Chapter Text
For Illuga, it was one of the many routine visits to the Final Night Cemetery to check on his fellow Lightkeeper, Flins. He’d brought some snacks from central Snezhnaya during his recent errand running. He couldn’t tell if Flins would enjoy it, but the latter was too much of an enigma to know for sure. After all, trying wouldn’t hurt.
Following his brief trip to Snezhnaya, the Starshyna’s son was lucky to have time to spare, so he stopped by the museum. He was especially drawn to the war memorial, diligently reading out names and studying the photos from hundreds of years ago. It was then that Illuga came across a familiar face photographed in black and white. The soldier was pictured with friends in the camp. The face was unmistakable, though the smile the soldier wore looked more natural. A more humanlike expression, Illuga dare say.
He thought of how much Flins resembled that fallen soldier. Perhaps they were in some ways related, but there was no way the young Lightkeeper could get that information because Flins always seemed to have a way of deflecting when questions became too personal. He would instead redirect the conversation elsewhere, most of the time ending up talking about tales from long ago. Of course, the young man was curious, but he settled for stories instead. Maybe there was some sort of truth to them; otherwise, why would the senior Lightkeeper be so invested in telling them?
It was during those routine visits that he learnt of Flins’ hobby: collecting gemstones and old coins. There were many sorts in his collection; gemstones with barely any shine, coins so worn they might as well have been flat pieces of metal. But of course, there were beautiful ones that Illuga believed would’ve fetched a very high price, but Flins remained modest, telling him that none of them held much value in Mora.
When he came by that day, Flins was outside polishing a ring with a small gemstone attached to it. He was deeply engrossed in the activity that he failed to notice Illuga’s arrival. Carefully, Flins polished the jewellery and held it up against the moon to see its shine. He always had stories for each item he collected, but Illuga, being a curious sport, was determined to learn about that particular ring. Judging by the way his fellow Lightkeeper was absent-mindedly polishing it and viewing it with fondness, surely there must be a story behind it. If Flins wouldn’t tell Illuga about himself, surely, he could spare a story of a ring instead?
“That looks like it has some rich history to it.”
A smile ghosted on Flins’ lips as he looked at the ring once more. He hummed in response; his features softening as he took a closer look at the jewellery. “Yes and no. It belonged to someone important.” To me, Flins wanted to add.
“Would you mind telling me its story?”
“Not at all,” Flins answered, already gesturing to the lighthouse.