#dead but not forgotten | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kumeko · 1 year

Text

A/N: For the Festival of Stars: A Persona Wish zine! One day I’ll finish P1/2/4/5 and write about the other ones, but for now, I’ll take every chance to cram in MitsuAki that I can

…

After months of fighting Shadows, the midnight city was a familiar one to Mitsuru. Streetlights lit the way home, stretching out into the distance like a pearl chain. The odd lamp flickered on and off, making a soft buzzing sound as they walked past. Iwatodai was usually just as lively at night as it was in the day, but even midnight was an hour too late for most. The odd car raced by, music blaring as it screeched and squealed through the empty streets.

A short, bark-like laugh drew her attention and Mitsuru turned away from the road and toward her two companions. Ahead of her, Shinjiro and Akihiko bumped into each other as they talked, their voices clashing against one another as though they were sparring. For friends, they argued a lot.

Then again, Mitsuru wasn’t one to talk. Aside from them, she couldn’t think of a single classmate she was close to. Maybe this was the norm.

Still, their argument today looked more like banter. Even Shinjiro, who Mitsuru found impossible to read on a good day, was smiling, his teeth showing as he tried and failed to hold back a laugh. Akihiko’s responding glare couldn’t disguise the mirth in his expression.

“What’s so funny?” she asked before she could stop herself. It was something that happened more and more these days. Perhaps Akihiko’s impulsiveness was rubbing off on her.

Shinjiro glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes studying her. Whatever he was searching for, he must have found it for he relaxed and smirked. With a teasing lilt, he explained, “Akihiko still believes in fairy tales.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Akihiko lightly punched Shinjiro’s shoulder, embarrassment clear in his voice. As they walked under a streetlight, Mitsuru could just make out his red ears.

“Then what am I supposed to say?” Shinjiro challenged, punching back. Akihiko almost stumbled onto the street from the force. “Akihiko believes in magic? Akihiko—”

“Come on man!” Akihiko growled, shoving and cutting him off before he could get any further. His cheeks flushed as he peeked at her and then away. Whatever it was, he clearly hadn’t wanted her to find out. “It isn’t like that.”

Shinjiro snorted. “It is—”

“Then what is it like?” Mitsuru asked, interrupting their argument before it could get any worse. She quickened her pace till she was right behind them.

Akihiko stiffened at her sudden proximity. When it was clear she wouldn’t let this go, he scratched the bandage on his cheek sheepishly. “That’s…” Clearing his throat, he mumbled awkwardly, “It’s…it’s just…”

She couldn’t make out the last part. “It’s just?”

Shinjiro merely laughed, neither helping nor stopping the sudden inquisition. Akihiko elbowed him in the gut. “You!”

Holding his hand up, Shinjiro weakly defended himself. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

“I still don’t,” Mitsuru pressed, before either could drop the subject. There were few things she disliked more than being left in the dark.

“That…” Akihiko cleared his throat. He rubbed his nose and sighed before reluctantly explaining. “Shooting stars.”

That clarified nothing. She frowned. “What about them?”

“You know, that old thing. You make a wish when you see one.” Akihiko shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoes on the sidewalk. “I was just thinking it’d be nice to see one.”

Vaguely, Mitsuru recalled hearing about that as a child. But they were in middle school now, far past the time for such childish indulgences. “That’s inane.”

To her surprise, Akihiko didn’t get angry. Instead, he chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a little silly, yeah. I know it’s not true or that anything’ll happen but…” His expression softened, his eyes rising to the night sky. “It’s fun.”

Shinjiro nodded, looking oddly vulnerable as he also turned to the stars. “Yeah. It is.”

She didn’t have to ask to know who they were thinking of. Miki. Mitsuru knew a handful of facts about Akihiko’s sister, but it was enough for her to know that her ghost lingered here still. Neither of the boys in front of her were ready to let her go. And she didn’t have the heart to force them to.

Mitsuru followed their gaze. Between the streetlights and the bright moon, the stars were faint and hard to find. Intellectually, she knew the distance between them and those twinkling lights, knew the combination of gas and elements that composed each one, knew galaxies and constellations they belonged to.

“I don’t understand,” she finally said, tearing her eyes from the heavens and back to earth. “The stars are…just stars. And a shooting star isn’t even a star. Why make a wish on them?”

“You’re too practical, princess,” Shinjiro replied softly, though there was nothing cutting about his pet name for her.

