Work Text:
Parhelion
She runs wild through the thicket, with the strength and lightness of the wind that carries her through the trees and streams, like a small blade of grass just swept away by a gentle breeze. Her spotless tunic ripples and stretches with a grace that belongs only to a daughter of the forest. She is small and wild, the youngest of her sisters. She was born at dawn, in the first light of Helios, when his rays bathed the mountain, covering everything—flowers, streams, and peaks—in a beautiful golden hue. And because of that, she was named Yelena. The most beautiful and radiant of them all. A creature of gold and honeysuckle.
In the distance, the dogs are barking, not far off now. Yelena can hear them. If they're close, her lady comes with them, and behind her, her retinue of huntresses, her older sisters. The nymphs of Artemis.
Soon the season would begin in which the daughter of Demeter departs for Hades. And her mother would leave too, turning forests and mountains into ochre wastelands. That was the season when their lady hunted most often, and Yelena, along with her sisters, had to go with her, chasing does and the great stags of the mountains. Someone blew a hunting horn, and the barking of the dogs grew closer still. Yelena studied the sky, so blue and clear, then closed her eyes, letting her trained ears take in the sounds around her. The rustle of the meadow alerted her to the nearness of her prey. Eagerly, she broke into a run again, this time changing direction. Her long golden hair, always arranged with a crown of cyclamen—except at the victory dances, where instead of flowers she wears the antlers of the stags she's felled—streams fiercely behind her, while her small feet crush the fresh morning grass and dampen their soles with the dew. She readies her bow and nocks one of her arrows; like every nymph of Artemis, she is skilled and precise, her aim masterful, and she never misses her mark once it has caught her eye.
She smiles, savoring the coming victory as she spots a pair of antlers peeking through the branches and brush. Slowly, an enormous stag emerges from the thicket—a magnificent buck, neither too young nor too old, clearly one that had already sired offspring, which only made him more magnificent still. He advances carefully, careful not to alarm his prey, his eyes fixed, his senses alert. Her lady will be pleased with such a trophy offered in her honor, a perfect tribute. Unfortunately, her foot lands on a branch that betrays her presence; the stag turns toward her, and his great dark eyes hold hers for a brief moment before he flees. Yelena looses her arrow, but it barely grazes one of his forelegs. Small drops of blood touch the grass, and the prey escapes so swiftly that the nymph can hardly see him. She presses her lips together and, once again, gives chase.
The animal is fast—unbelievably so. But she is faster, and it isn't long before she spots him again, leaping streams and drawing ever farther from the goddess's domain, dangerously close now to the paths of men.
There were three sacred rules among the nymphs of the goddess. The first: to serve the lady of the hunt with body and soul, to be her shadow and her arrow. The second: to protect the forest and every creature living within it. And the third, the most important and sacred of all: to guard their purity until death, and never to know Eros. Which, of course, meant staying far from every god and every man. The roads were forbidden to them, as were the villages and any place where men gathered; breaking any of those laws meant Artemis's rejection and exile. Yelena knows she is running straight toward what is forbidden to her. She can no longer hear the dogs barking, nor the horn, much less the voices of her sisters. She knows she should stop, turn back before crossing a line she may never be able to uncross. But that stag is so magnificent, so precious—an immense creature with beautiful antlers that could shatter a sycamore in a single blow.
She can do this. She can catch him and return to her sisters, and no one would ever know. She descends the slopes and leaps the small streams, her spotless white tunic billowing like a war banner as she crosses farther and farther from the safety of her forest. The stag pulls ahead far enough that Yelena begins to think she's lost him again. Nothing here feels familiar anymore—the ground, the trees, even the wildflowers along the path are unknown to her. This is a road of men. Yelena turns in every direction, trying to steady herself and focus again, promising herself she'll put an arrow through that elusive stag the instant she spots him. A new sound reaches her, but it isn't what she expects to hear. Human laughter comes to her, thick and heavy laughter. Quickly she hides behind an old cypress, peering out just enough to watch unseen.
She sees a pair of rough-looking men leading a man they had apparently captured. The man came dragging himself along, his hands bound tightly, while the other two rode on horseback.
"They'll pay us a fine price for this one—I can already count the gold in my hands."
"What kind of idiot travels alone on this road? It's like he wanted to get caught."
"Don't worry," says the first, turning toward the man who could barely stay on his feet, "we'll sell you to a good master. You'll work from sunup to sundown without rest."
The man stumbles and falls to the ground, kicking up dust from the path.
"Hey! Idiot. What's wrong with you? We've only gone a couple hundred yards."
"This one can't take anything! He's so useless he can't even keep pace. He'll be nothing but trouble—we'd be better off just getting rid of him."
Hearing that, something stirs in the nymph's heart. Men were the most repulsive creatures in existence. Repulsive and terrible. Her mouth turns bitter and the muscles of her body tense like the string of her bow. The men dismount and, with their daggers, cut the prisoner's bonds; his arms drop heavily, along with the rest of his body.
