Great Sun, grant me this wish that only you can…
There is no sun. It is dark, save for a few lanterns lit here and there, and the stars above. The moon is out too, he thinks, but perhaps it is asleep within its cloudy blankets. He turns his face to the sky, eyes closed, and lets the wind pass him by without so much as a hello or goodbye. This is his rooftop, his own stronghold of sanctity. He's closer to the heavens from here. He knows he will never attain the celestial heights, but it doesn't stop him from dissolving into pools of emerald and amaranthine reverence at the height of his sheltering embrace.
Help me to fell him, to lay him low in silence…
His thoughts are once again on the pirate. He tries not to think of him, but sometimes, he can't help it. The pirate has declared a siege on his soul— no, his very being. The pirate is insignificant, but he has successfully thrust a blade between the Sun-Child's ribs, slowly twisting it day after day. He can feel his flesh ripping, his bones breaking, but his blood does not spill. No one can see the agony he suffers, the tears born of frustrated confusion that never fall. He is as cool as ever, cool as the eventide breeze caressing him comfortingly.
Keep him far from me so I may hold him closer…
It is a full-fledged assault on his pride and dignity. He doesn't need anyone. This he knows. He makes no secret of it, either. So why must the pirate constantly challenge this? He may go play with his own pawns anytime he wishes, but why must he insist the Sun-Child do the same? Why must he look at him in such a way? It causes him to doubt himself at the very core of his soul. He will not take that hand, not for anything. If it must be any hand, it shall not be yours.
I have only one desire tonight, Oh Great Sun…
His eyes open slowly as the moon awakes from its lofty slumber, shining down on him like divinity in sweet, lurid pallor. In its light, his eyes almost glow, and he breathes slowly. He is filled with a pulsing, arcane sort of trance. He feels older than this sea, older than the persistent will of the pirate on the other side. He is scared that he isn't strong enough. He can take everything he wants, but will he have the desire to follow through if he can't control this small fear beginning to chisel away his resolve? If he can't stop thinking about those ridiculous offers of friendship… he's terrified he just might consider it. And that must never, ever happen.
It won't happen. He is strong enough. There is no force in the world that can impede the sun's passage. Even the moon, he notes with satisfaction, is simply another side of the sun's power. The only thing causing his doubts is himself. He has nothing to worry about; there is nothing to threaten him. And just like that, his mind is free. He thinks over his plans for tomorrow— the training, what he plans to eat, what drills he will order his soldiers to practice— rather than any man with the moon's grace crowning his head and the ocean in his eyes. His doubts will return, but some other night. Tonight, he has spared enough thought on someone unimportant to his destiny.
Take him swiftly so that I might get out alive.