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There is a fragile dependence in Godhood.
All-powerful beings sustained by prayers in temples and offerings at altars. The greater and more frequent the devotion, the stronger and healthier the god becomes.
Blitz raises a hand towards the full moon. The pale light passes through his translucent hand. It is the fate awaiting any god whose name no longer resides in any mortal memory. With enough time he’ll fade and simply cease to exist.
Lowering his hand onto the stone bench, he leans back gazing over the unkept garden of the abandoned temple. He would feel frightened if this had not long since become routine.
It would be destabilizing for the world if he were an important enough God. But a minor, obscure trickster deity? There had always been plenty of his kind.
“Blitz.” The familiar voice pulls him from his thoughts.
He turns with an easy grin. “Hey Stols.”
“Your hand—” Stolas crosses the garden quickly and drops to his knees, catching Blitz’s hand between slender fingers.
Blitz can’t feel it, but he imagines Stolas’ touch is cool and gentle.
Even among gods, Stolas stands apart—the God of Stars and Prophecy, untouched by mortal devotion. They do not even know his name. He’s existed long before them, and will continue long after.
The other gods keep their distance. Some out of reverence, others out of caution. Prophecy is fickle, and has undone a handful of them.
Blitz pulls his hand back scratching awkwardly at the back of his head. “It’s no big deal.”
A faint crease forms between Stolas’ brows in quiet disagreement, but he otherwise says nothing. Still on his knees, he reaches into the inside of his cape and withdraws something slowly. Cradling it in his palm as he offers it to Blitz.
A star.
There isn’t much Blitz can do with a star from Stolas’ realm. Much like their ruler, they must return to where they belong—or burn out.
Accepting it carefully into his own hands. He watches it flicker, as if aware of its own brief life outside the cosmos. The star glows warm against his palms, sensation already beginning to return to his fingers.
It is enough to count as an offering. Enough to sustain him until the next full moon. Until Stolas returns with another star.
The translucency in his hands recedes. He flexes his fingers experimentally, familiar relief settles heavy in his chest. He slips the flickering star carefully into his satchel. And finally looks down at Stolas. Still on his knees before him, smiling softly, as if balance in the world is restored.
“You uh… wanna get up from there?”
“I—yes.” Stolas rises a touch too quickly, faceplate darkening as he dusts off his pants.
Blitz can’t help smiling a little. Watching quietly as Stolas settles beside him on the bench, fingers interlacing tightly in his lap.
“You’ve been in a good mood.” Blitz tilts his head towards the sky.
Stolas hums in surprise.
“The bird one.” Blitz points towards the cluster of stars. “It doesn’t even look like a fucking bird, by the way. But it’s been brighter the last few days.”
Stolas follows the line of Blitz’s finger. “Cygnus?” A soft laugh escapes him as he brings a hand to his beak. “You remembered my ramblings?”
Of course he does. It felt like the least he could do.
“I have been in better spirits.” Stolas admits it too easily. “I was excited. I look forward to our meetings.”
For all Stolas’ longevity, there was something oddly unindulgent about him.
“I guess hanging around us plebeians counts as a scenic change for you.” Blitz digs into the satchel at his side. “Since you’re visiting the common folk, check this out.”
He pulls free a pomegranate.
“A pomegranate?” Stolas tilts his head.
Blitz pauses. “You’ve had one?” Perhaps he should’ve gotten something less ordinary.
“I have not,” Stolas says, watching Blitz pull out a knife and cut into the rind. Crimson liquid staining his fingers. “Though I am familiar with the story attached to it.”
“Story?”
“Of Persephone and Hades,” Stolas continues as Blitz separates one of the jewel–like segments from the fruit. “Where Hades tricks Persephone into consuming the seeds, binding her to his realm.”
Blitz stills. Looking up from the ruby-coloured mess coating his fingers. “I’m not doing that.”
Stolas smiles faintly. “I know.”
“Besides.” Blitz hands over a mangled segment. “If I was going to trick you, I’d do something more exciting than fruit.”
“Oh?” Stolas perks up.
“I’d lure you into a dramatic cursed card game. Or challenge you to some bullshit riddle contest."
“That is rather cliché for a trickster god.”
“Hey—!” Blitz points the knife to Stolas, then lowers it to the pomegranate. “You gonna give it a try, or just hold it?”
Stolas looks down. Turning the ruby seeds in his hands, he brings it close to his mouth before pausing, as if inspecting. He looks at Blitz slowly. “Is this the actual trick?”
Blitz stares at him for a beat before leaning over to shove his shoulder lightly. “Oh, fuck you.”
The laugh that escapes Stolas is soft. He looks at the pomegranate in his hands. The crimson seeds glimmering beneath the moonlight.
“They are rather beautiful,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, yeah, eat the damn thing already.”
Stolas carefully plucks one of the seeds free. Blitz watches with poorly concealed anticipation as Stolas places it into his mouth.
The reaction is immediate. Feathers lifting subtly along his neck. Crimson eyes widening the slightest fraction.
“Oh.” Stolas presses a hand lightly against the underside of his beak. “That is…”
“Good?”
“Unexpectedly delightful.”
Blitz snorts.
Stolas chitters enthusiastically trying another mouthful, this time less tentative. Blitz watches more than he means to—the careful pinch of fingers, the way Stolas tilts his beak just slightly to catch them. The crimson liquid trickling at the corner of his beak, bright against white feathers.
Stolas stops, noticing the silence. “What is it?”
