#fun to write

Iluvatar's recollection doesn't encompass you. He doesn't possess the fragments of your memories, yet you remain an inseparable fragment of his essence. Analogous to matter, which underpins creation, you are an existence that entwines his thoughts, an ethereal presence encircling his eternal song. Connected to him yet apart, a paradox of unity and division.

He glimpses fragments of you through the eyes of his Ainur, those beings birthed from his own mind. A silent observer, he never truly encounters you, and you, in your existence, never seek him. The weight of your absence gnaws at him ceaselessly, a persistent ache embedded within every living moment.

Time turns into an eternity as Iluvatar mourns the gulf that separates you from him. He replays the fleeting glimpses of your presence, those wisps caught through the eyes of Manwe and Melkor. Perhaps fated, your connection with him remains unknown. However, such a state is destined to change. It evolves, it shifts, and it transforms.

A pivotal moment arrives when the distant creator of the cosmos is irresistibly drawn into his own creation. Iluvatar crosses the threshold into Arda, compelled by an irresistible force—you. He treads upon the earth he formed, a wanderer amidst the very world he sculpted. The trappings of his divinity take a backseat as he pursues an entity he can barely remember. The symphony of creation fades, and the unattainable brilliance of his godhood diminishes. All is surrendered for the sake of finding you.

He journeys endlessly, traversing the landscapes of Arda in search of any traces of you. The loss of his divine status and the adversities of the world pale in significance as the very land of Arda draws him closer to you. You must be here, in some form or another. The architect of the world becomes a wanderer within it, adopting a form akin to that of his own children, in the hope of finding you among them.

No callouses on his feet, no storms, no heatwaves can impede his quest. He presses forward relentlessly, compelled by an unquenchable yearning. He must find you, and nothing can deter him.

For Iluvatar, the loss of his godhood and the trials of Arda itself become inconsequential when the very land he shaped brings him ever closer to you. You, a presence he can barely recollect, but a presence that he cannot relinquish. He walks the world, shedding his divine mantle, forsaking the celestial music that once defined him. All for the sake of you, the missing piece of his existence.

“I will be gone for a while this time.”

Melkor gazes intently at your misty form, his expression a mixture of concern and longing. "Gone where? How long?" The questions escape him, his heart racing in the expanse of the barren void. His mind echoes with an unspoken plea—don't go. Unbearable panic threatens to consume him, the idea of being left alone in this desolate Void unfathomable. Would you, too, leave him like so many before? The thought looms, the talons of the cruel void threatening to seize his very consciousness. Without you, he fears he would be lost.

A soothing sensation envelops him as you crouch before him, your presence a gentle reassurance. Your palms cradle his face with an almost ephemeral touch, and he finds solace in your touch. "I'll be gone for some years, but I'll be back. I promise you." The words carry a weight of sincerity that Melkor can't deny. He knows how well you stay true to your promises.

"Why must you leave?" He voices the question that fills the silence, a sense of shame creeping in as he realizes he wants to stop you, to prevent your departure from his life. The idea of being without you claws at him, a fear he can scarcely admit.

"The song of the world has called me, and I must respond." He observes the faint outlines of your features, your nimble fingers and the glimmer in your eyes that pierce through the mist. "There is someone who looks for me in Arda, and I…" Your words falter, as if grappling for expression. "I must answer their call."

Curiosity intertwines with jealousy within Melkor's heart. Who could be so important that you would leave him behind? "Who is it?" The question slips out before he can fully process it, ages of resentment and bitterness simmering beneath the surface. Who could possibly mean more to you than he does?

“I do not know who it is, but I must meet them. To alter the course they tread," you remain seated, unwavering in your resolve. "I have managed to push the encroaching Void farther this time. It shall maintain its grasp while I am absent, but should challenges arise," your hands take on solidity, cradling a clear glass ball—a marble, a vessel of contained power. "Use this to harness its malevolence. It shall provide aid in times of dire need."

As Melkor's fingers connect with the cool surface of the glass marble, he cannot help but be awed by your form, by the intricate complexity that you embody. "Someone very dear to me once possessed this," you caution, your words laden with warning as you place the artifact in his grasp.

The marble rests in his hands, a tangible token of your existence. Melkor holds it close, a mixture of emotions swirling within him. He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of your presence, even as it begins to wane. "I will await your return," he murmurs, his words carrying a sense of longing.

This time, as your form fades, he can discern the faintest traces of your features—your eyes, your lips, your nose. The cold touch against his forehead lingers as his mind succumbs to a tranquil slumber.

General Cerdic had weathered countless battles for his king, leading campaigns on bloody battlefields and through uncharted territories. His prestige and the respect of his kingdom's people were well-earned and well-deserved.

However, the man of valor did not inhabit sprawling cities or grand palaces like the king's favored. Instead, Cerdic found his abode in an isolated village, a place where his gallant feats were mostly unknown. He rarely ventured beyond the village's bounds. It was here that he had last held his wife, welcoming their only child into the world.

A modest wooden house provided the backdrop for the years he spent raising his daughter. None could have been more inviting than this homely dwelling. Shielded from the clamor of the world, Cerdic raised you in this tranquil village.

The machinations of palaces and the cunning games of power never encroached upon the life of the general's cherished daughter. Both of you found contentment in the simplicity of life. Days were filled with the routine of tending to a humble farm, and nights were spent dining under the serenity of the stars.

