The snow hit him first. The cold of the snowstorm, then the warmth.
It clung to his lashes and the corners of his mouth, half-melted where his breath touched it. His lungs pulled in air that lightly stung.
Second was the visage of the girl with platinum hair, Nia, crouching in front of him, her eyes still closed, her hands locked around him. Her fingers were trembling, not from fear alone, but from the strain of holding him so tightly for so long. Her sleeves were damp with snow and warmth, and her hair had collected fine white flecks that clung stubbornly.
Behind her sat a familiar presence, the Snow White Garm who had saved him before from the jaws of the Nhiven, blue aura still flaring from her chest like heavenly raiment, floating freely. The light shimmered in the snowfall, turning each drifting flake into a brief spark before it vanished. She sat with Wanwan at her side, tongue lolled out, smiling with pure happiness.
The Old Chief stood near them, looking as charismatic as ever, posture straight, muscles corded. It made Ol' Crazy feel like a fleeting illusion, a daydream. The open slashes and piercing wounds from his fight were still apparent.
Sol tried to wake himself fully. His head felt clear in a way that startled him, like someone had rinsed all the fog from his skull.
He felt no weakness in his body. It was as if he had just been pulled from the deepest rest he had ever taken. His fingers flexed once, then again, testing. The joints moved without protest. He gently grabbed Nia's arms, still wrapped around him, and stood with her. Snow slid from his shoulders in small sheets, and both bare feet sank with a soft crunch as his weight settled.
"...Sol?" Nia opened her eyes right in front of him. She still looked worried, as if he might succumb to darkness once again. Her breath hit his chest in short, careful bursts, and her gaze searched him as if she was counting pieces, making sure he was whole.
Sol met her emerald eyes and nodded. He smiled, small and steady. He was fine now. He could feel the heat of her hands through his clothes. It steadied him more than it should have.
"Your training is over for now, gja'rim. It's not over for good, however." The Old Chief walked forward and tapped Sol on his left shoulder, then moved towards the ruins of the house. A light, weighty contact, dense with purpose. "You managed your hunger well."
"I..." Sol couldn't respond to his zhe'har. He still remembered what the white-hooded man had said inside his mind. His hunger still wasn't fully resolved. This was borrowed time.
He still needed to find an answer soon, preferably without hurting Nia or Wanwan, or anyone for that matter. The thought sat under his ribs like a stone that had not moved, even after all this.
"WAN!! WAN!!" Wanwan ran towards him and licked his face vigorously. The warm roughness of the tongue shocked him, scraping snow from his cheek and leaving wet streaks that the cold bit at immediately. The Four Pups also made their way closer to their mother, still limping, but they seemed a little better than before. Their paws left messy tracks, some dragging slightly, some favoring a leg. The sight of their mother gave them a second wind, enough to steady themselves.
"Ouch! Okay! Okay! Ow! Rough tongue, rough tongue!"
The Four Pups reached their mother's side with excited, smiling faces, like children asking whether they had done well. Their bodies trembled with exhaustion and adrenaline, tails still trying to wag even when their legs faltered.
"GGGGRRRRRR AWOOOAWOOOOAWOOOOO!!"
"Bark!! Bark!! AWOO!!"
"WOOF!!"
"ARRRRRFFFF!! ARF!!"
They shouted for their mother, and for the battle's end, even as the snowstorm still raged. Their mother only smiled at them, silent as ever. Snow gathered along her back and ears, then slid off with each slow breath.
Sol looked down at his body. The bandages were gone, and so were his wounds. The skin felt tight in places, tender in the way new flesh always did, but there was no pain. All the scars from his fight against the Nhiven, Csezul, the Water Tunnel, were mended. Like a cracked cup repaired and made beautiful with gold, his body now showed the same lines, the same golden luster. Scars, imperfections, made whole without being erased. The gold caught the faint light, dull in the storm, brighter where the blue aura of Wanwan's mother touched it.
He looked around. The scars of the battle were everywhere. The air still carried a sharp, bitter scent, Longrass smoke ground into snow, and something sharper beneath it, like scorched stone.
This was... my doing?
The Longrass field was almost entirely burned, yet a healthy patch still swayed and held on against the snowstorm. Blackened stalks poked through the white like broken teeth. The wind itself seemed to have slowed, as if it, too, understood the battle was over.
How can it burn like that? Was it also me?
The river near the house, Dalmas, still flowed quietly. Disturbed, but mostly untouched. Ice clung to the edges where it met the bank, and the surface carried ripples that caught falling snow, swallowing it without a sound.
The face of the mountain, however, bore a massive scar. A deep slice had been carved into it, and a chunk of rock was lodged there, holding the landslide in place.
I don't think I did anything to the mountainside... What monstrous strength...
Oh, that's right. The house.
Sol turned.
The house was almost entirely leveled. Some parts could still be seen, the big cauldron, a few remembrance crystals shining brightly. The crystals threw thin slivers of light into the storm. The ridge beam had been broken beyond belief. The posts, sill beams, wall plates, and braces were no longer salvageable. If the house were to stand again, a new one would have to be built atop the old. Snow sifted through the gaps and settled on splintered wood.
Oh... Cold sweat beaded on Sol's forehead. Oh no... I did that?
The house crumbled further, as if waiting for Sol to look upon it one last time, like a final sigh. A soft groan of wood, then the give of something heavy settling into itself.
OH NOOOO!!! Inside, Sol was dying, already imagining the Old Chief's response. His stomach tightened, and his shoulders rose without permission, bracing.
