Noctifer had spent a ridiculous amount of time on a mural in the corner of his temple, dusting it and trying his best to discern the story that his devotees had engraved here all those years ago. He smiled faintly at it, the way they painted the symbols, though some had wasted away into faint imprints of a lost memory.
“Was this the source of my being?” He wondered, running his fingers across the red pigment. He quite enjoyed the human condition, how a single concept had become entirely limited by words or identity, yet still vaguely its own. It was interesting to see how his devotees used pictures rather than words, a tale of their impressions of the world around them. Even that limited them, yet it was easier for a mortal to project their will and world upon a painting than it was on a word with a set boundary. How many concepts could be shown in these paintings, and how many fingers had painted them?
How many fingers had painted these walls that don’t exist anymore? Their memories had become so lost, entirely gone, except in him and this mural which he traced with fervency. He knew he shouldn’t. It would cause his limitation and attachment, but how beautiful it was that these should exist as archetypal memories of him. Truly, existence was a shadowy blessing that covered the sun but also made the stars more noticeable.
“Greatest god.”
The words echoed in the air, and Noctifer turned on his heel. The room was empty, and Ava had still been playing with the bird the last time he checked. Worse still, the voice could not be Ava’s unless she had suddenly become an old lady.
“Hello?” called Noctifer as he stepped further into the room, squirming uncomfortably when his foot pressed against something cold and noticeably squishy. He lifted his foot and looked down. It was the smell that came first, the scent of citrus. He frowned, looking against the dirty floor to see what had caused such a scent. The first thing he saw was a flower, unlike the ones they had in the mountains. Its pink petals unfolded into a beautiful pattern, radial, though now very deformed. It was a shame that it would be so damaged, but it was a mystery as to why it suddenly appeared under his foot. He twirled the stem, or what was left of it, in his fingers and watched the petals wilted sadly.
The scent was ever-prominent and stuck to his fingers. He had a thought then, one which was rather exciting. The last time he had seen the sun was earlier that morning, and it looked awfully cold and distant. He cupped the flower in his hands, focusing on it and then the image of Solaris, who, he thought, would be somewhere in his throne room. There, he prayed, offering the flower to the solar deity, knowing that it’d be something of an interesting surprise.
“Greatest god.”
It echoed through him again, and the image of an old lady before an altar. Yet, this woman was radiant beyond all the world and a smile spread across his lips as he thought of what she was.
----------------------------------------
Solaris held his knees close to his chest, staring blankly at the blankets that had rolled around him. The room was still dark, and the attendants were outside but none of them came in. He fisted the blanket, frowning at his self-imposed isolation. He shivered. He had become exceptionally cold since the loss of Noctifer. He couldn’t sleep and thoughts of the deity plagued his mind every second. It was maddening, to say the least.
He found that the act of remembering something that you had forgotten hurt more than the act of forgetting it. It was easier to live in ignorance of everything, for the sake of a few short minutes of happiness. It was easier to be happy than to know.
“I care more to be loved,” he repeated to himself, the depth of his words pressing on him. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the roof and the circular patterns he had commissioned. It was nice to trace them, you could sit on the bed for hours and trace the pattern endlessly.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“An endless dream,” he chuckled, remembering how Noctifer had described the frescos when they were still young and vibrant, “without beginning or reality.”
He could smell the incense of his devotees wafting around him, just out of the reach of his mind. It was an interesting experience and one he could never really get used to. You would be minding your own business, but then have the impression of a smell without the actual smell being present in the air around you. He had chosen to keep incense lit in any room that he was working in, for his sake.
“Gone far beyond all reason and reality,” he muttered to the air around him. That’s when it appeared. The citrus smell was what he noted at first. It was too real to be fake, or some distant offering. He turned his head to look at the pillow next to him, and there it was. A pink flower, or remnants of a flower, laid against his pillow. He reached out to touch it, his fingers brushing against the soft, sticky flesh of the once-flower.
When he came to himself, again, he was on the floor. The blankets wrapped themselves around his leg as he stared fearfully at the flower that had been displaced to the bed’s center. He had fallen, and the pain coursing through his head was evidence enough that it was reality. The flower, still present, was real and just as real as anything else around him.
He grabbed at the blanket, pinched himself, and panicked. Eventually, assured that he was indeed awake, or at least in a horrible, lucid dream, he clambered to his feet with the blanket wrapped around his quivering form. There it was, as clear as day, as the moon against the night sky. A flower, an offering so clearly given despite its broken state. Yet, in the back of his mind was a song that came with it and threatened to shatter his mind. He longed to claw it from his ears but knew well enough of its nature.
“Solaris-Soter, Saving Light
Who caught the heart of the Night
Rising Sun over the East
Who conquers even the greatest Beast
Compassionate Ruler of Unfolding Heaven
May this offering be pleasing to you.”
“Noctifer,” Solaris whimpered. His legs fell out from under him, and he was on the floor, staring past the flower. It all came to him like a memory, a single impression of what truly was.
“Where are you?” Solaris screamed, throwing his blanket to the side. He reached out to grab and crush the flower but stopped just short, “Where were you when I needed you?”
“Solaris-Soter, Strong One
Blinding Fire, Radiant Jewel
Standing over the Heavens
Ruler of the Heart of Night
Compassionate Ruler of Unfolding Heaven
May this offering be pleasing to you”
Solaris scratched at his ears, slapping at his head as the consistent images of Noctifer in a temple, and the whispering prayers he said to what was the flower. When he came back to himself, his body shaking and entirely lost to its defenses, the flower remained in a silent vigil.
“Noctifer, Night-Bringer, why have you dragged me here?” He laughed, running his hand through the loose plait, undoing it. The strands stuck to his face and neck and clouded his eyes. His panting continued, echoing through the dark room.
----------------------------------------
Sala had returned to the heavens and the attendants were nowhere to be found. Walking silently in the halls of the Abode of the Sun, she felt as though there was an ambush, or some other form of attack waiting around each corner. It was ridiculous, but the abode was rarely this quiet. A servant rushed past her, and Sala nearly hit her into the wall.
Still, the servant carried a tea tray and this gave Sala some hope. Where there was tea, there were people. So, Sala followed the servant girl to the room that was Solaris’ study. She crooked her eyebrow, wondering who was there at this hour of the afternoon. The servant girl shouldered the door open and so he was seen.
Solaris stood in the center of the room, barking orders to his attendants and to the goddess, Caeli, who was also in attendance. His robe was crooked, having put it on in a rush. Sala smiled at his sudden progress, but she knew his swings could be disastrous when mismanaged. When she entered, she kept to the walls and watched as Solaris waved his hands to different parts of his desk. Upon closer inspection, it was a map of the continent. Raising her eyes to look at the face of the deity, she was worried that his hair had been taken out of the loose braid. She could not see his eyes, but something caught her view.
His red river of hair housed a single flower with mismatched and deformed petals. The colors were unmistakable, and Sala smiled inwardly at the small, indirect triumph. It was a triumph in two parts. Noctifer had spoken to Solaris and Solari started bending, taking the imperfect and fractured remnant of reality and donning it.
“I will receive reports by tomorrow afternoon,” he declared resolutely. The deities nodded and left quickly. His eyes finally fixed on the watching goddess and his face broke with a maniacal smile.
“He’s still alive,” Solaris declared.
“And how are you?”
“I’m,” he trailed off thoughtfully, “something…”