“... My, you’ve become quite the dancer,” commented Xolani— as a temporary noble, the art of dance was a staple practice that was taught as a part of basic etiquette— so, they were able to expertly match the swift and knowledgeable glide of his feet. “In the past, I recall that you had a particularly bad habit of stepping on your instructors’ toes...”  

“I’ve practiced,” without elaboration, he guided his partner into a twirl in harmony with the triumphant crescendo, before dropping Xolani downward, ropes of long hair just barely kissing the floorboard. With a trusty hand on the small of their back, he pulled them onto their feet, drifting back into the waltz with ease, but Xolani’s head remained bowed, and a mirthless laugh dropped from their lips. 

“... A lot about you has changed, it seems. It makes me a bit melancholic… I’m just as listless as I’ve always been, so it feels as if I’m getting left behind...” 

“I... I haven’t really changed,” he argued, clenching harder on their hand. Xolani lifted their head curiously. “... I’ve been... working to improve myself... in order to atone for my mistakes... but even then, I... I don’t think that I’ve... I’ve made any sort of difference. I’m still...”  

Still wondering if he even has a right to be here.

“... This... is about His Highness, right? Are you... still blaming yourself for what happened on that day?”  

“I...”  

As their movements came to a pause, the jollification went on uninterrupted, dresses billowing around them and percussions moaning; however, at the same time, it was as if a sheet of frost had settled over the room, freezing all but he and his friend, who drew their hand away from his grasp to cup his face instead. It was an almost motherlike gesture, one that caused his gut to seize, spurring emotions long-ignored. 

“... Listen to me, Jevon. Nobody blames you for what happened back then... quite the contrary, I must add. The prince always talked about how you were his little miracle. You came to us in a shooting star and brightened our lives... but when he... when His Highness lost...” Xolani trailed off briefly as if their throat had tightened up around that taboo of a name, for Jevon knew. For Jevon knew of the mutilation and the scarlet-painted walls and the dagger protruding from her weak chest—

With a composing breath, Xolani purposefully circumnavigated the— bloodied elephant in the room and rephrased their former statement in accordance.  “... When all of that happened, the prince lost himself to his hatred. I can’t exactly blame him, of course... but as a result, we were all thrown aside so he could pursue his mindless revenge. It wasn’t just you who failed to stop him, Jevon... I am just as culpable, if not more. I’ve been watching over him ever since he was just a boy… and yet, when he needed my protection the most, I simply... I stood out of the way. I let him go. And I still regret it to this day, Jevon. I do.”  

“Xolani...”  

“We haven’t been in contact with him nor his platoon in over a month, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Whether he’s alive or dead… I honestly can’t say for sure,” there was an ineffable depth to their countenance— like the pristine surface of a lake picturesquely enshrouding the ruinous underbelly of a dormant eruption. There was debatably no other person that he felt closer to than Xolani— and yet simultaneously, he has never quite come to know their undiluted truth. “It’s funny,” a miserable chuckle. “How it all seems to loop back around to this… the fear of the unknown… meticulously arranged so that we’re forever chasing our own tails… as if dancing along to a playwright’s rotten whims.” 

“Xolani…” 

“It gets lonely up here on this stage… alone,” they tucked their face in the hook of his throat and exhaled deeply— as if any functional airway had been closed off until now. “... I wish I could have you experience just a tiny bit of my suffering… just for a moment.” 

Just then, he felt a twinge of something that was vaguely like recognition. He spotted something strange in the corner of his vision. It was translucent, almost ghostlike— dressed in gossamer negligee, trailing behind like a chasing cloud as it waded through the crowd. Xolani seemed to have called for him— but it was canceled out by the fervid roaring in his eardrums. This sensation was undoubtedly—

Jevon took off, dashing after the spirit. His friend refrained from giving chase astonishingly— still as water as they expressionlessly watched his fleeing form breakneck across the dancefloor. One of the guests yelped in surprise when he burst onto the adjourning veranda that was upraised over a vast outlook of the residential gardens— a vibrant network of varicolored flowers, man-made waterfalls, and decorative follies of marble.