But everything changed when he entered your life—a man dressed in tattered clothes, bearing the weight of his hardships in every step he took. You discovered him by the riverside, his body marked by the brutalities of slavery. His matted hair carried the grime of an existence you couldn't fathom.

"What is your name?" you inquired, met with incoherent murmurs. As you knelt to examine the stranger, your attention was drawn to his clenched fist.

"Billy!" Steve almost screamed rushing to try and grab him but missing his hand by a second as he fell with the floor. 

He landed on his shoulder, fire under his skin as he looked around to see nothing but darkness and the sound of clicking filling his ears. Knowing he was at least in the basement, spores and infected probably around the corner he looked up to see Steve three stories above looking for a way to climb down. 

Billy waved his hands and shook his head, no noise could be made with how irritated the clickers sounded nearby. He stopped looking and pulled off his backpack to pull out one of the gasmasks before dropping it so Billy could catch it, pull it over his head and gesture towards the way they were originally heading. Steve nodded and disappeared. 

That had gone far too smoothly for something bad not to happen. Their wordless communication and trust much stronger than when they first started this journey. The far ago night back at the zone was a blur of fear, adrenaline and somewhat excitement as they managed to sneak their way through the city and then the smuggler's tunnel until they reached the outside. It hadn't exactly gone to plan, at all really. Originally they would choose a night, leave a note and disappear without notice. What actually happened was almost the opposite. 

"You punched your dad in the face?" Steve's eyes widened as he took in what Billy had just told him. 

"Yeah," Billy replied walking past him into the apartment. "He started talking about...about me not pulling my weight and I could tell he was going to snap so I just hit him first." 

"Shit," he sighed closing the door behind them. "Good you finally showed that piece of shit but the timing could be better." 

"I know." 

Before Neil could find them or the guards could come storming in ready to arrest Billy they took off. Nothing but the supplies Steve had managed to save up, sealed food that would last until they decided to leave but that choice had been taken. How they had even come to the conclusion that they would leave together never made sense to him but he was thankful he was even considered to be taken out of the hellhole that was the San Diego quarantine zone. 

Billy had never been outside of the military borders, seen someone infected or shot a gun at someone or something but Steve had. Steve had done it all. Born in a community and raised there until it was raided and escaped with a few of his friends, Steve knew what the world was actually like beyond the walls and barbed wire. He just didn't talk about it all that much. 

When he showed up everyone was talking about him. The first new member of the city for years, an outsider with information and stories about the real danger that surrounded them but he didn't want to make friends or tell his tales. He was pissed and Billy respected that. So much so that he approached him, offered him some of his food and introduced himself in an attempt to at least make sure he had someone to talk to. After that, they were inseparable to the point Billy's father started to take notice. 

Over the years they shared things, confided in one another about nightmares and Steve pieced together what was going on at home. Something no one else knew of but after that Billy could run away to his apartment when it got too much for safety which he gladly offered. Long nights spent talking about everything and nothing at all. Their plans for the future but most importantly Steve's being one of the most prevalent. The location of Hawkins Indiana came up over and over because that was where his group were heading when they got separated, he just happened to be picked up by a scouting group after getting lost. 

The truth was, Neil hadn't set out to punish Billy for his laziness that night but rather his behaviour around Steve. Ever since his 15-year-old brain caught sight of him that day in the street, he was obsessed. It was just a confirmation that the crush he once had on Wayne wasn't because there was no one else around to be attracted to but something else which scared him, but worse angered his father. Steve was everything Billy wished he was and kind at the same time. He smiled whenever he saw him, hugged Billy after a few days of not seeing him and laughed at his jokes as if they were actually funny. There was just something about him which sent him running headfirst into the closest thing to hell on Earth. 

Billy sighed and crawled to hide behind what looked like some sort of machinery, the clicking only getting closer as he felt fear begin to set in. He had three bullets and two lessons of shooting to get him out of this but worse he knew Steve was making his way down there. He peered into the hallway and saw the flash of a door at the far end, the way out within reach but then he saw the familiar silhouette of an infected. It was too dark to tell if it was a runner or not so he shot back through the doorway and tried to ready himself. 

That was when he saw the television remote sitting on the chair beside him and reached for it. If he couldn't fight them off he could at least run past them. His shoulder burning as he lifted his arm to throw it as far as he could across the room and hope they entered through the other doorway. It hit what sounded like metal grating and sure enough set them all off running towards it. 

With his shotgun loaded and his mind trying to stop him, he took off down the hall. His fingers just gripped the metal bar handle when he glanced behind him to see a running heading right for him. Instinctively he went to fire his weapon but logic kicked in and before it could sink its rotten infected teeth into his flesh, he grabbed his pocket knife and managed to jam it just behind what looked like an ear but was slowly becoming something much more disturbing. It slumped to the group which caught the attention of the clickers but before they could even detect him, Billy was through the door and sprinting up the crumbling staircase without a sign of stopping. 

Running from infected had become commonplace. Multiple times Steve and him were left no choice but to hope they could reach the exit before a fungus covered hand could grab them first. Thankfully, they always made it just in time to slam the doors and barricade them well enough to buy them some time. The incident that played over and over in Billy's mind most nights wasn't too long ago. Probably about two weeks into this adventure of theirs, a clicker had wandered into their makeshift camp in an old gas station in the middle of the desert leaving them frozen on the floor eating what canned food they found in the back room. 

