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A sweltering midsummer night, a cramped shack, a threadbare mattress, and a family who loved him enough to do what was necessary to keep him safe, and then who loved him even more than that. Those were the conditions that shepherded Azune Nayar into the world.
It was a bit of an excruciating labor, not difficult so much as it was long. Sweat still glistened on her face, accentuating the exhaustion etched in every line. Blood-covered sheets and rags sat in a heap in the corner of the room; she hadn't had enough wherewithal or desire to change out of her own, blood-stained clothes. A breeze broke through the open window that did nothing to alleviate the muggy air, only turning it over and over as the wind slowly drifted to a stop. None of it mattered when she stared down at the baby boy cradled close in her arms.
Mayali was an easier labor in comparison, but her baby girl had refused to settle in the aftermath. Azune's cries hushed not long after he was bundled in her arms, and he took to suckling without issue. She expected him to resume his wails after being fed, crying into the night as babies often did when met with the new realities of life. Instead, he settled into her hold with ease. He didn't sleep but he was quiet, staring around the room with a wonder that could only be had by an infant fresh to the world, until his eyes finally landed and remained on her in quiet rapture. Innate, he already knew who she was.
She stared back at him with all the wonder and love only a mother could have. Supplemented by the knowledge she had cared for and carried this living being for months, but still equally as innate in her chest as the instant comfort in his eyes.
He was beautiful. Wide eyes the colors of the setting sun stayed transfixed on her; they were such odd colors and such an odd composition for a set of human eyes that it would be great cause for concern if they weren't such a brilliant reflection of her own gaze. He did not come from the womb with any hair—unlike Mayali—but she knew a shock of red would sprout in a few months. He had his father's nose, and his father's brow, but the gold that spilled over his temple and down his cheek and neck proved he was his mother's boy. Carefully, she pulled one arm from her hold and gingerly traced a finger down those rivulets of gold. Soft for the moment, and small, but they would grow and harden if ever allowed the time.
They couldn't be allowed the time. The moment he crowned and his father saw his face, they both knew.
"Oh, you are just like your Mama, little one," she whispered. It was everything she feared and everything she relished all in one, simple statement of fact. He was so much like her, and it was a joy. It was a blessing. But he was too much like her, and it was a detriment. It was a bit of a curse in this modern world.
He let out a puff of air in response and continued to stare up at her, unconcerned and unabated and far too innocent. She couldn't help a rough laugh, coated in tears she couldn't—wouldn't cry for him. The night was still so young and so was he. He was sweet, and so, so innocent, and didn't deserve anything else the night held for him but it couldn't be helped. It was for the best, for him specifically. It was a small price to pay for the world to remain open before him. Azune needed to be safe first, she knew. She knew all too well.
She sniffled and swallowed once before tucking her arm back under him. "And I am so, so sorry for that."
The sound of soft footsteps coming to a stop and a quick clear of a throat prevented her tears from falling. She glanced up from her son to find her husband returning to her side after putting their daughter back down to bed. It was inevitable she would wake up from the labor, it couldn't be helped. Someone could have watched her, or taken her for the night even, but it would've brought too many questions about their son in the end. Questions they were already avoiding by not having a healer or a midwife.
It was something they couldn't afford, a prudent decision proven correct when Azune entered life with sunset eyes and a dusting of gold.
It was alright, though. She wasn't exactly thrilled Mayali's already rough sleeping schedule had been thrown awry, but she was happy her daughter got to meet her baby brother minutes after he was born and cleaned. It was a moment she needed more than she even realized, her family all together as it was, celebrating and marveling at the start of this joyous chapter in their lives. It dulled the blow, having such a beautiful memory to hold onto for a night with such highs and lows.
She waited for her husband to speak, but in the waning seconds where her attention slipped back to her son, silence reigned. When she gave the man another look, he was transfixed on the baby in her arms. Her son, his son. Strife stormed in his eyes, a tumultuous conflict tumbling in the dark waves of his gaze, the same one she felt buzzing hot in her own chest. A necessary choice, but one both of them desperately wished it would never come to.
She tried speaking to something other than inevitability first. "Is she finally back asleep?"
He started as if awoken from slumber himself, something silver catching the moonlight at his side. She pretended not to notice. He glanced behind him into the dark, where their baby daughter should have been sleeping peacefully once more. "As close as we were ever going to get, at least," he answered with a small smile. "You know how she is, especially after being woken up."
"Of course," she chuckled. It was the best they could ask for.
She looked down when her husband reached her side and ran a finger softly over their son's forehead. Azune's eyes flickered upwards, at first trying to find the finger, and then stuck on his father. He cooed softly while his father's finger lingered, hesitating in its path down before slowly tracing over the same gold tracks she had followed minutes prior.
"Azune here seems quite the opposite," he said after a long moment. It was hardly the only way Azune was opposite.
"It's only been a night," she reminded him. "A long one, at that. Give him some time, he might be rowdy yet."
"I don't know what we would do with two rowdy ones," he joked. Reticent, his hand pulled away from her and their son. "If he is destined to be rowdy though, hopefully he will at least retain the quietness for the rest of the night."
She felt the frown tugging at her lips; Azune remained focused on his father. "We can't ask that of him, not when we're taking something so great. That…" she sighed and glanced to her husband, "…That wouldn't be fair."
