningless chat. “Is the baby alright?”

“Y-yes, my lord.” the man stuttered, taking out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his brow. “In fact, he is right there.”

He pointed to the row right in front of the window, at the last crib on the right where a very tiny Rhogar baby slept, chewing on the tip of his blankie while his small fists tugged and squeezed at it. His tail was tightly wrapped around his right leg, yet not enough for the bone to cut into the soft skin, thankfully. A smile bloomed on Adyr’s face as he watched him, his heart swelling with love and pity for this child who had barely came into this world, yet was already so gravely mistreated by being robbed of his own mother. He was so small too, the god couldn’t help but want to pick him up and hold him close to his chest, where he would be safe and warm.

“Did you manage to find the father? Or learn anything more about the mother?” the god asked, shifting his attention back to the three humans next to him.

“Sadly, the identity of the father is still a mystery. As for the mother,” the officer motioned to one of his coworkers who handed Adyr a folder he had been holding the entire time, “she was an orphan” he resumed, “and didn’t have any family we could contact. From what we have gathered so far after looking into her background, she was mostly a shut-in who rarely interacted with other people. We are looking deeper into it, of course.” he quickly added when Adyr glared at him. “B-but… until we learn more…”

“You need someone to look after him.” the deity sighed and turned to the nurse next to him. “Please my dear, bring me the paper for this child. I shall assume the role of guardian until a relative willing to step up to the task is found.” she nodded and was about to leave, when he added. “And if you might be so kind, please have the doctor in charge come and tell me about the child’s constitution and when I can take him home.”

He looked back at the baby, gingerly tapping the glass separating them, longing to hold him. Slowly, the little one opened his eyes and looked at Adyr. The moment his gaze fell upon the deity, a grin flashed on his face and they reached out all four of his arms towards him. His tail unwrapped from around his leg and began to sway from one side to the next, like that of a puppy.

The god had to fight back the impulse to march right in and pick them up.

“A-apart from being so small,” the officer said, “I heard the doctor said he is completely healthy. Thus, you don’t have to worry too much about them.”

“That is good to know.” Adyr hummed just as the nurse returned with the paperwork he required and let him know the doctor would be with him shortly.

The other humans retreated as he filled in the forms, bidding him a quick good night on their way out. He didn’t mind their haste and ill-manners, more preoccupied with the well-being of the child and planning the days ahead. The baby wouldn’t come home with him that day, that much was clear, meaning he had to make a whole new schedule for the next week. However, one of those changes included sending his grandchildren home early and asking some of his older children to come help. He would also have to talk to Carl and Daniela about this change in living arrangements as soon as he saw them in the morning. He could already hear his daughter throwing another tantrum. It was going to be anything but pleasant talking sense into her.

As he thought of all this, he looked back to the baby, who still smiled and reached out for him. Adyr’s heart continued to swell in his chest

℘♦℘

At long last, after a week of waiting, Adyr was finally able to bring Lightreaper to his new home. He was still so small, he could almost fit in only one of the god’s hands which only made the deity all the more eager to take him and protect and nurture him. Sadly, despite the police’s best efforts, no family had been found, including the father. Turned out, his mother was a recluse through and through and very few people knew her personally. To many, she was just another face in the crowd. But the scarce few who knew her, said she was a kind person and a very talented singer, a rare trait among Skinstealers.

It had saddened Adyr beyond measure to think of what the baby could have meant for her, what her dreams and hopes regarding him and her future could have been. He couldn’t get the image of a young mother holding her newborn son as she stepped into the light, ready to face the world head on and carve a new path for the two of them. Only for that wonderful image to be crushed by the despicable carelessness of a drunk driver. The god could feel his blood boil at the mere thought of that man and his absolute selfishness and part of him wished he could go and turn him into ashes, spare the world his idiocy.

Oh! The things he would-

Suddenly, the baby let out a weak cry, snapping the god out of his rage-filled fantasies and drawing him back to the present.

“Are you hungry little one?” he cooed at the baby, who waved his arms and legs around, tiny fists bumping into the god’s chest as his tail swung around, whipping the air in quick, violent motions.

The deity went to the fridge and took out a bottle of milk one of his sons had delivered the day prior. While he waited for the milk to warm up, he cradled the Rhogarling in his arms and climbed up the stairs to his bedroom. He made sure to free up his schedule for the rest of the day so he could bond with the baby properly.

With his telekinesis, he opened the door to his bedroom and climbed atop of the bed, legs crossed. The chamber was a bit of a mess, with toys strewn all around, mostly on the bed and the furniture, within the god’s sight to be grabbed and brought to him as the baby wished. The floor and bed were covered in plush blankets and pillows, all colorful and enticing for a young child, be them human or Rhogar.

