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Chapter Text

The wind whipped them to and fro, and they were helpless against the currents. Large, glowing red shards rained down in shorter and shorter intervals then further they went in, and cover became harder and harder to find. Nevertheless, the child of light pressed forward—

—but just as they broke cover, a torrent of red shards started raining down again. Desperate, terrified, and lonely, the child quickly ducked behind the boulder that served as their cover.

It was only that morning that the child had been born. They had woken up to a calm beach and a golden sunrise, flightless and new. And it had met many people, most of who hey could not understand but who they shared their journey across the realms with. Hiding behind the boulder, the child remembered how wobbly they felt on their new wings on the isle, and they remembered how beautiful the butterflies in the prairie were. Oh, they met someone dancing with the butterflies just that morning. They wondered how that person was now.

Certainly not in the midst of a shard storm.

Their little heart pumped, full of fear and adrenaline. The last time they felt this, it was during that exhilarating race down the valley’s slopes. They’d befriended a very well-dressed fellow who had then challenged the child to see who reached the bottom the fastest. The fellow had won, of course, but that didn’t matter to the child. Racing down those slopes, nearly tripping on their own feet in the process, had been so fun in and of itself.

They forgot to give a candle to that fellow. They could have become friends.

They could have raced to the top of this mountain, and they would have found a way to the other side together.

The hail stopped momentarily. Peeking around the corner, the child took note of the two frozen bodies still unlit. Placing a hand over their heart—and ready to sacrifice two more winged lights for these poor people—they gathered their wits and sprinted out from behind cover. They reached for one statue—success!

They reached for the other—missed.

The child backpedaled. They could hear the stones cracking as they hit the ground up ahead, a sure sign that the storm would reach them soon, but they couldn’t leave the other statue unlit like that. Scurrying, covering their head uselessly with their arms, they scampered back to the second statue and stopped just long enough for their winged light to pass to it.

Then they hightailed it back to the next column.

A sconce waited for them there, along with another statue that needed light. The child first sacrificed another winged light, then they lit the sconce. It immediately started counteracting the darkness and corruption in the water that was stinging the child’s feet.

The hail storm began again. 

Crack!

The child yelped, a distressed honk escaping them. The blow to their face cracked their mask just the smallest bit, but a large chunk of their light was gone in an instant. In front of them, two other light children stumbled and were laid flat on their backs by the shards. The child met them early on in the eye of Eden—they’d been holding hands the entire time, and they even offered to guide the child up to the top. They’d taken a shortcut down beneath the flying rocks, and they’d flown so high above the dark dragons that there was no risk of being spotted.

At that moment, those two had seemed unstoppable. Immortal. 

Seeing them pummeled by shards, that couldn’t be the furthest from reality.

One of them turned their heads. Their golden, glowing crown was faded to a dull silver, but their light still seemed intact. Gold, the child had named them, because their shining crown was just so beautiful. Gold quickly lighted their partner, and they reached a desperate hand toward the child.

But the child was scared. Out there, the flying rocks could hit them again—lay them flat on their backs like Gold and their partner.

Honk-honk-honkhonkhonk! Gold frantically called.

The hail storm was starting up again.

Squeezing their eyes shut, the child sprinted out of cover and took Gold’s hand. In one strong yank, they were all running again, stopping only long enough to sacrifice some winged lights on the way to the next biggest cover. Gold and their partner tucked the child in between them and the small boulder. They flinched every time they took a shard to the face instead of the child.

The storm stopped after what felt like forever—only to start right up again. The cover was only just bigger than the column from before, and no matter how well shielded and how well-lit they all were with their candles and each other, the shards kept raining down. Kept dealing blows to their light—kept hurting them.

Gold tapped the child’s shoulder. The child looked up at their cracking mask. Gold’s eyes were closed. They looked tired.

They gestured to the open space beyond. Limited cover. No more sconces.

No more safety.

The child latched onto Gold’s tattered cape. They didn’t want to go out there. They—they’d be killed!