“Oh—uh.” Blitz gestures vaguely at his own face. “You got a bit of—”
Stolas tilts his head.
“The fruit.” Blitz taps near the corner of his mouth. “There.”
“Oh.” Stolas sits up a straighter, attempting to mirror the motion with careful fingertips. He misses it entirely. “Have I?”
“Other side.”
Stolas tries again. This time spreading the crimson liquid further across white feathers.
“You are unbelievably useless at this.”
“I can’t say I am familiar with this kind of struggle.” There’s an undeniable note of dignity to the defense, somehow making it worse.
Graceful hands missing their mark again. It goes on for a beat too long before Blitz exhales sharply through his nose. “Oh for—hold still.”
Stolas stills instantly. Completely and unguarded.
Blitz leans closer bracing one hand against the bench as he gently wipes the crimson stain from the corner of Stolas’ beak. His feathers are soft and warm beneath his touch.
A quiet, breathless sound escapes Stolas. Feathers shifting beneath Blitz’s fingers, as he leans into the touch. Stolas swallows before opening his mouth. “Thank you, Blitz.”
Blitz nods slowly, hand still lingering a moment too long before finally pulling away, breaking the stillness between them.
“No problem.” He turns back to the pomegranate, picking up the knife and carves another segment free before handing it over.
Stolas accepts it, smiling at him. It is something Blitz avoids looking too deep into.
Hours pass.
The stars begin to fade beneath the first pale traces of morning twilight. Blitz doesn’t comment on it. His gaze drifts to Stolas.
There is a weariness that settles heavily onto Stolas’ shoulders, visible beneath the elegance he carries so instinctively. A faint pinch forms between his brows, subtle enough to be overlooked. His fingertips reach to his temple. A headache. His crimson eyes linger on the horizon. The changing sky is his cue to go.
“C’mon.” Blitz stands up. “Night owls gotta sleep too.”
Stolas doesn’t move. “I…” His voice thins at the edges. “I dislike leaving.”
Blitz looks at the last remaining stars in the sky. He imagines it gets lonely there. He steels himself. This part matters too. The easing of the goodbye.
Reaching into his satchel Blitz pulls out another pomegranate, this one still whole and uncut.
“One for the road.” Holding it outwards.
Stolas doesn’t make a move for it. His hands remain unmoving on his lap. Reluctant to let the moment conclude.
Blitz keeps his voice low and soft. “I’ll see you next month.” Nudging the pomegranate a little closer with a little shake as if it makes it anymore enticing.
Stolas still hesitates before finally nodding, taking the fruit. It’s crooked, but a smile pulls at his beak.
The full moon hangs low and heavy above the garden.
Blitz scales the wall of the long-abandoned temple and throws himself over the other side, landing ungracefully in an overgrown bush.
“Fuck’s sake…” Stumbling out rubbing his back.
“Blitz! Are you okay?” Stolas is at his side almost immediately.
“Peachy,” Blitz mutters, brushing leaves off himself.
“I was worried you wouldn’t show.”
“Hah. Like I can afford not to.” Blitz flicks a stray leaf off his shoulder. “Sides, I like making an entrance.” He shrugs with a toothy grin.
Stolas returns a wobbly smile. He wastes no time, already reaching into his cape with practiced familiarity, and pulls out a star.
The exchange has long since lost formality if it ever had any. Blitz reaches for it. It’s smaller and red tonight. Only after the warmth settles into his fingers does he notice Stolas watching him quietly.
“What?”
Stolas seemingly jumps. “Nothing.”
Blitz keeps his eyes on Stolas while tucking the star safely into his satchel. He rummages through the bag until his hand finds what he’s after and grins.
“Think fast!” Blitz whips a small glass jar from the satchel, tossing it toward him.
Hands flying upwards, Stolas flinches, freezing the jar mid-air. Blitz whistles, impressed at the feat.
Stolas returns a momentarily disapproving look before the edges of his beak pull upwards. Carefully he takes hold of the levitating jar, peering at the glass with intrigue.
“What are these?” He gives a little shake, observing the contents bounce around.
“Rock candy,” Blitz says, “thought you might like them.”
“I do.” Stolas studies the jar for a moment too long. “What do I do with them?”
“You eat them, birdbrain.”
He stares at Blitz, lowering the jar in his hands. “Does the name not imply they’re… rocks?”
Blitz snorts. “It’s candy.”
Bringing the jar to eye level again Stolas tilts it in the moonlight, as though the rocks might reveal their true nature if examined from the correct angle. He lowers the jar, popping the lid open and takes one of the rocks between elegant fingers. Placing it into his beak.
He’s absolutely still.
And then he grabs another.
“These cannot be good for you…” Stolas mumbles, holding the crystallised sugar rock between his fingers. In his hands they almost look like the stars he brings Blitz each month.
He eats another piece.
The sweetness seems to register more quickly this time. His feathers lift gently as he hums in delight. He angles the jar towards Blitz and gives it a little shake.
Blitz raises his palm. “Nah, they’re for you.”
The edges of Stolas’ beak curl upwards. He draws the jar closer to chest, as if it were something precious, and eats another.
Blitz watches him longer than he means to before looking away.
Summer is lively for the gods. For most of them at least.
Mortals welcome the season with festivals and bonfires beneath open skies. They pray for long days with sunlight, bountiful harvests and gentle weather.
Blitz only notices the way daylight overstays its welcome, and how the nights steadily shrink in duration.
“Is that all to it?” Stolas asks with a skeptical look.
