The morning was white with mist, curling and sloping past forests of fir and red wood, into the basins of the slumbering palace. 

Asael stirred awake and sat up slowly. Beside him Ara was still fast asleep. And from the other chambers came no sound of rousing. So in silence he lingered, watching the slow rise and fall of his breath. 

A thin stream of light poured into the room. Brighter than the fading light of opals yet fainter than cold breath. The latch to the window had broken in the night and the glass was cracked, and through it seeped a trail of frost spreading upwards in a pattern of disorder only to fall at its end, gathering at the window sill in small cold puddles. 

Asael rubbed his eyes softly, for sleep still rested heavy upon them, then he pulled the opal lamp closer and pressed a palm under it, feeling its soothing warmth, he placed it weight on the quilt, bringing it along with him to the windows. 

A blazing wind poured into the room. He looked back and saw that Ara had not awoken still and knelt by the creaking wooden frame and leaned towards the wind. Stars glimmered still in the fading night and the moon white and waxing was beginning to descend east of the sky. Looking out towards the weighing boughs of trees and vines, Asael searched for a trace of fluttering blue. 

Yet for another night his little companion had not returned. A deep loneliness welled in his heart and crept through his bones, holding his face frozen. Where had it gone to? Indifferent to his pleadings it had stayed nestled amidst his robes, yet now when needed it the most it had left him behind.

It was a flicker of doubt, yet Asael knew his faith had begun to waver. Could it perhaps not be Serein’s eyes? Yet he did not know  any other who was capable of carrying messengers beside Reven. And Reven had not yet taken the bearer’s position and was incapable of such a feat. First it was Raglar that had brought death upon him, the imperial teacher he had known since birth and now? Whose messenger was it that had nestled beside him? 

Wearily Asael wrapped the quilt around his body and closed his eyes against the wind, falling behind the veil of sleep once more. 

As Ara woke up, she saw Asael asleep by the window. Bathed in the soft sun, with wisps of ever flowing black against flecks of redwood blossoms, resembling something otherworldly. She dared not let her gaze linger. Hurriedly she folded her bedding and quietly she drew towards the window collapsing beside Asael, waking him.

She smiled apologetically and stretched her blistered feet onto the windows.  “ I can’t help but feel that we were fools to come” Her skin, olive and golden was now bruised violet and blue.

Asael blinked and sadly and nodded in agreement. As he had often come to do.

“ What other way is there?’ She huffed again,  “ Someone must dance and someone must bleed, and surely it won’t be the nobles and royals”

Asael gently pried the tub of ointment from her hands and uncapped it. 

“ I can do it really” Ara waved her hands, her voice softening “ Your hands are injured”


Asael smiled and shook his head, “ They are good now” He opened his palms and showed them to Ara. The tender nails that had been worn and torn off now grew anew in their beds. The slashes of arrows and wooden splinters had also come to heal well, now leaving ravines of new growing skin in their stead.

He scooped a bit of ointment onto his finger tips and smoothed it over the bruised feet. Ara heaved and fell. And as her mind grew numb in pain suddenly she was back home, in a land she did not recall, resting her feet upon a sister’s lap, whose face and name had long been lost to the tidings of time and toil. This was nice. . . she thought, back in the perfumery it was Sarel who often spent his days with Isehyn.

She thanked the goddess that the old bat, Borun had thought Sarel impudent and had left him behind. And thanked the lady for she thought him to fit bear the perfumery’s tidings in their absence. If it had been herself. Ara gulped in fear, she certainly would have made a fine mess of it upon their return. 

“ Do you like the palace Isehyn?” Ara pried gently.

For the first time in her life, she had stepped within the inner cities. And she had seen many sights unseen before and felt proudly to walk the paths treaded by royals and nobles. But naively the comforts and grandeur she had expected did not arrive, and she was made to dance and toil till injury.

Asael blinked slowly and shook his head, with no reverence or mirth he answered, “ No” 

He held back many grievances. He had not expected many comforts, still until the winter games his understanding of Ahsara had been one of distant acquaintanceship. For millennia the two nations had shared blood and ties, and he had thought Ahsara to be much like home.

Yet all around him were gold and grandeur, rituals and ordinance. And he thought these plain and spoiling. None were the merry gatherings of folk and the grand feasts of spring and winter. The cities were divided and from the streets jumped perverts into courtyards. The gates of the palace were closed to all and open to a select few.