"Hmhmhmhmhm!!" A strange laugh came from the Old Chief. "So that's where they were! It truly makes memories rush back!! Oh! It's the broken remembrance crystal with Rahzmir's naked ass as a baby! A treasure! Oh!! It's the first founding of the village!!"
Eh? He's not mad?
Old Chief Rahzgir sounded almost delighted, rooting through the wreckage. He lifted one crystal, held it up to the light, and the snow that clung to it melted against his fingers.
"It seems the house's time is over." The Old Chief lifted a remembrance crystal from the rubble and wiped it clean with his bare hands. His palm left a clear streak across the surface, and the glow within steadied. "Do not worry, gja'rim. It can always be rebuilt anew."
S... safe?! The sweat on Sol's forehead seemed to vanish. His breath escaped him in one slow cloud.
The Old Chief looked up towards the chunk of mountain rock he had cut and wedged into the scar to contain the landslide. "Perhaps a change of scenery is in order. I think it's time to move closer to the Lowlands, hmhmhmhmhm."
Sol looked that way and smiled, only to realize Nia's hands were still locked around his body. Her grip tightened when he shifted, as if his movement alone could pull him away.
"Uh..." His gaze dropped to the girl, just a little shorter than him, hugging him with all her strength, unwilling to let him go even for a moment. Her cheek was flushed from cold and effort, and a strand of hair stuck to it. "Nia... your hands?"
"Nuh-uh." She shook her head, pouting.
"What do you mean 'nuh-uh'? I need to do things too, you know."
"Nuh-uh." She shook her head harder, and beside her, "Ruh-ruh." Wanwan shook his head in agreement, ears flicking, snow shaking loose.
"Sigh... Not you too."
Wanwan, who had been sitting quietly at their side, suddenly stood up and joined the hug. His paws thumped into the snow, and his weight pressed in, warm and unyielding.
"Wan!!"
"Ouch! You're heavy! Wanwan!"
"Hey, we're losing balance! We're losing balance!! We're losing balahmppppffffff!!!"
The three of them fell headfirst into the snow. The impact drove cold into Sol's head. Nia popped her head out and laughed, then tossed a snowball at Wanwan. Wanwan opened his mouth wide, caught it, munched, then retaliated with a full-body spin, spraying snow all over her face. The flakes clung to her lashes and hair, and she sputtered, still laughing.
Huh...
Sol stayed where he was, sprawled atop the piling snow, half-buried under Wanwan and Nia's shenanigans, staring up at the dark sky. No stars. Only white flakes falling, slower than ever. Some landed on his lips and melted. Some stayed, stubborn crystals that prickled until his skin warmed them away.
He propped himself up using both elbows and saw the four pups joining in despite their wounds, digging and wagging while buried, play-fighting with Wanwan. Wanwan won easily. Their mother, the Snow White Garm, sat on the outskirts, watching, attentive. Her ears tracked every movement, even as her posture stayed calm.
Is this...
A stray snowball from Nia hit Sol in the face. It burst cold across his cheek and nose, and he blinked hard, breath catching, then loosening.
He couldn't help but smile.
Is this how it feels?
He looked at the smile on Nia's face, and warmth filled his chest. He looked at Wanwan, at the pups, and more warmth poured in. He didn't realize a tear had slipped from his right eye until it cooled against his skin, then vanished into the snow. It was followed by another, and another. He bowed his head and let them fall into the snow half-burying him, darkening the white in small, quiet spots.
What Sol didn't realize was that Nia was watching him. Wanwan had stopped his mock fights to watch him. The Old Chief removed his hands from the remembrance crystals to watch him. None of them spoke. They let his tears come. They let him be the same lonely boy from Elm for a few quiet minutes.
Sol, the Eclipse-born.
One-Horned Sol.
Sol the Half.
Son of a Human.
The Omen of Disaster.
The One Cursed With Solitude.
All the names the people of Elm had given him, the names Rahzar had constantly reminded him of for years, the names Dobsy, Naama, and Gazmir refused to call him, the names the other younglings mocked him with, jokingly, even while keeping him company. All of them felt like they were melting under the warmth.
He had those who would fight for him now, and they had him, the one who would fight for them, no matter what.
And that was what he would do.
He would fight for them. No matter what.
Sol buried his face. He sobbed under the snow, swallowing the sound so no one would hear. His shoulders shook once, then again, and he forced his breath to steady, even as his eyes refused.
Is this... not being alone?
A soundless flap of a white owl's wings. The bird floated down and perched on the back of Wanwan's mother, observing, carefully watching Sol. Snow gathered on its feathers and slid away without a twitch.
He grabbed two fistfuls of snow and rubbed them over his eyes and cheeks, wiping away any trace of tears, then pushed himself to his feet. The cold shocked his hands, and then his palms warmed again as he clenched them.
Mother... I am no longer alone.
He scooped up two more fistfuls of snow and hurled them towards Wanwan, Nia, and the pups. The snow broke on Wanwan's shoulder, scattered across Nia's hair, and sent the pups yelping, delighted.
You don't have to worry anymore.
Sol noticed Nia watching him, even through the flying snow. She smiled, as brightly as ever. Her voice cut through the chaos, clear as day.
"Welcome home, Sol."
He couldn't help but smile.
A smile as bright as the sun.
The darkness of the clouds was broken by a single shaft of warm, innocent light.
The snowstorm was over.
"I'm home, Nia."