It clicked and twitched, searching for movement but they didn't dare even breathe as it walked closer and closer until they both moved at the same time to take it out but in the process not only missed but landed entwined. Steve's leg flung over Billy's waist, his arms stuck underneath which resulted in Billy shooting the thing in a panic. 

After it dropped to the ground they stayed there listening for anything, even a creak and they were out of there but nothing happened. Instead, they were left pressed against one another with their faces inches apart. It felt like some sort of rom-com moment but Steve very quickly pulled himself free before anything could happen, even if Billy wanted nothing more than it too. 

They laughed it off, said they should come up with non-verbal cues to stop that from ever happening again so for the rest of that night they sat coming up with ideas which made each other laugh until Steve got some rest. Billy left running through what would have happened if he had just gone for it. The years of waiting for a chance and there it was. Gone. 

It just felt so good to be around Steve constantly. The random topics which they rambled on about to distract them from the fear of being out in the open while going through cities or driving until the cars ran out of gas and continuing on foot, how he mumbled in his sleep, the shared meals which always ended in Steve eating more than Billy, the way he smiled when he woke up, how gently he would warn him of danger with a soft hand on his arm or shoulder, the songs he would sing to himself but most of all that he seemed to genuinely care. 

No one had cared about Billy. Steve, however, always asked if he was alright. If he was hurt, tired or hungry. At first, it felt strange, like he wanted to know something deeply personal but then he realised it was normal to ask these things. Especially in a situation like theirs. The relentless need to watch every corner of every room for any sign of movement. Listen for a click or a groan as if Billy hadn't been slowly developing tinnitus from the gunshots, falls and that one car crash because Steve tried to drive and it ended as Billy had expected. This drop was the final accident to cause the quiet static noise in his left ear, the right having a low pitched beeping which would come and go.  

When his converse finally reached the first-floor exit he heard the door only a story below burst open and what sounded like at least three infected coming through it, groans and screams filling the stairwell as he tried to push open the door and for a brief second panicked like he never had before but then saw that he needed to pull and soon enough he was on the other side with the infected having a difficult time getting in. For a moment he caught his breath, let himself laugh and almost cry as the absolute terror and fear that he was actually going to die was let out at last. His hand gripping his shirt as his lungs struggled to take in air for a moment before he heard something running towards him and looked up to see a runner. 

He dodged and managed to push it back just enough to pull out his shotgun and aimed for its head. Perfect shot. The noise echoed throughout the office room, the cubicles now even more of a threat than he had even realised. Knowing if something was on this floor it would be coming his way without a doubt. 

"Shit," he sighed and took off running again looking for any signs of an exit so he could get out and find Steve. "Come on." 

Everything was falling apart. The exit signs on the floor and the departments were smudged and covered with either blood or plants but just as he managed to find the directions to the reception he heard shouting. Steve. It was coming from the floor above. 

"Steve!" he started to yell sprinting towards the main staircase but when he got there the steps themselves were gone. He pulled off his mask to get a better look but that just made the outlook of the situation worse. "I'm in the stairwell!" 

"Billy?" Steve finally replied. 

"Come to the stairs. I know the way out." 

That was a lie. He knew that if they went straight down here they might get back onto the street where they had started but if that was safe or actually a way out, he didn't know for sure. Still, he continued to make sure Steve could hear where he was until finally he came running around the corner and almost fell but managed to stop just as his sneakers tipped over the edge. 

"Are you okay?" Billy asked getting as close as he could. 

"Well, there's a room of infected about to get out and get us but other than that? Peachy," he tilted his head and crouched down to reach for Billy's hand. 

"If you jump I'll catch you." 

"How romantic," Steve tried to joke but there was no charm or smile to go with it. Just fear. 

Yet, he did jump and send the two of them onto the dirty floor with a thud. Steve landed on top of Billy as his hands moved to hold his waist out of instinct while trying to catch him but when Billy looked up at him, the fear was gone. A smile had appeared on his face and he was looking right at Billy with such joy he almost had to look away. That was when Steve leaned down slightly, his eyes closing. Lips less than an inch away from Billy's when a door on the floor above gave way and the infected started piling out towards the stairs. 

Without saying a word he pulled back, jumped to his feet and pulled Billy up with him. Their fingers still interlocked as he made a run for the stairs. Steve jumped down first, a five-foot drop to where the steps had fallen. He waited for Billy and the two of them made it onto the still functional staircase until finally, they reached the ground floor, Billy's mind racing as he tried to focus on staying alive rather than what had just happened. 

The reception was empty, glass walls surrounding them as they saw the main entrance only metres away. Neither of them stopped until they almost crashed right into the clear door only to find it was locked. Steve looked to Billy and then around the room for any other exit but there was none and the crowd of infected were just getting to the bottom of the stairs. 

"Fuck this," Billy grabbed one of the chairs sitting nearby and threw it at the door. 

Somehow, it shattered and without hesitation, they climbed through and began running down the street until they reached a flooded patch. The infected far behind and only a few now heading their way so they jumped. Neither of them knew if the other could swim or even swim fast enough to get to the other side before one of the runners could grab them. Billy, so focused on seeing if Steve was close he almost lost his weapon but managed to stop it from slipping off his shoulder to the bottom of the water. 

They both made it to the other side where Billy climbed up onto a half-submerged car pulling Steve up to look back to see they were no longer being chased. The infected looking around for them, clearly unable to see at this distance but as he let out a sigh of relief he felt his body being pulled and suddenly Steve was hugging him. Arms wrapped tightly around his body, face buried in his neck. 

