Work Text:
Gentiana stands in the ruins of what remains of the Altar of the Tidemother, looking out to sea. She is alone. The Boy has long since been brought to safety with his injured companion. Lady Lunafreya has passed from this star, her soul far too bright to be confined by mortal constraints, and her duty fulfilled until the time of the True King’s Ascension.
But it is for the Girl, not the Oracle, she weeps.
Clearly, her voice rings out in a mournful lament, carrying over the wind and roar of the waves in respect and honor for the Girl who thawed her frosty heart, and renewed her faith in humanity.
Deus dormit (God sleeps)
Et liberi ignem faciunt (And children light a flame)
Numquam extint (He never dies)
Ne expergisci possit. (Nor He can be awoken)
Omnia dividit (Tragedy destroys)
Tragedia aram (In front of them)
Amandum quae (Every beloved thing)
Et nocte perpetua (Look after despair)
E hem desperationem (And the everlasting night)
Pavor omnivere potest (He can see the dawn)
Manes tempus expergiscendi. (There is still time to awake)
Her eyes are closed as Gentiana finishes her song, tears streaming down her cheeks to merge with the rolling waves by her feet. She mourns the losses of the past, the present, and the tragedies still yet to fully unfold.
Water flows forth, rising from the depths and assuming a human shape before her. Without opening her eyes, Gentiana steps back as the form solidifies and joins her on the broken stone.
“You mourn and weep for a wretched pile of bone and flesh? Who dared requisition the might of a goddess?” Leviathan hisses angrily.
“I do,” Gentiana answers simply. “You have slumbered too long, Sister. The Prophecy is now at hand. The Oracle was right to call upon you, as too was the King who proved his worth.”
“You shed tears for a mortal, a pestilence upon this star,” Leviathan continues to argue. “All should be extinguished.”
“Not a pestilence. A balm. The best and brightest example of humanity,” Gentiana opens her eyes and takes in the view of the human form Leviathan has assumed. “Which you must know, or you would not have chosen to wear my Lady’s likeness.”
Leviathan’s scowl looks misplaced on Lady Lunafreya’s features. She huffs and glares at Gentiana, but refrains from further argument. “Everlasting night draws near.”
Nodding her agreement, Gentiana says softly, “Time grows short. The Chosen shall soon be on the path to return light unto the world. To his power, I will add my blessing freely and to my Lady, my promise I shall fulfill.”
“The vermin will scatter and thin before the end. The roar of the tide shall wash away the unworthy,” Leviathan says bitterly. “But my obligations I shall fulfill, and will come upon the Chosen’s call.”
With that, Leviathan steps out upon the waves and dissolves back into water as she merges with the sea.
“You will,” Gentiana whispers to the waves. “And so shall I.”