And when that sky rains fire on you
And you're persona non grata
And you're persona non grata
As folk began to filter in, Nina observed it all with a small smile on her lips. She'd been afraid that no one would come, but there seemed to be a good many people interested in keeping tradition alive. She saw Deimos and Erebos, offering a small wave in their direction; Iskra and Amhran were also granted waves and welcoming smiles.
But now was not the time for socialization. Ember flickered at her feet as Nina raised her arms, calling to her fire magic and coaxing the First Flame higher. "It is time," she called over the proceedings. And then, suddenly, the Flame dimmed. It was not extinguished, but coaxed lower, casting dramatic shadows over the crowd.
A single figure rose from the Flame. "Once," said Nina, "Long ago, when Halo was young and the cold had not yet shown mercy, there lived a hunter named Aven. He was strong and skilled, revered as a master hunter upon the tundra. But he did not believe in the First Flame." As if in response, the Flame flickered, a sharp, defiant movement that drew Nina's eye. "When others gathered to take blessing before the hunt, Aven stood apart. When they marked their skin with ash, he laughed. When they carried embers into the tundra, he went empty-handed. 'The cold does not listen,' he said. 'Fire does not choose. Only the strong survive.'"
The Flame split, forming new figures, turning away from the singular lick of flame representing the hunter. "One LongNight, when the winds howled like starving things, Aven went out alone: no blessing. No ember. No witness." The Flame flared white-hot, flurrying around Aven's figure like a storm. "The storm came quickly, as it always does. The cold bit through his furs. The dark swallowed the path. And when he reached for the strength he trusted… it was not enough.
"Hours passed. Or days. In the end, even Aven could not tell. But in the silence between the wind, he saw it: a single flame." A tiny, steady light appeared within the picture Nina painted, her hands tugging at the tendril as though to show it floating out in the tundra. "It did not flicker. It did not waver. It simply was." The light glowed brighter and brighter still as the hunter's figure began to crawl towards it. "Aven crawled toward it, hands frozen, breath gone, pride broken. And as he reached, he understood—too late—that the Flame had always been there, waiting: not for the strong, but for the willing.
"In the morning, they found him, curled around a patch of blackened snow, his hands outstretched, as if reaching for something that had already gone." The Flame guttered, then steadied, as Aven's figure began to fade, blending into the fire. "Some say the Flame came to him in his final moments. Some say it did not. But all agree on this: he walked without fire, and the cold remembered."
And with that, Nina lowered her hands. The First Flame returned to its usual crackling, and a silence fell over the gathering.
—-
Post your response to Nina’s story, and share a story of your own if you are so inclined!
But now was not the time for socialization. Ember flickered at her feet as Nina raised her arms, calling to her fire magic and coaxing the First Flame higher. "It is time," she called over the proceedings. And then, suddenly, the Flame dimmed. It was not extinguished, but coaxed lower, casting dramatic shadows over the crowd.
A single figure rose from the Flame. "Once," said Nina, "Long ago, when Halo was young and the cold had not yet shown mercy, there lived a hunter named Aven. He was strong and skilled, revered as a master hunter upon the tundra. But he did not believe in the First Flame." As if in response, the Flame flickered, a sharp, defiant movement that drew Nina's eye. "When others gathered to take blessing before the hunt, Aven stood apart. When they marked their skin with ash, he laughed. When they carried embers into the tundra, he went empty-handed. 'The cold does not listen,' he said. 'Fire does not choose. Only the strong survive.'"
The Flame split, forming new figures, turning away from the singular lick of flame representing the hunter. "One LongNight, when the winds howled like starving things, Aven went out alone: no blessing. No ember. No witness." The Flame flared white-hot, flurrying around Aven's figure like a storm. "The storm came quickly, as it always does. The cold bit through his furs. The dark swallowed the path. And when he reached for the strength he trusted… it was not enough.
"Hours passed. Or days. In the end, even Aven could not tell. But in the silence between the wind, he saw it: a single flame." A tiny, steady light appeared within the picture Nina painted, her hands tugging at the tendril as though to show it floating out in the tundra. "It did not flicker. It did not waver. It simply was." The light glowed brighter and brighter still as the hunter's figure began to crawl towards it. "Aven crawled toward it, hands frozen, breath gone, pride broken. And as he reached, he understood—too late—that the Flame had always been there, waiting: not for the strong, but for the willing.
"In the morning, they found him, curled around a patch of blackened snow, his hands outstretched, as if reaching for something that had already gone." The Flame guttered, then steadied, as Aven's figure began to fade, blending into the fire. "Some say the Flame came to him in his final moments. Some say it did not. But all agree on this: he walked without fire, and the cold remembered."
And with that, Nina lowered her hands. The First Flame returned to its usual crackling, and a silence fell over the gathering.
—-
Post your response to Nina’s story, and share a story of your own if you are so inclined!
I'll tell you how I've been there too
And that none of it matters
And that none of it matters
Nina