"I thought you were dead," Steve breathed into his skin, setting it alight as he moved his hands to return the embrace. "We need to be more careful. I can't lose you." 

That took his breath away. Every fibre of his being screamed that this was different. That Steve felt something just as he did but he couldn't bring himself to do...anything. Instead, he savoured the moment. Held on as he took in the rather eye-watering smell of them both as the stagnant floodwater took hold of their clothes but he didn't care. 

Finally, Steve pulled away but kept his hands on Billy's arms, looking into his eyes with a smile before letting go to pull his backpack around himself and squat down to riffle through it.  

"I found this," in his hand was a small children's toy of a wolf. He let Billy take it, inspect it and then look back at Steve confused. "I know you mentioned liking wolves and I found this." 

It was old and scuffed, probably left when everyone abandoned the cities all those years before either of them were even born. A world they never got to see or know but the remains gave them an idea of what society used to be. The toy, however, was kind of a mystery to Billy for a moment. He had never been given a present for no reason, his birthday being the only time he received something for nothing, so as he stood there surrounded by the buildings overtaken but nature he almost cried. Tears welled in his eyes, his voice unusable or he would crack so he nodded and smiled. 

"I know it's a kid's toy but we all deserve a little someth-." 

Billy almost knocked him off the car as his arms flung up and wrapped around the startled boy who had just managed to put his backpack back on. "Thank you." 

Steve let out a soft laugh, his arms coming up to hold Billy in return. "Of course." 

The two of them pulled away but instead of letting go, Steve ran his hands down Billy's arms until he interlaced their fingers. His eyes moved to look into Billy's as the world seemed to go silent. No, singing birds or rustling trees in the wind. Just them and the sound of his own heart hammering against his chest. 

"Don't freak out," Steve began. "But while I was running around freaking out because I thought you were dead I realised I really can't lose you. I'd be a disaster and without you, I would never have left the zone. You're the only person I have left for sure and I just...oh, I can't breathe." 

The entire time he was speaking Billy was falling apart, his tears finally breaking free and streaming down his cheeks. Caught on every word coming out from his lips as he processed them one by one but now it was Steve was needed help. His eyes shifted and looked away for a moment before focusing back on Billy. 

"Me too," Billy said trying to calm him. "I'd be screwed without you." 

"No," he sighed. "How do I say this?" 

"What?" 

"Fuck it," Steve took in a deep breath and moved. 

His hands cupped Billy's face as his body pressed against his, their lips meeting as he felt his legs go weak, overwhelmed by his nerves firing off all over his body. Steve was kissing him, he was kissing him back. It was all too much but before he could overthink it he fell into it. Hands running up his sides to get a grip on his jacket as it went deeper. Tears and floodwater took hold of his tastebuds. Neither of them showing any signs of pulling away until Billy did to catch his breath for a mere second as he let out a laugh, never losing Steve's eyes as he grinned in return before going back in. 

The two of them completely oblivious to the world around them, the danger hiding somewhere waiting but they didn't care. It wasn't until something moved nearby that Steve pulled away to look in the direction of the noise, hands still holding Billy as he watched him checking if there truly was something to be worried about. 

"I should almost die more often," Billy chuckled trying to break the sudden awkward tension. 

"But if you die how are we supposed to have sex?" Steve smirked and jumped off the car without looking at Billy's red face. 

"For real?" he asked chasing after him. 

"Wait, you've had sex right?" 

Steve stopped and spun around to see Billy avoiding his eyes. "Not exactly. I kissed Stacy once." 

"Oh, this is going to be fun," he teased turning back to continue to the main road. 

"What does that mean?" Billy shoved him slightly. 

"You'll see. I'd tell you but we better find somewhere safe to get dry and stay the night." 

The two of them laughed as Steve playfully nudged him but all Billy could do was look at him, watch his hair move in the wind, his eyes glancing his way every so often, their hands brushing against each other as they walked but it was the sudden realisation that after all these years Billy wasn't as abnormal as he was made to feel. What was possibly about to come next for them almost making him glow at the thought. If this was a different world they would discuss it, have a long conversation about what had just happened but they didn't have the time in that moment to stop and talk. Night was coming and with that brought the reality of where they were, Billy would just have to wait and see what Steve had in mind. 

i don’t like fishes, but i do like you

you didn’t listen to a single word of what he was saying. in fact, maybe you didn’t want to know at all. it was about a species of fish and you were kind of regretting that you mentioned it in your conversation. but the bigger part of you didn’t really care. there was always something when it came to spencer giving you much information, whether you were interested or not. 

you continued watching his lips move as he talked. the way his eyes looked so passionate because of the new details he was teaching you. your lips twitched up. this man was going to be the death of you. and you didn’t flinch at that thought.

“and did you know,” he continued, “that these fishes--” 

you continued to stare at him. you’ve been in this situation before, ever since your friend set you up with him on a blind date. you weren’t an official couple...yet? but people say that spencer was lucky to have you in his life. but, as cliché as it might be, it was who you was lucky.

“it swims straight down and--”

you giggled softly as you looked at him, knowing fully well that you indeed had feelings for this man in front of you. you shook your head and called him gently, “spencer.”

“it’s such a phenomenal--”

“spencer,” same tone of voice, slight tilt of the head but smile still there. “spencer.”