 He identified the elegant specter in the distance, waiting under a flowered tree, a pair of radiant eyes flicking up to meet his own— as if goading. Needless to say, he took the bait— stumbling down a short flight of stairs and speeding onto the mossy path, embarking into the tangle.  

He paced across a small bridge, built over a winding stream, and through a series of overgrown pergolas. A pair of grazing deer scampered away upon his approach, and a large toad that was resting on a dormant lily pad disappeared into the water. No matter how fast he ran, the apparition managed to outpace him. At times it would flicker out of existence, only to reappear a few yards ahead, pausing briefly, as if offering him a moment to catch up, before continuing onward— a shimmery tail of stars seeming to follow it in its wake.  

When they reached the heart of the garden, Jevon found a gazebo suspended in an enormous pond, encompassed by swathes of hydrangeas. As he bent over to recapture his breath, Jevon took a moment to refamiliarize himself with his surroundings. He has visited this specific place before, alongside a more youthful prince— sharing tales of valor and fire-spewing dragons while munching on delicious treats that were swiped from the kitchen. The untouched serenity had been an inexpressible comfort to him, at the time— back when he was a timid child yet, clinging to the back of his aforementioned friend like a bastion. 

Cornered, the spirit lingered on the arch of the bridge, a phantasmal hand settled on the fencing. She was a woman with a lofty and strong stature, dressed in a white gown-like garment with short sleeves that possessed a billowing sort of effect, befurbelowed with golden filigree. Her hair of raven springy curls that almost melded into the darkness of the night. Her complexion was an umber shade and adorned in long-held, faded lacerations wherever loose-limbed fabric could not conceal— and she walked barefooted. 

Shimmering, though— he spotted an ornament, swaying like a pendulum along her rightmost lobe— a begemmed earring that featured a stunning intermixture of gold and violet. 

However, the feature that initially seized his attention were her eyes: they were practically glowing, a bright, unearthly shade of gold, enshrouded by the bluish moonglow. And for an instant, he thought of— them— that reproachful past life— waves of cosmic-white hair and an empty, broken stare— flashes of gold ichor tainting his guilty palms. 

 His tongue felt too large for his throat. When opened his mouth, at first— he struggled to find his voice. After multiple failed attempts to reteach himself the local vernacular, Jevon practically had to push his throbbing heart out and past his reluctant lips— his tenor strained and dubious.  “Who... Who are you?” 

“... You have sensed it, have you not?” The being stated ominously in lieu of a proper response, releasing the parapet and beginning to approach him. He noticed that the ancient bridge creaked as it accommodated her leisurely stride despite her almost spectral-like appearance— but even then he could not identify flesh from transparency— corporeal and tangible or already long-gone. “... This disturbance in the cosmos, a lapse in the annals of fate... a destructive anomaly...”  

She came to a stop before him. It was almost surreal how she nearly matched him in height— there were very few out there whom he had encountered that had achieved that feat. But even with those very few inches he bolstered between them, Jevon wanted to shrink into himself notwithstanding— a trembling rabbit before the ferocious maw of a lion as she openly lambasted him, her austere tone underscored by a ghostly aura. “No, that’s not exactly right: you have known about these abnormalities for some time, haven’t you? And yet you’ve been cowering with your tail between your legs, even though the essence of the Great Mediator still slumbers within you.”  

“Tell... Tell me who you are,” though, in truth, Jevon already had his answer: he merely wanted to confirm if this was merely another hallucination— a figment of his disavowed past.

“... Well, I suppose it would be the polite thing to do. Very well, then… I am the current incarnation of Antares: Patron God of Igerene and Principality of War—

… And you... you are the descendant of the Great Mediator— the nucleus of the cosmos… the Prince of the Stars… though you have since descended from your former heights…

… sequestering yourself behind a piteous veneer of mundanity.”