Sand and Stardust

The waves crested before him - a magnificent glittering crown of blues and greys, as well as all the colours that came in between. The sea made hardly a splash as, with a deliberate flick of the wrist spurred on by a stray thought crossing his mind, he directed the lapping, hungry water back into the sandy, grit-wrought shores of the alcove.

A weary sigh stole the breath away from his lungs and for a moment, he indulged in simply letting himself be. The sun above was muffled, and the sharp cries of the parks and sea-birds were one of the few sounds to be heard in sharp focus around the deserted lay of these parts. 

Although… he supposed that he was not actually alone.

The breeze bristled as if it had plucked those mournful thoughts from his head, and between one breath to the next, it picked up speed, buffeting through the great expanse of the Atlantic. It wove and cut through the stillness around, before surrounding him in a gentle vortex.

Like an eager pup, the North Wind peppered his face with kisses of greeting and in response, he tilted his head in resignation, satisfied to submit for now.

“Hello, old friend.” He murmured, nuzzling the tough cut of his beard into the frosty morning chill. “It’s been far too long, hmm?”

A chirp of agreement whistled into the hollow of his ears. He chuckled, burdening lightening as he did so. A weight wrapped itself around the curl of his shoulders, nuzzling in, and the barest impression of creature filled the narrow edges of his vision. He closed his eyes, and breathed, content.

He felt the elongated wily form of the sky deity change - an ever-shifting mass of celestial feathers and scales, hair and fur and the pink wrinkled skin of a newborn child. Talons pierced against skin, fangs nestled itself against the faint beating of his jugular. A soft pink tongue - forked and smooth and rough - licked a faint stripe against the underside of his throat.

He took it for what it was - a comfort. It was a reminder of a well-meaning threat, a platitude and an apology. 

“Thank you.” He whispered tearfully against the feathery body. Instinct and habit had him cupping his hands into position and like clockwork, the younger god melted into the cusp of his grasp. A shrill cry of a petrel sliced through the air, and the wind took flight from the calloused palms of his hand.

He watched it go, feeling curiously sentimental as he watched it go. 

“Goodbye indeed.” He murmured. A single feather lay delicately on the sand strip, and reaching over, he picked it up. He hesitated only for the slightest moment, before tucking it away from view. Subtlety was an unfortunately necessary evil, especially around these unforgiving parts. 

Power often meant downfall. He was no fool, and he knew better than to be overconfident for it. After all, there are still many creatures of the night out there that still crave and hunger for dominion, and it would be most unwise to flaunt around this latest development. 

He glanced up into the sky.

It felt inadequate that all he could do was give the barest hints of gratitude. Alas, it couldn’t be helped, he supposed. It was safer this way, for both of them.

For a moment, he worried that perhaps, he had been too impulsive. He had sought this place out as a means of solace. Every fibre of his being yearned for a temporary ceasefire. He was not so naive as to believe in the ideals of peace, but he was not a doomsayer either. There was a place - in between - where there could simply be… rest.

Time had made him melancholic in its passing. A hundred years would pass in the blink of an eye, and a thousand more in another. 

One day for himself didn’t seem that much of a selfish price.

Hesphariux took a single step, then faltered. A frown crossed his face, as an odd twinge plucked at the chords of his beating heart. A slow hum vibrated through his mind in an ethereal choir, and it took him barely a second to realise what it meant. Relief flooded his senses, and unconsciously, he let himself relax completely for the first time since ages.

The choir of drumbeats and rivers echoed inside of him, matching every beat of his heart as if it were one. A bright explosion of intangible colours and tastes burst forth in the back of his tongue. 

He savoured it.

The air in front of him shimmered with glossy reverence as the veil dividing the metaphysical from the physical planes split with a quiet tear. The fiery gossamer threads of the hand-weave was brushed aside gently a moment later, and a soft thump from the shores ahead heralded the arrival of a young teen with electrical green eyes and raven-hair.

“Ooh,” The teen - Aesclysius - teased, eyes deliberately glancing at the salt-encrusted trident clutched in his right hand. “Devil’s still got some bite in him.” There was a beat, before he flung out out his arms dramatically. “Well?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear. “Did you miss me?”

The witty remark about unnecessary flairs dried up at the back of his throat. “Yes.” Hesphariux said simply, not trusting himself to speak over that. 

Aesclysius’s eyes softened at that. “Old sap.” He said fondly, already lumbering forward and pulling him impulsively into an embrace. The contact was familiar, and he leans into the offered warmth. 

A beat passed, before the other god pulled back, hands still clasped on his own shoulders. “Missed you too, buddy.”

Hesphariux could not help but note that Aesclysius’s age was not betrayed through the windows of his eyes, nor did it burst at the seams of his mortal body. Already, that was an achievement beyond many others, especially the younger, newer gods. Even the older and more powerful ones had a tough time struggling with it as well, and similarly, he himself was not exempt from it. 

As with most cases, it appeared that his closest friend was the exception, rather than the rule. Contrary just so, and a breath of fresh air in an otherwise dying pantheon. This backfires at times though. 

Like now, because just when he thinks that their relationship over the years has mellowed enough to hold pleasant conversation, Aesclysius goes back to proving him wrong. Curved barbs and teasing remarks that make him scramble his mind furiously to reply in a sufficient amount of time span so as to retain the remaining scraps of dignity that he still possesses.

But that was another quirk of his friend. Aesclysius has a way of burrowing under defenses and coaxing out the best and worst of him.

Hesphariux has no choice but to sigh, falling back into that incorrigible state of annoyed pleasure. The banter was familiar territory, and the evening spent even more so, because like clockwork, they both found it so temptingly easy to revert back to that behaviour and left-over scraps of personality from when they had been fledgelings. 

He remembered being free to run around and tussle with the mightier beasts of the lower realms of earth. He remembered shaping the stars together - palms sticky from stardust and energy clasped as one (entwined) - as the sprawling landscape beneath shivered with each new pulse of raw creation. 

It all seemed like an eternity ago - and that is an accurate measure of time, given how long he himself had roamed the world.

Sentimentality has him subdued. He quiets for a little while, content to memorise every aspect of his dearest friend. He knows that Aesclysius is doing the same in that moment. As always, they are each other’s mirrors.

Intense jade eyes take in the paler sheen of his own face and the fire-touched strands of hair, while he in return absorbs in the freckled features and rumpled clothing. It’s intimate, in a way that physicality could never quite mimic.

They barely notice when the sun dips into night, and the creations that they themselves had finger-painted so long ago as fledglings began to fill the iridescent sky. The world around them pales in contrast to the presence of each other, and Hesphariux much prefers it that way.

He breathes. Their breaths mingle.

The stars were particularly lovely that night.