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When Lumine is born, she does not have parents. She is not conceived by traditional means.
When she is born, it’s like she comes into existence. From nothing, she becomes something, like meteors bursting through the atmosphere, set alight and streaking their blazing trails across the sky. It was nothing but a miracle sent down by the gods up above, those who witnessed her arrival would say.
She does not cry. She does not smile. She does not say a word.
Instead, Lumine twists her small fragile body over and stretches out her tiny hand to grasp the boy’s beside her. Together, like two twin stars in the oceans of the universe, they are complete.
The nuns name the girl Lumine, and the boy, Aether.
The church refers to them as the apostles. They are two children of the heavens.
But when Lumine kneels at the statue of the gods to pray for the very first time, she is not surprised when she cannot hear their voices.
Lumine tells Venti that the color of his eyes remind her of the sky in her hometown, but that hasn’t always been the case.
It had once been grey, filled with ash and smoke from the ongoing war. The only peace in their world came with the darkness, the shadowy cloak that blanketed everything in its entirety.
The bishops send Lumine and Aether to the empire to be better protected because the church can’t shield them from the war. They can’t risk angering the gods if something were to happen and this is for their own good, was what the archbishop had told Lumine when she was barely six years old, clutching a dusty tome in one hand and Aether’s hand firmly in the other.
She is smart enough to understand the weight of the archbishop’s words, and so was Aether, so the both of them nod obediently and pack what little belongings they owned in a shared knapsack. It isn’t much to begin with—unlike their beginnings, they can’t have something from nothing.
The twins board a carriage under the cover of the night and set off for the capital when all the other children are asleep. The nuns hold lamps by the gates that fade away into small white dots the further and further they travel into the gloom. Aether sleeps soundly on her lap, while Lumine is content with gazing out the window at the scenery that zips by.
They make it to the edges of the capital before dawn, and she thanks the carriage driver while Aether sleepily rubs his eyes beside her. The man gives the twins a pitiful look before returning the way he came and disappearing behind the cover of the trees right as the sun begins to peak over the crested hills, bathing the grass in red light.
Lumine faces the winding dirt path first. Not once does she let go of Aether’s hand. Together, they walk hand in hand towards their uncertain future.
She will be their guiding light.
He will be the one bearing the weight of the heavens.
“You must be destiny’s children,” the emperor says without an ounce of emotion in his voice, gazing down upon them from the throne. He eyes them in a way one would view a sacrificial offering about to be burned in a funeral pyre.
“Yes.” Lumine answers simply. The gold of the palace decorations reflect off of her irises as she kneels on the carpeting besides Aether. Two guards flanking her left and right with their spears pointed in the event that the twins were to pose a threat.
The emperor regards her with cold contempt for a few seconds more before his lips curl up in dry amusement.
“So the salvation of the empire rests in your hands,” he comments sardonically. “How disappointing. The gods are mocking us from up above aren’t they?”
Your gods are no more, she wants to say, but she holds her tongue. Instead, she simply stands up and curtseys as she is taught despite the clunkiness of the white robes she wears.
“The church sent us here to be under your protection,” she says more eloquently than a six year old should be able to, “but we can offer our assistance if needed.”
Lumine doesn’t flinch even when the guards move to jab their pointy spears in her skin, not quite breaking flesh. It’s ironic to think that they would be intimidated by the very children the emperor deems a disappointment.
There is an unspoken challenge in the air, and the emperor regards her seriously this time, all traces of his previous amusement gone. After a long period of thoughtful silence, the emperor asks, “What can you do?”
It is not Lumine that speaks this time, but Aether.
“We will bring you a sweeping victory,” her twin promises. “Our blades and our wings will be at your disposal.”
She tries to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach when the emperor reevaluates them when greedy eyes as he calculates their renewed value in his head. Then, with a broad sweep of his hand, the emperor scatters the guards and a barrage of attendants come swarming in.
“See that these two are sufficiently prepared.”
As Lumine trails along after Aether, she can hear the emperor’s last words ringing right before the doors thunder shut behind her, sealing their inevitable fate.
The war is won within five years. For the first time since they were brought into this world, Lumine is able to witness the clear blue sky from high above the capital.
They are hailed throughout the empire as heroes. Scribes and bards both record the story of the children of fate and the destiny that soars on their wings of white and gold.
Afterwards, they are never to be heard from again and are said to have disappeared with the very stars they loved. Across different worlds, there are tales of a pair of travelers and their accomplishments. For years they have served as protectors of humanity in the name of the gods.
Both twins know of these stories, but neither says a word about them. They are not gods; they are merely imitations, as if they could be anything more than a reflection of divinity.
Years turn to decades, and then, decades to centuries. Time is of little consequence to her, because what is time for those who cannot die?
Sometimes, in the quiet of the night, Lumine lays in bed in the quiet of their room as Aether slumbers peacefully in his bed on the other side. The window is open, allowing her to witness the first sea of stars as they dot the skies, and when the winds blow in and ruffle the curtain, she can faintly hear the distant mocking laughter of the gods as she drifts off to sleep.
Lumine dreams of the dark azure blade of her sacred relic, and she wonders why the gods have gifted her a weapon that can cull their own kind.
You will sever the people’s false faith, they would whisper to her, only you can set us free.
By the time she opens her eyes, she can no longer hear their voices.
When her and Aether face off against an unknown god moments before she is separated from him, she finally comes to understand the meaning behind the gods’ words.
(“The arrogation of mankind ends now,” the unknown god declares, reaching out a hand to cast her judgement.)
As always, Lumine will light their path towards freedom, and Aether will liberate them from the chains that bind them.
(However, what can they do in the face of the wrath of a god?)
She wakes up alone to the blue sky, laying on the shoreline with the waves lapping at her ankles. There is a hollowness in her chest she can’t explain.