Three shells sit overturned between them on the stone bench. The full moon high in the sky.
“Yep.” Blitz lifts the shell at centre, revealing the dim blue star beneath before covering it again. He begins shuffling them with practiced hands, quick movements.
Stolas watches the shells with intensity, eyes tracking every movement.
The seriousness is endearing, and Blitz doesn’t resist smiling. “Mortals gamble because they think they’re smarter than they really are. Or because they’re desperate. Or bored. Or drunk.” He chuckles. “Sometimes all three.”
“So there is no actual skill involved?”
“Oh, there’s skill involved.” Blitz smirks. “Just not for the poor bastard guessing.”
Stolas lifts his gaze from the shells to Blitz at that. Just for a split second. It is all Blitz needs.
He stops the shells beneath his hands. “Alright. Pick.” Gesturing with grandeur.
Crimson eyes narrowing, Stolas studies the arrangement carefully. Blitz vaguely wonders if four eyes suggests superior tracking vision. Either way it doesn’t matter. Delicate hands point to the left shell.
Blitz grins all teeth, lifting it.
Empty.
He reveals the other two shells.
Both empty as well.
Stolas blinks.
Blitz bursts into delighted laughter.
“That is deeply unfair.”
Blitz shrugs with a smile. “Now you understand gambling.”
Stolas frowns at the shells, visibly offended by the concept.
Blitz snorts trying to stifle another laughing fit. “Oh my god, you actually hate losing.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I simply dislike the notion of intentionally misleading others to fail.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Blitz rolls his eyes. “That sounds like sore loser talk.”
Drawing himself up with quiet dignity Stolas crosses his arms and tilts his beak upwards. “I am an ancient cosmic entity. I am above this.”
“A cosmic entity conned out of imaginary money.” With a flick of his wrist, the star slips out from Blitz’s sleeve and between his fingers.
Stolas lets out a gasp, jumping enough that Blitz nearly drops the flickering thing.
“How did you—”
“Trade secret.” Blitz winks. Moving the star with a quick motion between his fingers before slipping it neatly back beneath one of the shells. “Ready to go again?”
Leaning forward Stolas nods, feathers shifting with interest.
Blitz tries very hard to ignore that. He shuffles the shells again. Faster and without distractions or sleight of hand this time. When he stops Stolas doesn’t move to pick. Instead, he eyes Blitz suspiciously.
“My hands are clean this time.” Blitz raises his palms defensively .
Stolas studies him before casting his gaze back to the shells, weighing the choice in a manner that Blitz can only describe as overkill and endearing.
The stars flicker in the night sky, almost like they momentarily blacked out. Blitz’s gaze flicks upward, searching for it again but it’s gone. He turns back to Stolas, who doesn't seem to notice. His attention fixed on the shells.
Stolas raises a hand slowly, doubt lingering in his indecision. He pauses. Brows tightening slightly almost like he’s in pain.
“Stols?”
“Perhaps the right one?” he says softly, pointing at the shell.
Blitz looks down, hesitating before lifting the shell.
Empty again.
He moves his hand to the shell in the centre, revealing the softly glowing star underneath.
Stolas chitters in frustration. “I do not see the appeal of this.” Crossing his arms with a pout.
Blitz lowers his head, keeping his smile hidden. Definitely a sore loser. He covers the star. “People like hoping things will go their way for once.”
“In this context it seems terribly cruel.”
Blitz chuckles and begins shuffling the shells once more. “Yeah, well. It is how you keep mortals lining up for it.”
He considers slowing his movements.
“Would you?” Stolas asks, eyes fixed on the shells as they move. “Gamble,” he clarifies, “knowing the odds were against you.”
Blitz opens his mouth, an immediate answer hanging on the top of his tongue, then pauses. Because the truthful answer is—all the time. Existing as a fading god is already gambling.
And this—these nights beneath the moon with Stolas—this is gambling too.
One day Stolas could simply stop coming.
The thought settles unpleasantly.
“You kinda have to sometimes,” Blitz’s voice is lighter than the feeling behind it. “Not everything’s scams and sleight of hand.” He pulls his hands away, realising he’s lost track of the star for some time.
Stolas smiles, no indecision in his movements and points to the shell at center.
Blitz uncovers it, the glowing star revealed. Stolas visibly perks up, coos a soft hoot and gently claps.
Rolling his eyes, Blitz points a claw toward him. “This doesn’t mean you go betting the moon and stars on stupid shit.”
Laughter escapes Stolas, his hand covers his beak as if it's something that should be suppressed. The sound persists. It’s soft, lingering warmly in Blitz’s chest.
But the sound catches halfway through, dissolving into a quiet cough Stolas clears quickly from his throat. Rubbing a soothing hand over his chest.
“You alright?” Blitz asks.
“Perfectly.” Stolas smiles bright enough to rival the moon.
The hours pass quickly after that. Too quickly lately. And Blitz decides he prefers winter.
The sky is colourful with dawn peeking at the horizon. It’s the longest Stolas has stayed.
Blitz opens his mouth, tempted to ask Stolas if he should leave. Then snaps it shut. Stolas governs the fucking cosmos. Blitz has no right to tell him what to do—when to leave.
But when he looks over there’s an undignified slouch in Stolas’ spine. Discomfort persists in the way he tries to sit upright. Tension pulling tight between his eyes, and his fingers come to press lightly against his temple as though trying to hold something in place.
