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Mother had always told him they were to live in the dark.
That’s just how things were. That’s all their destiny would hold.
Remus had been a defiant child. He had loved listening to the stories told by the trees and the stones on the riverbank about the beauty of the sunrays; billions of them, watching over the world for the day, jumping from leaves to flower petals to dew on spiderwebs, before the Moon and her children took over as the Sun moved to wake up the other side of the world. On the brightest days, Remus could hear them all the way to his den, their shine creeping almost to his doorstep.
One morning as they were arriving, he’d tried to go to greet them. He had heard the joyous choir singing, seen plants perking up after the night to drink the light. The enchanting music had locked him in his place in wonder, peeking through the smallest gap from between the vines covering the mouth of their cave before his mother had dragged him to safety, nearly in tears from fear.
Mother would never slap him, but sometimes, she squeezed his arm a bit too hard when pulling him deeper into the shadows.
“Never try to go out in daylight,” she’d say, and Remus would feel guilty for making her voice shake like that. “Never. It’ll be the last thing you’ll see.”
She had meant it far more literally than Remus thought. For years, he’d obeyed, believing he would drop dead the moment he’d lay his eyes on the beams up close. Still he never stopped dreaming about what he’d almost seen. He would cry how unfair it was he’d meet his demise by the same thing that brought everything else in the world alive. It felt like the cruellest faith of them all, to be born as he was. He’d only gotten a small taste of the Sun’s beauty, and it’d left him forever hungry for more.
Then one day his mother wasn’t there anymore. Remus was alone. With no one waiting at home, no one scolding yet no one loving him, he could come and go as he wanted, but the promise he’d made to his mother kept him inside long after dusk and before dawn. He spent the nights looking for food and making friends with moths and other creatures of the night. He’d eat a blueberry or two for dinner, all he was strong enough to carry home.
Years later, he was almost caught by the light by accident, when time had flown by and he’d been distracted, and suddenly he could hear the legion, their laughter, their dance. He’d had his back turned, and they’d surprised him before he could start his journey back underground.
Remus fled, eyes squeezed shut as his mother had always taught him. He’d always find his way home, with or without his sight. He’d learned it young, after having to walk around the woods in the pitch blackness of murky winter nights. His eyes were prickling. He could see red and orange spots behind his eyelids. He pressed his hands over them for extra protection and ran, ran, ran.
He didn’t want to burn. He didn’t want to die.
He could feel the sunrays chasing him, like it was a game for them. Remus let out a panicked cry when something warm brushed his calves, and sprinted forward faster, running out of breath but not daring to slow down. He dived through the opening of the cave, scraping his knees on dirt, right as the wave of light washed over the spot.
Remus sat in the dark, panting, pressing his hands on his legs, feeling where he’d been touched. They didn’t hurt or feel otherwise abnormal, and while catching his breath, Remus’ head flooded with questions. The light had caught him, just as his mother had always warned him. Why hadn’t he caught aflame and turned to ashes? Why hadn’t it burned his flesh off, tripping him and eating the rest of him alive?
This is how he learned his mother hadn’t referred to death when warning him about the Sun. He remembered the ache in his eyes, and thought about mother’s words as it dawned on him.
He’d go blind.
It made Remus wonder why his mother had made it seem like the most horrific thing that could happen to them. He’d just run through the forest without needing his eyes. He could easily navigate with his other senses. Losing that didn’t seem like a massive sacrifice for witnessing such a divine thing.
Remus did love the night. He loved the Moon and the stars and their soft glow, the only kind of light his kind could tolerate. He knew the Moon’s light was solely a reflection of the Sun’s, and maybe that’s why he’d always felt such a connection to it. It was his way to experience it. Silver instead of gold. Cold instead of warm. Full moons made him tear up in awe. If it was that incredible to experience the Sun’s power second-hand, how marvellous must it be to see and feel it directly?
Rebellion had always lived in his heart. He so wanted to see, and dull the curiosity, the hunger, to catch a glimpse just once.
The very same evening, Remus went to wait at the opening of the den, facing the muddy wall of the tunnel, avoiding the brightness until he could be sure most of them would be gone or he’d be blinded before he got the chance to take a proper look. He hummed along to the beams’ songs, tapped his foot to the rhythm of their celebration, little heart hammering against his ribs with anticipation.
Little by little, the sounds began to fade. Remus peeked outside, watching the orange army retreat, leaving behind nothing but grey and silence. He could see little lonely beams here and there, rushing to finish their tasks before hurrying after their friends.
Remus spotted one, standing on the edge of a nearby opening, gleaming and close and soon not there anymore. It was time. He stumbled out of the cave, moving as quickly as he could on his clumsy feet.
And there it was.
The sunray had their back turned to him. They had kneeled at the treeline, singing in a soft voice, like lulling something to sleep. Remus watched, entranced.
So this was light. Dandelion tea, the stripes of a bumblebee, the first fallen leaves of autumn. Fire that had burned parts of his home forest years ago, fur of fox cubs. They were everything at once, and Remus’ head was spinning. He’d never seen such colours before, rich and bright and deep, skin and wings of pure gold. His eyes were burning, but he couldn’t tear them away from the breathtaking sight in front of him.
“Good night, little one,” he heard the sunray whisper, and they moved just enough for Remus to see a small, sleeping rabbit curled under a bush. The sunray stood up, and their wings began to flutter.