And it's then that Yelena makes the most impulsive decision of her existence. She makes noise, drawing the attention of the two men, letting herself be seen, as harmless-looking as a little hare. It was well known that no creature in the woods was more dangerously beautiful than a nymph. Her charm tamed beasts and men alike, and those two were no exception. Both freeze, transfixed at the sight of that nymph with long golden hair crowned in flowers and a tunic as pure white as mountain snow. Yelena walks toward them, her green eyes fixed on the pair. Then, in a voice as soft and sweet as a caress, she speaks:
"Fight each other. To the death…"
Without a second's hesitation after that command, the first of the two men attacks his companion, drawing his dagger and stabbing him in the stomach. The other howls in pain, blood pouring freely from his wound, but he wastes no time driving his own blade toward his companion's heart. The two men fall into an absurd struggle that serves no purpose but a nymph's whim. As the men stagger off, tearing into each other, Yelena hurries to the captured man still lying on the ground. Carefully, she drags him to the side of the road, propping him against the trunk of a tree. He's still unconscious, and Yelena reaches to touch his face, trying to rouse him. This close, the nymph of Artemis can study him properly.
She has never looked closely at a man's face before, but she's heard the stories her sisters tell each night after the hunt, gathered by the fire. Some of them have crossed paths with a human hunter lost in Artemis's forest. Sometimes they love mimicking the calls of birds and animals just to lead men astray. Her sisters speak of them with contempt. They say men are coarse creatures, rough-handed, their faces hardened by the sun. Yelena always imagined they must look like wild boars—stout, sullen, and dull. But this man was not like that. There's something warm about him. His features hold a strange serenity, as though carved by water over centuries. His chestnut curls fall in disarray across his forehead, like dry hazel leaves after the wind. His skin holds the color Helios leaves on tree bark at summer's end.
Without meaning to, Yelena's fingers trace his features with an almost reverent gentleness—an act that is unthinkable, forbidden, wrong. She can't help it; his skin is so soft and warm. Warm as the sun.
Why does she keep looking?
She had watched dawns set the mountains ablaze. She had seen stags with antlers so vast they seemed to hold up the sky. She had watched her lady Artemis walk beneath the moon. And yet none of them had ever stirred in her this strange need to keep looking.
And then the man before her opens his eyes. And Yelena sees the blue of them. She has never seen a blue like that. Not like the raging river, nor the sky stretched above them. It's a calm blue, like the forest lake when the wind decides to rest.
The nymph pulls her hand back from his cheek and tries to move away, but it's too late—the man she saved catches her wrist before she can pull free. They both stay like that, lost in one another, gazing at each other as if trying to hold the memory of the other for all eternity.
"Who are you?" the man asks, his voice soft and gentle. Yelena's heart begins to beat like a small, restless sparrow. What is happening to her?
She composes herself, with effort, trying to stay calm.
"Who am I? Human, you tell me first—who are you?"
"I'm Bob. Just... just Bob."
Maybe it's the nervous smile, or his endearing stammer, but Yelena can't help smiling back, which only leaves Bob more taken with her.
"Well then... just Bob, my name is Yelena."
"Yelena…" Bob repeats, his cheeks turning red as berries. "Like the light."
In a moment of impulse, Bob's hand releases her wrist, and his eager fingers brush the soft, snow-pale skin of her cheek, as if to confirm she's real and not some figment of a dream. His touch is gentler than Yelena expected a human's touch to be. Reverent and steady, like that of a devotee before a goddess.
She is no goddess. Nothing sacred, nothing humans should ever covet. The voice of reason echoes within her. She has to get back before this human has the chance to make her break her vow. A human this dangerous poses a threat to her, or to any nymph of Artemis.
For some reason, that last thought displeases her.
She turns to leave. The golden ornaments on her sheer ivory linen chiton chime like tiny bells. Bob catches her arm again, his grip just firm enough to make her stop, but not enough to frighten her. Yelena's lips part slightly in surprise, her eyes taking in Bob's reluctance to let her go.
This wasn't right. It was a terrible mistake.
"Don't go…" Bob says, his eyes pleading, fixed on Yelena as though she were the only thing in all of Gaia's creation worth looking at. "You... you saved me…"
Even his voice can turn deep and captivating. Yelena remains fully aware of the enormous danger in staying near this man any longer. She's at risk of breaking one of the most important rules. Men were very dangerous.
"Who says I saved you?" she declares, trying to sound hard and indifferent. After all, he was only a human, and she a nymph of Artemis. She couldn't allow herself to be swayed.
"You did. Those men... you got rid of them…"
"How do you know that? Weren't you unconscious?"
Bob's gaze falters, and Yelena catches the hesitation crossing it. He himself seems startled by his own words, as if caught by his own carelessness. There's no turning back now, not after giving himself away. Yelena notices a wound on his arm, a cut that's already stopped bleeding but still looks fresh and raw. Her gaze drifts to it, her fingers reaching out to graze the injured skin. She hadn't noticed it until now.
"You're hurt…"
"It's nothing," Bob says, fearful, covering his arm with his cloak, but Yelena lifts it again, revealing the cut once more.
"Human, tell me—was it those men? Did they wound you when they captured you?"