“...Stols?” Blitz reaches toward him, carefully and slowly. His fingertips brushing lightly against his arm. “You okay?”
Stolas startles at the touch, turning to Blitz. He opens his beak, quiet and unmoving.
A cough escapes.
His hands fly to his mouth. Blood—dark as midnight—spills between his fingers, staining the white feathers around his beak.
Blitz jerks back, freezing. His mind lagging behind, struggling to make sense of it.
Gods are not supposed to bleed.
Stolas isn’t supposed to bleed.
Stolas turns away quickly, one hand covering his mouth as the other smooths shakily down the front of himself, trying to salvage any remaining composure. “It’s fine! I’m fine!” The words come out wet and unsteady.
Fine.
Blitz stares at the way Stolas curls in on himself.
“You’re hurt.” Blitz’s brows furrow. The words leave him thin and disbelieving, still trying to process it.
Stolas turns back, offering an embarrassed little smile, like it’s something inconvenient rather than terrifying. “The cosmos merely dislikes neglect.” He clears his throat carefully and pulls his shoulders back. “It’s really nothing to worry about.”
Blitz eyes the droplets of blood on his collar. His gaze lowers to the unsteady rise and fall of plumage on Stolas’ chest, down to the faint tremor in his hands where they rest in his lap.
It gradually falls into place.
The headaches. The exhaustion. The way dawn always seemed to pull at him. The flickering stars. The way Stolas lingered anyway.
Something heavy drops through Blitz’s stomach.
Oh.
This was hurting him. Every single time.
His stomach twists hard enough to make him feel sick. Because Stolas had come and stayed every single time. Because Blitz needed him to, and some awful, selfish part of him had been happy whenever the meetings lasted longer.
“That didn’t look like nothing,” Blitz says quietly.
Stolas doesn’t answer. He looks uncertain. The silence settles heavy between them.
“It… passes,” Stolas finally says. The words come out too slowly, too carefully. “It always does.” His gaze unfocuses briefly, the crease in his brows tightens. “Blitz, I do have to go now.”
Stolas rises too quickly. His knees threaten to buckle and Blitz catches his forearm before he can think better of it. Supporting him.
"Stolas?" For a second Stolas' weight settles against him. He is alarmingly light.
"I'm fine." Stolas steadies his breathing carefully through his beak before standing upright again. "Thank you, Blitz."
Blitz releases him slowly.
“Will I—” Stolas stops himself and clears his throat, looking at Blitz with sudden resolve. “I’ll see you next month.” Stolas says it almost definitively. But his gaze lingers on Blitz, waiting for the familiar reassurance.
Nothing comes out of Blitz.
“Blitz?” Stolas reaches for him, hand halfway between them, searching for the comfort Blitz always gives at the end of their meetings.
He doesn’t find it.
Fingers trembling. Stolas flinches, retracting his hand. A sharp exhale tears through him. His feathers bristle, then flatten, as if reacting to pressure from the wrong direction.
Blitz stiffens. “I'll see you next month,” he says before he realises. Anything to get Stolas to leave.
There is something in the way Stolas looks at him—maybe pain, maybe relief. His beak pulls into a weak smile before nodding. His feathers shift, tense but the relief in his voice is ever present.
“Goodbye Blitz.”
A portal opens, the midnight starry sky present during dawn. Stolas steps into it, and then the cosmos takes him.
The nights are longer in winter.
And Blitz finds himself understanding that fearful respect mortals hold for the season. The weather is harsh, the land devoid of warmth and harvest, and famine and sickness are plentiful.
The star Stolas has in his palm looks dimmer and smaller than the ones he’s brought before. Blitz’s eyes linger on it, wondering whether it’s truly separate from Stolas at all, or if they are an extension of him. A reflection of his own wellbeing scattered across the sky.
The cold wind drifts between them.
“Blitz?” Stolas has worry in his eyes.
Blitz blinks, shaking away his stupor. His translucent hand moves slowly for the star before pausing, falling just short of its reach.
“Are you alright?” Stolas asks softly, concern lingering at the edges of his voice.
A low growl resonates from Blitz’s chest. He isn’t the one that should be at the end of that question.
“Yeah.” He takes the star. The translucency in his hand already begins to recede, replaced with the star’s familiar warmth, but there is something thinner about it now. He turns the flickering star once in his palm. “It looks different.”
Stolas hums. “All stars are unique,” he says as a matter of fact. “But if you have a preference, I can keep it in mind for the future.”
“No.” Blitz glances up at the spotless white faceplate he can still picture stained in blood. At the rigid elegance of someone refusing to appear unwell. “That isn’t—don't worry about it.”
The spikes along Blitz’s back lift. It pisses him off that Stolas would stand there acting as if last month had never happened.
He grits his teeth. “Is this killing you?”
Stolas stills. Somewhere in the ruined temple walls and quiet garden, wind rattles dead branches together.
“On the contrary,” Stolas says at last, his smile arrives a moment later. “I have never been more aware of myself than when I am here.” A faint tremor runs through his fingers at his sides. He quietly holds his shaking hand still.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” Stolas tilts his head looking oblivious enough. It almost disguises the exhaustion tucked carefully beneath his composure, as if it isn’t something dangerous.
“That!” Blitz gestures at all of him, ignoring the flicker of hurt crossing Stolas’ face. “All of it. Acting like everything’s fine. The whole fucking ‘the cosmos dislikes neglect’ thing.” He points a claw at him. “You coughed up blood, Stolas.”
