love is my religion. i could die for that.
Aegean is young of body but old of spirit and he cannot deny the way that the call pulls at him.
He feels it rustling in his soul, his mind straining against the constraints of slumber, his heart thrumming against the edges of his ribcage. His dreams, altogether gentle and softened always by the presence of his dreamweaver mother, turn darker, the edges sharper as they clash over the decision to go. He presses his demands into the air, his insistent need to answer the call of the fey and she refuses them, rebuking him at every turn. It is only when she slips away that he feels his consciousness begin to stir, the silver light of the moon beginning to stream into his mind—only to be caught within the tangles of her gift.
When his dark purple eyes open, they are no longer within the confines of the grotto.
Instead, the landscape has shifted around them and his pulse increases ever so slightly. His mother draws him close, and although she warns him to thank her later, he leans into her, lifting his snowy face to press a flutter of a kiss to where he can reach on her jaw. “Thank you,” he breathes, his voice of fog low and soft, shared as a secret between them. She urges him forward and he listens, stepping further in.
When the fae steps forward, he watches solemnly, eyes tracing him and then nodding at the instructions. He angles his head toward his mother, waiting for her signal, before he nods toward her too, listening as she directs them back home. Confusion touches his features when he realizes they traveled all this way only to turn back and then a hint of fear when he looks down and realizes that his body has dimmed, the faint glow he has grown so accustomed to smothered and stifled, his body stripped of his gifts.
For a second, his heart races, his fear of his lethal disease bubbling up into his expression.
He turns slightly back to the faeries, studying them, wondering if this is the sacrifice that must be made to bring order back to the world—a safety that he simultaneously never known and only known in the short few months of his life. Protests rise and then die weakly in his throat as seconds pass and then he dips his head, accepting whatever is to come, a courage rising and flooding in him, the warmth of it contagious.
Aegean does his best to hold onto that bravery as he begins to walk next to Kagerus, his steps more confident than he feels. Each second, he wonders if it will be his last. Each breath feels both sweeter and more vicious, a honeyed poison on his tongue. He doesn’t know if his mother is thinking of it, if it has crossed her mind or if she simply knows better, but he doesn’t bring it up—doesn’t want to worry her.
Instead, he remains silent, only pausing when the stranger begins to cough, hacking and wheezing as they make their way toward us. Mother is instantly on edge, vicious, and even without her gifts or the edge of her antlers, it is clear to me that she is a force to be reckoned with. Aegean, however, is young and naive and although he fears for his life, he does not fear the stranger. He steps toward them.
“I am so sorry,” he breathes, knowing his mother will step in between and drag him away at any moment. “We can’t stay. The faeries were so specific.” Another step as he buries his nose into her neck, pressing his dimmed white skull into their skin. “We’re trying to heal this land,” his soft voice, so mature for his age, so unusually well-spoken. “If we stop, we may not succeed, and if we succeed, we’ll do more good than staying here to comfort you now.” Another sigh as he steps back, returning to his mother’s side.
“I hope you understand.”
But she is ushering them forth and he can only give the stranger an apologetic glance before his coltish legs take him further into the night, the fear of the plague brushing against the edges of his mind and merging with the fear of his own lethal disease. He waits for his mother’s disapproval when they finally come to a stop but he just walks into her, a tear slipping down his cheek for everything he understands and everything he doesn’t. “Home,” he whispers, but he knows they are not here to return to slumber.
Not yet.
In his youthful heart, he fears never again.
i could die for you.