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In truth, Astra had rarely felt detached from her culture. Detached is hardly the word for it; it implies distance, it implies longing to be close yet failure to come closer, invisible blockades in the road forever cutting her off from what she has always yearned for: an understanding of who she is, in every component. She rarely, if ever, felt detached from her Ghanian culture.
Even here, even at the protocol where different corners of the world mix under one roof and not a single person comes from the same city nor country as her, she hasn’t felt detached. Homesick, sure, every now and again, but not hardly detached or less comfortable with the foods she grew up with or the hints of Twi slang and pet names she tosses into conversation every now and again. She is very comfortable with that side of her, down to every atom and fiber in her soul.
If you had asked her, where she felt that detachment and distance is when it came down to her astral guardian side.
It wasn’t like she’d grown up surrounded by astral guardians, nor been born into such a godly state and godly people. She was your average city girl, obsessed with towering skyscrapers, blinding neon lights, the latest trends on social media, and the hottest makeup looks going viral these days; the same as nearly any other city-person her age, no divinity involved. She feels very at home among the others when it comes to those things. When discussions of hanging up fairy lights for decor in bedrooms with Sage or blending new colors of eyeshadow for the perfect smokey eye with Raze come up in conversation, she feels incredibly at home and in her element.
But the same cannot be said for when astral guardian topics arise on the table.
She can’t speak the astral guardian tongue like she can toss out English and Twi without a second thought. She can’t name a single other astral guardian off the top of her head like she can list all her friends back home, or every beloved comrade she’s made since joining VALORANT well over a year ago. The scriptures and written language of the gods read to her like chicken scratch and a child’s scribbles; all messy nonsense, few words pulled out here and there, rarely enough to make sense of any writing she’s seen from them, really. The only answers she really has are her golden gauntlet, and that is nothing but a source of even more questions she rarely knows who to ask. There’s no place she could bring such inquiries to either.
Well. Not anymore. Not if what Harbor speaks is true; That the City of Flowers has been not wilted but trampled and torn from the ground by some unspeakable, unknown person or people. She has the key, that little sphere and bracelet locked tight around Harbor’s left wrist, but no lock to put it in. Nothing but more questions.
What happened to the City of Flowers? Who destroyed it? Why?
How many astral guardians died in that tragedy? How many fled?
How many are hiding right under her damn nose and she just can’t tell?
Astra hardly considers herself the type of person to sulk and brood, but life’s been lifing lately, lifing very hard, kicking her butt at every turn these last few weeks, and she’s exhausted. She’s disappointed the city is gone, but hopeful that Omega may have other answers, but worried still—who would do such a thing?
And would they trample her too if they knew she were a guardian herself?
She doesn’t like to dwell on negativity, but thoughts as fierce as those had been inescapable these last few nights. She hasn’t felt particularly well, and hasn’t been much in the mood to laugh nor smile, so she’s taken her time in her room until today; tired of the sight of four lavender bedroom walls and white furniture, she’s in need of a change of scenery. It’s late enough that no other agents are roaming around.
Or so she’d thought.
She’d been seated, snuggled into the gray cushion of the lounge couch, letting the light of a single lamp illuminate the room until a weight shifted against the loveseat, to her right.
Her eyes, brown as rich coffee beans, meet another pair, the color of chocolate syrup.
Chocolate syrup eyes, and cinnamon-brown hair, and a t-shirt that cuts off at the shoulder so her guest’s black tattoo sits proudly for the world to see. She didn’t take the new kid as being much of a night owl, but she’s seen too many things by now to know first impressions are rarely reliable.
Take Harbor for example. When they’d first been introduced to him, he’d been seen as a petty thief on the run, hungry for whatever power that wristband for an artifact might hold.
But now, Efia knows very well he is nothing short of an earnest, honest, intelligent gentleman. Especially when he speaks after a quiet, considerate pause to think carefully on his words:
“... I apologize if I’m interrupting your peace or overstepping a line,” He starts, arms resting on his thighs as he leans over in his seat, “But you look like you would appreciate some company.”