Honk-honk-honk! The child quickly shook their head. No, they wanted to say, I don’t want to die! But the words were stuck in their throat—and they wouldn’t be understood besides.

Gold’s partner honked once, drawing the child and Gold’s attention. This one had become the child’s friend, too, and the child had nicknamed them Raccoon after their fuzzy tail. Raccoon turned to the open land beyond and gave a cheeky salute, one with the air of someone unworried about the consequences of that dreaded gauntlet. Gold gave a sigh, nodded, and watched Raccoon leave. The child watched, horrified, as the shards started pelting on them, making them stumble over once and knocking them over twice.

The fourth time they were struck, their light was extinguished.

The child cried out a series of distressed honks. Raccoon, now as gray as the strangers the child had passed on their journey to Eden, stumbled and crawled to the next statue. They struggled onward, seemingly unfazed by the shards plummeting around them. 

And the child watched in silent horror.

Gold shook them slightly. They crouched down, and the child looked up into their sad, resigned eyes.

This is normal, their eyes seemed to say. We come here to die.

Their hand stroked the child’s hair and soothed their bumps and bruises. But they gestured again to the open space, where shards rained endlessly down and where Raccoon was busy giving up their winged lights.

Go, they seemed to say.

The child did not want to go, but Gold nudged them insistently. Go.

They didn’t want to die. But there Raccoon was, crawling over red shards and willingly subjecting themselves to the rocks and shards from above.

With one more sad look, Gold turned away from the child, braced themselves, and ran out into the hail storm. The child looked away, unwilling to see their friends battered and beaten.

They didn’t know how long they spent behind that pillar, desperately keeping close to the sconce and avoiding the falling shards. It was long enough that two spirits floated toward them, and they just knew that the spirits were Raccoon and Gold.

They were dead.

The child honked at them. They shook their head repeatedly— I don’t want to go.

The spirits didn’t respond. Not even a honk. They couldn’t reply.

It took even longer to gather the courage to go out into the storm, but Raccoon and Gold’s spirits stayed with them the whole time. And when they finally felt strong enough, they jumped out into the storm—

—a shard immediately smacked right into them and extinguished their light. The child honked frantically, as if on instinct, but there was no other living thing. They started crawling, pain radiating across their entire body, when—

SMACK! CRACK!

The child flew back, and their winged lights spilled out of them—four disappeared before the child could even think to recover them.

I could stay here, the child thought. I could give up.

But the blue lights floating above them felt like their friends watching them, nudging them on. So the child struggled to their hands and knees and began the long, painful crawl.

It turned out that it wasn’t too long of a crawl. No, their winged lights were almost completely depleted. Down to five, to four, to three, two—

One.

As they gave up their last winged light, a heaviness weighed down upon them. They stopped by a statue, too fresh with corruption to be any of the older statues. Was it Raccoon? Or was it Gold?

The child didn’t know. But they figured it was as good a place as any to rest.

Despite being completely extinguished, the child was strangely warm. They curled up to the statue and felt their soul separate from their body.

As their souls ascended, the child felt oddly comforted in the knowledge that they weren’t alone in death.

Chapter Text

Dark. Everything was so dark.

And then it wasn’t. In a brilliant flash of light, the child’s wings regrew— stronger than before!

They—oh, they couldn’t believe it! They twirled, checked out their new, golden cape.

With one strong flap, they launched into the void.

With another flap, they twisted toward the pillar of light.

Two more flaps, and the child shot up, up, up into the light—

—and they emerged high, high above the clouds, higher than they’ve ever flown before. Up here, with the broken pillars and cracked stairs, the child honk ed.

To their surprise, two distinct honks answered them.

Could it be?  

The child flew closer. Could it—

Yes!

Down there, waving and jumping excitedly, Gold and Raccoon called loudly to the child. Still wobbly on their day-old wings, the child floated down to their two friends. As soon as they landed, Raccoon scooped them up in a bear hug, swinging them around and honking excitedly. They set them down, and the child had only a few moments to regain their wits when another, firmer pair of arms wrapped around the child. The child returned the hug.

