Once upon a time, in a small village nestled in the south of Ravka, there lived a young girl named Alina. Alina was deeply connected to whatever little belongings an orphan girl could get. She was understandingly possessive of her few belongings, perhaps a futile attempt from her to convince herself that she could own something for as long as she could and to let it go whenever she wished, not just to be forced to pass it down to the younger orphans who joined the orphanage every year.
As years went by and Alina grew older, her attachment to her things stayed the same, especially the things that she was able to buy for herself using her meagre salary from the First Army. Nevertheless, Alina couldn't contain her happiness whenever she bought anything for herself. One of her few belongings was a vibrant blue scarf, probably her most treasured possession. The simple blue scarf, adorned with delicate golden embroidery on its edges, mesmerized Alina when she first laid her eyes on it at one of the local markets.
Alina was known among her friends in the First Army for her blue scarf that she wore wherever she went, fluttering around her delicate neck like a loyal companion. The scarf was the color of a sapphire, though Alina never saw a real sapphire before. Maybe only in books. However, its vibrant color brought a touch of brightness to her boring, dull First Army uniform. Alina cherished her scarf dearly.
The day Alina decided to do whatever it took her to join her best and only friend on his first journey to the Shadow Fold, a strong breeze whisked through, as if punishing her for setting foot on the skiff in the first place. To her surprise, the wind caught hold of her beloved scarf, lifting it high into the sky and away from her grasp. Alina's heart skipped a beat as she helplessly watched the scarf dance with the wind, spiraling higher and higher. It fluttered and twirled upward and then began to float away.
Frantically, Alina's first instinct was to go after her scarf, but she suddenly realized she was standing on the new skiff that was going into the Fold, and she briefly wondered if her biggest concern at the moment should be her scarf, or the fact that she was probably walking right into her death among the shadows.
As the scarf floated even further, Alina noticed a black figure standing away on the dock, and she couldn't make any details. But, deep inside her, she knew who that person was. Who else dared to wear black from head to toe and stand like this, watching the brand new skiff going into the Fold for the first time, after the untimely demise of the last skiff?
The Darkling, as tall and stiff as he could be, stood on the dock, his eyes fixed on the skiff that was slowly yet steadily floating towards the Fold. The new skiff that was built by his Grisha, carrying many of them and going into the cursed land of shadows and death. A place no one knew better than him, for he was the creator of it.
As his gaze was fixed on the skiff that was looking smaller and smaller from afar, swallowed by the foggy shadows at the edge of the dark Fold, suddenly the Darkling's eyes caught a change of color. A rather bright color that seemed out of place in the dark palette of fog, black and grey.
Eventually, the wind somehow guided a piece of blue fabric to land gently at his feet. And before the wind could send it away again, he instinctively stepped on it with one foot to trap it. He lifted his head up, looking back at the skiff as it was swallowed whole by the Fold, before glancing back at the blue, unexpected intrusion, gazing at it with a mix of contempt and longing. Longing for a very old tale he once enjoyed when we was a care-free child.
He remembered a village he once resided in with his mother when he was young, probably seven years old, at a time when his mother was dragging him endlessly from one village to another, not giving him enough time to form any friendships or happy memories, not giving him enough time to call any place 'home'.
He remembered an old man at the village, his face etched with lines that mirrored a lifetime of stories. He remembered that the old man was loved by all the children of the village because he had many stories to tell and many sweets to share with them.
Many, many year ago:
Little Aleksander, along with other children around his age, approached the old man's house and greeted him warmly, hoping to get some sweets from him before his mother comes to drag him away from his new friends. Aleksander's eyes twinkled with delight as the man took out some sweets from his pockets and handed every child one. As the old man approached a little girl with a blue scarf wrapped around her neck, he said with a wistful smile, "Ah, my dear, that scarf reminds me of a magical tale I once heard."
Intrigued, the children sat down at the main gate of the man's house, eager to hear his story. The man began, his voice gentle and captivating, whisking Aleksander away to a far-off land.
He spoke of a mythical blue scarf that possessed the power to grant wishes. It was said that whoever wore the scarf and made a sincere wish would have it fulfilled. Excitement danced in Aleksander's eyes as he listened intently, imagining the endless possibilities. A home. A safe home, with a beautiful garden, for him and his mother. Friends. Sweets. A normal life.
His dreams were interrupted by the old man's gentle voice as he continued, "May your wishes bring happiness not only to yourself but to those around you."
Aleksander, overwhelmed by the unexpected impact of his memories, bent down to pick up the scarf. Ever so gently, he caressed the fabric between his fingers, his mind, and Baghra's voice, screaming at him to let it go, that wanting is weakness, even if he only wanted to keep a blue scarf that somehow brought him some serenity, and managed to remind him of a time when he was actually happy, hopeful and at peace.
Without giving it much thought, he held on the scarf tightly, and despite not being a child anymore, and not believing in old magical tales as he once did, Aleksander did in fact, hope that this simple blue piece of fabric, woven with golden embroidery, that came out of nowhere only to rest at his feet, as if it was sent precisely to him, may be a sign that his wishes might come true. That this new skiff could bring him back something he longed for for a long time; more power, more safety for his Grisha, or maybe, just maybe, another wish that he dared not speak even to himself in a very long time. His biggest wish ever. A sun summoner.
THE END