Rory
So it began.
The lights flickered, and the hairs on the back of Rory's neck stood up as a chill traveled down his spine. With a shiver he withdrew fromWessex and Koel, hurrying back towards his lanterns as they all went out—
—a sea of darkness, vague outlines of bodies, and somewhere to his left, a single, breathing glow—
So his lanterns had not been chosen; his eyes strained in the dark as he stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn't make out who stood next to the lantern, or what it even was—but it wasn't like that was any different than usual. Then, just as abruptly as they had gone out, the lanterns all breathed back to life. Rory, trying to not let the familiar weight across his heart drag him down, had planned to do as he always did: quietly collect his lanterns and head back home, deep in thought.
But not tonight.
The spirits crowded behind him, around the bonfire, swimming in the sea of people, like translucent strands of a tapestry woven into theirs; a merging of worlds so many of the Naturals longed for, that glimpse of lost loved ones.
Never before had Rory seen so many spirits called by Ludo.
”What’s the meaning of this?” a stranger's voice demanded from the center of the spirits, and what had drawn his concern and Wessex's ire reignited. No Natural was ignorant of the Festival of Lights.
It had to be an Outlander who had made the lantern Ludo chose; an Outlander who was so steeped in death the ghosts almost seemed to outnumber those gathered. And Rory, peaceful, calm and quiet Rory, felt something like fire sear his veins.
"Stop this nonsense," Rory said, but somehow it was so much more than that: it was cold and loud, a command without being a shout, and his eyes glittered dangerously in the firelight. Something strange was going on, the sparks and the lanterns leaning in towards the growling center of the ghosts; Rory wriggled his way through the crowd towards Ronin,Ashetta and Kalt. "Ludo favored your lantern. Ludo granted you the wish we all have: to see our dead ones again." His voice was a dead thing in his mouth, his heart a dead thing in his chest. They had seeped like poison into their Festival, reaped its highest prize, and defiled it with their ignorance. The violent promise throbbing in the wolf's body made something dark and foul-tasting uncoil in the back of his mind.
"Are you happy now?" he demanded of Kalt, of everyone, something fragile threatening to break in his voice.
And somehow, the vilest thing of all was his own anger.
The lights flickered, and the hairs on the back of Rory's neck stood up as a chill traveled down his spine. With a shiver he withdrew from
—a sea of darkness, vague outlines of bodies, and somewhere to his left, a single, breathing glow—
So his lanterns had not been chosen; his eyes strained in the dark as he stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn't make out who stood next to the lantern, or what it even was—but it wasn't like that was any different than usual. Then, just as abruptly as they had gone out, the lanterns all breathed back to life. Rory, trying to not let the familiar weight across his heart drag him down, had planned to do as he always did: quietly collect his lanterns and head back home, deep in thought.
But not tonight.
The spirits crowded behind him, around the bonfire, swimming in the sea of people, like translucent strands of a tapestry woven into theirs; a merging of worlds so many of the Naturals longed for, that glimpse of lost loved ones.
Never before had Rory seen so many spirits called by Ludo.
”What’s the meaning of this?” a stranger's voice demanded from the center of the spirits, and what had drawn his concern and Wessex's ire reignited. No Natural was ignorant of the Festival of Lights.
It had to be an Outlander who had made the lantern Ludo chose; an Outlander who was so steeped in death the ghosts almost seemed to outnumber those gathered. And Rory, peaceful, calm and quiet Rory, felt something like fire sear his veins.
"Stop this nonsense," Rory said, but somehow it was so much more than that: it was cold and loud, a command without being a shout, and his eyes glittered dangerously in the firelight. Something strange was going on, the sparks and the lanterns leaning in towards the growling center of the ghosts; Rory wriggled his way through the crowd towards Ronin,
"Are you happy now?" he demanded of Kalt, of everyone, something fragile threatening to break in his voice.
And somehow, the vilest thing of all was his own anger.
