[open] when the sky falls down

[Everclear]

Once more, a restlessness had stirred in his soul.

The sooty-coated station emerges from some unknown depths of the land in a routine that had become a ritual by now. So often had he retreated and returned before that this time feels no different.

At least, that's how it seems at first.

He'd been blind to the catastrophes of recent years, the earthquakes and tornadoes, the losses and rebirths. Sequestered in his solitude somewhere in the central forests and valleys of Beqanna, Everclear’s ignorance had pervaded as it often had. The last time he had taken any interest in the goings-on, there had been little of interest. The only thing that had caught his attention had been the humble revival of the Amazonian beliefs. One kingdom – oh, what was its name? Nerine, right? – had strove to resurrect the fiery feminine mentality and he'd been piqued by it for sure, but it had still not quite been the same.

Some part of him regrets not sticking around, though. That regret will deepen once he realizes that place has now been stolen away again.

The magics of Beqanna never cease in their fickle ways, always giving and taking without precedent.

Perhaps subconsciously, he has found himself in the western lands, foregoing his usual pattern of returning to the Meadow. In the recesses of his mind, he has wondered whether he might find familiar faces here, where once there had been rocky beaches and coarse sands.

Instead he has found a rather familiar scene of would-be lush greenery and vast, rolling hills of a comfortable landscape. Memories stir of a life once lived in a land much like this one, even in its muted wintry dressings. He had called this place home so many, many years ago.

Everclear lifts his head, ears forward as he surveys the Gates. It seems empty here, solemn and quieter than it had been in his days here. Standing alone atop one of the median hills, a quiet whicker of questioning shudders from his lungs, carried along the waves of a gentle, biting wind at his back. It is a simple greeting - is anyone here?

E V E R C L E A R

[Narya]

yes i know that love is like ghosts,
few have seen it but everybody talks —

She thinks she can still feel the magic, sometimes.
It’s the quiet echo of a melody she only heard once, the lingering ghost of something that was never fully alive.
A memory, that felt more like a dream.

But she remembers it—she remembers what it felt like for her soul to finally go quiet, she remembers the soft peace that had settled over her like a veil. She remembers the relief, the elation, the realization that she could have some kind of control over her curse, now.

She had not deserve to be gifted with magic, but she had been so grateful that she was.

But what she remembers the most is what it had felt like when it was ripped from her. The way she had not noticed the creeping shadows until it was too late, but more important, how the magic seemed eager to abandon her, as if it had only settled for her out of necessity, waiting for someone more worthy to come along. She does not even know where her magic went, or if she would recognize it in whoever holds it now; she isn’t sure if she would want to.

She wants to forget any of it had ever happened, but the ghosts make it nearly impossible to do so. Their voices returned to her mind with new fervor, as if they were annoyed that she had used magic to block them out, and she no longer had the energy to keep them at bay.

Narya did not even realize that she had arrived in the Gates, drifting like a ghost herself. She has never been here, and she does not recognize it for what it is, but she would have known the name; her mother had told her stories, of when her and her father lived here so long ago, back before everything between them unraveled.

All she knows is that she is standing in a meadow, still dusted with snow as winter insists on persevering, and if she tilts her head just slightly there is a stranger in the not so far distance. He is not a ghost, that much she can discern immediately, and she is surprised at the longing that sparks to life in her chest. She had lived in her self-imposed exile for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to speak to someone who is not dead, yet she is still surprised when she realizes she is walking towards him. She has always kept to herself, afraid of being unable to focus on anyone in front of her when the ghosts in her ear won’t quiet, but before she can lose her nerve she is close enough to utter a soft, “hello.”

Narya

— spirits follow everywhere i go,
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night

the first part of this is partially recycled from a starter that was never replied to, i feel obligated to say that lmao
@ Everclear

[Everclear]

Of all things in his long life, it seems evident that Everclear should be glad he has largely avoided certain touches of magic. His immortality has perhaps tempered his curiosity, disinclining him from seeking much more than he’s been given. He has seen wonders of all scales, has struggled against more than enough of them, and suffered at the hands of many.

