with silence, without solace
Through out the millennium, stories have flown as freely as water, and as abundant as the star filled sky. In the first days, the Whisps voices, soft, murmuring as the babbling brooks, began to sing. All would gather to hear the softly spoken tales; however a time came when man begun to spin stories of their own. Fantastical tales of dragons and warriors fierce. Though in stories of gods and men, the most fascinating were those that rang with truth. As is the tale of the god of day and night.
Victor Nikiforov. That is the god of Day’s chosen name. In names he finds kinship with those people of his realm. The men of his kingdom revere him, the striking god with eyes fashioned of sky, and hair the soft silver of angels song. Not only was he their king and god, but also their protector. For in the evening when the first tendrils of shadow begin to overtake the land, Victor seeks to defend it, and for those fleeting moments of dawn and of dusk, a battle is waged. Victor, with his sword forged of sunlight, clashes with Nights obsidian blade, casting hues of color across the sky. As the sun vanishes, so does Victor. Neither Day nor Night truly overtaking the other, both continuing this dance for eons…
The night...insidious, clawing at all that remains pure in this world, clawing, tainting, its fangs black and pointed as that of a starving wolf. Lunging at the light, the night never truly leaves, merely chases the day as the sun dances round the earth. Victor, with great dedication to his people, has sworn to destroy the night. ..
“OI Victor, after all these years…isn’t this pointless?” The voice belonged to a small fae, his heart filled with fire, Yurio was one of Victors closest friends.
“ I took an oath, Yurio, you know as well as I do that I cannot break it” It was nearly dusk, Victor grabbed his sword, ready to begin the ceasless battle. “ Take care of Makkachin while I’m gone, alright?’
As Victor walked, the sun began to set, leaving to illuminate other parts of the world. Night was awaiting Victor atop the hill, here would they always fight. Looking to night, Victor drank in the gods features. Hair black as ravens wing, bones angular and sharp, his skin was sickly pale, near the color of decay. In his hands a sword borne of darkness. Slowly they trod towards another. Blow for blow, they were truly equals.
Victor, for all his skill, was never able to best the night… until now. Night had not meant to trip, and had it not been for the small rabbit underfoot, he wouldn’t have. Stumbling, seeking balance, Victors blade found its way into Nights chest. Blinding light piercing his darkness. Victor made quick work of ripping out his opponents heart. There was no blood to flow from his veins, but instead stardust floats freely from the wound.
Gazing down, victor found that the mans features were, in all actuality, not cruel as he once thought, but rather delicate as a summer rose. His skin soft and pale as the moonlight, constellations dancing across his nose and cheeks, hair soft as the spring winds. Night reached out, not to attack, but for comfort in his last moments, his body slowly fading to stardust and aurora. Unmoving, unforgiving, Victor lorded over the man, digging his heel into his wound, willing him to perish faster. He would not be privy to the guilt now crushing his being. Night died slowly, gasping for mercy as he fades from existence, all remaining, his unbeating heart and crown of stars.
In a blinding flash, the world filled with light, the only safe heaven the shadows. Quickly Victor stowed nights heart and crown In his jacket as to not let them be destroyed by the harsh, now eternal light of day. Around him, silence consumed all, the soft hoot of the owl no longer to be heard, the crickets wing silent. And for the first time in eons Victor wept. He wept for the boy filled with stardust, for he had been so blinded in misunderstanding that he had missed the stars which filled nights eyes, the auroras born from his laughter. He had missed the soft glow of fireflies sweeping the Earth. Slowly the stars in the sky vanished, one by one they died, leaving only the sun.
The crushing weight of understanding now fell upon Victor, the night was not evil, he was gentle, softly singing the world to sleep as he walked, painting the sky with constellations for his beloved humans to gaze upon. Night was dead. The Earth now belonging solely to Victor. Trudging back to his castle, he held closely the heart of his equal.
“ Hey! Victor..Victor you…you actually did it!..” Yurio’s voice reverberated among the castle walls.
“Yurio..yurio I was wrong…” Choking on his sobs the god walked on, head bowed in reverence to his deceased counterpart, tears splashing against the cold flesh. “He was so beautiful yurio…”
“ Isn’t this what you’d always wanted… your people are safe-“
“safe?! Safe from what?? From the soft glow of fireflies.. from the stars?...He reached out for me..and in turn I killed him faster…He was dying and I…”
Quietly yurio embraced his friend, for all of Victors good intention, he had instead committed the gravest sin. Together, in the darkest room of the castle they constructed a grave. Upon a bed of roses they lay his heart and circlet of stars. And in the coming days the world would morn the night, but none more than Victor.
The day was young…Or was it old, as time went on victor could scarcely tell the difference anymore, the kingdom could barely find rest without the solace of darkness. Today was victors turn to replace the roses in nights grave. Carefully had he selected the white roses, delicately Victor caressed them, tough the minute he enters the grave, they fall forgotten. Instead of Night’s decaying heart lies a baby. With constellations dancing upon his cheeks and nose, with skin pale and as soft as moonlight, lay Night, the only remenants of his death a small scar over his heart. Born again from what little stardust remained in his heart and crown, he struggled into existence. Coughing and crying, the babe wrestled for air. Ever so tenderly Victor held the child, rocking him into sleep.
In his first few days of life, the little deity was kept in that small room, nurtured by the fae, and at long last the night and stars began to return, even if only for a few minutes, as the child was not yet grown. Despite his yearning to, Victor knew he could not keep the god. Sending yurio, he had the boy taken to the forest of shadows to be raised by the whisps. He longed for the day when he could once again meet him as an equal, as a friend. When yurio returned, he came empty handed, but full of hope. And every night together they would count the stars, few as they were, they rejoiced in their few minutes of night. And so they waited for the return of their god.