“and--”

“spencer.” you held up a hand. you were grinning now and trying to stop yourself from laughing. “spencer, you know i love hearing what you have to say but you know how i am with fishes.”

“i know,” he said with a sigh. “just a little nervous.”

“nervous?” you repeated. “why nervous?”

he looked down at the table. “well...i was hoping...we’re exclusively dating, aren’t we? i was hoping...maybe we can make things...official?”

I wrote a post about the civilization we see rise and fall, but today we're going to delve a little deeper into how the story might really be going, from the conflict to the climax to a possible resolution.

To quote the game's story (from the updated Isle of Dawn):

"With the stars united, our light was infinite...and together, we lived in harmony."

It is well established that light is a valuable resource that the spirits relied on, and way back at the beginning, it was also a renewable one: Winged Light fell from the sky continuously, a symbol of innocence and purity as a gift from the Megabird. Because it was infinite, the spirits all flourished, and there was no squabbling over a scarcity.

"As spirits, we soon became many...creating our home here in the clouds."

Here is where the civilization really starts to grow, specifically in the Daylight Prairie stage. The spirits' needs are all met every day of every year. But somewhere down the line, their basic need wasn't enough for them anymore. As they grew in number, so too did they grow in curiosity and want.

"But darkness came and the stars fell...

This sentence here sums up the remainder of our story, although what take place over the course of this sentence is an entire age. Here's how I feel it goes down:

The darkness coming literally refers to darkstone being discovered, and how its potential in advancing the people tempts them away from the comfort of their infinite light. The spirits did not have the light ripped away from them: they chose the darkness over light and turned away willingly, severing themselves from the stars. The Winged Light stop falling and become a precious commodity.

So they toy with this newly discovered darkstone and find that it reacts to light: as light is applied to any kind of darkness, it gives off energy, a rudimentary sort of power generation. There are several pieces of evidence to confirm this:

Darkstone technology only activates when you apply your light to it.

In fact, whenever you activate a darkstone door in the Hidden Forest, you recharge a little bit of cape energy, suggesting excess energy is produced in the reaction.

Darkness plants, when exposed to light, are used up in the process (as they are less dense than darkstone), but they release candle wax in the reaction, a concentrated form of energy.

However, as mentioned above, you need light for the darkness to be of any use to advancements, and now that supply is finite. The spirits must now find alternate sources of light, and the only source available to them at this time is the creatures of light.

The prairie begins transporting butterflies en masse to the forest to be broken down, and their light is channeled through their dark machinations to keep things running. As the butterflies become scarce, they look to mantas instead, and so on.

The civilization continues to grow and with it their demand for light, but the supply continues to dwindle. The scarcity of light is now threatening the people, and an ultimatum must be reached. They need a reliable, renewable source of power, one that can run almost indefinitely, so the King has one built, for the future of his people and their way of life. That's right: the Eye of Eden was never a weapon, but a near-infinite energy source, like a nuclear plant.

The finest engineers gather at the capital city and splice together mass quantities of darkstone into one megalith, only requiring enough light to kickstart a chain reaction. The reaction would cause a feedback loop: the energy emitted by the light-dark reaction would be enough light to perpetuate the reaction for an extended period of time, and any excess energy can be harvested or siphoned off and used to power the grid.

The people have spread far and wide and into different factions, each jealously guarding what little light they have left, knowing the King has intent to seize it. Skirmishes turn into battles turn into a full scale war. The desperation of each front has them all take the glorious darkness and turn it into weapons, and in this production of arms the people are failing to realize the true long-term side effects of utilizing darkness: pollution.

The weapons are produced as close to the front lines as the people could safely manage, hence the heavy pollution in the Golden Wasteland, just outside the capital. The water becomes thick and near impossible to sail through; the light from the light creatures begins to react to the darkness in the air and water, hence the presence of krill and dark crabs twisted by the corrupting dusts. The people try to infiltrate the capital city to seize the light that the King was hoarding. Perhaps some of the elders were even privvied to the King's plan and were working to defend him to save their own factions of people. Perhaps some of the elders even fought each other over differing ideals regarding the new generator.

As a last-ditch effort, the King moves the generator to as close to the sky as he can in a futile attempt to harness the holy light of the stars they had turned away from ages before. He hopes that the reaction will reach high enough to begin drawing in star power, slowly draining the heavens to keep his people alive.

He gathers any light left in the capital city and sends it through the machine, and the reaction kicks off in an instant. The power is greater than the engineers had calculated, and it is too great for them to harness; the wave of energy is massive enough to wipe out most of the denizens in the city within the first few seconds. The displacement of energy creates fierce winds and kicks up poisonous dust clouds, even scooping up entire bricks and boulders and flinging them through the air.

The mighty capital begins to crumble under the weight of this blazing light, and the flinging rocks tear down surrounding cities, picking up more debris as it grinds away at buildings. The dark dusts scatter across the land, settling over what few survivors remain, reacting to their inner Light and encasing them in stone, leaving them with no light left to return to Orbit whence they came.

The people had fallen to the darkness and its powerful properties, using up all their precious light to maintain their mortal existence. Now there is no light left and no way home. All that is left of their existence is husks of darkness, broken bones of old cities, and a radioactive storm with an unholy hybrid of light and darkness at it center that will run its course for thousands of years more.

"...and with their light we faded away."

...But not without one last plea.

"A long time has passed. Now we call to you."