In the end, he does not think he would wish such burdens upon any other. Not anymore, at least.

To be troubled by grim memories is a struggle all its own; to be plagued by true ghosts would be quite a gruesome curse indeed. He had worried, so long ago, over watching his loved ones fade while he lingered on, but at least for him death has always been a finite end. He would not know how to cope with the spirits of the lost returning to him.

Thankfully, he need not entertain the notion now. He is unaware of Narya’s powers and sees only a mare, velvet-colored and glimmering in the pale fading-winter’s light. Despite the bright flickers of her coat, though, something seems unfortunately muted about her. Her haunted eyes and mild greeting are enough to further provoke Everclear’s own minor melancholy. She seems a near perfect accent for the loneliness of this place and it stirs a disquieted sort of sadness in his chest.

“Hello,” he echoes her, lowering his head slightly to subconsciously match the bleak aura around them both. “I wasn’t sure there would be anyone else around,” he observes plainly. “Do you live here?” He awaits her answer, almost certain that the usual pleasantries of introduction will follow – he offers his name, if it is asked – but a more pertinent question then rises to his mind.

When the proper lull arises between them, he decides to speak it: “If you don’t mind me asking…why do you seem so sad?” His eyes do not portray any intent to offensively pry nor to further the weight of whatever burden might be upon her. Rather, he studies her with a wizened gentleness borne by one who has seen vast measures of sorrow in his time.

E V E R C L E A R

@Narya

[Narya]

yes i know that love is like ghosts,
few have seen it but everybody talks —

She is grateful that he does not appear to be cruel or unkind; she had been so focused on the fact that he is not a ghost that she had not paused long enough to study him, and it was not until his gaze settled on her that she became starkly aware of how fragile her confidence had become.

The spirits wear her down, and the living make her feel shy and hesitant; perhaps there really is nowhere in this world carved out for her.

But she ignores that urge to flee that hums in her bones, the one that whispers to her to leave before she makes a fool of herself.

For the first time in a long time she shuts out every kind of susurration and listens only to the voice in front of her.

He asks her if she lives here, and she gives a small shake of her head, the sunlight glancing off the rubies and other stones that decorate her skin. “I don’t. I’ve actually never been here before but my parents lived here a long time ago,” she admits, and briefly she wonders if she is even allowed to be here? Everything that her mother had said of the Gates is that it had once been a warm, welcoming kingdom, and she had only assumed that this recent rendition still held the same values. But so lost in her own thoughts she had been that she had not considered how time had a way of changing places, and that what had once been true when Plume and Anonya lived here could have drowned with the old kingdom in the sea.

She cannot explain why she feels guilty when he asks her why she seems sad.
Perhaps because she realizes she does such a poor job of hiding it, and it suddenly feels like she has unknowingly been casting her burden onto those around her. And it has not even been worth it, because her shoulders still ache from the weight of it. “I just…have a lot on my mind, I guess,” she offers as a quiet explanation, unsure if she could even begin to unravel all the knotted things she feels to a stranger.

When she looks back up, her dark lips lift into a small smile in a tentative attempt to relay to him that she is not entirely drowning beneath the sorrow she carries. “I’m Narya. Do you live here?”

Narya

— spirits follow everywhere i go,
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night

@ Everclear

[Everclear]

He may have been cruel once, in a time now long past. When he was young, when he was angry, when he was lost. He’d been mad, too, a literal lifetime ago.

Some might say that love and fatherhood had softened him. And in some sense, that may be true. But, to him, it was finding a true cause to stand for. It was in defending the Gates that he’d truly found purpose and a reason to tether his anger, rope it and bind it only to be released when it was truly necessary.

All of that, nearly a century ago now, had left him quieted, muted and calm.

Narya’s initial answer to his question somewhat piques his interest: her parents had lived here. A flickering, whispering wonder passes through his thoughts – how long ago was that? Had he known them?