Stolas shrinks slightly, his beak pulling into a tightline, the reminder seemingly embarrasses him more than it alarms him.
“It is not unusual," he tries to explain. “Extended absence from my domain has… manageable side effects.”
“Manageable?” Blitz snaps. “This is something you’ve done before?”
“I—no.” Stolas hesitates, reeling back a fraction. “I am learning the limits as they happen.”
“Learning the limits?” He’s beginning to sound like a fucking echo. He stares at Stolas as if he’s lost his fucking mind. “This isn’t something to fuck around with. You’re a major god. What happens if something actually goes wrong? Does the sky collapse? Does the sun implode?"
Blitz’s eyes snap towards the flickering stars overhead. It wasn’t the usual flickering that persists throughout the night, but an uneven stutter, like something misfiring. He looks back at Stolas. Anger immediately sours in his chest at the pain that crosses Stolas’ face.
Blitz opens his mouth.
Stop coming.
The words catch somewhere in his throat.
The thought of sitting alone beneath the full moon shakes him to his core. The silence. The empty garden. The absence of Stolas beneath moonlight.
But not as badly as the thought of Stolas coming anyway. Every single time. Through the headaches, exhaustion and blood staining feathers.
For him.
Blitz turns away. Out toward the dead garden beneath the clear starry sky. Anywhere but him.
“I don’t think we should do this anymore.”
“What?” It comes out small.
Blitz forces himself not to look back. “You heard me.”
“Blitz, please consider what you are saying.” Stolas’ voice stays gentle. Careful. Like he’s trying not to startle something wounded. “You are frightened.”
“Yeah, no shit I’m frightened!” Blitz rounds on him. “The stars freak the fuck out when you stay too long and you’re standing there pretending you’re not in pain! Pretending this is manageable!”
Stolas pulls back. Looking as if words wound more deeply than the strain itself. It just makes Blitz angrier.
“I have endured worse than this,” Stolas says carefully.
“That’s not comforting.” Blitz snaps. “Stop saying shit like that, like it makes this okay.”
The stars overhead stutter once more. Longer this time.
Blitz's gaze snaps to the sky. He looks back at Stolas. “You should go home.”
“It’s fine,” Stolas says too quickly. “They’re fine. They can wait.” He steps closer. “Blitz, listen to me.”
“No, you listen.” Blitz takes a further step back. “You coughed up blood.” His voice roughens despite himself. “You could barely stand.”
Stolas stays silent. Watching him like he already knows something terrible is coming and is trying to meet it with dignity.
“I dislike leaving.” Stolas wraps his hands around himself looking away. “I dislike the quiet afterwards.” He continues, voice catching softly.
“I dislike returning alone. I dislike—” His grip tightens, talons digging into him as crimson eyes lift to meet Blitz.
“I dislike the interval where you are not there.”
Blitz’s chest aches. Because this is a problem, isn’t it?
Stolas means it. Every word.
And Blitz—
Blitz wants it so badly.
“So what?” Blitz sneers. “You’re just gonna slowly kill yourself hanging around some washed-up trickster god?”
Stolas opens his mouth. Then stops. The look on his face makes it apparent enough.
“What is this for you, Stolas?” Blitz’s tail flicks sharply behind him. “Why would you do this to yourself?”
For the first time since Blitz has known him, Stolas looks uncertain.
“I…” His feathers shift faintly. “I believed it was obvious.” Somewhere overhead, stars flicker weakly.
Blitz glares at him. “You don’t get to act like this is romantic.”
The hurt that crosses Stolas’ face is quiet. “…I apologise.”
Of course he’s fucking polite about it.
“I—I misunderstood.” The careful composure in Stolas’ voice threatens to break. “If we stopped this…” Stolas’ expression tightens. “What will you do if—when you begin fading again?”
“Fuck you, Stolas.”
“Blitz, please. Answer the question.” Stolas’ voice is steady, careful to hide the hurt beneath it. “If you need the stars, I could continue. I would rather you hate me than disappear.”
“I don’t need the stars!” The lie tears out of him immediately. “I didn’t need them before and I don’t need them now.”
Stolas shrinks back. His eyes widen, searching Blitz’s face for the truth, and Blitz hardens his expression. Slowly, Stolas nods once. Then, with awful earnestness, “I will leave the stars behind.”
Blitz blinks hard. He opens his mouth ready to release a litany of explicit words.
“I won’t stay,” Stolas quickly adds, like he’s found the solution. “You will not even need to see me. If my presence is distressing to you, I can leave them here on the full moon and return to my realm immediately afterward.”
Blitz doesn't move, staring at him, at the way Stolas had said it so easily. So reasonably. As though leaving pieces of himself behind in an abandoned temple is a compromise any sane person would make.
Stolas gets onto his knees in front of Blitz, bringing himself to eye level, looking hopeful enough to make something twist sickly in Blitz’s chest.
“I can make this work,” Stolas says softly, reaching his hand out. “Whatever you require of me, I can—”
“That’s the problem!” Blitz snaps, taking several steps away.
Above them, the stars pulse again. Uneven. Longer.
Blitz drags a hand down his face. “You keep talking like there’s some version of this where you don’t matter.” He tears his gaze away from him. “You should’ve stopped the first time it hurt.”
“Would you truly prefer I abandoned you?”
Blitz feels his whole body tense. The answer is so easily and selfishly no. The answer has always been no.
But wanting Stolas here has started feeling too close to murder.