In one corner of the room, there was an old guitar, the black paint chipped in some places, and one string in desperate need of replacement. In the corner of the instrument, right on the edge, one word had been engraved with red ink. Hope. It was one of Lightreaper’s mother belongings, one of the few things he managed to get from her apartment, before her landlord had it cleaned in order to be rented out again. The others were some photos and notebooks which the god stored in a box, up in the attic, to be kept safe till the day the boy would be old enough and ready to learn about her.

The little one ate quickly, and was very restless, his tiny hands constantly grabbing and tugging at Adyr’s hands and fingers, his claws scratching lightly at the god’s skin and making him laugh.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you, my darling little one?” he asked, leaning down to tickle the baby’s forehead with the tip of his nose.

Lightreaper laughed and one hand reached out to grab the god, which drew another giggle from the deity.

“My sweet, little baby…” he mused, cradling the Rhogling, as he ate. “I will take good care of you, I promise.”

He began to hum an old lullaby while the boy ate, the sound of his voice seemingly calming him down. They continued to stay like that for a few more minutes, until the milk was gone and the little one’s hunger was well sated. For now.

As soon as Adyr put the bottle away, Lightreaper began to yawn and stretch, his tail wrapping around the deity’s wrist.

“Looks like someone is getting sleepy.” the god cooed, just as the little one began nuzzling his head into his hand.

“He is so adorable.” he thought and laid down on the bed, placing the baby on his chest, above his heart. His body was warm, his fire fueled by the passion and love coursing through him for this tiny and lovely creature he had been blessed with. Soon, Lightreaper began to snore, the sound so cute, the god listened to it as he lied there, dreaming up all the possible futures, all the paths life could take him to.

He couldn’t wait to see what he would become once he grew up.

℘♦℘

“Ha! You missed, you stup-Grahh!”

“Come back here, so I can kick you ass properly, you coward!”

Adyr closed his eyes, taking in deep breaths, as he tried to drown out the noise in the background. With great effort, he diverted his attention from the crashing noises in the next room, and back to the photo album before him. He stared at the pictures, amazed at how small Lightreaper used to be. He had almost forgotten there had been a time he could almost hold him in one hand alone. Seemed almost unbelievable now, with the Rhogar having grown so tall, he sometimes had difficulty getting into places without having to crouch down.

He flipped through the pages, watching how the little baby grew up along the years, turning into a happy and spoiled child, then a rebellious yet still pleasant preteen, a trouble-making teenager, a partying college student and now…

CRASH! THUD!

“Gorilla on the loose! Gorilla on the loose!”

“Who are you calling a gorilla!?”

… now… at least, he was healthy, so that was something Adyr was glad for. He thought.

He took a sip from his tea then continued to flip through the pages. He lingered on the ones with photos from when Lightreaper was around 6 years old. In all of them, two of his arms were around Adyr’s neck and the other two wrapped tightly around his torso, his grin so wide it was surprising it hadn’t torn his face in two. The god smiled at it, recalling how lovely of a child the Rhogar had been back then, how much he adored his guardian and sought to do everything in his power to please him. He had been so adorable during those long evenings after the deity came back from work and all Lightreaper wanted to do was to lie in his arms and tell him about his day, about what Daniela and Carl had done. He would rat those two out without a second thought, but it wasn’t done in malice, but simply out of a desire to have a chat with his dad.

Where had that innocent child we-

“Oh f-! Look out!”

Both Lightreaper and Evelyn froze in place as they watched Adyr just stand there, covered head to toe in paint as well as the chair he sat on and the table near him. A grave-like silence filled the room, disturbed only by the bucket rolling on the floor, coming to a stop near the god’s foot.

Then, with a loud thud, the god slammed the photo album on the table and got up, his blue eyes burning with the wrath of his Inferno.

“You two!” he snarled through gritted teeth, and just as he took a step forward, Lightreaper and Evelyn turned around and sprang away in a desperate race to the door.

A faint, sweet scent spread through the Roundtable. It wasn’t the fragrance of freshly baked bread or old wine rescued from some abandoned cellar. It was the aroma of flowers, of a field covered in cold snow through which blossoms rose still to grace the world with their beauty.

From his usual spot near the Iron Menial’s, now empty chamber, Ironeye inhaled the scent as deeply as he could. Few things managed to stir a reaction within Those Who Live in Death. Time had a way of numbing one to the things life had to offer and too much of it could strip away all the beauty and joy from one’s heart, rendering them forever incapable of finding delight in that they once cherished above all.