“You don’t have to take it so seriously.” Still embarrassed, Akihiko ducked his head as he spoke. “Like I said, it’s just for fun. You can wish for anything.”

“Anything?” Mitsuru raised a brow.

“Yeah. Even impossible things.” Akihiko’s voice dropped a notch.

What did you wish for? Mitsuru knew better than to ask that question. She knew better than anyone just what impossible thing Akihiko and Shinjiro wished for. She knew better than anyone how desperate they were for it to come true, how unattainable that wish was, how insurmountable reality was.

What would I wish for?

Mitsuru was grateful they hadn’t asked, because even if she included impossible things, she wouldn’t know the answer to that.

ii.

The beach villa was oddly quiet. It had only been a few days since all of S.E.E.S. had come here, and every night had been filled with some excitement or another. When Junpei and Yukari had promised to enjoy it to the max, Mitsuru hadn’t expected them to stuff every hour with fireworks, ghost stories, and more. She wasn’t sure where they found the energy.

It was all too much for her. She had craved peace and quiet and she was glad that tonight, for once, the pair had finally stumbled into bed. Fuuka and Ken had guided them back, looking slightly worse for wear and just as exhausted as Mitsuru felt. Minato had disappeared to who knows where. The end result: the house felt oddly quiet and Mitsuru almost missed the noise.

Almost, save for the boy sitting on the porch next to her. Akihiko leaned against a post, yawning as he blearily stared out into the night. His dark red shirt clung to him like a second skin, still slightly damp from an earlier water fight. In the distance, waves crashed against an invisible shore. A warm wind blew, tangling her locks, and above them the stars shone bright in the moonless sky.

A comet streaked across the sky, short and fleeting, and Mitsuru remembered a laughter-filled night long ago. Fondly, she asked, “Do you still make wishes?”

That shook him out of his stupor. He jerked himself into an upright position, sitting up properly as he stirred into alertness. Akihiko stared at the sky blankly before turning to her, surprised. “You still remember that?”

“Of course.” Mitsuru smiled. She hadn’t forgotten a single thing about those days, when S.E.E.S. was just three kids fumbling in the dark. When her small world had expanded just a little, giving her a glimpse of possibility.

A possibility that had been snuffed out all too soon.

“Me too.” Akihiko sounded oddly pleased. She couldn’t understand why. He leaned back, his hand planted firmly on the wooden deck as he stared up at the stars. “Think you’ll make a wish? Or is it still pointless?”

She could hear the laughter in his voice, his question more teasing than barbed. Mitsuru clasped her hands on her lap as she considered his question. Even now, she couldn’t understand the merit of such a superstition.

“It is pointless, but I’ll do it.” Mitsuru turned to him with a smile, her hair falling over her shoulder. The only difference between now and then was that she had long since learned the value of such intangible things. “It’s for fun, right?”

Akihiko stared at her, eyes wide, before bursting into laughter. “Seriously?”

“Is it really that unbelievable?” Mitsuru asked, frowning. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or not.

“Just a little.” He pinched his fingers, leaving a small gap between them, and smirked. “Can you blame me?”

She pursed her lips. In all honesty, she would have had the same misgivings a year ago. Just this once, she’d let it slide. “No.”

“So?” Akihiko watched her now, his eyes bright. The moonlight made his hair and eyes silver, giving him an eerie look. “What’ll you wish for?”

“I thought it wouldn’t come true if you tell?” Mitsuru retorted, raising a brow. She wasn’t entirely ignorant to the superstition.

“Well…yeah…” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing his neck. There was a bandage on his nose and Mitsuru couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen him without an injury of some kind. Part of her wondered if his nose was permanently broken. “But you didn’t actually make a wish yet, right?”

“Does that count?” Mitsuru exhaled softly, shaking her head. Not that such technicalities mattered anyways. It was a fantasy, not a fact. “I’d wish that we would defeat all the Shadows and end this.”

Akihiko chuckled. It was almost tender the way he bumped her shoulder, the way he shook his head. “That’s just like you. You know you can wish for something you want, right?”

“I want us to defeat the Shadows,” she curtly replied, scowling at his insinuation.

“That’s not what I…” Akihiko blanched, his shoulders slumping as he tried to explain himself. “I just mean…you could wish for something personal, ya know? Something that’s just for you, not for everyone else.”

“Oh.” Mitsuru looked away. “I guess so.”

“And?”

She shrugged. It wasn’t like she had any other wishes. Even now, she didn’t have an answer to that question. “I want to defeat the shadows.”

iii.