In their last few moments, some groups of people, those who still had faith that they'd rejoin the stars, began to pray. They stated prophecies, chanted incantations into the sky, erected shrines with candles, hoping that their selfless offerings of light would grant them grace. That somehow Megabird would hear their cries and send them a chance at redemption, a chance at attaining Her inner Light once again.

And so the Megabird sent down the Winged Light again, hoping it would be enough to begin healing the land. But She did not quite understand the inner workings of this darkness, for it was beyond Her: this Light was fragile, and couldn't stand up against the darkness that swallowed the sky. She needed a vessel able to carry this Light safely into the heart of darkness where Her people slumbered.

So She learned of the darkness and how it cancelled out Light, and in response, she created the first sky kids.

"Go forth, child. Return our spirits to the stars."

Sky kids are different from spirits in many ways. Firstly, spirits are also creatures of light in that they originate from Orbit. It was their go-to source of energy and sustenance. But that connection between the spirits and all the light they'd ever need was so easily broken by the want that darkness produced, and their sensitivity to this darkness made them fall prey easily when it fell out of control.

By contrast, sky kids were created as instruments of the Megabird, shells carrying Her fragile Light within. They are not beings of pure light, but that's the point: they were designed to withstand darkness, and granting them a corporeal form provides more protection for Her Light from darkness than otherwise.

So the first sky kids go and deliver their inner Light to what fallen spirits they can find. The elders see the coming of the sky kids as Megabird's answer to their pleas, as Her Light is within them, and as the sky kids present their Light to the elders, they are able to reconnect with the stars and send up the spirits freed from darkness. So begins the pilgrimage back to Orbit, spearheaded by an army of children.

The first sky kids free some of the spirits and then head to the capital where light and darkness collide, the point nearest the stars. Megabird's intent was for the collected Winged Light in the hands of the sky kids to be enough pure Light to dispel the storm, but the darkness is too great, and as the Light was torn from them, they had no Light left to keep away the darkness, and they fell at the summit with no way of returning to Her.

So She sent more sky kids, thinking greater numbers would aid Her will. But two things began to happen, things She did not foresee: the sky kids, blank slates with no discernable emotions or features, learned from the spirits they saved: they learned how to wave hello, they learned how to laugh, how to cry, how to cheer, and so on. They even began taking on some of the fashions from the spirits! They presented individuality, suggesting that Megabird's Light was more than just pure Light: it was also a soul in its own right, much like the spirits that came before.

The second thing that happened was at the summit of the Eye of Eden, as it came to be called: when the sky kids realized their Winged Light wouldn't survive the Storm, they passed it on to fallen sky kids instead so that they may ascend back to Orbit and rejoin Megabird, at the cost of their own ascension. This soul of Light each sky kid carried not only established a personality, but also compassion, as Her Light was always meant to do. Sky kids were drawn to one another, and they started to work like teams and help one another out. They gave each other offerings of light as symbols of friendship and acceptance, not unlike the spirits' desperate offerings of light and candles to Megabird.

The Eye of Eden is the purest, most powerful light colliding with the purest, most potent darkness, which makes it an ideal euphemism for death: suffering and then release. It is the door to Orbit, but their possessions - their Winged Light - will be left behind. They only carry their deeds in their darkest time, which they are rewarded for after the fact.

When they came to Orbit at last, Megabird lauded them for their sacrifice and kindness, and invited them to remain with Her. But many of them expressed distress and dismay for all the sky kids still down in the clouds that needed help, and all the friends that they would miss. So She sent them back with two boons: additional Light granted by the spirits they helped ascend, and the knowledge needed to guide other sky kids back to Her.

Zelda straightens her back out, squirming uncomfortably under the tightness constricting her waist. “Well, if people cared so much about me, I wish they’d let me spend my birthday as I please,” Zelda grumbles, picking up the black, lacy mask that sits on her chair before plopping down onto the cushion. She crosses her arms, staring at her reflection with tinged annoyance.

“I know, I know.” Impa laughs softly. “Just try to focus on all the possibilities that will open up to you once you do hit sixteen though,” she encourages. “Besides, doing this will let the people know that we have everything under control. The less worried they are, the less chaotic the future will be.”

“But everything’s not okay,” Zelda sighs out, rubbing her temples. “I have yet to unlock—”

“You still have the Spring of Wisdom to go to next year. Don’t jump to conclusions, Your Highness,” Impa rebukes quickly. Her fingers work quickly through Zelda’s hair as she begins braiding down her back. “And we shouldn’t give up on the Shrine of Power and Courage, no?”

 Zelda remains quiet.

Of all the things she could be doing to prevent a catastrophe, she has to attend another cursed ball. A celebration for her birthday is far from something she wants.

“Only one night,” Zelda mutters, lightly slapping her cheeks. If she dutifully plays along with her father’s antics, perhaps he will ease his expressions of disappointment toward her.

“A little bit of hair here…” Impa tugs out strands of Zelda’s hair to frame her face. “There! You look lovely,” she says with satisfaction as she places her hands on her hips. Zelda flits her gaze away from her reflection against the mirror to her ajar bedroom window. She can already hear the sound of carriages bumping along the roads and the neighs of the horses resounding through the dark night.

“He’ll be there, won’t he?” The corset feels even more constricting when she thinks about him. That boy . She has to keep up—she cannot afford to fall behind any further than she already has.