They trembled. They shook. Tears welled in their eyes. The whole ordeal, flying up to the top of Eden only to die, to die a horrible death pelted by stones and losing their wings and—and—oh that dreadful gauntlet—

A wail echoed off the walls as the child sobbed into Gold’s shirt. A hand smoothed their hair, lingered on the healed bumps and bruises, and lifted the child’s face up. Their mask was no longer cracked, and it made their reassuring smile all the clearer. They made a strange sound, like their normal honk, but more garbled. Although the child couldn’t understand, it comforted them.

Gold, whose once-golden crown was still a dull gray, gestured beyond them, beyond their little shelf of pillars and stairs. It was just like the falling-stone hellscape—but when the child looked beyond the little sanctuary, it wasn’t raining stone and fallen statues they saw. No, it was a wonderful, beautiful skyscape full of clouds and broken pillars and so, so many creatures.

The child sucked in an awed breath. They approached the edge of their shelf and leaned forward, forward, forward until the only contact they had on the shelf was by the tip top of their toes.

And then they fell.

Dipping under the clouds, the child twirled and arched right back up, honking excitedly and flying ever forward. Two strong flaps behind them signaled Gold and Raccoon following—they quickly zoomed passed the child. Raccoon looked back and laughed, urging the child on. Giggling, the child hurried to catch up.

Up ahead, the clouds thinned out to sand, just like in the isle. Raccoon whooped and twirled in the air. They descended quickly, and when their feet hit the sand, they hopped, twirled, and skated rapidly down the slope. The child squealed excitedly at the sight, and they practically shrieked with joy when Gold grabbed their hand and started racing down, too. They performed jumps and twirls and dances, and even though their feet slaloming back and forth felt very unstable, the child kept their balance. Pure, unfiltered joy filled their chest. This was even better than racing down the valley with that well-dressed fellow.

Up ahead, Raccoon twirled rapidly in the air.

Up ahead, giant jellyfish rose out of the clouds.

Gold gave one mighty flap, and they were soaring again, faster and faster toward the jellyfish. The child honked and shrieked with laughter as they jumped from head to head—and then they were soaring among the wreckage. Pieces broke off great stone pillars and walls; Gold narrowly spun through each one. They passed by Raccoon, who caught a ride on a great big manta. They banked sharply past a falling pillar and slalomed lazily through the air until the only way was up, up, up past a broken castle, up past the sun and the atmosphere itself.

Up into the stars.

~.~.~

The child didn't know when they closed their eyes, but when they opened them, they were met with a field of stars and dozens of spirits floating lazily in the surprisingly bright void.

No, not a void.

The child looked to their left, where a nearly blinding ball of light trailed into millions of particles of stardust.

No, not stardust.

The majority of the glowing trails came from other children of the light, most of them holding hands and honking happily. Several of them made those garbling honks, and even more were singing in unison to a song only they could hear. 

The child looked ahead again. Gold flapped lazily, greeting each spirit as they went. The child recognized some of them as the freed spirits they came across on their journey. Others were unfamiliar and didn't seem to pay them any mind.

Gold banked left, toward that blinding ball of light. The child reached up to cover their eyes, but a hand firmly grasped theirs before they could. They looked behind them—Raccoon waved happily with their free hand.

A humming sound filled their chest. Raccoon and Gold were already humming along. The child may have never heard this song, but a lovely melody filled their heart nonetheless.

Hmm. If this was dying, then it was almost worth that hated gauntlet.

The child closed their eyes again and let themself be engulfed in the light.

~.~.~

When the child walked into the final doorway, it was in the arms of Gold, whose crown now shone brighter than ever. They were tired, exhausted from their ordeal and the journey. Tomorrow, they hoped they could sleep.

Nuzzled in Gold's soft cape, they breathed a soft snore. Sleep sounded really good right about now.