Blitz glares at Stolas. “Look at yourself.” Still kneeling on the grass beneath a trembling sky. “You’re a fucking cosmic entity, Stolas. Act like one.”
The stars above them shudder violently. A pulse ripples through the sky. Several constellations distort briefly before snapping back into place.
Neither of them speaks.
Then, slowly, Stolas rises from his knees. He keeps his gaze.
“I see.” Stolas folds his trembling hands carefully behind his back. When he speaks again, his voice is flat. “Then I will not trouble you further.”
The portal opens behind him. Familiar midnight spills across the ruined garden stones.
Blitz’s entire body screams at him to say something.
Wait. Don’t go. I didn’t mean it—
“Good.”
The lie tastes rotten. He turns his back on him.
“Goodbye, Blitz.”
And this time it sounds final.
The sound of the portal closing echoes as silence crashes into the garden all at once. The full moon above the temple dims enough to plunge the garden briefly into darkness. Blitz looks up sharply. The light returns a moment later. But weaker than before. And for the first time in a very long while, Blitz feels afraid of the night.
The full moon arrives and Blitz makes sure distance is an obstacle.
He’s several villages away from the ruined temple. Tucked inside a seedy tavern where the windows are too grimy to see the night sky through, and the crowd too loud and rambunctious for any thought or reflection to take hold.
It is exactly what he needs.
He keeps the drunkards coming back to a card game they never had a chance at. Starts an argument between two merchants over which of them insulted the other's mother first. And convinces a skeptic farmer his neighbour’s goose is plotting against him.
The tavern descends into utter chaos. Usually, that feels like a good thing. He shuffles the cards and deals another round. But tonight, the usual idiosyncrasies rub him the wrong way. The crowd, too loud. The patrons, too close. The air, too heavy. And Blitz is certain someone has been sick nearby. It grates on his nerves, making him sharp around the edges.
He picks up his cards, glancing at his hand. They’re terrible, but it hardly matters. Someone passing by bumps his chair hard enough to jostle his entire body. He clicks his tongue in annoyance and throws a handful of coins into the centre of the table.
The drunkards haven’t learned, they're all in. Blitz mouth pulls into a frown, it will be a short round. He considers leaving after this, but knows better. He should stay until dawn. Fleece another table. Start another argument.
He stays longer than he wants to, but not long enough.
By midnight the drunkards are out of a week’s worth of coin, the merchants have resorted to continuing their conversation with chairs, and the farmer is loudly recounting the tale of the malicious goose sabotaging his last harvest and costing him the betrothal to the love of his life.
The night is supposedly a success. He stands up, collects his winnings and slips out of the tavern.
Then regrets it immediately. The full moon hangs overhead, seemingly following him wherever he goes. He shoves his hands into his pockets and keeps his head down, intent on ignoring the damn thing until his eyes catch its reflection in a puddle.
His tail flicks, kicking a loose stone down the path, anything to keep himself distracted. A kick too hard, and it quickly disappears into a ditch.
"Fuck's sake."
His gaze lifts just a fraction, dead set on not sparing the thing a glance. He feels fucking stupid. For a moment, Blitz’s mind drifts. He imagines pale feathers, four crimson eyes turning toward him, a beak pulling into a smile.
"Blitz."
His stomach twists. Nothing is there. He keeps walking. The idiot is back in the cosmos where he belongs. Not coughing up blood. Not pretending he isn’t in pain. Everything is fine.
Blitz stumbles inside, more annoyed than anything. He fumbles through the dark, stripping off his boots and gloves, accidentally knocking the satchel on the table to the floor. He groans and bends to retrieve it.
Something falls out. A soft clatter echoes as it meets the floor, the sound of it rolling until it lands in front of him.
The last star Stolas gave him.
Barely glowing.
"Get a grip," he mutters, “he’s fine.”
He picks it up carefully between his translucent fingers. Its light pulsing weakly before him, as if it were to go out at any moment. An inaudible gasp escapes Blitz when the star goes out completely.
A dull glow returns, weaker than before and relief settles in him. It lingers for only a heartbeat before the light fades again. Each glow returning dimmer. Each darkness lasting a little longer than the last.
The star is still dying.
He paces towards the drawer and yanks it open, the contents rattling roughly. Holding the dimming star above the mass of dead stars reduced to dull stone. His throat tightens. Hesitating to resign the weak star to its imminent fate.
It pulses weakly again. Once. Twice.
Blitz drops as if it burns. Slamming the drawer shut. Refusing to watch it die.
"He's fine."
It is spring when the mortals start talking.
At first Blitz doesn’t pay attention. They’re always talking about the end of the world. Every drought, flood, famine somehow circles back to divine punishment.
The God of Wrath is displeased. The Goddess of Joy and Excess unsatisfied. The Goddess of Sleep disgruntled. And down the list it goes. The explanations shift depending on which village he passes through.
But then one too many details rings too familiar.
A heretic swearing the constellations move when nobody is looking. A sailor losing their bearings beneath stars they've trusted their entire lives. Oracles having dreamless sleeps with no prophecy.
It’s why he is sprawled on a grassy hill beneath a sky stained red by sunset. A pair of loaded dice clicking softly in his palm. He absentmindedly tosses them into the air and catches them, waiting for night to arrive.
The sky darkens and the moon appears first. Then the stars start emerging, one by one. His eyes drift across them, naming the constellations as they appear.
Cygnus. Lyra. Aquila.