Astra laughs. It’s a soft chuckle, really, barely that to be honest, but a laugh nonetheless. She can’t help but smile a little. He really has been nothing but kind since they’d met.
And sure, he’s a little cute too, but that’s unrelated. Really.
“I would not mind some company at all, Chale. Thanks.”
When he nods at her, the little bun in his hair hops up and down with his head, and he smiles too. His smile is so lovely, soft lips encased in that even softer beard and stache duo. “You don’t need to thank me, seriously. It’d be my absolute pleasure to see you smile again.”
See, now, if he’s going to sit here and say things as sweet as that to her, she can’t fight the way her lips pull into a grin. She feels her face heat up a little too, a little blush rising in her cheeks, but quickly fights it off and hides it behind her right hand with another brief laugh.
“Alright, ‘right, Harbor, ‘nough of that…”
He definitely knows what he’s doing. There’s no way he doesn’t.
But he’s a little cute, and he is a sweetheart, so she’ll let it slide.
As soon as her laugh dies down, she turns her gaze back to him, sighing almost wistfully. “I’ve just been thinking about that city, is all. The place you told me about—the City of Flowers.”
At the mention of it, he gasps with realization and sighs with pity right after. “... I know I’ve apologized already, but really, I am sorry about it. I mean it.”
She shakes her head and waves a dismissive golden palm. “Nah, don’t sweat it. You didn’t go up in there and tear that place up, right?”
“No! No, no, of course not, I’d never—”
“Then don’t you dare be sorry.” The conviction she speaks of is not anger; it’s passion, for sure, though. “Whatever beast of men that came and shred that place up, they don’t deserve no, ‘sorries,’ on their behalf. And certainly not from a soul as kind as you.”
“I just… I wish that it had been still standing, so that I could have shown you it yourself,” When he mentions it, he gently gestures towards her with his palm before it’s dropped back to his thigh. “I’ve seen all sorts of crazy artifacts and studied mystifying buildings that date back centuries, but… I don’t think it could ever resonate with me as deeply as it’d resonate with you, being a guardian yourself. I’m merely an admirer of it, but you? You’re…”
His tongue dances over his bottom lip, head shaking to himself as he struggles for the words. “... You’d really experience it, is what I’m trying to say. You’d have been able to look at it and think, ‘This place is part of me. This place is special because it is me.’ You know?”
She knows.
That exact feeling, that exact longing for that soul-deep level of understanding and resonation with not her Ghanian-human side but her astral-godly side; she gets it. Gets it all too well. Gets it so well, in fact, that she can’t hide her disappointment anymore, and her chest deflates like a balloon as she sighs, and her shoulders droop down.
“... Yeah, chale. I hear you.”
Another sigh escapes her, against her best wishes and strongest efforts. She hates bringing the mood down, but it’s a tough topic, and a not-so great feeling to process. Not many people here could get that.
Except Harbor. Having been there himself, having spoken to Astra so much lately and been in the business of controlling an artifact too, he’s one of the few people here who can really get her in that sense. He’s no astral guardian, but he definitely makes this star feel a little less stranded out in that sea of space.
He leans in just a little more, to meet her beautiful brown-as-rich-coffee-bean eyes once more. “Hey… Don’t look so down, please. We can’t give up hope yet, now, can we? If everything you’ve told me is true, Omega Earth is very different from ours, so their City of Flowers could be in pristine shape for all we know.”
Harbor smiles at her again. His eyes dazzle a little when he does; she sees something sincere twinkle in those irises.
It makes her blush return tenfold, and a grin she can’t find pulls at her lips. He’s right, and he’s fucking cute. Astra can’t win here.
“‘Course, Chale! ‘Course, we’ve gotta keep hoping, and see that city on Omega for ourselves! I’ve got too many questions to sit around on it anyways—just had to get some sulking out, ‘s all. Let the bad energy go so the good energy can come in, you feel me?”
He laughs now, something kind, something that makes her feel warm and fuzzy from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “I feel you, Astra.”
“Then let’s get some rest, so we can give tomorrow our all yeah?”
“Of course, my lady.”