Pyralis Crystarla's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Pyralis stood under the great tree at midday. The Suns climbed high, and every blossom caught them at once. The whole tree flared like a second sun. Round orbs of light hung on each branch, bright as coals. She could see the glow from far off. Anyone crossing the open ground would spot it in a heartbeat. The sanctuary she built now gave away its own hiding place. "It shines too hot," she said. "I can shadow the ground. I cannot dim the sky." Erosyne drifted up beside her. Weeks of rest had not filled the hollow in their chest. The pink smoke there came thin and slow. "I counted," they said. "Thirty-one days since I last gave love. My hands are steady today. But I have nothing left to spend on this. If I pour again, I collapse. Maybe I do not wake." "I am not asking you to pour," Pyralis said. "I am asking what dims light without draining anything." A warm weight padded into the clearing. Solaris Brightpaw, the polar bear whose fur stored sunlight, lifted his snout toward the tree. He had first brought Erosyne and Pyralis together, and he still came to check the grove. "You keep solving with love," he said. "Light does not only come from love." He shook his coat. Threads of gold sun-glow lifted off his fur and drifted upward. "My people hold warmth in their bodies. We do not spend it. We share it and stay whole." Then a smaller figure stepped from the tree line, a tangle of black hair and painted handprints on her coat. Mama. Her white eyes stopped Pyralis cold, yet warmth followed the fright at once. In her cupped hands she carried glowing moss, soft green light cradled in curling fronds. "Found these children of the dark," Mama said quietly. "They each keep a little light inside. They give it off without losing it. Like the bear." Pyralis understood. She did not need to kill the tree's glow. She needed to teach the glow to hide itself. "We wrap the orbs," she said. "Not to smother them. To hold their light in until dusk." Solaris brushed sun-glow into the moss. Mama pressed clumps of it over each shining orb, high on every branch. Erosyne did not pour love. They only guided, naming which blossoms flared hottest. The moss drank the brightness and held it. It did not go out. It simply kept the light folded inside, the way the bear kept his warmth and the moss kept the moon's. By the time the Suns lowered, the tree stood green and plain. No beam reached across the open ground. At true dusk the moss would let a soft glow seep out, enough for faeries to find their way home, too faint for strangers far off. Pyralis let out a long breath. The sanctuary no longer betrayed itself. But hidden now, it still stood empty. She had bought secrecy. She had not yet brought a single faerie through its door.