The two veterans walked into the light with a sleepy moth—ready to be reborn.

Chapter Text

A child of the light stepped through the huge door and breathed deeply. She had grown since their first venture here, both physically and mentally. Although she was only a little taller than a new moth, she certainly couldn't be mistaken for one. Her flower cape and gardening clothes were severely out of place here, and her short hair whipped in her face every once in a while.

Beside her, two moths struggled to jump up the first ledge. She watched them honk in frustration before one of them started to fly.

As expected, both moths were carried backward by the wind. They made furious little gestures, and she couldn't help but giggle.

They had each other, she figured. They would be fine.

How many times had she come to Eden now? Too many to count, that's for sure. Ro was nearly a year old now, but she was already rather experienced here.

Not experienced enough to fly over rocks, but experienced enough.

Jumping down the ledge—and she couldn't help but laugh at her moth self for even considering the dangerous high road—she meandered lazily across the ravine before jumping up the boulders on the other side. Behind her, the two moths struggled to hang on to each other.

Ro considered helping them. Despite taking the high road, they seemed to be doing a fine job on their own.

Smiling under her mask, Ro continued on.

The wind whipped stronger the higher she climbed, and it was in this moment that she wished Funyu had come along. But noooo, they had something else to do, something more fun than climbing up a mountain that threw rocks at you and dodging krills several times over only to die.

Hmm. Then again, maybe interrupting strangers’ dates was better than climbing to the Eye of Eden.

Konyak, though not as strong a flier as Funyu, would have been a comforting presence. He always had been, after all, ever since Ro was a moth. Ah, but he was visiting Granny and gathering wax for the traveler coming in a few days. That left Ro to fend for herself in the big bad wasteland.

That was fine. As much as she loved flying to the summit, she liked to stretch her legs every once in a while. The sky kingdom was peaceful—not even the Wasteland was all that dangerous compared to Eden—so facing danger like this was sometimes the best way to get a good adrenaline rush. Besides, the winged spirits gave her candles, so that was a plus.

Distressed honking snapped Ro out of her thoughts. Turning behind her, poised to jump up the ledge, she spotted the two moths laid flat on their backs. Extinguished.

Ro’s heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, she sprinted down the path, narrowly dodging the hurtling rocks before skidding to a halt beside the first moth. Quicker than light, she whipped out her candle and lit the poor thing up.

“Stay here,” she said breathlessly, though she knew the moth wouldn’t understand. To punctuate her point, she sat them firmly next to one of the lit up urns. Pressing them firmly against the wall, she uttered one last "stay" before going toward the other moth.

The poor thing was out in the open, crawling desperately toward Ro. Summoning a candle, she lit them while dragging them to the urn with the first moth.

Now that everything was relatively calm, Ro could get a good look at them. The first moth was one she would consider a true moth—brown cape, plain mask, short hair with a little bead at the front. Five little stars on their back. This was probably their first day alive. The second moth had a little more experience, but they were still new. A butterfly, maybe. Red cape, longer shorts, and a little bob, the butterfly looked on the verge of tears.

“Don’t worry,” Ro murmured, like Konyak did so long ago. She stroked their hair and took their hands. “I’ll help you.”

The moth looked entirely clueless, but the butterfly perked up ever so slightly. Ah, so they were learning speech.

Ro held out her hands. The butterfly and the moth eagerly took them. And just like that, she made two new acquaintances—at the very least, for the climb up Eden.

Little hands in hers, she turned to face the mountain. The inevitable rain of rocks, the inevitable death. The moment she would have to urge the moth to face the gauntlet. 

As they climbed, she thought back to her own first journey to the Eye of Eden. The fear, the uncertainty. The pain. The confusion. And she smiled. It truly was different being on this side of the relationship.

She would soothe their pains, assuage their fears. She didn’t know how much certainty she could give them, but maybe if she showed that it was all okay—that everything would work out at the end—they would understand.

Ro tightened her hold, reinvigorated. She’d never been a guide before, but how hard could it really be?