Mitsuru gazed fondly at the old brick building in front of her. Behind it, the sun had just set, its last golden rays disappearing into a velvety sky. The twilight hour gave everything a romantic feel. It was an appropriate feeling, considering this was the last time she’d see her old dorm.

“I knew we’d leave someday but…I dunno, I guess I didn’t think I’d miss it this much.” Akihiko said, his words echoing her thoughts. He stood right next to her, so close she could feel his warmth, so close she could bump shoulders with him if she were so inclined. He was tall, a whole head taller than her now, and she couldn’t say just when that had happened. They’d been together too long, his presence as familiar and comfortable as her shadow’s.

“It surprises me too.” Mitsuru kept her hands by her side and wetted her lips. “It’s a good thing. We’re not needed anymore. The danger’s finally gone.”

“Gone?” Akihiko questioned, a shadow crossing his face. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Involuntarily, Mitsuru’s gaze landed on the second floor. On Minato’s window. S.E.E.S had gathered around his room just before leaving, giving him a final farewell. Their lost leader, their fallen hero—Mitsuru wondered how long it’d take before the ache in her chest disappeared. Before she could think of him or her father and smile.

“The Shadows won’t return,” she finally said, stiffening her spine and squaring her shoulders. This wasn’t the time or place to dwell on the past. “We’ll make sure of it.”

Akihiko glanced at her and laughed. “Don’t know why I was worried.” He bumped shoulders with her gently. There was something terribly fond about his voice, about his eyes. “You’re here.”

She swallowed thickly. Composing herself, Mitsuru managed to reply, “And so are you.”

“That’s right.” He grinned, his usual cocky smirk. Akihiko shoved his hands in his pockets as he took in the building once more. “We’ll keep the world safe for them. You know, for all that happened, I actually liked living here. We had some good times. More than the bad.”

“This last year especially…” Mitsuru closed her eyes, inhaling softly. The noisy dinners, the crowded living room, the way the building was never entirely empty—she hadn’t thought she’d like it as much as she had.

And throughout it all had been Akihiko. She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. Even now, his profile was proud and confident, ready to take on the world. They might not see each other again after this. Mitsuru was off to university, to get a degree to help her with her business. Akihiko was bound for college, his future uncertain.

It bothered her more than she’d care to admit.

Akihiko looked up and grinned. “A shooting star. I’d wish for the dorm back but…” He chuckled wryly. “That wish kinda got us trapped in a time loop.”

“I’d rather not repeat today again.” Mitsuru shuddered. For a while, she had feared she’d never breathe fresh air again. “Besides, who knows what we might find in the future?”

His grey eyes locked onto hers as he agreed. “There’s always something better around the corner, right?”

This time, neither the cold nor fear caused her to shiver. Mitsuru looked away first and started walking down the sidewalk. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Sure.” Akihiko nodded before trailing after her. Within seconds, his longer strides overtook hers. Hands in his pockets, he hunched forward till he seemed like he was her height. His eyes met hers, his dangling hair too short to hide his gaze. “So. What would you wish for?”

Mitsuru still had few wishes, and the only one on her mind right now was a want. A desire. And it was something she could make tangible with her own hands. “Let’s have dinner next week.”

“Huh?” Akihiko blinked, bemused. When she didn’t add anything, he cocked his head. “Sure, but what does that have to do with anything?”

Everything. Mitsuru smiled mysteriously. “Like you said, we can’t wish for the dorm to come back. However, we can still meet.”’

iv.

Mitsuru had memorized Akihiko’s profile at night. It was impossible not to, after years of working together, after years of fighting and patching each other up. By now, she knew him better by the light of a streetlamp than she did the sun.

Even tonight was no exception—the moon was high in the sky as they leaned against her motorcycle, beers in hand. Akihiko balanced a container of takoyaki in his other hand. His skin was lightly flushed and by the tingle in her hands, she knew hers was no better. They’d have to walk off the alcohol before she could drive him home.

It was hard to care when he smiled at her, goofy and smug. “I know it’s a dive, but it hits the spot.”

Mitsuru glanced at the street stall in front of her, manned by a little old lady with the skills of a finely tuned machine. Exhausted office workers, rebellious teenagers, and more drifted to and from the stall. She hummed her agreement. “It is nice to go to places like this once in a while.”

Akihiko set his can on her motorcycle seat. She eyed it warily, ready should it spill and fall over. The last time he’d done that, the seat had been sticky for weeks. Maybe she hadn’t punished and threatened him enough, if he was risking a repeat.

