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Hey, everyone. This is a story I wrote a few years ago. It's pretty bad by my standards today, but I figured it might be worthwhile for some people.
Meadows of Heaven
He wrapped his arms around her, fingers weaving themselves into her long blond hair as she tilted her head back, green eyes closed. He kissed her pouted lips. She raised one delicate hand and twisted her fingers through his olive hair, his other arm tightly pressing in the small of her back, gathering her to him.
They shared a moment, breathing as one… and then released, hands trailing down the other's arms and fingers weaving together, as they lay back on the sandstone knoll and stared at the sky.
His gauzy robes rippled like the grass in the wind, matching perfectly with her's in the traditional Lalivero style. His thumb caressed the back of her hand, and as their heads turned, flame-orange eyes met with sly jade and shared a glance meant only for them – the silent understanding of the deeply in love.
"I love you, Sheba." The voice quiet, a scarce whisper, but caught by the wind and carried to her ear.
She smiled, and opening her mind to him, felt his essence reach out and mesh with hers. I love you too, Ashtarth.
The wind swirled around them, approving caresses that stirred their hair gently.
He turned his head and stared up to the sky, where the flowers of heaven wafted gently, nodding from the tapestry above. His expression was pensive, finely sculpted bones and high cheekbones unmoving as stone as his eyelids drifted between open and shut.
"I once thought I was condemned to be the wanderer, cast out from each place I thought to call my home, the calls and curses of those I once loved driving me forth. I am older than I look, sweet Sheba. I never thought, in all my years, that I would truly find a place to call home. I followed wherever the winds lead me, my element flying me forward… for the wind never rests, and finds no solace." He held her eyes once more. "You taught me otherwise."
Sheba reached out with her free hand and silenced him with a caress, a finger lingering on his lips as she drew back. "Hush. We disciples of the wind don't need words… we just know," her lips tugged upwards in a playful smile. "I am twenty-five today, Ashtarth. Seven years from the day you first flew into my life."
She closed her eyes, and snuggled close to him, head resting on his chest, his arm wrapping around her. "Let me have this moment."
His smouldering eyes stared to the sky as he heaved a sigh of contentment.
Sheba's breathing beside him grew slow and rhythmic… and so he was cautious not to stir when he saw the blue light streak across the sky, nearer and brighter than the other stars. It inscribed a slow, lazy circle in the sky…
He felt a strange feeling in his heart. A not-joy, but yet a not-sadness… it was the resignation of inevitability.
He had known he would someday see them again… it was fated; as sure as the Angel still held the scales. The Knights would forever be drawn together, again and again, so long as the elements they governed held the universe together. They could sense each other, vaguely… it seemed now, they had finally found him.
He closed his eyes. Elemental Knight of the Wind… a being he had tried, many times, to leave behind. But always, like a shadow, it followed him, bearing with it countless burdens, the burdens of centuries.
Channeller, dragonmaester, shaman…
Tyrant, murderer, betrayer…
Slave of Sthertoth…
Slave of the Angel.
All these things he was, but never wanted to be. For the last seven years, he was simply Ashtarth the man… a controller of the wind from a far-off corner of Weyard, the Primaterra – the first world and base of the universe, from which all other worlds grew.
He did not want to leave, he knew, thinking of Sheba at his side.
He kissed the top of his wife's head against his chest, and fell into a dreamless sleep – and for a while, was free from fear.
~Any way the wind blows~
The arc-en-ciel sailed the currents of space, engines shut off, tracing gradual circles above the world below them – a world they thought existed only in legend.
Baelfael, Elemental Knight of Fire, rubbed his glasses and adjusted them carefully, blowing out the breath he didn't know he had held in. "The Primaterra, origin of the universe… the first world, held in the grasp of the aether itself… around the axis of its centre, all existence rotates. The base of everything, from which the universe steadily grows as per the Yggdrassil theory, the crest of the universe a frenzy of constant starbirth… and it all stems from here."
Behemos, Elemental Knight of Ice, glanced down at his friend for a moment. He didn't betray it, but he sometimes wanted to hook Bael a good one. Ever since Moira's death decades ago, the man was not the same – science had become his only solace, and he had become colder than ever. "I bet they don't even have Motorhead down there, the poor uncivilized bastards."
The Purifying Light laughed girlishly. "As if you were the epitome of culture yourself, Behemos!" She coughed and made an attempt to deepen her voice to imitate the Lord of the Frozen Wastes. "All I need is a few kegs of beer, the girl of the night, and the latest UWF wrestling match." She paused reflectively. "You know, that doesn't sound that bad. Invite me next time, eh Bemmy?"
