Under a cloud of rain, of shadows, of smoke, fumes, and flowers, the child wandered for the sake of knowledge, for the sake of learning, for the sake of something to do while his head spun and his spirits drifted. A portion of him still looked for her too, his mother, a sacred being, an oasis, a foundation and fountain of wisdom, of love, of devotion, and he wanted to give it back to her. He wanted to extend his wondrous heart to beat in time, in unison, with hers again, and they could waltz amongst the fields of ivy and clover, of mist and fog, drift in and out of the abyss as he regaled her with everything he’d discovered, cherished, or explored. He wanted his father to be happy and content again, away from the painted smiles, the varnished pretenses, the glimpses of apprehension, fear, and fright, past the particles of terror and horror – because he saw it in Zero’s eyes sometimes when he thought he wasn’t looking. He wanted his family whole and together, with Iskra’s mighty sparks of laughter and lightning, with grandmother Ampere’s swift cunning, with Otem and Vulkan’s contentment and careful guidance, with the embrace of a heritage, of kin, of camaraderie built into a shelter, a sanctuary, of love and devotion. For all his yearnings, for all his innocent, tenacious greed, the youth had virtually no idea it was impossible, improbable, and unattainable. Instead, his little soul soared with his munitions, with his hope, with his buoyancy, and scattered the stars in his wake, growled in the bloom of darkness, and stared out into the wide-open world, believing one day, if he looked just in the right place, he’d catch a glimpse of her once more. Then everything would be right. Everything would be fine. Everything would be intact. He wouldn’t have to worry so much about his sire. He wouldn’t have to wonder her whereabouts. The babe would be allowed to dream about so much more.
A massive, dark beacon caught his eye, snatched and enticed him for a few moments, allowed the brazen, stark curiosity to unfurl within his skull. The eerie siren was apparently lifeless – a towering, colossal tree with branches reaching toward the misty sky, and it must’ve been amazing to behold in its youth, when everything was green, verdant, and vibrant. Now, it looked as though it had been blackened, scarred, scorched, and ignited, perhaps by another, perhaps by rage, perhaps by nature. Something stirred in his chest – partly feeling bad for the great behemoth that once ruled over the territory, reduced to a ruin, and another contortion enticing him towards its grand sanction. He inched closer and closer, breathing in the fumes of the illustrious spire, crimson eyes settling on its elongated branches, its chronicles web work of gnarled twigs, daring to brush his maw across a piece of sooty bark (not caring when it stained his muzzle). In turn, he was granted with the most serene of sentiments curling through him – nearly tranquil, full of repose, a fleeting feeling he hadn’t felt in ages, not since before this time, this hour, this place - and he withdrew from its touch, loosening another breath to ghost across the void. Then the boy smiled, aware, fixated, on the notion that despite the broken limbs, the faltering dominion, the formidable wood was no beast, monster, or foe.
Then, with another beckoning cluster of movement, motion, and luminescence, Mauna spotted his father around the other side of the tremendous trunk, and the boy nearly shouted, hooted, hollered in celebration, in glory (but for what?), until he was moved to silence, to stare, at his sire again.
Zero had always been radiant, had always gleamed, since the moment Mauna had known him. He was full of life, effervescent, a welcoming, warm embrace, a tender catalyst of strength, endurance, and fortitude with the gentlest of smiles, and had the little mountain boy not had him for a father, he still would’ve craved to be near his side – merely to be there, curled and coiled in his entity. But now, Zekle truly shined; glimmers on his metallic portions, sparks zapping on his wings, on his markings, enticing his child closer and closer, completely ignorant of what had just transpired, on where the shadows had come from, on where they were bound to go. It was just his father now – and he carved his tiny hopes back into his soul, etching a beatific smile across his face as he announced his presence amidst the timeless abyss. “Father, you’re glowing!” It seemed so perfect, so incredible, so awe-inspiring, that he then sidled up to Zero’s left shoulder, placing his maw there, ignoring the soot, the ash, and simply revering his sire’s presence, his gifts, his abilities. “You’re amazing,” he said, and he meant it with every fiber, with every breath, with every inflection.
Mauna
CROWNS HAVE THEIR COMPASS-LENGTH OF DAYS THEIR DATE-
TRIUMPHS THEIR TOMB-FELICITY, HER FATE-
OF NOUGHT BUT EARTH CAN EARTH MAKE US PARTAKER,
BUT KNOWLEDGE MAKES A KING MOST LIKE HIS MAKER.
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Uwaritace