“The young knight?” Impa inquires, squinting her eyes in thought as she maneuvers around Zelda to look inside her jewelry box. “I believe he’ll be patrolling the castle grounds.” Zelda relaxes her shoulders as she stares at Impa’s back. “Zelda. You shouldn’t avoid him. You know that you will have to cooperate with him in the future.”

“I’m not.” The lie feels sharper against her tongue than Impa’s gaze. “I’m not avoiding him. I was just… curious.” A half-truth is better than none. Zelda toys with the black ribbon straps of her mask, picking at an unraveling thread. She lifts the mask up to her eyes and tilts the corners of her mouth up.

Zelda has many masks, and adding another one is harmless.

  ——————————————————————

Be graceful. Be elegant. Be poised.

-

Don’t blink too often. Don’t eat too much. Don’t laugh too loudly and never laugh without a hand over your mouth.

 -

Zelda sneakily picks at the piece of bread that Impa had snuck to her earlier, nibbling on it in between greetings and returning plastic smiles—but the music. The music is irritating Zelda. There’s an instrument out of tune—a violin, maybe—and every time the bow strokes the A string it lets out a glaringly out-of-tune high-pitched squeal.

The only good it does is mask the growls of her stomach. She is starving, but starving is something that she has grown familiar with. Starving for food, starving for affection, starving for power, starving for—

“Your Highness?”

Zelda immediately hides the piece of bread behind her back and glances up at the soft voice. A Zoran who resembles that of a Fuschia flower—Princess Mipha, wasn’t it? If she recalls correctly, Mipha is one of the candidates for the Divine Beasts.

“A-A gift,” she continues, her cheeks tinted pink. “For your 16th birthday.” She holds a palm-sized box out to Zelda—baby blue with a white ribbon.

Zelda blinks at it for a moment, a bit dazed. No one has ever really handed her a gift-wrapped present before. Most of the guests have been handing them to her father—extravagant gifts that were mostly catered to him anyway—and now there is a gift for her here, directly being handed to her. They’ve only spoken to each other once, during Zelda’s mother’s funeral. Aside from that, whenever they had the pleasure of being in one another’s company, they acknowledged each other.

“Thank you,” Zelda says stiffly, accepting it with her free hand as she stares down at it. She brushes a thumb over the smooth surface of the box. Zelda sneaks a glance at her father, who is busy talking to another guest. She stuffs the bread in her mouth—earning a wide-eyed look from Mipha. “Pardon me, I haven’t eaten all day,” she admits sheepishly, gulping it down quickly. 

“Oh dear, you haven’t eaten at all?” Mipha almost gasps, her expression strung up in worry. Zelda waves her hand at her and shakes her head.

“I’m sure the last guests will arrive soon.” She holds the box with both hands now. “Is it alright if I open it up now?” Zelda asks, lowering her voice a little. A warm smile spreads across her face. She nods.

Zelda tugs the ends of the ribbon—it slips out of the knot easily—and lifts the lid. The object sits comfortably against a red velvet cushion: a stained glass flower. Zelda lifts it up slightly up in the air—an array of colors dance across Mipha’s face as she views her through the glass.

“I’ve recently taken up glass welding,” Mipha says quickly, fidgeting with her fingers. “I’ve heard that you’re currently researching an endangered species of flora. Although this won’t particularly aid in your research… I apologize…” she trails off, sounding faint.

“It’s beautiful!” Zelda clasps her hands over Mipha’s. “This is the best gift I’ve received today, there’s no need to apologize.” A smile breaks across Zelda’s face. A handmade gift? For her? A recreation of the Silent Princess at that! She tries her best to keep the excitement from brimming out of her voice. “It’s lovely, Princess Mipha. Thank you.” She clears her throat as she catches her father staring at her from the corner of her eyes.

“I’m grateful that you like it, Princess Zelda.” Mipha beams happiness, with a look of relief. She glances at the entrance—and does a double-take.

“Oh, please, enjoy the celebration and the food.” Zelda gestures to the ballroom, sitting back down. “We’ve cooked our finest dishes.” Food that she wishes she could eat herself, but she has to stand at the entrance with her father because he won’t let her get up until everyone has come through the door.

Mipha curtseys—she has always been so elegant—as she wishes Zelda a year of happiness, before quickly hurrying to the door. 

Zelda follows her trail, and watches her happily clasp the hands of—Zelda involuntarily scrunches her nose at the sight that she sees before her. Impa had told her he was patrolling outside on the castle grounds. Why in Hylia’s name is he inside the ballroom?

“Zelda, I would advise against raising your voice like that. People are watching.” Her father’s voice isn’t unkind, but chastising. She hates it.

She looks down at her dress, to straighten out the wrinkles of the dark blue ballgown. The sheer fabric has been irritating her the entire night, and she’s almost positive that she’s lost a diamond droplet or two that had been sewn onto the dress. “Father,” Zelda whispers, glancing at him. “This feels like a waste—”

“It is important to remain friendly with our diplomats. You know this. Especially with the prophecy—we must remain united with the others.”

Well, it wouldn’t matter if they were united or not if she couldn’t unlock her sacred power. She’d rather spend her birthday standing in the water of a Spring than next to her father.

“Just do as I say tonight for once, Zelda. For my sake.”

She balls her hands into a fist, scrunching up the skirt of her dress as she does so. “All I ever do—”

“Your Majesty!”

Her voice gets drowned out by the incoming guests, and she is soon tossed into the shadow of her father once more.