Likely not. His tenure in the Gates had been quite brief in comparison to others. But he nods along anyway because he knows that this kingdom (as he still sees it) is ancient and many lives have come and gone upon its soil. He also knows that it had been lost for quite some time, tucked away and forbidden to all by the wiley magics of Beqanna, and he, too, wonders briefly if it has changed.

Looking out, it is still an idyllic land, serene in its apparent vacancy and comforting. While some devils do wear crowns of flowers, as he knows, Everclear does not believe that corruption would ever touch this place. It is simply too kind in the very roots of the trees, the veins of the earth, to abide such evils as discrimination or occlusion.

His secondary question causes a mild shift in her mind that he does not need magic to sense and he nearly regrets asking her just as she regrets hearing it. It seems his skills in communication have not stood the test of time as well as the rest of him. Her answer is vague and he accepts it with a nod of understanding; she need not elaborate.

“I will not pry,” he assures her in his usual steady voice. “I know all too well the burdens of this world and how difficult they can be to bear.” A twitch of his shoulder accompanies the words, a dull reflexive response to memories of old pains.

She gives him her name and he nods again as if to thank her. Her face has brightened and so does his. “Hello Narya. My name is Everclear.” It feels a bit strange to say it after all this time without having met anyone else, just as it always does.

“I was part of this place, once… Though others at the time might have disagreed.” Had he ever truly belonged? They never fully accepted him, even when he’d fought for and won their freedom. Perhaps that is why he had grown despondent – not because his queen had left him, but because he could not convince the herd of his devotion to them.

Loyalties then were hard-won; allegiances were hard-proven.

“Pardon an old man’s reverie,” he obliges her with a meek smile and another twitch of his withers. “I’ve returned to see what’s become of the Gates… but unfortunately it seems almost abandoned.”

E V E R C L E A R

@Narya

[Narya]

yes i know that love is like ghosts,
few have seen it but everybody talks —

There is a small exhale of relief when he says he will not ask further questions, a slow loosening of tense shoulders and a softening in her expression. She did not want to burden him with all of her troubles, especially since they always sounded so trivial when spoken out loud. She knows others have had it harder, and though that did not change the bone-deep exhaustion that she felt she still did not like casting her burdens to someone else.

“Everclear,” she repeats his name in her soft voice, a small smile lifting at the corners of her mouth. She liked the sound of it, the way the syllables fit on her tongue. She had missed having a reason to say someone else’s name.

“I don’t know if I have really been a part of anything,” she says, that whisper of sadness still hiding behind the words. But her face grows thoughtful, as she realizes where they are standing — in a kingdom that was rebuilt thanks in part to her effort. When they — she and a group of strangers, all pulled forward by the same force — had closed the rift between Baltia and Stratos, the rest of Beqanna had shifted, revealing some lost lands while others disappeared forever. Perhaps it was fate that the kingdom her parents had once called home would be one of the lucky few to be rebirthed.

Or perhaps, she thinks as she looks around the lonely land, it is a reminder that nothing alive was meant to be hers. She is made for ghosts and haunted places, and even the life she brings back is not truly alive.

But he is here, and he is a living, breathing thing. For once her heart is not the only one that is beating, and while she cannot feel his it is reassuring to simply know.

“What was it like when you lived here? My parents say the Gates was called a ‘good’ kingdom, but the idea seems strange to me.” Beqanna was not separated in such a way any longer. Good and evil walked hand in hand, and she found it easier to trust no one at all.

Narya

— spirits follow everywhere i go,
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night

@ Everclear

[Everclear]

If she had felt like unloading her burden upon him, like telling him of her worries and woes, he would not have turned her away. As he’d said, his understanding of the trials their lives in this magical land often faced; he would gladly listen to her troubles and provide support if it seemed prudent. That has always been his way – when he had felt similar, overwhelmed and unsure, he had sought the support of others. He likes to think he is capable of providing such a service in return.