Another toss. Another catch. The dice land in his nearly invisible palm. In the right angles of the moonlight they look as if they’re floating in thin air. The sight momentarily unsettles him. But then he wonders whether Stolas would find loaded dice intriguing, or make it another morality debate.
Cassiopeia. Pegasus. Andromeda.
He tosses the dice again and—they slip through his fingers.
Blitz’s mind stutters. Maybe he missed the catch. It’s not like he was paying proper attention anyway. He eyes the dice on the grass just inches away and reaches down slowly. His hand closes around the dice—
And phases right through them.
The spikes along his back rise.
He reaches out. Tries again.
Opens his palm and closes it again. Still nothing.
A shaky breath escapes him. His stomach drops. Fear sinks its claws deeper pulling tight around his ribs.
He scrambles forward again, clawing at the ivory cubes that are within reach, but still beyond his grasp. Air catches in his throat. His heart hammers. His breathing turns shallow. He shouldn’t be reacting like this. He shouldn’t be scared.
He looks to the sky. For something steady.
His eyes land on the moon. It’s bright and oppressive.
But also steady and constant.
Blitz swallows. He drags air into his lungs until the shaking eases enough to move. He eyes the dice once more, resolve settling in his chest and he reaches out again. His palm lands squarely over the dice. Through his translucent hand he watches them shift. He curls his fingers tighter around them. They’re in his hands. Relief hits him.
He picks them up, bringing them closer to his chest and loosens his grip. The fragile confidence from earlier is gone. He doesn’t risk throwing them around again.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” A shaky breath escapes him. He looks up to the stars and continues where he left off.
Vega. Deneb. Altair—
Blitz stops. Altair is missing.
He lingers on the black canvas of where it should be. Waiting.
Blitz’s mouth pulls into a frown. “C’mon Stolas.”
It never appears.
It makes sense to check, Blitz tells himself as he crosses through the grassy field. The abandoned temple steadily grows larger in view.
The damn sky seems intent on misbehaving. Not in any way catastrophic, but in ways mortals just won’t shut up about. He scales up the ruined temple walls.
Honestly, he couldn't care less about mortals and their endless catastrophizing, but somebody should check-in. Make sure the cosmos isn’t quietly falling apart.
It makes perfect sense. Nothing more to it.
Blitz’s boots land on worn cobblestone, the sound loud against the quiet. His hand drifts to the breast pocket of his coat, finding the deck of cards still there. They had earned him some decent coin earlier that afternoon.
It’s an old deck, the corners, soft and worn from use. But still good. If Stolas happened to arrive—not that he should, and if he does Blitz would surely have to tell him off.
But—if he does.
Maybe they could play something. Maybe Blitz could smooth things over with some parlor tricks.
Maybe—he clenches his jaw.
Maybe he should get a fucking grip.
Moonlight spills over the unkept garden. He makes his way toward their usual stone bench. There’s no cosmic entity waiting beneath the moon. It’s unsurprising, but something sinks in his chest anyway.
He drops down onto the bench, unsure what to do with himself. His eyes drift upwards to the moon and stars overhead, and they stare back.
How does one even check on a cosmic deity?
A sigh escapes him. He slumps forward, gaze unfocused.
Fuck this. Blitz pushes himself upright. This is fucking stupid. Stupid for even coming—his head snaps, spotting a faint glow in the grass.
Small and silver-white.
A star.
Its light pulses gently against the earth.
Blitz kneels down, reaching for it. The glow spills across his translucent fingers, the edges of his hand dissolving in its light. The moment his fingers brush it, he feels its familiar warmth in his fingertips, spreading through his hand. A shaky breath leaves his chest. Relief settling so quickly it almost frightens him.
He steadies his breathing. It dawns on him, quietly and slowly.
His eyes look to the star in his palm. He’s quick back on his feet, turning around to scout the garden.
“Stolas?”
His eyes look for any movement. For crimson eyes that might reveal him. For the shimmering telltale of a portal. But there is no one here.
Blitz doesn’t believe in coincidences. His stomach twists unpleasantly. His grip tightens around the star. Slowly, he drops to one knee beside the bench and peers underneath.
He doesn't see anything, but remains low and keeps looking.
The moonlight catches against stone. Easily mistaken for any other ordinary rock. His fingers brush over it. Its rough surface is familiar and haunting.
A dead star.
Cold. Grey. Lifeless.
Another rests several inches away.
Then a third.
He grabs them. Coming out from under the bench to sit on the grass. Every full moon a star left behind.
“Fucking idiot,” he mutters, unsure whether he’s talking to himself or Stolas.
Three dead stars.
The living star pulses warmly in his hand.
Waiting.
Just like the others had.
Until they burned empty.
Blitz can imagine it all too easily. Stolas stepping through the portal. Looking around. Finding nobody. He would decide to wait anyway. Just for a little while. Take a seat on the bench. Maybe convince himself Blitz was running late. At some point he knows better. He gets up, still looking dignified and leaves the star behind. Just in case.
And he does it again. And again. And again.
Every single one a quiet refusal to let Blitz fade away.
The living star trembles faintly in Blitz’s hand. A testament to Stolas’ hope that Blitz is still around. That he’d come back.
Hope settles in a terrifying way inside Blitz.
The horizon burns crimson, bleeding upwards into the darkening sky.
Blitz drops onto the stone bench, fingers knotting together. He watches as the sky steadily darkens, waiting for the first stars to start to emerge.
One by one they appear, constellations joining the starry canvas overhead with the full moon above the ruined temple.
The spikes along Blitz’s back bristle.