  ——————————————————————

Zelda makes sure to stay across the ballroom from Link—it’s easy to do so, considering how much he sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s easy enough to avoid a stranger—the lack of familiarity makes the task simple.

“A drink, Your Highness?” a passing maid asks, lowering the metal tray for her.

“So much for a masquerade, you can recognize me from a mile away can’t you?” Zelda murmurs lightly, grabbing a strawberry pink drink.

“Your beauty is unmatched. It’s hard not to notice you,” the maid says kindly as she bows her head.

Zelda lets out an uneasy laugh—compliments never sit comfortably with her. “Well, thank—”

“His Majesty would like to formally introduce a faithful knight of the Hyrule Kingdom, who has proven his worth and skill at the young age of ten,” the Court Poet announces, ceasing side conversations down to a murmur.

Her father—looking rosy-cheeked and kind, as he always is in front of guests—ushers the knight out of the crowd, and into the middle of the room with him. “This young man has risen through the ranks and proved his devotion in keeping peace within our lands at a very young age, and even the Goddess Hylia has blessed him—Link, the Knight who has drawn the Sword that Seals Darkness.” Her father’s voice is nothing short of impressive. He’s able to cease conversations within seconds, by the strength of his voice and presence. Zelda quirks an eyebrow up as she stands on her tiptoes to see above the sea of heads—a very stiff-looking boy standing next to a large, bulky man who is taller by half his height is quite a scene to see. “He will fight alongside my dear beloved daughter Zelda, to maintain this peaceful, prosperous time.” 

Eyes shift to her—black and beady behind the masks they adorn. Zelda grits her teeth as she bows into a deep curtsey.

 -

One… two… three…

 -

She straightens her posture and clasps her hands in front of her gingerly. As long as she doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, she’ll be fine. Just smile.

Zelda tilts the corners of her mouth up.

Coos of oh’s and ah’s reverberate off the walls of the ballroom, shaking her to her bones as they clap.

“To commemorate, the Hero and the Goddess-blood Princess will offer the first formal dance of the night,” the Court Poet announces loudly, spotting her almost immediately.

Her smile drops from her face, and she methodically shifts her narrowed eyes to Link.

He stands as stiff as a board.

She takes long, brisk steps to the center of the room.

 -

Be graceful, elegant, poised.

 -

Do not look into their restless eyes, because they will worm their way through the black of her irises and find out she is a Goddess-blood Princess who has been abandoned by their savior.

 -

Zelda stares at the creases between his eyebrows as she approaches him—they’re one step away from bumping noses.

He places a hand on her waist, but it mostly hovers over her, like he’s afraid he’ll burn himself if he gets closer. Zelda places one hand on his shoulder. His other hand floats in the air, unsure. She grabs it hesitantly, and settles to look at his lips instead: pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t want to be here, either.

The music starts jarringly, like the morning bell that rings at six in the morning. The violin is still a pitch to high—why hasn’t anyone noticed it yet? Not even the conductor?

Zelda digs her nails into his shoulder as they move—the brush of wind that follows their movements eases the anger that has risen in her.

“Just do as I say tonight, for once, Zelda. For my sake.”

And dancing with the boy who has fulfilled his part of prophecy will help complete hers?

They miss a beat—he steps in at the same time she does, and her forehead almost smacks against his. Zelda almost trips over the skirt of her dress as he accidentally steps on her foot.

She glances up at him—his mask is simple, but it’s as light as starlight and makes her squint a little. Her eyebrows furrow together. It doesn’t last long once she remembers the hundreds of eyes that watch their every movement.

But then he does it again.

Zelda sucks in a sharp breath. “You do know that there is plenty of space for you to step upon aside from my feet, right?” she murmurs between her teeth, making sure her smile is still plastered on her face. The edge of his ears flushes red.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with a brief, apologetic smile. There’s a finality to his voice that makes her tilt her head in curiosity.

He steps on her toes again.

Zelda’s mouth twitches—she bites her tongue to distract herself from the pain shooting up her foot. “You don’t know how to dance, do you?”

His ears turn a shade darker.

A small sigh escapes between her lips. She straightens her back and tightens her grip on his hand. “Keep your eyes down and follow my feet.” She repositions her other hand to rest more securely on his shoulder. She would prefer not to have a mouthful from her father for messing up the first formal dance of the ball.

Their eyes catch—vibrantly blue and innocent. He nods. 

Even though he concentrates on the pattern of her feet lilting across the marble floor, he still brushes against her heels. She glances up at him—beads of sweat roll down the side of his face as he concentrates on their feet, with the tip of his tongue sticking out ever so slightly.

Zelda swallows back the giggle bubbling up her throat.

“Hm, think of it as… sword fighting practice, maybe? There’s formation in that is there not?” Zelda inquires. A good knight must be efficient at their footwork, or else they’d stumble over during a fight and fall. “Try to be light on your feet like when you’re fighting.”

“Like fighting,” he echoes, his face lighting up at her suggestion—she feels the tension chip away from his shoulders as they make their rounds, passing by the ambassadors and royalty encircling them. 

Zelda keeps her voice low: “Left, back, right…” she instructs him quietly, as her own shoulders relax at his slight improvement. At least he isn’t stepping on her anymore. The music becomes tolerable, once she decides to focus on their own two pairs of feet sliding across the floor and the sound of his breathing.

The loud, booming round of applause drags her back to reality—she releases her hands from him immediately and takes a step back to do a quick curtsey.

“Thank you.”