“Wait, don’t go,” Remus said, the words spilling out of his mouth without his control. He’d never meant to talk to them, but he wasn’t ready for it to be over so soon.
The sunray’s wings stilled as they spun around. They looked surprised. Remus knew he wasn’t a fantastic sight, but he attempted to stand tall and strong, wishing the sunray wouldn’t think ill of him. But when their eyes met, Remus had never seen anyone look at him with such wonder.
“Oh, hello.” They were speaking, but it sounded like the most beautiful melody Remus’ had ever heard. They approached him, feet tucked into little yellow boots, their shine getting more unbearable to take. “What are– why are you crying?”
Remus shielded his eyes with his hand, peeking through the gaps between his fingers. “You’re hurting my eyes.”
The sunray’s face dropped. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
“No,” Remus took a step forward, lowering his hand and squinting instead, unable to help himself. He couldn’t look away. “It’s okay. You’re very bright, but I have never in my life have I seen anything nearly as beautiful as you are.”
The sunray blushed, and the blush was golden. Remus was charmed. His mother had told him stories about her and his father, about their love, how it had been instantaneous, and how Remus never believed it possible. Yet now, his mind was filled with vivid images of their future together, his heart full of affection and adoration.
“I’ve never seen anything like you, either,” the sunray said. “You must belong to Night. I never get to see any of it, though I wish to experience it all the time.”
Their words and longing tone baffled Remus (why would they ever wish for that?), though only for a moment, until the confusion was replaced with excitement, and he smiled wide, revealing all of his spikey teeth, body trembling with emotion. An opportunity he’d never considered, as they’d only been there for a moment, but now he couldn’t let it go.
“You can stay! I can help you with everything.” Remus stretched out his hand, palm up, inviting them along. “Let me show you my home. And you may stay, if you want. I’ll care for you.”
His eyes couldn’t take it, but he’d cherish the sunray simply for knowing they’re there. He wanted to get to know them, grow to love them truer and deeper than the affection in his heart already. He had never wished for anything so much.
The sunray got down to his level. Remus didn’t flinch away from their touch. Heat caressed his cheek, and his eyes were watering, or perhaps bleeding.
“Darling,” the sunray said. “You are a lovely, fascinating thing, but I’m not ready to give up what it’d take to stay.”
“I don’t care what it takes from me.”
“It’s taking my life.” Sorrow crept into their voice as minor notes in their song. “I cannot survive in the darkness without my siblings.”
“But you said –”
“I’d love to explore a life outside of this, but it’s not possible. We could never be together either way, okay? I will go or I will die. I should already be on my way.”
Their glow was fading, and Remus understood. He wanted to argue, to plead, to convince them to stay, but he had to accept things as they were. They’d been trying to leave as Remus had called out for them. Perhaps they were already too late. Night must come. Maybe,
at the end,
despite everything,
darkness does beat the light.
So he let go, and the sunray got on their wings. Remus’ fingertips were left prickling by the heat of their skin.
Remus tilted his head back and watched them in the sky. “Will you ever come back here?”
The sunray hesitated. “I will go wherever I can.” They were slowly ascending, making the leaves of the trees around them swish. “I truly do hope I’ll get to light up this forest someday again. For you.”
Remus’ heart jumped at this hopeful thought.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” he said, and watched the sunray’s wings carry them away, above the trees and out of sight.
Darkness landed at once.
Remus had never realised how cold the night was.
His eyes were burning, and he was sure they’d been damaged for good, but he didn’t care. He could still see their celestial face in his mind. The moment he’d shared with the sunray can’t have lasted for more than a minute, yet he’d felt more during that time than in all of his days combined.
Everything and everyone loved the Sun, but had anyone ever appreciated the beauty of a single beam before? Not like him. And no one ever would. Out of billions and billions, he must have encountered the most beautiful one.
Remus had used to live for the starlight. Their beams were silvery and see through and calm, friendly but withdrawn. Now that he knew what reigned the world by day, it could hardly compare.
The Moon was full that night. Could his sunray be there now, dancing on the Moon, or maybe exploring other planets, such a long way from home?
From his home.
I will go wherever I can.
One of them lived as free as one can be. One of them was earthbound. The paths of their kinds were never supposed to cross.
A spider passed by, and Remus wished her good night, though the old lady seemed not to hear him. His heart was heavy and hollow now, and he so wished for a family, a friend, anyone to be with him. He missed mother and he missed the Sun. The quiet moonbeams as his only companion, he laid down on the grass and sang a song of his own.
The next day was cloudy, and Remus wept, imagining the sunray flying above the clouds, dreaming about how beautiful it must be there, and how blessed he would be to be a bird, to have a choice to bathe in their light whenever he wanted.
The Sun didn’t arrive for a few more days. Even in all of her glory, she was not capable of pushing through the black clouds, and the sound of rain buried everything else. It took almost a week for Remus to catch another sundown, and he ran around the woods, seeking and wishing. He knew if his sunray saw him from above, they’d come. He knew they’d recognise him, and they’d rush to him, and he’d let himself be embraced.
If they were there, they’d stall again for a bit so Remus could say hi. If their life together would have to be built by these fleeting moments, he’d still take it. He’d take all of it.
They never came,
though they were right there to greet him, after a lifetime, when Remus, long blinded by looking for his love’s familiar face among the burning rays, entered his eternal night.