“I bet you’d never go to places like this if it weren’t for me,” Akihiko boasted, baselessly as cocky and confident as ever. It was a strange thing to be proud of. Even now, she didn’t understand him entirely.

There was no point in denying it. “I suppose not. You have given me a craving for it.” Mitsuru took a swig of her beer, the quality lower than anything she owned in her apartment. Somehow, she didn’t mind when she was with him. “The reverse is true. You wouldn’t enter any of my favourite restaurants if it weren’t for me.”

Akihiko snorted as he blew on a takoyaki ball. The steam wafted in the air and dissipated. There was no bitterness in his voice as he agreed, they’d known each other too long for that. “Yeah, of course. It’s outta my pay grade.”

“Just a smidge,” she agreed lightly, tilting her head back to admire the sky. “It’s a nice night.”

“Yeah.” Akihiko bumped shoulders with her. He’d been doing that a lot lately, ever since they’d graduated in fact. It was oddly affectionate and she didn’t miss the red in his ears as he pulled back. “I didn’t think we’d do this so often.”

“Oh?” She glanced at him curiously, trying to gauge his feelings. “Would you prefer otherwise?”

“No,” Akihiko denied immediately and bluntly, filling her with ease. He stared at the takoyaki ball he was about to eat. “Just…surprised, you know. When we first met, I didn’t think we’d end up drinking beer like this.”

Another thing she couldn’t deny. Mitsuru tapped her beer can. “Things change…I used to regret dragging you into this but…well, it’s a little selfish, but I’m glad you were there.”

“Me too.” He grinned, his eyes soft. It was strange how everything about him seemed soft in the dim light. Part of Akihiko didn’t seem real, solid, and she resisted the urge to touch him. “You know you can be a little selfish, right?”

A shooting star caught her eye and Mitsuru jerked her head up. “Oh. Make a wish.”

Akihiko chuckled as he looked up. “Never thought you’d say that either.”

“Well, I did.” She focused on him. “What did you wish for?”

“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” Akihiko protested. When she gave him a look, he sighed and looked away. His ears were red again. “Just that…we keep doing this.”

Her breath hitched. Mitsuru reached down, taking his calloused hand into her own. Her skin burned at the contact. He was real, he was real and he was solid, and perhaps it was time she stopped this dance of theirs. “Me too.”

#akihiko sanada #mitsuru kirijo #shinjiro aragaki #persona 3 #akimitsu #fanfic #akihiko x mitsuru #i love these two so much #and somehow get shinjiro into most of my fics of them #dead but not forgotten

15 notes · View notes

dycefic · 11 months

Text

The Hearthstone God

[The sequel to the God of Prophecy, and the Serpent God of Protection]

---

Fire is out of fashion, in this new age.

Some of my kind have found new homes, new names, in factories or forges, in the hearts of wildfires or crystals or volcanoes.

Most of us are simply forgotten.

I was a fire god, once. A god of gathering, a god of communion, a god of song and story. But there are no hearthstones now. No fires around which families gather to eat and talk and tell stories.

I am lucky. I am tied to a great flat stone near a lake. A lake that has survived all the wild exuberance of men, when they learned to change the world around them. Once, this was a place where travellers stopped to rest. At first they travelled on their feet, or on half-wild horses. Then there were carts, and a road. Much later, cars drove down the road. The road was paved.

But some things do not change. People need clean water to drink, and the spring here is good. They need to rest, when they are weary. And even now, when they come to camp in nylon tents, to fish in the lake, or to hunt the ducks, or drive camper-vans to the flat place, their ancient instincts wake, and they turn to fire once more. They light new fires atop my stone, so flat and safe, from which no log will roll to set the woods afire.

Not so many come now. Camping is less popular these days. But some still come. Some still light their fires, and settle around my stone, and talk, or listen to music, or tell stories. So I survive, just barely, on the edges of belief.

I feel it, when things begin to change. Something is happening. Something is drawing old gods back. Not the great ones, risen beyond mortal understanding, but the oldest gods, the small gods, those who rose when humankind were still learning what they were.

Far to the west of me, a god even more ancient than I wakes, and begins to hunt again. I remember the stories that were once told of that old serpent, and tell them over to myself in the long fireless nights.