Regulus, Prince of Shadows, coughed. "Zoniha."
Zhael, Mistress of the Storm, laughed at her friend's mollified expression. "I swear, Regulus, it amazes me every time to hear Zoniha listen to a man! Don't tell me you've been whipped, Zo?"
Zo chuckled, and snagged the chocolate chip cookie Reg was about it eat from his hand. "As if! I'm still the one controlling all the sweets in the house, and thus little Reggy is in the palm of my hand."
Regulus simply glanced upwards at her. "I can withhold sex for weeks. I highly doubt you have the same control." The cookie plopped in his hand, and he took a very satisfied bite. "Thank you."
Molok sat in silence in the back of the cockpit, brooding, as was his wont. The Elemental Knight of Earth stood as a statue, unmoving – a being far older than life should have dictated, even by their standards, and wracked by the ghosts of the past.
He sat in silence, beard arrayed out on the stiff leather of his fighting clothing. He was a large man, heavily muscled despite his physical old age. He was Called in his sunset years, stolen from the sweet embrace of death where he could have joined the love of his life. For the Elemental Knights were doomed to immortality, to live in servitude to the Angel until the end of time.
His head turned imperceptibly as his gaze fell in Zhael. "Do you not have someone to attend to, young one?"
Zhael nodded. "I haven't forgotten, Molok. I will never forget, so long as my heart beats. And that," she said, getting up, "is a very long time."
She walked out of the cockpit and down the hall, the lilting strains of a song rising from her throat.
"We will be landing tonight," Baelfael said, his eyes flickering over the console. "Rest and eat while you can in familiarity. Myself, I go to sleep. Goodbye."
As Baelfael stood from his console and walked in silence from the room, Molok's eyes followed him.
… and it seemed, to the Raging Earth, that Baelfael seemed more and more like him with each passing day.
Zhael walked the metallic halls of the arc-en-ciel alone, singing softly to herself, balancing a tray full of hot soup, crackers, and cider in her hands. She came to the door to her room, and pushed it open with her hip. "Sweetie? Are you awake?"
A muffled groan was her response.
She smiled in the dark, and with a thought ran electricity through the lights, giving the room an affable, warm light.
Shiro rose from the bed across the room with effort, a smile breaking over his lined face. The man once known as Bomberman was now very old – his hair now white from age, longer now, his face heavily lined from centuries of care. Liverspots and veins ran riot on his arms – being a kshar'wa, disciple of Flame, had granted him long life, but could not save him from Time's cruel scythe.
"Hello, my little china doll," he said weakly as she came over and sat down on the bed beside him, smiling.
"I brought you some soup, Shiro," she said, setting the tray down beside him. "It's warm, and it's good for you. You need to eat."
"Arigato," he said with a playful smile, as with a shaking hand he lifted a spoonful to his mouth.
Her delicate yet strong hands wrapped around his and helped him, guiding the spoon to his mouth. When he swallowed, she followed up with a light kiss and sat back, still holding his hand. "How are you feeling?"
He grimaced. "I've been better." He took a sip of the cider, pale eyes on her as he sat it down. "Thank you, Zhael," he said, after a pause. "I don't know what I would do without you… and why you put up with a useless old man like me," the faintest taste of bitterness coloured his voice.
She ran a hand through his hair; cupping one lined cheek, and kissed him. "Because I love you, you dolt. You're still the same man I fell in love with, all those centuries ago."
He raised himself off the bed and kissed her, his hand resting on her hip. "And I'm glad of it… although," he said gently. "We… don't have much time left."
Her breath hissed sharply as she breathed through gritted teeth. "Don't say things like that…"
He looked at her intently, and despite the state of his body, his eyes still held the same white fire they did years ago. "There's no use in denying it… we knew this was going to happen, someday, when we first married." He covered her trembling hand with his. "I don't want to die on this ship, Zhael. If it has to come… let it be in our home. In the country… with the smell of apple-blossoms in the air, and the mist of the lake."
She held his eyes for a moment, then bowed her head. She brought her other hand up and covered his again. "… okay." She said, and kissed him. "Got room for another under there?"
Smiling, he moved over. Zhael slipped in, and arms wrapped around each other, they fell asleep.
Elsewhere, Baelfael walked alone through his room, flitting like a moth from one computer to the other, sketching calculations. Numbers scrolled by on the screen, but what values they revealed, only Baelfael knew.
