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There are very few stories that Shelby has been told about other gods and remembered fully, but she knows this one by heart.
It is not a good night to be out in the cold—with Pyro at her back and Graecie by her side, it should not be so chilly. It's practically freezing, and Shelby does not have a cloak thick enough for this. The one normally tossed over her shoulders, teal and bug-green, is draped over Graecie. The poor girl was shivering so hard, she thought it best to hand it over.
Could really use a bit of sun right now, they thought desperately, to the Sun Princess that Pyro speaks of when he tells them about his homeland in the summertime and his travels to the Summer Kingdom. Maybe a warm fire, too. That one is to the God she hears of in birdsong, an emperor to a lost empire nestled deep in a jungle.
Their prayers are not answered, and they are lost.
Perhaps it is nonsensical, to be praying to those who are not her patron deity, but the Wolf Spirit does not care for idolatry, only that her pack is healthy and safe, or so the legends say. If they worship other gods, so be it. Shelby would kill for that kind of assurance.
If they don't get out of this cold, they're all going to die, so Shelby does something that has just failed her twice:
They close their eyes and pray, desperate and rabbit-quick, get us back safe and sound.
Somewhere far off, her eyes catch a pinprick of light, and she stops to squint at the new visual. Her companions pause with them, curious, and Pyro's protests die when he catches sight of the source.
A figure stands on a hill, arm raised high, a lantern swinging in their grasp.
"That way," Shelby demands, grabbing Graecie's hand and tugging. They begin the trek, and the person moves, just barely within sight, always. They do not come close enough for the trio to see their features. It is a long shot, but they must hope that the mysterious lightbearer knows where they are going.
Sometimes, Shelby swears they catch some of the person's features—their clothes are colorful and vibrant, visibly handmade even at this distance. They have a shock of blue hair, which, in the shadow of night, appears to fall at their shoulders, but it's a little smudged, like an oil painting—she isn't sure if it's a trick of the light.
The walk is not as long as they might have expected. Soon, the academy comes into view, as does the bridge—as they thump along it, Pyro begins calling to the figure. They do not answer; they don't even look at them.
Their features are clearer now. The blue hair does stop at their shoulders, shaggy and messy in a somewhat purposeful manner. Their face is reminiscent of Scott, and they're about as tall, but not built like him at all—this figure has lanky limbs, and she would guess that they are nimble, too.
They stand at the top of the steps. Their outfit is clearer in the dim light of the lantern: a waistcoat with several patches of color sewn in and some funky buttons that she is totally jealous of. Their bottoms are simpler, black pants paired with chunky boots splattered with paint in all sorts of hues.
Just when the trio reaches the bottom of the stairs, stepping off the bridge, the figure disappears into thin air, sparing them only a glance, a smile, and a two-fingered salute. They dissolve like a flame goes out—blurry around the edges and then gone.
Pyro gasps, and then he intakes a sharp breath. Graecie's hands fly up to her mouth in concern, and the little lamb darts around trying to find any trace of the stranger, worried for their safety. Shelby can only find it in herself to stand there and try to remember.
They've heard of a Lanternbearer before. He was a deity, one who some historians and archaeologists theorize to be an offshoot of an attendant to Saint Pearl or perhaps some later, syncretized version of the Ice King.
Shelby's never put a whole lot of effort into venerating the god, because he isn't their god, but she never outright dismissed him. Anything can be possible, really, and they aren't an expert on the entire universe, so it's not worth the headache.
For his worshipers, there is a tradition. When someone leaves the home for a long time, or permanently, including deaths, a colored candle of choice is lit and left to burn until it gutters out. Traditionally, the candle should be kept in a lantern or put somewhere where it is always visible to those in the main room of the house, wherever that may be, or else where one would see it frequently.
The Color King, another nickname of his, earned the title 'Lanternbearer' and the subsequent traditions by showing a penchant for leading lost people to civilization by candlelight. Most often a colored candle, because of course; he traded dye and flowers and wool in any hue one could think of, according to legend.
He is known to be a more casual deity, worshiped as one is able and according to each person. In his mythology, he is a traveler, a thief with one gold eye and a mischievous streak. His standing contrasts deeply with that of, say, the Lady of the Overgrown or the Ocean Queen, and many other such gods who were noble before their supposed ascension.
Shelby could count the amount of non-royal gods with widespread worship on one hand. It's a rare thing, because of course it is royalty who is mythologized—those who were not of high social standing had to be truly something else to be written about in such a way.
And she just met one of them, because he guided a bunch of wayward students back to a dragon academy.
Holy shit.