Author's Note: This is more of a thoughtful blurb, really, brought on by my musings driving home one night, during the winter last year, and watching the moon. I came up with the idea portrayed in the story, and wanted to express it somehow, and my feeling that night, so here it is! It's been stewing in my head for a while. I'm lazy and slow, what can I say?
I've taken some liberties with the portrayal of the mythological figures here, so if you're a mythology nerd and anything seems not-quite-accurate, it's not because I missed anything accidentally! :P My explanation is that things are a little different on Gaia. And, if Minerva is a goddess there, why not others?
This is told from Zack's perspective, and takes place not long after Angeal's death. Hope you enjoy, or at least find it interesting. :)
Diana, Stand Down
By
Kazaam
It was a silent world that greeted him that night. Silent and still.
Oh, so still.
The darkness of the sky gazed back at him; it was the deepest part of the night, many hours before dawn, and the stars were all the brighter for it. Tiny glittering specks, they captured his interest more than the impenetrable landscape around him could. Out here, in the vast space between nothing and nothing, there were no other lights to dim their glory. It was as if some mighty being had ground diamond dust onto a black carpet, perhaps, or strung delicate ice crystals through the deep, bottomless ocean. It was certainly cold enough.
A deep huff of frozen breath drifted skyward, to join with the crystalline heavens.
The creak of leather gloves cut through the silence, like breaking ice, loud to his ears. He was convinced that anything within a few miles would have heard it. But nothing stirred. The world, so motionless, remained dormant. It seemed he was the only one awake at this hour. A light breeze lifted the still air, stirring his hair, and whispered in his ears.
Searching eyes finally located a new light, distinct from the stars, just peeking over the uppermost branches of a faraway pine. In sharp contrast to the deep night, the proud bow of the crescent moon slowly rose into view.
Its slow movement gently awoke memories of a different time, a night like this one, so long ago now, and the breeze whispered them to him, speaking with the distant groan of the pines and slight rustle of needles.
The moon, Angeal had told him that distant night, was an ancient goddess. She was sister to Minerva, and daughter of Gaia. Ruler of the night, she was lady of the hunt and of wild creatures, and of all the wild places of the earth. Because of this, and of her patience and dependability, watching over the nighttime land, she was beloved by the Hunter, and watched over him, as well.
Her name was Diana, and the crescent moon, her silver bow.
It had been a full moon then.
He had asked Angeal whether he believed in the goddess. Angeal had replied that no one truly believed in her anymore – she was ancient, from an ancient time, and ancient people. But it was nice to think that there was something there, maybe just a little, even if you didn't believe - to give a name to the bow in the heavens and take comfort that she was always there, watching over you, would be there every night for the same.
She was almost like … the patron saint of hunters, of SOLDIERs, of all wanderers, he had said. Not a guide, for she was a wanderer herself, but a steady companion on the long nights of silence and solitude, of respite from the arduous day.
Diana, Goddess of the Hunt.
She roamed the sky, and with her went the Stag and the Hunting Dog. Indeed, that night, so long ago, saw Diana accompanied by the Dog Star. But, wild and free, Diana would not keep pace with either the Stag or the Dog; she was also no protector – the devotion of her beloved, the Hunter, had ended in tragedy.
What a depressing story, he had thought. Why bring it up?
It is hard to love the moon, Angeal had replied. And besides …
No story is not worth hearing.
The moon had risen countless nights between then and now, but only one other night burned his memories, whispered harshly in his ears with the sigh of the breeze.
That night.
It had been a red sunset. So very red.
And so very final.
Angeal had been so still. He would not get up to explain about the goddess, as the sky darkened, and her bow crested the desolate horizon. It had been orange, that bow, stained in the red of the night's sunset, and pointed downward, as if Diana had lowered it in mourning.
He had not paid any attention to the moon that night, waxing crescent as the night before. How could he? His world had ended that night. The sun had understood. Why couldn't the moon? What business had she in rising? Didn't she know that the world was over?
But the bow, dipped in the blood covering his hands and sword, would not heed the fate of one who had loved her, who had found value in her distant companionship. She would continue to rise, cold and aloof, eternal.
As she had risen this night, three weeks later.
Pure and silver, Diana had strung her bow and pointed it skyward, ready to shoot her arrows across the heavens. But she was solitary this night. The Dog Star, so faithful and true, had been left all alone, wandering, lost.
Had so much time really passed since then?
To think … three weeks … almost a month … that he'd been … gone.
Gone.
Why, Angeal? Why did you have to …?
Why did you make me …?
… Why did you leave me alone?
There was a void in his life, as large as the vast distance between the stars, that he had yet to comprehend. How could he even begin? It was inconceivable, this depth of hurt and loss in his heart.
… Because it was just yesterday that something had filled that void, wasn't it? Three weeks … that was really not so long, after all. If he could just reach back with his gloved hand, Angeal would be there, and all he would have to do was pull him forward.
But the barrier of Eternity had been placed between them, and though Angeal was right there, so close, Gaia, so close! … there was nothing he could do to reach him. That small distance in time was reflected in the hard, unforgiving mirror of Diana's bow, the crescent, then and now, bracketing the gates of time.
Oh, Diana …
If only that bow could be lowered. If only it could go back to the way it was that night, that insignificant eternity ago.
Stand down, Diana. Lower your bow. Lower your bow and turn back time.
Diana, stand down.
Please …
Stand down.
End.