He felt so empty, watching their backs as they left him. Just as empty as the promises he had made them. He deserved this, deserved their scorn for the lies he had told, lies to them and lies to himself. He had tried so hard to be a worthy god, to be a worthy father, but his good intentions had come to naught. Good intentions weren’t enough, he now knew.
It felt different, but also the same, watching their backs, just like he had watched Luz’s as they had left him behind. With Luz he had watched his hopes for guidance, for comfort leave him behind, but had ultimately been satisfied, self-righteous, even, watching them walk away. He had been arrogant, thinking himself a better parent for caring more than they had, ignoring the possibility that his devotees might not benefit from his care. Would they have been better off without it, he now wondered. Had he actually harmed them, but forcing them to depend on him, letting them lower their defenses and opening them to his acolyte’s attacks?
His acolytes milled about him, agitated and unsure. He was a terrible father, he now understood. They were all better off without his conceited care. He turned on them growling, nipping at their paws, chasing them away, away to follow their brethren, or join up with their missing brother, just anywhere but here under his disastrous protection. They were better off on their own. Perhaps they would find a better god to devote themselves to.
He made his way to the lake where the lupus grew, the very same one where he had first encountered his rabbit people, the same one that he had collapsed at after running from his sins the first time. It seemed fitting to come here.
Maybe…maybe he shouldn’t have run away. Maybe that had been his first mistake. If he had dealt with his transgressions from the onset maybe he wouldn’t be where he was now. He sighed. There were so many things he should have done differently, it was hard to pick just one. He was just…so tired. And alone, again. He looked up at the moons. Last time he had been here, Noctua had informed him he was a god.
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He could use some company now. Someone to distract him, and Noctua had offered. He raised his head, muzzle to the sky, and let out a long soulful howl, encompassing all his grief and yearning. Yearning for something to be different, for any part of his life to have been different than it was.
The blue moon’s reflection rippled as his call faded out, a faint shimmering wavelet that increased as it approached the water’s edge. The same glimmer that had preceded Noctua’s arrival last time rippled the air, and out stepped the moon himself, wearing his human skin as he was prone to do when he left his orbit. He looked more elegant this time, his clothes tidier and his hair sleek and silky rather than messy as it had been last time. How much control did he have over his appearance, Tva wondered dispassionately.
Noctua turned to him, running a hand through his hair, rumpling it a little, his other wrapped around a jug of his infamous moon wine, this time the porcelain mask capping it was in the shape of a cicada in a bed of plum blossoms. He gave Tva a small smile, coming over to sit next to Tva on the bank of the lake. ‘I’m glad you called, I was beginning to think you never would.’ He said in his quiet velvet-soft voice. Forming moonlight with his hands into a simple cup, he poured himself and Tva a glass. Tva thanked him quietly.
‘My worshipers abandoned me today.’ Tva said, breaking the silence. Night was for secrets and painful truths that weren’t quite ready for daylight. Noctua looked at him, blue eyes surprised but kind. ‘Your song was full of heartache.’ Tva nodded, taking a sip from his cup. He could taste the dreams of the cicada from its long sleep beneath the dark soil, dreams of one day seeing the sun, of the songs it would sing. He wondered what it was like, to have that sort of optimism for such a short life. Was that why Noctua drank? To experience the vibrancy of mortals’ short bright lives? He had been a mortal too, once, he reminded himself, had Noctua?
‘I wronged them, and they punished me, as I deserved.’ He said, self-deprecating. Noctua paused, looking at him curiously. ‘By leaving?’ he asked. Tva nodded, looking down into his moonlight cup. Noctua looked contemplative, and it occurred to Tva that Noctua’s devotees had no means of abandoning him. What would it mean to abandon your own dreams? ‘They didn’t deserve you,’ Noctua’s voice was low and full of enmity. ‘They never appreciated your commitment. I saw into their dreams and they never merited the affection you gave them. You are the most pure god I have ever seen, the only one I have ever known to love your devotees so unconditionally, so without hope for return. Forget them, they had already forgotten you.’ He paused, filling Tva’s cup once again, topping it to the brim. ‘And if you can’t forget, I will help you.’