A god of prophecy, not of this land, settles south and west, and I remember tales of ancient ravens, their wisdom and their guile and their sharp, sharp eyes. There was a raven clan once, who passed this way in the days of skin garments and stone tools, but I have forgotten their name. I only remember the symbol they wore, the black bird with its spread wings, marked in charcoal or charring on wooden talismans or leather garments.

I wait, to see who will awaken next.

To my great surprise, it is me.

The people who come this time aren’t like the campers. They come at night, a ragged family group with few blood ties between them, with a single tent and few possessions carried on devices I haven’t seen before. Bicycles, they’re called, slung over with bags the way ponies used to be. They come at night, and hide when cars pass on the road.

They light a fire on my stone, with wood scavenged from the forest, and huddle around its warmth. They don’t speak much, not at first, but they say enough. They have no home, I learn. They are travellers of a kind I have not known before, who are allowed to stop nowhere, but have no goal but a place to rest. They are thin, and worn, and so tired. So very tired.

They need a hearth.

I am only a weak shadow of a god, now, who once recorded the songs and stories of a thousand generations in my ancient stone, but I am still a god of fire. Their fire burns slow, their little fuel lasting well. The food they heat over it sustains them better. The water of that spring, my spring, puts a little life back in them. This stone has lain in this place since great monsters walked this world, since before humans spoke words to one another, and I came into being with the first fire that burned on it. I am old, old, and though weak, I am not powerless.

They stay.

I cannot speak to them. I am old, and weak, and they do not believe. But slowly, with the power of the fires they build every night, with the tiny offerings of scraps of food spilled into the flames, with their growing confidence in the safety of this place, I am able to do more. I give them dreams and they find the cave not far away, where they can hide. They dream of fish, and begin to try to catch some. A woman remembers that some of the local plants are safe to eat, when I slowly wake a long-forgotten memory of a camping trip from her childhood.

And then a child, a strange, quiet child who rarely speaks, a child without mother or father, in the care of an older brother who is exhausted to the very edge of death but cannot give up while she needs him… that child begins to hear.

She sits on my stone, sometimes for hours, not moving or speaking. It worries the others, but at least she is quiet, at least she is no trouble, and they are beginning to associate their hearth with safety. So they let her sit.

She is *listening*. She is listening to the sound of the water, to the sounds of the forest, to the wind blowing. And because she is listening, where no-one else has listened for so long, I sing to her. I sing to her the songs of thousands of years. From the wordless music of the earliest people, who sang what was in their hearts without words, to the songs I have learned from the fishermen with their radios and bluetooth speakers.

I do not know if she hears me, for some time. But then, one night, while they sit around their fire and eat food the oldest have almost certainly stolen, she sings one of my songs. “In a cavern… on a canyon… excavating for a mine…” she sings in a small voice. The others are startled, confused, for she has not spoken aloud since some bad thing they do not name happened, but one of the older ones knows the song and sings with her.

I have always liked ‘Clementine’. It’s been popular with campers for a long time.

The next day, while she sits on my stone, she sings along to one of the wordless songs the Raven People whose name I no longer remember once sang. It is a lullaby, a soft croon to soothe an infant, passed from mother to mother, and she seems to take pleasure in it.

She can hear me. She can even answer me, as the voice driven away by pain and fear begins to return. And so I grow stronger still. Strong enough to make the raven sign on the stone, one day, in the ashes of the fire of the night before.

She takes a half burned stick, and draws the sign on the stone. Pleased, I show her another sign, a leaping fish. She draws that too.

Soon, I need not shift the ashes. I can show her the pictures in her mind, and she draws them. She draws the wheel of a cart, and into her heart I whisper the stories the travellers in covered wagons once told over my stone. She draws a fish, and I make her laugh silently with the jests of fishermen who boast of fish who escaped them. She draws a horse, and I tell her about the wild horses who once drank at this lake, about the men and women who captured and tamed them and rode them through the forest when it was far greater than it is now. She draws a long-toothed cat, and I show her the great cat that once slept on my stone, and denned in the cave where her new found family sleep.

One night, when all the others are asleep and my fire has burned down to coals, she creeps back to the stone and looks into the coals. “Who are you?” she asks. “Are you real?”

She is afraid that the voice in her mind is the voice of madness, a lie created by a mind that does not work like other minds, that has endured great hardship. I do not want this child to be afraid. To instill fear runs counter to my very nature, save in whoever might threaten those my hearth protects.

I am a god of the hearth. I am a god of food, and communication, and peace, and safety. I am all the things that fire used to mean, before humans learned again to fear the thing they had tamed. I do not often take a form, for fire is my form, but for her I must try.

