#pixlriff

The coolness of the desert night began to make a show, and she shivered slightly. The streets were emptying as the night grew deeper and she wondered if she should find a place to spend the night. But she had no money, and she didn’t know where she would go.

As the last few people vanished into their houses, she made out a hooded figure, moving quietly through the houses. He carried a small bag, slung over his shoulder and he stopped in front of the burning candles.

For a moment, he stood, head bowed as if saying a prayer. She watched him for a moment, breath held, unsure if she should say something.

Then, as she watched, he laid the bag on the ground and knelt to withdraw something from it. A candle - tall, fresh, new. She watched as he stepped forward to the fountain and softly pressed the wick of the candle to one of the burning ones, lighting the new one. The cyan candle, almost burnt to its end.

With practised ease, he blew out the almost used candle and pressed the new, already burning one onto the still wet wax, gently moulding it so the new candle would stay. Then he stepped back, bowed his head again for a moment, and moved around the circle.

She watched him in silence as he repeated the action all the way around the circle, replacing each candle in such a way that they never stopped burning. Clearly, these candles were important. She thought she should know why, but she couldn’t quite figure it out.

So, as he replaced the final one - the green one, that made her heart ache slightly, though she wasn’t sure why - she stepped forward, hood up. Her hair was very pink, and she had noticed that no one else in this Empire had such colourful hair. She didn’t want to stand out.

“Excuse me,” she asked, stopping a few paces behind him. He started, turning to face her as he picked up his now empty bag. His own hood fell back, and she recognised a small circlet, placed upon his head.

He was familiar.

“What are the candles for?” she asked. A lot of things seemed familiar, but strange at the same time. She didn’t like trying to figure out why they were familiar, that was too much work, too much hurt. So she tended to ignore that sensation.

He studied her for a long moment, seeming to be looking for something. She wasn’t sure if he had found it or not when he smiled gently.

“The Vigil,” he said in answer. “People light candles for their lost loved ones, to remember them.”

“Oh,” she said softly. The dancing light of the square felt more serious now, a heavier light than it had been a moment before. That made sense though. Candles to remember the dead.

She stared at the blue and green candles, flames burning away the new wax. The blue one was taller, and that felt right for some reason.

“What are those ones for?” she asked, gesturing. To the candles behind them, the candles he had just replaced. He was silent for a long moment, turning to stare at them.

“For the fallen Emperors,” he said finally, his voice heavy, soft.

“Oh,” she repeated. “That’s a lot,” she said. He chuckled heavily.

“Not all of them are dead,” he said. “Some of them are, like Scott.” And he gestured to the cyan candle, steadily burning. “But some of them… they’re just missing. I figured I’d light a candle for them anyway. In case they were dead, and someone needed to remember them. Or maybe, the light would be enough to call them home again.”

He fixed her with a long, searching look. Again, she felt like he was looking for something in particular. Again, he seemed familiar in that aching way she didn’t like. The same, aching familiarity she had run from when she woke, dazed and confused, in a strange Empire.

“Do I know you,” she asked softly. He smiled, a sadness in his eyes that she could tell ran deep.

“Maybe,” he said. “My name is Pix. Some people call me the Copper King.”

“Oh. You’re the ruler of this city,” she said quietly, suddenly aware she was speaking to an Emperor who had the power over life and death here. Hesitantly, she dropped into an awkward bow that felt unnatural, ducking her head.

“There’s no need for that,” he said softly, stepping forward and holding out a hand. She looked up and took it, hesitantly, standing. “When I light the candles, I’m just Pix.” He turned to look back at the fountain. “Just another man, remembering his friends.”

“There are a lot to remember,” she said softly. She wondered if there were people she should light a candle for.

“That is part of life,” Pix said. He stepped forward, back towards the candles and picked up his bag, fixing her with another uncomfortable look.

“It seems unfair,” she said softly, watching the fire burn. “That we lose people. That we… forget people.”

Whispers seemed to toss at her brain like wind in her hair. Sand underfoot. Fish, swimming past her. A ring on her finger. She wanted to remember, but it hurt too much to try. It was easier to not.

“Life moves on,” Pix said softly. “We light a candle, and we remember as long as we can. What else can we do.”

“Can I light one?” she asked, suddenly. “I… I’m not sure what for. But I feel like I should be remembering someone.”

“Of course,” he said, lowering his bag again and pulling out a candle. It was pink - magenta - smaller than the ones he had just replaced. She held it in her hands for a long moment, staring at the small wax item.

Then she stepped forward, lighting it from the flame that leapt from the blue candle. For a moment, she held the burning stick, staring at the fire, trying to remember. Then she knelt, gently pressing the warm wax onto the edge of the fountain until she was sure it would stay.

When she stepped back, her face was wet. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was crying, or what the ache in her chest meant.

“I don’t know what I’ve forgotten,” she said quietly. “I don’t know who… the candle is for.”

Pix was silent for a moment, looking at her.

“You might find your answers in Mezalea,” he said finally. “East of here, you won’t miss it.”

“That name feels familiar,” she said softly. Her hood had fallen, she realized. When, she wasn’t entirely sure, but she pulled it over her head again.

“The Emperor there can help you more than I can,” Pix said.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She stared at the magenta candle again for a long time, watching the small flame flicker. Then she took a deep breath and turned to leave.

“Candlelight with you,” he called after her softly.

She wanted to say something. A farewell leapt unbidden to her lips, but it didn’t quite feel right. There was no ocean near this desert land, and no blessings left to give.

“And with you,” she said instead, vanishing into the paths of Pixandria.

Pixlriffs watched her go, a small, sad smile dancing on his lips. For a moment, he stood there, the fire burning behind him.

Then he turned and faced the light blue candle that burned cheerfully. Perhaps it had worked, perhaps it had served the purpose he had lit it for.