{ writing things with aryol in it }: Boy Up High under the Shining Roof (Lyra RPG)

When Leohai' was new, they used to say, the sky did not exist, but it was the breath of the gods which made it surround and their tears which made it pale like cream, rotting for half of the 32 hours before becoming sweet again. It was familiar to the stranger, living like a Lowbelly beggar, stubborn in the back of his mind, yet choked gray with the byproducts of factories back home--it was beautiful in Highbelly 'Mpisi, but not his home, for residents barely saw the light. The gods, then, had turned away, and their children roamed like beasts, miserable and destructive without authority. So, the divide.

But it was all gone now--even Leohai'--casting the boy away like a die to dance before Fortune. Nothing he knew was familiar, seeming unreal, as fever-dreams do; the journey was as obscure as one, rushing by the distracted consciousness. All the things closest to him were cuddled against his chest; his boruk, his dagger, and himself--his wings were tight around his body as he shivered madly.

And Aryol thought and thought, tucking his things away to huff into his hands--the warmth felt nice--and press his red little nose into a wing, both obscuring most of his face. He had backed himself into a shallow cave, separated from the nameless comrades by a violent snowstorm, and ice still bit at him from under both fabric and feather. The wind was still raging, and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion--perhaps he could sleep to pass the time, or maybe he'd die. Either way, the slow, soft madness of this new place--one of his missing party had called it Lyra--would have a break from him and his restless mind, where three little voices begged for his attention.

Not now, not now! He wrinkled his nose, blocking the mindful noise. It's so cold... And he laid on his stomach, shifting around before falling into a delirious sleep.

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Good morning, Aryol!

Light was not accustomed to shine here.

No, stupid--good afternoon, we should be out by now!

Time was absent too, reduced to nothing but guesses.

I lifted us somethin' to eat, but most of it's mine.

But that's not fair!

Life isn't fair, Serempa. So, we do what me must.

The voices were moving sleepy tears already, and Aryol opened his eyes to a shifting world, dark and confined, and he knew where he was--and the figures with unreal faces, his brothers--but they were all locked away, or maybe dead! They wouldn't have broken out--he could be here with them--just to see him! Perhaps the made grudge choked him.

Are you crying, Aryol? What's wrong?

Sissy boy--you had a nightmare? 

T'chaw. Don't.

Okay, okay...

Aryol knew little of why he cried, feeling no tears and muted feelings about it all, but closed his eyes, unable to speak with the shortness of breath in him, for an ache in his throat began to form. The dark Lowbelly sky still gaped at him through his eyelids, reminding him of an impossible liberation.

We're waiting for you, Aryol.

Those were the same as his eldest brother's--by name 'Nyawkal--words before that day, the one that changed everything.

Come back for us, okay?

That was a made voice now, a synthesis of all three, and his heart wanted to rupture in the ache. He would always be moved to tears at the mention of his kin, but they called to his fault in a world where he was stuck, unresponsive.

He jumped, wings outstretching, and he scrambled to his feet as silence covered the broken metal sky, and looked up--three faces, solid red, appeared--features deformed and twisted into soundless screams from unhinged jaws--wide, circular eyes with sclerae of absolute white and pupils of black, rolling everywhere--wings came out, all disproportionate and freakishly long, flapping everywhere like flailing insect legs. From each mouth came a horrible, extremely tuned scream, as if they were agonal gasps--hands came now, reaching for him as they were pulled away.

Come back! Back! Back!

"W-wait...!"

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He gasped--alone in a quiet place--truly awake now, and the world spun in noise, cold and still. For he had been dreaming, and he was no longer home in that terrible place. Tears were cold on his cheeks, and he tucked his wings closer to himself, sniffling into his folded arms.

The winds had stopped as he softly cried, and sounds of shining echoed into the little cave, hushing him. The boy looked up, eyes wet, to glimpse a sliver of Lyra.

He took his things and peeked out, still cold in the air, but calm, becoming enthralled as he froze to take in the surroundings which seemed to new to him in peaceful air. Iridescent crystal formations lined the arching mountains and shining on the trees, covering every mile in pale color. He saw a flash, too, of a four-legged creature, glowing with its crystalline horns, its eyes right in his--it bolted, gone now.

And Aryol looked up, meeting the darkened but shining sky, and he let out a cry, tripping over his feet, rushing into flight; he took off, half-weary but full of adrenaline from his screaming senses in this place. Wings beating madly, he fought to get higher and higher in this boundless sky--there were colors up there, real colors, waiting for him!

Tears kept falling, shining like ice as he soared, air rushing past him, and he saw it all for a second or two before coming to rest midair--green, blue, pink, purple, white, and others--flowing in ribbons as if they were magical smoke from dreamlike factories--he felt new and powerful, so close to the sky, a boy up high under the shining roof, that of new possibilities. His belongings did not bother him now, for a great thing had seized his senses, and a happy cry burst from him.

And he fell, opening his wings to glide across the beautiful landscape. This was the most free he had felt, and he was born for it.