blame it on hell's fires, and on my desires

[ Storytime! ]

What hope did he have, indeed? Either he had been sorely misjudging everyone his entire life, or.. well. He didn't know. That Mirage would not accuse him of murder seemed nothing but a distant dream—for all her talk of equality and all her righteous behavior, she'd always struck him as horribly judgmental. But Hellena didn't outright say that. Simply gave him a choice: come in now, or come back later. He'd come so far, today.. on that stupid, childish whim; he ha dreamed of simply going into the Edge to live there with Kahlua, a stranger starting over, as if no one would know him or recognize him or know what he'd done. It had seemed such a wonderful little dream, but he knew too much to know it would never come true. He wasn't stupid enough to believe in it, and coward enough to not want to die at the fires of an angry dragon. He weighed his desire to have this over and done with against the chances of survival. Turning away now felt both like a relief, and a burden. And for the briefest moment that day, it was not about Torasin: it was simple a choice, between one path and another.

In the end, letting Hellena go alone to prepare Mirage seemed the wisest course. Still, it wasn't.. easy, to turn his back on what he'd set out to do. Shelf it for later. It tasted too much of cowardice, and unhappily he watched Hellena leave. Was this was it would always come down to? That truth was just dangerous and disappointing? Had life been better when he wallowed in his inherent dishonesty? When he'd been pretending? He forced himself to doubt it, but watched until the Seer was swallowed by the distance, into the forest. Somewhere up there lay Kahlua's wall, but suddenly Mauja thought that going any closer now was definitely a bad idea. In fact, they probably should go the other way. He'd done enough here, for now, and by lingering just increased his risk of being discovered. Ears falling back in a gesture of sadness, Mauja turned his head back to Kahlua. She hadn't responded to Hellena's gentle chastening, and he wasn't sure what she'd meant either. Naïve for bringing Mauja? Or for automatically seeming to have assumed that he was a murderer..? Or that she'd assumed he was nice..? There were too many possible explanations, and none of them particularly good.

The silence held a while longer. Mauja watched her through gentle eyes, wishing it hadn't been she who found him: he'd abused her eager trust. He'd let him take her here, when he already knew how it would end. Latched on to a moment in time and drawn strength from it, allowed her to lead him simply because he was too weak to do it on his own. It was vile.

Her eyes opened, still so blue, but no longer threatening to spill over. Had she spent those minutes condemning him, so it wouldn't hurt her as much to order him away? Why were they even lingering? Shouldn't she go back to her home, to forget and live in happiness, and he take his foul aura and go? But he didn't. Just remained where he was, even as she shied away slightly.

The smallest motion. A single step. And a void opened up between them.

“How did it happen. Tell me the story.”

Now it was his eyes that closed, his mind that spun through memory and thought. The story begins a long time ago... But how far back would he need to go, for her to understand? Was it understanding she sought, or just to condemn him? To make utterly sure he was a monster? His heart was still beating too loud, thundering in the darkness. "All of this started a long time ago, when I was King of the Edge," he began after a moment. The wind picked up his long hair and held it out for a moment, a rush of air as if to say we remember. "Helovia was suffering a terrible, terrible summer, by the hand of the Sun God. The Edge was struck hard. Torasin, and his dragon, trespassed onto our lands. He was on a quest to preach about the Sun God—the very God which was tormenting us so. We drove him out." His eyes opened. Through all of this, Torasin had never attempted to lay hand on Mauja. And in the end, he hadn't even seemed angry, even as his blood slid down the ice.

"Just a couple of days after, the Sun burned the forest down."

And I couldn't save Hellena from his wrath.

"And another of his minions, who felt I had wronged her, set our forest on fire again. Then Mirage came.. with her dragons and her soldiers, to tear our home from us. I aimed an attack at Torasin before I was consumed by fire—a fire that felt as real as anything, but proved to be mere illusion. It haunts me to this very day." His voice had grown soft. "Another dragon burned me, I don't know to whom it belonged. Mirage's dragon-mate hurled fire at me. I have dreamed of dying in flames." It was easier to tell a story. It was easier to explain of all the times fire had seared his flesh, and of how deep those scars lay: easier than to simply say, I am afraid of fire.

"It was in the Deep Forest," he began after a moment's pause. "Over two years since the first time I met him. The scars had all healed, but.." His ears fell back again. "I cannot forget the feeling of every inch of me burning, of the hot air scorching my raw throat.. the pain of fire searing your flesh..." His voice trailed off into silence. "Kiba. That was the name of his dragon. When I met him those years ago.. I was always the one who struck first—I believed it justified.. he trespassed, then showed up with an army to take my home... This time.. this time Kiba thought, that he would strike first." His long tail flicked restlessly against his hocks; his eyes had strayed to the horizon, but he forced them back to her face. To her eyes, if she would dare look into his. "He came out of the woodwork. And.. the fire... It was all I could see, all I could feel..." It was hard to speak of. Hard to remember those moments of blind panic. "I panicked. I lashed out, with everything I had. And then..." Slowly, from the ground on his left, rose an ice spike, spiraling towards the sky with a solemn grace. They were a double-edged sword; he'd cut himself on them, too.

"One of these. Hit him." He spoke through gritted teeth, forcing the last bit of truth out. "Straight in the chest. He didn't stand a chance." His voice wavered; he looked aside, swallowed, blinked the tears away. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid everything. Stupid fires and stupid dragons and stupid, stupid ice.

"He died smiling," he said after a moment, voice thick—as if it somehow made absolutele sense, when it didn't.