And, in the centre of the lab, a homunculus was nearing completion… already, it seemed human. Its 'skin' was plasticity and yet real, its eyes hidden behind closed lids… a waterfall of blue hair fell down its back, and clothing swaddled its quasi-female figure.
Precise calculations… data must be extremely exact. Every nuance, neurons locked in the exact state upon death… but how to capture that every elusive element?
"What exactly is the thing we call the human soul?" Baelfael murmured.
His hand gently stroked the homunculus' cheek. "Moira, I swear: you will live again."
~Any way the wind blows~
It was a hot summer night beneath the star-spattered sky, the scents of liquor, sweat, and flowers spiralled far above the throbbing party. Beige-and-white streamers hung through the fledgling trees of Valerium, few older than ten years. A city beginning to rise as one of the great forces, awash now with vibrancy and vitality, song and dance. Hollowed-out nuts clinked against each other in the freshened breeze, hung from the streamers by netting, and the courtyard was downed with feathers from countless birds.
It was a Lalivertan wedding in another city, a merging of cultures that left each reveller dazzled. Candles burnt around the sidelines in Valean tradition, every so often incinerating a feather that the wind blew up and carried, burning, into the sky.
Mugs clinked and mingled with the sound of laughter and scuffing feet bubbled into the air as couples and friends, all quite drunk, moved on the packed earth of the dance floor.
Garet, looking uncomfortable in a formal tunic, danced gracefully with white-gowned Mia as strains of Piers' whispering syrinx filled the air. The Lumerian weaved through the crowd by himself, avoiding the dancing couples despite his eyes being closed as he poured his soul into his music… oblivious of the steadily-swelling ranks of dreamy-eyed girls following behind him.
Isaac, Jenna, and Felix sat around a table, talking quietly and smiling. It was Sheba's wedding, after all, and her twenty-fifth birthday. They were all older now, and enjoying peaceful lives. The world seemed to be idyllic, at peace, so much more than it had when they had adventured years before. Little Michigan sat wrapped around Jenna's leg, auburn hair gleaming and eyes wide, as he looked around at his surroundings. She smiled and ruffled his hair, smoothing her sunset-coloured dress as the maid of honour, and Felix as the best man.
They were watching Ivan and Feizhi twirl to a private waltz when Karst seized Felix in a headlock from behind, affectionately giving him a noogie as she smirked. Felix, laughing, turned and swept his arms beneath her, lifting her into the air and kissing her pale lips for a moment before carrying off the protesting Proxian. Isaac and Jenna shared an amused glance… before a pair of immensely burly arms swept down and lifted Jenna into the air, placing Michigan on his shoulder and kissing Jenna fiercely. Now fairly drunk, Agatio gave Isaac a jaunty wave, and carried off the laughing Jenna, as well.
Isaac suddenly found himself alone at the table, and chuckled to himself as he drained his glass, his eyes rising to the skies.
… he lowered his glass slowly, azure eyes unmoving from the ebony sky… and after a few moments, he swallowed his wine. The sound was audible.
From the meadows of the sky, one of Luna's flowers was moving… but not just swiftly falling as they did when Luna plucked them. Before his dumbfounded eyes, this blue-hued flower inscribed circles in the sky before it began descending, growing largely and largely… until he could see clearly that it was not a star at all – but rather, a strange thing altogether different.
Its head was like a snake's, round and somehow flat, etched with red lines in strange geometric patterns. A blue glow burned from the aft of the vessel, and wide flipper-like wings protruded from the sides, thick and fat, with what looked like hooks raked forward from beneath. Fanned out behind these wings were sharp-looking spires placed horizontally, shifting colours as he watched. They were bright when the thing first appeared, and began to dim as it grew closer to them.
The grass and trees blew back from the ground beneath as it set down, just outside the city limits. And that's when Isaac became aware of just how large it was – its 'wings' spanned from the mountains on one side of the valley to the other. Bathing the night in a rainbow glow, claw-like mounts unfolded from its belly and it lay, resting – and then all the light ceased.
The Valeans drew, dreamlike, closer to the colossus. Like a stream of ants, they poured from the gates of Vale and gathered in front of the immense thing, dwarfed before it.
"What is it? Is it alive?" Mia asked softly, her voice a whisper.
"It doesn't look like anything we've ever seen before," Ivan said, shaking his head. "It could be manmade, but there aren't any seams by which we can see how it was put together…"
As he spoke, a crack split in an upside-down Y in its belly, light shining from within… and stunned, they watched in amazement as a door slowly appeared, a ramp of energy descending to the ground. And then, from within the light, figures appeared and slowly strode down the path. There was the crunch of feet on stones, and then they stood, facing each other.