There was a wise woman once, who knew me, whose clan visited this lake several times every year. I watched her grow up, and grow old. I watched her learn of the god of the fire stone, and I watched her teach others. She slept beside me as a child, and as a woman. She sang her children to sleep beside me, and her grandchildren, and dozed beside me as an old, old woman. To her, I was represented by a sign of a flame in an oval, a fire and a stone.

I build a likeness of her out of the light of the coals and the shadows of smoke, a child with straight dark hair and a simple tunic, and in lines of light I draw the sign of the fire and the stone on the outlined chest. “I am the fire,” I tell her, “and the stone. I am all the fires that have ever burned here, all the stories told, all the songs sung, all the meals eaten. I am the traveler’s hearth, and the rest for the weary, and this is my place.”

“Piedra de fuego,” she says, tracing the symbol with her finger in the air. “The fire stone.”

“Yes. I am the god of this place.”

She frowns at this. “My brother says that God is in the sky.”

“Many gods are in the sky.” I cannot continue to hold the form of the girl, but the coals shift to make my sign. “I am not. I am here. I have always been here, since the first people built a fire on my stone, and warmed themselves.”

She nods slowly. “You are… a small god,” she says thoughtfully. “A place god. Like in movies.”

“Yes.” I’ve heard of movies, which are a new way of telling old, old stories. “Old places, important places, often have gods. And gods who are forgotten return to their old places and wait, until someone believes again.”

“Will you protect us?” she asks. “When the police come, to tell us to move on?”

“I am not strong,” I tell her sadly. “I cannot make men go away from here, if they are dangerous, or even call game here for you as I once did. But what I can do, I will do.”

She sits watching the coals for a long time, thinking. “Can we make you stronger?”

I think too, and she waits patiently. “You have already made me stronger. You listened. You believed. If you can convince the others to believe, that will make me stronger still.”

She sighed. “They don’t believe in anything, anymore. Not good things.”

It is a sad thing, that she knows that. They’ve been trying to hide it from her. “Then,” I tell her, “that means there is a place in their hearts that is ready for me. I am not hope. I am not a happy ending. I am not a god in the sky. I am a stone, and a fire, and a song. I am *real*. They can believe in what is real.”

The next night, she asks for a story, and one of the adults tells her an old fairy-tale from a country far away.

The next night, again, she asks for a story, and another adult tells a funny story about his childhood.

On the third night, she asks her brother to tell her a story. He tries, but he is so tired - not physically, but emotionally - that he runs out of words. So she lays her hand on his arm and offers to tell him a story, instead.

And she tells them all a story about a stone near a lake, flat and strong, that people wearing uncured skins and carrying flint weapons built a fire on. She tells of centuries passing, of people coming to the lake on their feet, on horses, in carts and wagons, in cars and motor-homes. Of thousands of years of fires, of people gathered around them, of the great continuity of humanity, and the Piedra De Fuego that has lain in this place since time began, listening to the stories and the songs and the voices of people long gone. Somewhere in the stone, she says, laying her hand on it, all those stories are remembered. All those songs are still sung. And it will remember us too.

I don’t know if it will work. But I was right. People need to believe in something. They need something to hold onto, when times are hard, when the ties of community and family are broken and they feel alone. And a stone thousands of years old, and a fire endlessly renewed on that stone, always new… that is real. They touch me, and think of those who came before, of thousands of years of history meeting them in this place, and they feel less alone.

It’s not much, not yet. But it is something. My nature, my existence, as explained to them by my small, strange priestess, is a slender lifeline flung to those who are adrift, a tiny certainty in a world they do not trust. And the more they believe in that lifeline, that certainty, then the more they believe in me. I *am* growing stronger.

When the police come, I will not be able to make them leave… but I think I am strong enough now to hide my people from unkind eyes. And if I can do that, then their faith will grow.

Tonight, three more people come. A mother and two children, weary and beaten down with hardship. My people welcome them, give them fish and greens grown by the lake, speak kindly to them. And when they have eaten, my little priestess sits between the two children and tells them a story of a stone, and a fire, and thousands of years of stories and songs, and she sings a wordless lullaby six thousand years forgotten, but living again in a child who draws the sign of the Raven in the dirt while she sings, and the sign of the fire on the stone.

And I grow a little stronger.

#short fiction #original story #i aten't dead #the old gods #small gods #household gods #forgotten gods who do not forget

3K notes · View notes