[SWE] Festival of Lights

Loren not afraid to use every trick in the book Loren had let himself disappear from the world. It hadn’t been one thing, really, but all of them together. His lost love. His alienation from his family. This new land, so foreign and alien and dangerous. His own failures, both in this world and the last. Most of all, though, it had been his own nagging thought that he’d never really allowed himself to live as he wanted. Instead, he’d always lived as he thought others might want to see him. And it had destroyed him time and time again. At first it had been his family: Loren had gotten so caught up in trying to please them, especially in trying to be the perfect Launceleyn that he’d never figured out who he was, beyond a dutiful son, brother, twin, family member. They’d laughed in his face at his efforts, and then tortured him for his inadequacies. Unfortunately, instead of learning that they’d never accept him unless he fundamentally changed who he was, he’d simply redoubled his efforts to fit himself into the only mold they understood. But it hadn’t been him, just what they wanted him to be. Next he’d tried to find himself by finding love in all the wrong places. First, with Ronin; they’d been friends first, then Loren had to go and fuck it all up by reading too much into it and wanting far more than the librarian deserved and the other man could give. Then the Launceleyn had tried to find it with Remi. That had been a mistake in a different way. Oh sure, they’d been good for one another—again, as friends first, although they’d never really progressed to the full lovers phase try as they might—but Loren had hoped that simply by being in a healthy relationship he could be happy. Again, he’d sought salvation outside of himself, and it hadn’t been him. Then he’d come to this new place, and thought maybe, just maybe, that in a new world (as mysterious and dangerous as it proved to be), that he could be a new man. But he’d quickly found himself drawn into the petty politics, into the familial squabbles, into the conflicts between the people from outside this world and the people within it, into the fight against monsters and to escape the dome, and it had overwhelmed him. Every attempt to evade it had failed. So he’d tried to throw himself into the books and scrolls he’d discovered in the ruins of this land, like he had once upon a time in his old life in his nearly nonexistent childhood. But again, escaping to another world wasn’t a real escape from his woes. Though he’d thought being a scholar and a bookworm was a core part of his identity, the one thing he knew to be true about himself, it turned out that it had not been him after all. Then Remi’s love had been taken away, and Loren found himself all alone, with no idea who he was, or what he wanted from the world. It had been terrifying and he couldn’t deal with it, any of it. He’d retreated, not able to face it anymore, completely crumbling under the weight of expectations and his own fear. As his people, his friends, his family had conquered the Spire, he’d simply scavenged, doing whatever he had to survive. Seasons had passed, and he drifted along, shying away from contact with anyone else beyond what was absolutely necessary. He couldn’t say exactly what he’d done, or what he thought, during that lost time. He’d hidden from himself as much as anyone else, not willing to confront the ugly truths and reality of his life. As Leafchange turned to Deepfrost, Loren had been frozen more in his mind than his body; Flowerbirth rolled around, but unlike everything else, he hadn’t been reborn; even Longheat couldn’t rouse him from the deep and dark hole he’d found himself in. But then Leafchange rolled around again, and he realized he’d been gone for a full year. Too long, even for someone who wanted to get away from it all: in all the time he’d meant to find himself, but had just become more and more lost. But as he spotted people making lanterns, he finally felt something stir deep within himself. It had felt almost a little something like hope, or at least a close cousin. Enough. He’d wallowed long enough in self-pity. Too long. The world had passed him by, and he’d let it. Although he couldn’t say what exactly he’d been hoping to accomplish, it certainly hadn’t come to pass. And he now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that sequestering himself from the world was the worst possible thing he could have done. It was past time for him to rejoin everything he’d tried to leave behind that had ended up leaving him instead. That didn’t mean coming back from his half-life was easy. Indeed, it was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done, harder than losing love, harder than any punishment he’d ever suffered at the hands of his family. Simply stepping up to someone to talk—even a stranger—filled him with a mind-numbing terror and a bone-deep ache of loss. But Loren had always been stronger than he knew. So he crept out from the outskirts and into the land where people dwelled. They were strangers, now, even the few he vaguely recognized. It was strange, how natural it all felt once he got past his initial terror, as if his previous existence had been a dream—or rather a nightmare—that he managed to emerge from. Unfortunately, while he hadn’t changed, he couldn’t say the same for the world around him. Once he’d managed to get out of his own head, he’d been shocked, appalled, dismayed and saddened to hear of all the changes. First and foremost they’d gotten into the Spire and out of the barrier. Next, the Zariah had somehow become Queen, before disappearing, followed by Edrei, who’d been killed. Loren had wept at that news. They’d butted heads, but he’d loved her in his own way and she him. And he hadn’t been there when she needed him. He hadn’t been there for anyone, including himself. And no doubt this was only the tip of the iceberg. As he walked out towards the woods he’d never bothered to explore, even once freed from their cage, he felt himself drawn towards the festival like a moth to the flame. He was almost literally emerging from the shadows into the light. Strange as it was to admit it, especially to himself, it felt good. It felt right. A hood covered his face, since he didn’t want to chance anyone recognizing him. However, it might have been an unnecessary precaution: his pale skin was even whiter than usual, and his frame and his features, which had always been thin and sharp, were now positively gaunt. His clothes were worn and ratty looking, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t here to be seen, and he didn’t much care what people thought. Besides, he figured his presence would be shocking enoguh if he was actually spotted. There’d be enough time for reintroductions later. First he needed to signal a new beginning. In his hands he carried a single paper lantern, the bottom a charcoal grey, which transitioned into yellow, red, and orange streaks, each one carefully folded, a candle placed carefully within. He’d made it himself; the former librarian had repaired enough books to know how to fold paper and make it do what he wanted. His hands shook at first, and he’d had many false starts, but he’d finished it eventually. Making his way around the outside of the crowd—he didn’t want to risk a conversation yet, and thankfully no one gave him a second glance—he found a bare tree. He very carefully didn’t look too closely at the crowd, for fear of making eye contact and being distracted from his simple goal of hanging his lantern. Thankfully he wasn’t bothered, for now. Only vaguely remembering the rules (and not really caring one way or another, since this was for him more than anyone else) he hung it up, making sure it was stable. Although he knew it was only supposed to represent one person, Loren felt that it needed to be more than that. He stood there a long while before he finally spoke. His voice came out in a raspy croak, nearly unrecognizable even to him, almost a year’s worth of disuse not quite gone yet. “For Edrei. For all lost souls waiting to be found. For rebirth.” Then he lit the lantern, bowed his head and stepped back, revealing his creation. It was a phoenix springing from the ashes, candle nestled within its outstretched wings, feathers carefully painted and creased, glowing from the candlelight almost as if it were real.