"No…I suppose it wouldn't be."
He turned away from her and Azune entirely, preparing a bowl of fresh water and a clean rag on the nightstand by her bed. The paring knife sat next to the bowl, and now that it was no longer in his hand it was difficult to ignore. It was the smallest knife they had and it still looked far too big, the wooden handle too wide and the silver blade far too long. Though, she knew no knife would look small and suitable for its purpose tonight. She swallowed down the thought to combat the burn at the back of her throat.
"I just wish we could give him tonight," she murmured. It was a desperate plea wrapped in a practical wish, and entirely unfair to put into the open.
Her husband stilled, back tensing against the words before he shook his head. "You know as well as I do it will be that much harder in the morning."
"I know."
She knew. She knew in every meaning that one sentence had. It was her own words he was echoing back at her. It had been her plan from the start, one she repeated throughout the entirety of her pregnancy, as a reminder and as a ward. A part of her wanted to believe that if she was prepared for it to happen, it wouldn't. And if it had to happen, then at the very least, the more she repeated it, the easier it would be. Or…not easier necessarily, but that she would be ready, sturdier than she was now and more prepared.
In reality, nothing was ever going to prepare her for the inevitable. She could barely meet her newborn son's gaze, the setting sun blazing up at her.
"Still…"
Still, she could wish. She let out a long breath, partial acceptance and partial defeat, and leaned into her husband's touch when he returned to her side and placed a hand on her back.
"I know," he agreed softly. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss of reassurance on her forehead, on a mark as old as her. On a mark similar to what they were about to give their son. "He'll understand, when the time comes."
"I hope," she whispered. Gently, she raised Azune a little higher in her arms, and finally met his wondrous stare again. "I hope when you learn, you forgive," she said quietly and placed a kiss at her boy's temple, just over the gold scales. Even in the midsummer heat, even with how new to the world he was, they were unnaturally warm, but not uncomfortably so. It was a heat she hadn't felt in a long time. "And I hope you understand that no matter what is taken from you, it cannot erase your blood. You will learn one day, and you will remember. Just…"
Just, necessity beget new rituals. Crueler ones than what they used to have, but survival was always the top priority.
"…Just, you have to be safe," she said. "And I'm sorry for what that means. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."
With the last apologies whispered to him, she pulled away from her son. Azune blinked several times at her, as if struggling to understand what she said even when it was impossible. His attention only shifted when his father moved, the silver of the knife coming up to hover over Azune's eye for one, too long breath.
It shimmered gold just before it came down.
A cool autumn night, a home well-lived in, a threshold, the brother of the man who had raised him that he was willing to do anything for, and then even more than that, and an itch that he just couldn't scratch. Those were the conditions that greeted Azune Nayar a few days after the end of his world.
There were far more important things he should have given his thoughts to—a lot of which pertaining to the imminent sense of foreboding—but it was the itch under his birthmarks that caught his attention the most in the fleeting few moments after seeing Hal wander off around his house and before the inevitable meeting with whichever Halovar was casing said house. Which was odd, because it was a common enough occurrence with some of his spellcasting, so much so that he had never given much thought to it before. He had never had any need to, it was hardly even noticeable most of the time, just a flickering feeling that disappeared nearly as soon as it began.
It was stronger than it ever had been before though, and it really shouldn't have been considering he hadn't cast a spell in hours. It was to the point that he was a bit afraid that if he did move to scratch it, he might take his own skin off in an attempt to alleviate the sensation. And on top of that, it burned. Not painfully so, and it wasn't even an annoyance really it was just…different.
Noticeable and notable.
Perhaps he would have given it more thought if the Halovar hadn't approached him so quickly, but even with how prominent the itch was, he knew he had to be at his best when talking to the representative. Yet, it began to dissipate the longer he spoke to Filoneus, as if soothed by acquiescing to the imminent danger. And perhaps he would have given it more thought after he successfully dissuaded the Halovar away, but by then the itch had subsided, the burn was gone, and other thoughts that had lingered far longer demanded they be known, rightfully so.
He'd been ignoring it for days, but in the few steps he took away from the house and another threat that could have ended him right there, it was hard to look away from the fact that he shouldn't even be here, standing and breathing and alive. That was never part of the plan. There was never any plan for him at all, and the mere fact of him being here meant Thjazi wasn't and that…that mattered more than anything.
It would always matter more, and that somehow felt like a betrayal too. A betrayal to Thjazi, yes, but also a deeper betrayal to himself.
Still, when the flood of his emotions quieted, when Hal had convinced him and comforted him enough for him to believe that it wasn't his choice to live, at least, and they had to make the best of it…his mind didn't return to that short moment in between danger. It didn't really return to anything at all, in such desperate need of sleep as he was.
But something further below, in his blood or his marrow, returned to that moment.
Azune's eyes drifted shut on that chaise, utterly drained from the past few days and his most recent outburst and ready to sleep. Yet, just before slumber took him—at that threshold between consciousness and dream, when things were said and seen but forgotten—he saw a shimmer of gold and heard a warm, distant voice calling out to him on a whisper. He couldn't quite understand it, but it comforted an ache he couldn't name. An itch he couldn't scratch.
"And you will remember."