Bob's face darkens slightly, his blue eyes searching hers again, a faint, sad smile forming on his lips. Light and fleeting, like a warm breeze.
"It was the arrow of one of Artemis's huntresses…"
"What?"
"It was a nymph's arrow, Yelena. Your arrow."
That's impossible. The only thing she'd wounded was that stag in the forest.
Slowly, everything begins to fall into place.
"The stag... that was you?"
Bob's silence is all the confirmation she needs.
Yelena's eyes widen in shock as her mind struggles to grasp the revelation. This can't be true. A strange feeling takes hold of her. A voice, steady and resounding, orders her to flee before it's too late. She tries—by Zeus, she does—wanting to yank her wrist free and run back home, back to the safety of her forest and the embrace of her sisters. She's at risk of giving up everything she's ever lived by. But she can't move; her body stays still, her eyes still fixed on the glimmer of those two pupils drawing her in like twin, bottomless wells. Bob's hands cradle her face, holding her with the same ease one might cup a fallen petal. A small dragonfly caught in the intricate threads of a spider's web.
She should leave, but her body and her heart betray her.
Who is this human who holds such power over her? Or perhaps it is Yelena herself who doesn't wish to pull away?
"Who are you?" she asks again, her voice breaking and unsteady. She doesn't know if it's fear or longing. "Who are you really, human?"
"My name is Bob."
"Who are you, really, Bob?"
Bob releases her face, and Yelena is startled to find herself missing the feel of his hands on her; she holds her breath, lips parted, swallowing a sigh. Small petals drift down, carried on the air in an almost unreal, idyllic vision. The wind, the gentle sway of the cypress branches, the birdsong that falls suddenly silent.
Only the sun above them blazes brighter still, turning everything it touches to gold. Golden water, petals, leaves, Yelena's hair, her flawless skin, the honeysuckle woven into her chiton.
"Little Yelena, don't you remember me?" Bob says, and his blue eyes, like still ponds, take on the golden fire and glow of Helios. The little sparrow in Yelena's chest flutters nervously; her fingers let her bow slip, and it lands with a dull thud in the grass.
She shakes her head, her eyes trembling and lost once more in the gold of his gaze.
Gleaming gold, like the sunrise, dawn's own greeting. The same sun that watched her be born, that touched her bare, pure body. That caressed her skin and kissed the back of her neck with a lover's tenderness. Every nymph's birth is a blessing to the forests. Some are born in rain, in the howl of the winds, when Selene rises or Apollo takes his leave. Only Yelena bloomed at dawn, like a flower waiting for the first ray of light to open.
Once more, Bob's warm hand strokes her skin, the sensation as familiar as it is strange. Her skin, which was never meant to be touched by any man, mortal or god, somehow recognizes the touch of this man she is meeting for the first time. She closes her eyes, her lashes fluttering, the wind blowing, yet she stays warm. Bob's fingers trail down her neck, along the smooth line of her shoulder, and down to her back.
She remembers it now—this feeling is the same as the day of her birth. When, lying naked in a field of flowers, the sunlight bathed her entire body.
The heat of a million suns claiming her as their own.
Parhelion.
Before Yelena, Bob's form blurs and shifts—his chestnut curls replaced by hair of gold, his body taking on the strength and stature of a colossus. His plain clothes and sandals give way to a tunic of gleaming, resplendent gold.
"Sentry," her lips whisper, recognizing the Titan of the cosmos, the lord of the stars. More ancient and more resplendent than Helios himself.
"You remember me," Sentry says, a smile forming on his lips. "My precious Yelena, so perfect, so beautiful—mine. Born of light, I claimed you the moment you first showed yourself to the world, before even Zeus dared to covet you."
"You brought me here—was it on purpose?"
"How else could I draw you away from Artemis?"
Yelena's fingers touch the wound on Sentry's arm, guilt washing over her. She has wounded a being more powerful and exalted than any god of Olympus—another Titan would have demanded her life in payment.
"I could have killed you."
"If you had... I would have died gladly."
Yelena's cheeks flush. What nonsense is he speaking?
"What are you saying? Don't jest with me."
Sentry's smile only widens, his golden eyes glowing brighter still.
"Either way, I already belong to you. Since that first light."
A familiar feeling settles over her, warm and comforting. It's as if she's arrived home after a long time away. As if her fate had always been to be touched by the light of eternity.
Eternity—a nymph's life was only a breath compared to a god's endlessness. Then Sentry offers her his hand, his golden curls stirring in the wind.
"Will you come with me to the heavens, Yelena? Will you walk beside me among the stars?"
In the purity of starlight she would become immortal, her glow spreading through the darkness of space, reaching across vast distances, into the farthest hearts.
But she isn't ready yet to live among the stars. Not while so much of the world still waits to be walked.
"I will," she says, taking his hand and smiling up at that luminous face, "but only if you walk with me first, through the hills and mountains."
Sentry's joy only deepens. It's everything he wants, and more.
"I accept," is his answer.
And after that, she would be his until the end of time. With the strength of a million suns thundering across the heavens, a million stars rising for her alone, like devoted worshippers, the single, eternal light.
Parhelion.
Throughout the eternity.