And there were many flowers and gardens within, but they too were hidden readily and imprisoned were the guests to courtyards, upon which sat keen eyed soldiers watchful and wary of their movements. And so vast towered these walls one could not even see the sky above let alone escape. 

“ Don’t like the palace. . .Ahsara…” Asael frowned and gestured vaguely. 

Then he knelt with keen concentration resuming treatment. The tough skin of Ara’s soles that walked bare on the gravel and grass of the perfumery now bled profusely clothed in soft leather and the powdered sand of the palace.

The injury of his choices had fallen upon these innocent passersby, and it’s weight tore relentlessly at his heart. He could only wish in desperation for this hurt to be over. To close his eyes and open them amidst roses and higan trees, To run across the snowy plains with Arelle and sleep under the singing Hyperion’s with Reven. And faintly he remembered, that Astara too must be quiet upset that he could not be present for the blue moon’s brewing. . . and these troubles he wished for gladly. 

Yet here he lingered, on the cusp of death, tormented by the night that bore him and haunted at waking by the hope that the may live another day to Isryx, to see his wisp and breathe his last among those he loved, though it may not be home.

Once done Asael wiped the ointment off his fingers and helped Ara roll a pair of socks on her feet safely. It still stung to touch ground, but she waved her hands happily. 

“ Because Isehyn rubbed ointment on it I feel much better now!”

And as the sun took its place among the clouds and time came for them to leave, Lilia found them still sitting together by the window, immersed in soft conversation. 

“ My. . .my, you were awake all this time!” She smiled and rubbed their heads gently, “ Now go and prepare for the morning before the others wake up, and we shall head to breakfast together”

They had a hearty meal in the great hall, with many meats, fruits and berries. And Ara felt that she could live forever this way if only she needed not dance. And Asael was without complaint for there were many berries of winter and autumn that he often ate at home.

 This way the day passed quietly.

At moon dawn the pavilion received a visitor. Clothed in lustrous bronze and with scholarly grace. They hailed from the pavilion of rituals. Who they were none of the minstrels knew, yet with ardent attention the ministers awaited their instructions and urgently went about matters of decoration, arranging the company of minstrels  this way and that.

And as he was separated from Ara, Asael searched for Lilia and saw her no more. And soon a veil fell upon his eyes. White and hazy obscuring what lay before him.

Then someone tugged at his hands pulling him away. A company of few now left the ritual pavilion and through a forest path was led towards the palace temples. 

The ground beneath his feet faded from smooth stone to white sand and the scent of red wood seeped to  magnolia. A soft zephyr blew over them, and tender petals, in shades of white and yellow caught in their sleeves. Asael pinched a stem between his fingers and anxiously folded it in his palm. 

And in darkness they walked, cold and together.  In a moment the air about them thrummed, they turned and walked some steps within the shadows, and faintly heard some guttural sound resonating from a distance. A prayer? A hymn?

He did not understand what they sang for, or who for they sang for. And so could only listen in growing confusion, and he was not alone in this plight, for he felt the jittering steps of others, shivering and drawing closer to each other in hiding.

For awhile their company moved forwards, towards a vast tower that stood among the trees. It’s shadows fell upon the bordering forest, engulfing it. And even the wind turned away. The stars and the moon, bright and soft in the night were clothed behind its body. Asael shivered, gripping the sides of his robes.

And with each step the fear grew, and as it grew it never came to be. For stones of opal soon lit their path and within the shadowy tower that light grew, upon the eaves of the ceilings and it’s doors and hinges, from every corner hung bright lamps. And their figures shimmered dimly as they passed the vast and vacant halls.

There was a glowing light by the end of their path and Asael felt the soft wind grow strong and heard at a distance the creaking of great branches. And they entered a clearing, bright and lustrous , and there stood a great tree whose kind or name he did not know. Yet the weight of its leaves rested on golden pillars and on its eaves hung strings of flowers and jewels. Asael closed his eyes and softened his breath, reaching his mind’s eyes towards its reach. He felt no life pulsing this vast being and none were the spirits perched atop its boughs.

Yet for a night they were made to kneel by its roots. Swathed in the cold wind, kneeling before sonorous hymn and prayer.