Very few know about the dangers beyond the world in front of them—about the cruel creatures with the capabilities to slip between time and dimension; the colossal monsters that lurked in the inky nothingness of space between stars and galaxies. The lethality of the beings who called their own oceans home were mostly left to mystery. Of course, not being privy to particular things such as the Universes’ dirty little secrets was a Good Thing. It was natural—and the Natural Order of Things were sacred.
Besides, the sheer terror that came with the knowledge of those things existing were mind-breaking. They were more than enough to send even the strongest of individuals spiraling straight down into madness. And that was what happened to Tarnished.
Once the veil had been lifted, there was no going back—he stared into The Deadlights, dead-eyed. Haunted by all that was and all that would come to be, he should have left when Caw fled—his crow-colored daughter would have never surrendered to him otherwise. Yet he stayed, feeling smug, reveling in a fool’s victory.
Caw had left him to The Deadlights and she needed to pay, she needed to die, they all needed to die—
There was a great burst of light across the cosmos, reaching out into the darkness and the nothing and then it died and it was dark once more. Tarnished didn’t feel a thing as he disappeared, he simply slipped off and on to the other side and his energy simply moved on… elsewhere.
Or had it simply been repurposed?
—
There was a bright flash of light across the sky in Beqanna years later, it dulled down into a sad little light that flickered between the clouds and then it disappeared forever.
Nikolas knew nothing of the Light, he only knows the Fall; graceless, screaming, the boy plummets towards the ground and his body bursts into flames. He spirals, faster and faster, until he collides with the ever-solid earth and creates a crater so generously deep and wide enough that a giant could fit in his place should it see fit.
He coughs and sputters, desperately trying to suck air into his lungs—his body bare and raw and singed and bloody, his mane, and tail, the hair of his coat having burnt off after entering the atmosphere. Nikolas goes still after a while, staring up at the sky.
White clouds are drifting lazily across a pretty blue sky, and while his crash silenced the birds earlier, they are now back to battling with each other through their war songs—unbothered. As if this is simply another day.
It’s one of the prettiest things he has ever heard.
Actually, it’s one of the only things he has ever heard.
Nikolas knows very few things besides the horrors of space; he doesn’t know about the joy that comes with living, he knows nothing of a mother, nor a father, nor where he comes from—not exactly—but after spending the first two years of his life counting stars and mapping out constellations, he smiles in spite of it all. While he might know nothing about Good Things and the Natural Order of Things, he knows he has escaped the nightmares that stalk beyond the pretty blue sky and the clouds and that he has found home.
Beqanna exists, after all.
Grimacing, he shifts his weight and tries to get up, only to lay his head back down again when his wounds flare up in protest. The burned boy closes his gray eyes, enjoying the warm, soft rays of sun on his skin and savoring those first few choruses of birdsong he has ever heard—he cannot stay here forever, though.
Nikolas snorts, and then, rippling like water, his skin starts to shift and pull itself back together. There’s an itch all over his body as the burnt crisps of skin peel and crack and fall away and his hair begins to regrow.
He shivers, stretching out his neck; his head slithers up the side of the crater like a snake. Peering over the edge, he stares around at the surrounding meadow—his head bobbing around like a dancing cobra—the color of the leaves are simply fascinating. Reds, browns, and oranges of every shade are mixed together along with the rows of deep green pines, Nikolas finds himself simply unable to look away. Slowly, his body begins to crawl up the side of the crater as if it has a mind of its own. His neck begins to slowly recoil until his head finds itself resting back in its proper place and he takes a tentative step forwards—towards the sunrise.
Snorting again when his forelock grows long enough to cover one of his gray eyes, he sets off. Slinking along the rows of trees and quietly taking in the sights and sounds—and smells, some lovely, others foul—of the Meadow and its inhabitants. “What a dream to dream,” Nikolas murmurs, laying his ears back uncertainly.
And what if that’s all this is?
Some sort of dream?
An imaginary land made up in the mind of a boy drifting through the stars—Nikolas doesn’t even remember where he heard of Beqanna, though he remembers Them whispering about it. So many of them, so many voices, so many lost souls—
And so what if it is all made up in his head?
It isn’t as if he had had better things to think about. There isn’t much to wonder or worry about up there. No friends, no family. Nobody but the things nobody should know about. He continues along, quiet as an owl gliding through the night air, mesmerized by nothing and everything all at once—starstruck by life and its pretty little simplicities. Birds, trees, grass, wind, the sky, everything. It’s all new and it’s all wonderful and he hopes he doesn’t ruin it. Hopes, and prays, and wonders, and worries.
His ilk, the Unfortunate Few Who Know Too Much, have the tendency to destroy whatever they touch.