But this scent… it tugged at something within him, a string gone unnoticed by time’s cruel hand. And with each tug, sensations he had long forgotten could even exist came back to haunt him. His mind was flooded by faint visions of white fields beneath a dark, silver moon, of ginger snowflakes falling from a cloudless sky, of a cold, but gentle wind blowing through the valley, brushing against his face. There was no dragon lying in wait to attack, no fiends searching for prey. Only the serenity of a simple, tender winter day.

As if he were a puppet on a string, Ironeye’s feet began to carry him to the source of the smell. The closer he got, the more vivid the images became, with new elements being added, new sensations coming to life. Soon, the field of white became a field of flowers, with white and pale blue petals arranged in the shapes of the stars and the heavens above began to glitter with the light of the Northern Skies. Hues of blue and violet illuminated the scenery, casting a spell over him.

It was… beautiful.

“Is that all you require, great champion?”

He snapped out of his reverie and looked ahead to see Mioh and the Iron Menial in the middle of the grand bedroom, standing next to a tree sapling and a basket with small pots in which there were white and blue flowers, the same as the ones in his vision.

“That would be all. Thank you very much for your effort, Sir Menial.” the young witch answered.

They bowed to each other and as the Iron Menial left the room, she crouched down to examine the blossoms, caressing their petals with her fingers. A smile tugged at her lips, and Ironeye could see the spark of a lone tear form in the corner of her eye. It was strange to see the usually stoic and calm witch’s expression change for once.

“What are those flowers called?” he suddenly found himself asking as he approached her.

She threw him a furtive glance before shifting her full attention back to the plants.

“They are called Mioh. It means “Moon Tears” in my language.”

“Moon Tears.” the archer repeated. He walked over to the sapling, examining the small buds on the thin branches, gathered in a cluster at the edges who bend down under their weight. They were of a deep silver, highlighted by the pitch black of the bark, and he assumed, given the shape, they would resemble lilac flowers once they fully matured. “And this one?”

“That’s a lunar tree. In my homeland, it is revered almost as a god, for the old legend said that in ancient time, before the curse which befell my people was wrought into being, it was through the chime made by those flowers that the divine spoke with them.”

Ironeye nodded, his interest piqued little by this revelation. He was never a man of faith and neither did the Fellowship see a need to indoctrinate its pupils into it. He much preferred to rely on his skill, bow and the people he could see, touch and trust, rather than some god who he doubted cared at all about him, beyond some fleeting distraction, perhaps. He though those “formless masters” the Priestess used to talk about no different. After all, ending the Night was in their best interest as well and why dirty their own hands when the world was full of strong warriors willing to take on the mantle.

“Do you need help with these? Since I assume you won’t leave them here, in the middle of the room.”

“True. I would like to take them outside, to the area next to the dinning room.” she answered, getting up. “The Iron Menial was more than gracious and gave me permission to make a small garden there. He even said he’d provide me with the necessary tools and leave them there for me to use.”

The archer nodded again and set to work. It wasn’t like there was much else to do around the keep anyway. The expeditions had been postponed for a while, due to reasons unknown to him, leaving him and the others to busy themselves with whatever they chose. The trail of the Monster had gone cold and until further leads showed up, he could only sit around and wait, much to his chagrin, leaving him to unleash his frustration on the fallen trees outside. Helping out the young witch was a welcome change of pace.

He gently grabbed hold of the sapling and followed Mioh to the mentioned spot.

Raider was at the dining table, drinking a bottle of ale when they arrived, while Executor was at their canvas, yet paint, they did not. Instead, they seemed to be contemplating something, almost agonizing even. Perhaps it was a lack of inspiration? Ironeye could only guess, for his fellow Nightfarer was not one for conversation, no matter how small, big, important or mundane.

Mioh led him to a small area, not far from the Executor’s spot, where true to his word, the Iron Menial had prepared the tools necessary for planting both the sapling and the flowers. Even more so, he seemed to have prepared an additional set of items, and though he knew it impossible, Ironeye could only guess it was meant for him.

“Thank you very much for your help. I can take it from here.” the witch said and picked up one of the shovels.

“I don’t mind helping you still. I don’t really have anything else to do so I might as well, you know.” he answered as he removed his cape and armor, leaving himself in nothing but a shirt, trousers and the face mask.

While he had little to no experience when it came to gardening, he doubted digging a hole and putting some plants in could be that hard.

…

…

Except it was in fact that hard.

The Moon Tears were awfully fragile flowers, whose petals bruised with the slightest application of force and could even start to wither if handed poorly for as long as a few seconds. The stress of making sure he was as gentle as possible was so great, it dwarfed even facing Tricephalous.