As it is, she does not seem willing to discuss whatever weighs upon her mind so he does not press the matter.

Instead, he aims to distract. He tells her his name and she repeats it in a tone that suggests calmness. He smiles as she does, glad to have provided some diversion to her thoughts.

She builds further upon his words of belonging and a tinge of sadness finds its way to his smile when she states that she has never truly ‘been a part of anything.’ A low breath leaves his lungs and he dips his head. “Sometimes devoting yourself to a cause can be troublesome in its own ways,” he admits, “but it does have its rewards.” He wonders, though, if his time in the Gates back then had really been beneficial to the kingdom itself or if he had, as so many claimed, really been more of a blight upon their culture.

Narya asks him of the past and the sadness leaves him then, replaced by a more distant sort of stoicism. It does seem strange to him how the lands are no longer divided between moral allegiances – he had noticed that the last time he’d sought to mingle with the general populace. Similar to her inability to grasp the concept, he had not quite understood how the lines had become so blurred.

Truly, how is one meant to tell who to trust these days?

“It was indeed one of the ‘good’ kingdoms,” he obliges with a nod. “Heaven’s Gates and the Dewdrop Deserts were both more or less designated for the more pure-hearted inhabitants of Beqanna. The Gates tended to be home for those of us with less magic than others while the Deserts were home to many who had wonderful powers. I suppose time has changed both aspects now,” he finishes with a vague shrug and swish of his tail.

“Between you and me, though,” he adds, “I am not sure the allegiances of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ were truly measured or observed, back in those days. Before, when Beqanna was younger, perhaps. But in my time…” He trails off somewhat thoughtfully. He had lived in the Valley, after all, though he had never been cruel or evil by nature and neither had the majority of its residents.

It doesn’t seem worth mentioning, though, so instead he meets her eyes again. “Perhaps you could fill me in on the more recent events around Beqanna? I fear I have once again been away for much too long.”

E V E R C L E A R

@Narya

[Narya]

yes i know that love is like ghosts,
few have seen it but everybody talks —

He confirms what her parents had alway said about the nature of the Gates, and something about his choice of words — pure-hearted — makes her own heart twinge in a longing kind of sadness. She did not doubt that her parents fit such a descriptor, but she could never see herself in such a light. She was not cruel or unkind, but she does think herself selfish. She lets herself sink beneath the waves of her own sorrow, lets the voices of the spirits drown out her own thoughts, until all she knows is the desperate desire for quiet. It drives her every move, consumes her every thought, and she knows that nearly every interaction she has is half-hearted and distracted.

She is trying right now, though. Her dark brown eyes are staring at his face maybe a bit too intensely, focusing on his mouth and the words that come from them, willing herself to focus on what he says and not what her mind whispers.

“The lands that I grew up with did not have any kind of allegiance labeled to them, either,” she says in response, a kind of agreement. “I suppose some tended to attract the darker sorts, though.” Pangea comes to mind first, but there were others that had taken turns testing the boundaries of aggression, like Loess and its dragons.

But Narya had never been a part of any of that.
Her mother had raised her in the meadowlands, and the politics of the kingdoms and its lands were only things she had observed on the outside.

He asks her of the things that have happened recently, and she hesitates, unsure where to begin. “There has been a lot of unrest in recent years. There are two lands that were discovered, called Baltia and Stratos, but they’re not…they’re not from Beqanna. Somehow our universes seem to have collided.” It was all so complicated, and she did not know where to begin, or what he might already know. She had been a part of the group that mended to rift between the sky and sea kingdoms, but it, and the aftermath, still felt like a fever dream. “There have been so many storms and earthquakes, and many of the lands that I knew are now gone, but some of the old ones have returned in their place.”

For her, turmoil and drastic change is all that she has ever known, and so she asks him, “has Beqanna always been like this? Just…changing all of the time?”

Narya

— spirits follow everywhere i go,
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night

@ Everclear