a week prior, she had believed that rapture had arrived. with her very eyes did she witness the second calamity; of the gods and humans, of power and war. she had seen it all, and having survived it, she knows that she is cursed. for she is a mother without child, and a priestess without a god.

she had no reason to pray. the gods had forgotten her as they are wont to do. and she could not blame them, for she is nobody.

but in the very least, nobody has a home.

sootopolis. a holy place marred by war and wrath. and yet, despite what it had endured, it was still alive. sootopolis was where she was born, and sootopolis would be the place she would die. she would always have returned no matter the circumstance. and now the time has come to rebuild the place she had been born; the origin of all creation. EDEN.

where there had been blood had been wiped away by her hands. where there had been bodies—abandoned and unidentified, had been buried according to the rites of her parish. and where there used to be torrents of rain and cracks of lightning, was now blue skies and the occasional shadow of a god. the presence of one that leads to another.

"welcome home, miss morningstar." she says. resting on the edges of a crater, sariel greets her with cautious reverence, having witnessed the girl's rebirth. in the draconid's hand was the control of one god, and the killing of another.

indeed. SHE had killed the god.

is SHE really a savior, or a savage?

what is SLEEP but a premature death?

draped on her shoulders is a simple cloak, reminiscent of her old covenant. there's a basket hanging from sariel's hand, and in the basket laid floral tea: dried buds and flower petals, harvested from the garden that had bloomed in her home—what little that had remained after the calamity.

"did you miss it?"

home...?

freya morningstar

the city is as old as life itself, and thus the citizens remain as staunch in their views, steeped in tradition. the streets have eyes, and they talk too. as one who walks amongst them, sariel has heard it all.

the so called savior is a MONSTER. she looks like a monster, and she acts like one too.

she places the basket between them, kneeling before the pool of water before unpacking the tea. from her thermos came hot water, poured over dried leaves and petals. nostalgic was the scent that filled the air, crisp fruit and florals originating from their land.

her measured movements were familiar despite years of disuse; long ago, she had also done the same for the girl's mother. now grown, she can see the parts of her mother reborn into her mannerisms. but freya had yet a path to walk down, destiny uncharted. she was still young. she thinks my-hoa would have called someone like freya an older sister.

sariel closes her eyes, letting the scent of brewed tea take her back to warmer memories. it was bittersweet, interlaced with the scent of sea salt.

"a house is not always a home; sootpolis will become whole again, piece by piece." sariel says. she was now a priestess after all; what comforts she hands out is dressed in cryptic riddles and harsh truths. she pushes a warm teacup into freya's hand.

"you cannot repent for an affair you had little choice in, child. is this what you wanted?"

freya morningstar

these days, memory is all she has. when she closes her eyes, she relives each one, seeing with startling clarity the circumstances that have brought her to this very place: the war, the city, the people.

sophia gifts her a scarf for her birthday. it is a simple scarf, in dark colors that sariel was impartial to. but sariel had wrapped it around her neck every winter, through all the storms and winds, until its very stitches had frayed.

and then she had lost everything, including that scarf.

"they say you die twice. once one you have drawn your last breath. and once when someone has uttered your name for the last time." she says. her eyes rove over the old city; its white stone lasting the end of time, dutifully witnessing the passing of each soul in its walls.

she repeats myhoa's name in every goodnight. she prostrates in prayer for her every morning. and in the afternoon, she sees the remnants of her daughter christened throughout the city. grief is a compelling thing, one that has sariel idly wondering if the fates had purposefully crossed her path with the girl. did they relish in their taunting? a mother without a child, and a child without a mother.

there is not anything as undoing as a daughter, after all.

"you know as well as i." she says, taking a sip of her tea. "without your doing, home would no longer exist. your mother would be proud of the woman you've become, no matter the circumstance."

sariel is not one for comfort, usually. she gives her dues as she sees them; but they pass just as quickly as they are given. reality does not wait, and so she does not either.

"what you are going through is temporary, as all things are. but the matter in which you end it is in your hands, child. this is not the time to be passive, no?"

freya morningstar