Stolas doesn’t come.
Good.
Blitz pushes himself to his feet, ignoring the hurt in his chest.
It’s a fucking good thing.
Until magic stirs. A breeze picks up, a fracture of a portal opens—tearing through reality, revealing stars and nebulae suddenly within Blitz’s reach. It is beautiful, and then Stolas finally steps through.
Their eyes meet. Stolas breaks the stillness first.
Taking a step forward, relief washes over his face so quickly it almost hurts to look at. Concern follows close behind. Blitz wonders what Stolas sees standing before him now—a fading irrelevant deity.
Despite everything, Stolas smiles. So easily.
“Blitz.”
Blitz’s chest tightens. He can’t bring himself to say anything.
Stolas’ smile lingers, unwavering. He moves like it is a well-rehearsed ritual, hand reaching into his cape and pulling out a star. Stolas looks at it in his palm for only a moment before offering it to Blitz.
It’s bright.
Brighter than any Blitz has ever seen. He squints against its light. Silver-white at its centre. Burning cobalt blue around the edges.
Stolas looks so genuinely happy, despite the weariness on his face. He presents the star a little closer to Blitz, quietly urging it forward.
Blitz doesn’t move. His gaze drifts from the star to Stolas, then back again. Something ugly twists in his chest.
“Why are you still doing this to yourself?”
Stolas blinks, looking down at the star as though it answers the question well enough. “This is what we do.”
“No.” Blitz shakes his head. “That stopped the day I told you to leave.”
Stolas’ smile falters. “You still require the offering,” he says softly, lifting the star a fraction higher.
Blitz looks at the star as if it were poison. “What the fuck, Stolas?”
Confusion flickers across Stolas’ face. It gives way to hurt. Then, slowly, frustration. “I came because you were fading.” The sky seems to darken overhead, Blitz mouth opens when Stolas cuts him off. “Take the star first.” There’s an unrefined jerk forward the way Stolas presents it closer to Blitz.
Blitz doesn't move.
"Blitz." It comes out small. Tired. “Please.”
Blitz doesn’t deserve Stolas. He keeps his hands firmly by his side.
“You came here every month,” he says quietly.
Concern draws Stolas’ brows tight together.
"You waited.” Blitz swallows hard. “You kept leaving them behind.” He takes a slow step forward. “You kept risking yourself. Why? What exactly have I done?" Blitz's voice catches despite himself. "What have I ever done for you?"
"What?" Stolas says, genuinely bewildered. “Blitz, you’ve done so much for me.”
Blitz doesn’t say anything. Moving to close what little distance remains between them until only the star separates them. It burns brilliantly between them, silver-white at its heart, cobalt blue dancing around its edges.
Slowly, Blitz reaches out. Instead of taking it, his fingers close gently beneath Stolas' hand, supporting the palm that has been outstretched for far too long.
A breathless sound escapes Stolas. "...Blitz?"
The warmth of the star spreads through both their hands.
Blitz's shoulders remain rigid. His tail whips against the air. He stares down at their joined hands before finally meeting Stolas' eyes.
"I kept telling myself I was protecting you." Blitz's voice is rough. "But every month you weren't here..." He exhales shakily. "I disliked the interval where you weren't around."
The words sound awkward in his own mouth. Stolas had made them sound so effortless.
Four crimson eyes go wide, the feathers along his neck lifting a fraction. His beak parts, then closes again before finally pulling into a quiet smile. It is a familiar one, the kind Blitz has only ever seen before when Stolas is unbearably relieved.
"Then… please take it," Stolas whispers, nodding at the star resting between their joined hands.
Blitz nods hesitantly. His fingers close over the star. At the same moment, the tension in Stolas’ shoulders visibly eases.
The familiar warmth settles in his core. He stares at the star in his hand, jaw tight. This isn’t how he wants to do things.
“Blitz?”
He lifts his gaze at Stolas, looking at him hard. Then looks back to the star, turning it over between his fingers.
And swallows it.
Stolas freezes. Confusion. Horror. Disbelief. He drops onto his knees, grabbing Blitz by the shoulders, bringing them eye to eye.
"What the fuck, Blitz?" The words escape from Stolas before he can stop them. Panic shatters centuries of practiced composure. "You cannot just—" His grip tightens. "What have you done?"
Blitz blinks.
He feels… fine.
Stolas goes still. His hands loosen, slipping from Blitz’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
Blitz doubles over.
Warmth erupts down Blitz's throat. He gasps, hearing a panicked squawk beside him. The heat rushes through his chest, sinking deeper and deeper until it settles somewhere deep inside him. It settles, simmers into something tolerable.
He steadies his breathing.
For the first time in months, he doesn't feel like something fading around the edges.
Stolas’ eyes go wide. The moon behind him abruptly goes out dark.
Blitz feels it. Not the moon itself—the tether. The call of the cosmos. Something ancient he is bound to.
Stolas can only stare at the darkened moon. It lasts only a heartbeat. The moon ignites once more. Glowing a crimson red. Its red light spills across the garden.
"...Do you know what you've done?" Stolas asks again, the panic has since disappeared from his voice.
Blitz lifts his hands to Stolas' face, gently drawing his gaze back to him. “I know what I’ve done.” He says it quietly and surely. Then leans forward, his lips meeting Stolas’ beak. Stolas leans into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Blitz. The crimson moon hangs high overhead. The stars are steady.
Stolas' grip tightens around him. Blitz doesn’t let go.