“It’s… the Source…” I breathed.
Kieran nodded, taking it all in beside me.
“Some of the Elders depicted it as this massive cluster of silver crystals, others shaped it more as an entity, a divine feminine form, if you will,” he explained quietly.
In this case, the artist had chosen both.
An ethereal looking female figure with eyes of pure silver sat atop a veritable mountain of what appeared to be crystalline aether—faceted with glimmering iridescence. A quicksilver liquid spilled from her cupped hands, the streams of pure aether parting and weaving throughout the rest of the mural with such painstaking intricacy. As if they were the very threads of fate.
It was the most stunning work of art I had ever seen in my life.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Kieran said, still speaking softly even though we were the only ones in the room. There was something odd in the tone of his voice, though. Something unexpected.
It was admiration, I realized as I nodded in agreement. It wasreverence.
Despite living in an era of relative peace, there was no denying that Kieran was a soldier. He carried himself with that lethal grace, and clearly bore scars to prove what he’d survived over the years.
But beneath the surface… I could’ve sworn that I saw glimmers of an artist. I caught glimpses of a man who valued beauty, and creation. Whether that wasbecauseof the bloodshed he’d witnessed over the years, or in spite of it—I wasn’t sure yet. But it fascinated me all the same.
Hefascinated me.
“Do you know that the Aetherborne don’t believe in reincarnation?” Kieran inquired.
“They don’t?”
That was news to me. It was the most widely-accepted theory among humans—that our spirits would return to the Source of All Life alongside our aether, allowing us to be born anew in the next cycle of rebirth. I was surprised to hear that the gods disagreed. Those cyclical concepts of growth and decay—that inherent need for balance preserved—it was all practically embedded in the laws of arcane science.
“They do not,” Kieran confirmed. “At least, that’s what the history texts claim. They say it’s how the concept of the Fates was born.”
As I turned to look at him, his eyes continued to roam across the mural. There was a certain sort of… nostalgia in that glacial gaze of his now, as if Kieran was recollecting a familiar old story.
“Tell me more?” I requested, my voice coming out a bit breathier than I’d intended, exposing the fact that I was hangingon every word. The corners of his mouth curled upward, though he kept his eyes affixed to the painting.
“It’s uncertain whether or not this applies to humankind, but the Elders at least seem to believe that they themselves do not reincarnate. The theory of the Fates predates that of rebirth,” he explained. “Because back before the Cataclysm, it was quite rare for an Aetherborne to die.”
I nodded, my eyes drifting back to the whorling patterns and brush strokes.
“So rare, in fact, that they would dedicate certain patterns in the stars to the fallen to honor their names—the constellations. But it went beyond symbolism for those ancient Aetherborne, I think. They believed that as beings of pure aether, while their bodies were immediately absorbed by the Source, that their souls would remain among the stars above.”
I felt a sharp, familiar tingle at the tip of my nose, the one that always meant I had tears welling up in my eyes. I tried to blink them back, embarrassed.
“And so their fallen brethren would find new purpose,” Kieran continued. “As celestial beings, ascending beyond the heavens. It’s said that from there, they could reach the Source herself, weaving her threads of Fate to guide the paths of the living by her will. Watching over Aemos for an eternity.”
I thought of the Cataclysm, the Awakening, and the Aetherborne’s sacrifices. How many souls they must believe still watch over us all, thanks to that fateful day alone. Again, I had to blink back tears, feeling oddly emotional about it all.
“That’s somehow both beautiful and terrifying,” I admitted after a few moments of shared silence. “The notion of… eternal protectors. The thought that the Fates might actually be real.”
At some point, I realized, Kieran had taken his eyes off the mural. He’d been watching me, instead. But there was nojudgment to be found on his face as I brushed the stray tear back with my knuckles—just a soft smile. A gentle understanding.
“Yeah,” Kieran said after a slow exhale. “Yeah, it really is.”
We spent the remainder of the afternoon on a lighter note, meandering through the quiet halls as Kieran guided me towards exhibits of interest. It was a massive building, though—by the time the sun began to set, I think I’d only managed to see a quarter of what they had on display.
So much history, so much knowledge, so many artifacts and slices of the past, preserved. It was astounding.
As we left the museum, though, an uncomfortable anxiousness started gnawing at the back of my mind.
Kieran had called this little excursion an “adventure,” and it had been a good one. Truthfully, the entire day had been lovely—but did he consider our littleadventureto be a date? Because it could easily have been interpreted that way, and even though I was painfully attracted to the man… I also really didn’t want to lead him on. It wasn’t fair. I had to say something.