“If it is too hard, you can stop and rest. I can continue from here.” Mioh told him, her voice ever kind and reassuring.

Part of him was tempted to accept her offer, but another one was far too stubborn and petty to accept defeat at such a simple, yet stressful task.

Thus, he continued to endure while gently, oh, so painfully gently, he moved the flowers from the pots the Iron Menial had put them in to the holes he and the witch had dug, silently praying to whatever god was out there for the task to end as quickly as possible. During this, he managed to steal a few glances at the Executor, wondering how their contemplation went, only to find them completely absorbed by their canvas while Raider was sprawled on the ground, next to them, snoring away the alcohol. The archer had been so drawn by the plants that he hadn’t even noticed when the old seaman moved.

“These flowers,” Mioh began, and he turned his attention back to her, “my father told me they were a gift from the god sleeping within the moon. That it bore witness to the pain of a lonesome man and was so moved by it, it began to cry and from where its tears landed these flowers began to sprout and blossom. Their pollen and petals were often used in potions by my family to help calm one’s nerves and soothe their sorrow.”

“Did you ever use those potions?” he asked, only to regret it for thinking it too personal of an inquiry.

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to take offense at his curiosity.

“Yes. I use them still…. It helps me sleep.” she added in a quieter tone.

“I see. Forgive me for prying.”

He would have liked to ask her if she saw it too, the field of white flowers with the moon hanging above, if such dreams were usual or a sign of something more. Ironeye might not have been a disciple of the divine, but he knew better than to ignore possible signs from them. Even if only to use whatever knowledge he might gleam from it for his own benefit.

After what felt like an eternity, and his clothes were dirty with sweat and mire, the flowers, as well as the sapling, had been planted and both he and Mioh were resting at the dining table with a cold glass of lemonade before them. Sweat poured down his brow and back still Quietly, Ironeye promised himself to never again agree to help the witch out when it came to gardening. He’d sooner face the Gaping Jaw than go through the whole ordeal again.

Back at their canvas, Executor was working diligently still, but no matter how much the archer tried to glance at their latest art piece, he couldn’t for they were guarding it with such vitriol, he half expected them to come and behead him should he continue to spy.

Thus, he resigned himself to simply drink his lemonade and enjoy the fruit of his labor.

“The tree blooms only at night, when the silver light of the moon bathe the branches freely.” Mioh said, next to him. “The Night is obfuscating the moon, hiding away its glow. As long as it stands, the lunar tree cannot blossom.”

“That… is a shame.” Ironeye muttered.

“Indeed… but perhaps...they could coexist… the Night and the Moon….” she added in a quiet tone.

The archer looked at her, perplexed, yet push further he did not. This was not the time, nor the place for such a discussion.

His attention was drawn by the Executor who seemed to have finished their painting and had finally, finally, allowed the others to gaze upon it. And Ironeye almost lunged over the table to gut them.

The “painting” portrayed him and Mioh working in the new garden, but while the Exceutor kept the young witch as an image of aristocratic elegance and beauty, they had stripped him of all dignity, by giving drawing him crouched down as a monkey, mid sneeze, with his mask removed and snot all flying from his nose. The archer stared at it in disbelief, while next to him, Mioh was struggling to surpass a giggle only to fail. Raider too, had awoken from his nap and one he laid eyes on the painting, he started laughing out loud.

“You look good, lad!”

Ironeye cussed under his breath and yet, despite his strong, murderous intent, he did not attack his fellow Nightfarers. Perhaps, it was the scent of the flowers which had made its way to him, but all of the sudden, he was overcome by a powerful sense of peace. The Executor’s drawing felt like nothing but a bad joke, one he could easily get over. His attention was drawn to the lunar tree, to the branches upon which a dark fog had descended and through it, he could spy the faint form of a creature, one older than time, than the very Night. It stared at him through unseen eyes, examined him, weighted him, yet there was no trace of hostility in its gaze, only a genuine sense of curiosity and… compassion.

For it knew the truth of his being, of his heart that would not be stilled by death’s touch. And contrary to others, it did not hate him, it did not regard him with disgust. It understood and it accepted. Just like it did so long ago, with the pain of that lonesome man to whom it granted its tears.

“The god sleeping within the moon..” Ironeye thought and cast a quick glance at Mioh. With little surprise, he saw she was paying attention to it too.

And it acknowledged her too. He could tell.

Neither of them spoke a word of this, and instead, they continued to sit in silence as the others, mainly Raider, joked about Executor’s painting, keeping their feelings for themselves. But deep beneath his facade, a thought began to surface and root itself deep within his thoughts, birthing ideas that went against his very purpose.