Garet arched one eyebrow. "What the shit is this? Who are you?"
"I believe the more pressing question is, what are you, that can descend from the meadows of heaven?" Ivan asked, violet eyes sparking suspiciously beneath his long blond hair. His fingers twined with Feizhi's, who stared at them with an unequally unshakable gaze.
Baelfael stepped forward, unconcerned at how out-of-place his appearance was here. He wore a white dress shirt of finely-spun fibres, and thin glasses sat on his nose, brushed by the tips of his crown of red-orange hair, which fell in three bangs and swept down in his back. "The 'meadows of heaven', as you know them, are in fact not meadows at all. As you are judged to be a third-level civilization, progressing to written and spoken words and then scientific ideals, you would not know the difference from your mere myth," his voice was cold, condescending. "The white pinpoints are actually stars much like your sun, and we come from-"
"Man, what a dump," Behemos remarked, crossing his arms over his chest. He wore denim jeans and a black studded-leather jacket over a wifebeater, his hair wild and untameably blue, seeming to defy gravity as it arced in front of his face and swept down his back. "I bet they don't even have toilet paper here, much less UWF fighting."
He glanced over at his red-haired friend, his expression not changing. He stared at his slender back, waiting for Bael to turn around and glare at him for interrupting him in the middle of a Scientific Explanation, as he usually did.
Baelfael did not move.
Zoniha rolled her eyes, and leaning forward and flashing some cleavage to the Weyardians, giggled. "Don't mind Behemos, he's a bit of a tough guy, or so he thinks. The nerdy one is Baelfael, and this one's Zoniha! The old geezer is Molok, and captain sexy should be showing up anytime," Zo glanced over her shoulder at the ship behind them.
Molok stood impassive, charcoal eyes regarding the Weyardians emotionlessly.
Ever the hero, Isaac swallowed his hesitations and stepped forward, sword not drawn but his hand at the ready. "I am Isaac Oreme. What do you want?"
"We're just looking for an old friend," a musical female voice rang from inside the vessel. The strangers glanced back and wordlessly parted for the new trio – an ancient man, limbs frail and face heavily lined, supported under one arm by a beautiful pink-haired woman and under the other by a silent black-haired youth, his face chiselled and somehow cold.
The old man glanced upwards and like a shock, they felt his eyes lock with theirs. They were as pale as water reflecting the clouds, smoke from the burning of a funeral pyre, the wind made material. They were heavy with a lifetime of hardship and experience, borne under the weight of all they had seen – but sparkled, crystalline, with remembered joys, and present love.
"We're looking for a guy named Ashtarth?" the old man said with a bittersweet smile. "If you've seen him, tell him Shiro Yogeki's looking for him."
"And Zhael would like to have a word with him for ditching us," the pink-haired lady said, lightning crackling from her free hand.
The Adepts started. "You are a Jupiter Adept?" Ivan exclaimed, his eyes alight. "But you came from the skies. Could it be? Are you Anemosian?"
Zhael just looked at him. "… what are you talking about?"
Baelfael then, spoke up. "Allow me to explain, Zhael. This is Weyard, the primal world – here, unlike the rest of the universe, it is commonplace to be able to wield the same powers we do – the elements. Some have called the primal world the home world of the gods' children. Namely, our children," he added afterwards, in a quieter voice for only the Knights to hear. "There could be no other explanation for a world of people who can control the elements. It is likely that this Weyardian believes you to be a Jupiter Adept, which in according to ancient Alchemy titles you as a wielder of lightning."
"Wait," Mia spoke up, confused. "You said Ashtarth is one of your friends. Is he… like you?"
Regulus, the dark-haired man supporting Shiro's other arm, spoke up. "Ashtarth is the Elemental Knight of Wind, the seventh of we who control the elements. He has lived for centuries, and will live forever. As will all of we."
There was complete silence as this revelation sank into the Weyardians, and in the pause, Shiro's muttered words to Regulus were heard. "Not all of us."
"Thing is, Ashtarth's married right now," Karst said firmly, striding into the group with Felix at his side. "This is his wedding."
The Knights all startled visibly – but as soon as Felix stepped into view, Regulus' pupils dilated.
"Get back!" he barked, and the others were surprised to hear urgency in his voice. "Bearer of the Tomegathericon!"
But it was too late.