The next morning, Milo finally looked around the inn he barely remembered walking into the night before. The bed was uncomfortable enough to make him wake up with a splitting headache, and the room wasn’t much larger than the bedframe itself. There were no windows, light only seeped through the cracks in the wooden walls. 

So this is what it was like in the outer city. Corym’s family had been lucky with their stone house.

Luck is an odd word to use, yet it's one mortals cling to so easily.

“... I’m here, Ashtai, now what?” 

Check your pockets.

Milo sighed and rubbed his eyes. He checked his pockets and bag to find the usual - a set of keys, a few dried flowers, extra clothes, his notebook, a few pens, Corym’s notes… and only a few copper pieces. 

He was completely broke.

Milo had never worried about money. He always could depend on his family name and resources. Yet, being on the run, using the Anani name couldn’t be a good idea. In Outer Holn, people were too desperate for coin, certainly desperate enough to turn him in to the Gaurds searching for him.  

Had… had he used his own name to book the room?

Milo shook his head. He needed to find a job, in the lower city, only truly knowing about mathematics.

Milo stood up and looked into a small, stained mirror on the wall. He did what he could to make himself presentable - hair pulled back, glasses cleaned and face washed, he looked just like he always had, albeit exhausted. Might as well change a bit. He untied his hair and added a little braid that crawled from his temple to where he would tie his hair back again. 

“You’re getting braids today, honey, you don’t have a choice.”

Milo blinked the too-familiar voice away from his mind and considered himself - the change was welcome, but something else could be different. He remembered a dark blue shirt in his bag - maybe he could change out of the university’s mandatory white one. Finally, he changed out some earrings for others he had in his bag.

They were small changes, but he felt different. Maybe a bit more confident? He wasn’t sure. 

“I told you, blue suits you.”



Milo chuckled in defeat. Corym’s voice still stuck in his mind at times, especially after nostalgic dreams. He didn’t want it to leave, not exactly. Just for it to be there only when it was welcome. When he reached to the memory of it himself. 

He didn’t know how to enjoy the memory of him yet. No matter how much he tried to, it still hurt.

Milo sighed and packed his things, leaving the inn. 

“Did you sleep well, Mr. Bloom?” the innkeeper asked. 

Milo winced. Well sh*t. 

“Wonderfully, thank you.” 

“Will you be staying with us again tonight?”


“I think so? I’m not certain yet.” 

“We’ll keep your room marked as being rented, then.” 

“Thank you.” 

Milo lowered his head and kept walking. Eventually he found a market board on what passed as a city square, clustered around a deep well. It was plastered with colorful, simple job offerings. One child was missing, another needed help with homework, and many, many people were offering their savings for medicine. 

He wasn’t a healer, he couldn’t help them. Yet he picked up the few notices claiming needing help with assignments, and made his way to the first house in his short list, hoping for nothing more than a distraction and a few copper pieces to add to his coin purse. 

At the end of the day, he counted his coins - at that rate, a single gold piece would take a month to save. Milo exhaled deeply and decided then - he’d go back home for a moment on the next day to stock up. And, it may have been childish, but he wanted to see his mother. 

--------------

Milo knew he couldn't stay at home too long, but he needed to get something done.

He watched as his mother tattooed three little dots on both of his arms, accompanying the rest of his family markings.

"Does it hurt?"

"No, no I barely feel it."

She nodded, before moving on to his back. "The same flower as I drew for Corym, yes?"

"Please."

He barely felt the familiar scrape of her needle as she drew the morningstar lily on his back, dancing amongst her interpretation of wind.

After casting a healing spell on her work, Eliza took her son's hand. "I know you can't stay long... but I have one question. Why these markings? They match Coryms, but... I mean... Why now?"

Wordlessly, Milo took the letter that had announced Coryms death from his pocket, handing it to his mother before pulling his shirt back on. She barely read the first sentence before standing to join him, holding her son close.

"Oh Milo..."

He found himself crying in her arms, as a child, unable to hold back the emotions crushing him.

“It hurts…” 

“Darling... guiding winds, what happened?! Does this have to do with the battle that happened at the border last week?” 

Milo nodded. "We were all meant to go, but I- I couldn't. Something was stopping me, something-" He groaned in frustration as he felt Ashtai preventing him from talking about it. "I asked him to stay with me, but he couldn't, and now he's- just - everything hurts. I can't sleep, because every time I do I wake up and check if he's next to me and he's just not and it just-I just-."

"You truly love him..."

"I do. I really, really do and now he's- he’s not coming back..." his voice broke.

"I know, sweetie, I know..." She whispered over and over again, doing what she could to comfort him, rubbing his back, holding him close. "Are you sure you can't stay tonight? I want to make sure you're ok."

Milo shook his head. "The guard want me for desertion, and I don't want to explain what happened to the rest of the family. They're going to ask too many questions and only care about what he was and-"

"Look at me Milo. You know the guard cannot come in this house without permission. You are safe here, at least for tonight. And if the family asks, don't lie. Don't hide it. Love is too precious to be ashamed of, and if they find issue with it, they'll answer to me. Most people are out of town anyway, it’ll be us, Jo and maybe Louis."

Milo smiled at his mother and wiped his tears away. "I can stay tonight then."

"Good. Then I want to hear about all your favorite things about Corym."

"Mother-"

"You know the tradition, Milo. And you know it always helps the ones involved feel better," She pushed a strand of hair away from his face. "I still do so for your sister."

"Yeah, me too..."

"What made you realize you love him?"

Milo sat up, and looked down at the newest tattoos on his arms. He stroked them slowly, deliberately. "There was so much... I guess I always admired his patience with me. I could wake up screaming from a nightmare and he'd find little ways to calm me down. And just - you know, all the little things. How he would sing when he was performing mindless tasks, his passion for music and dance that he would drag me into, stars, even the way he knew exactly what warm drink I wanted for what mood. I love how passionate he is about his beliefs and morals, how he says my name like it's a song, and how much he tries to be someone our family would be proud of." Milo found himself smiling despite the tears on his cheeks. His mother was holding his hands, healing recent nail marks in his palms.

"He would do that too, you know? He was convinced that he was a sort of good luck charm that prevented nightmares, as they were always stronger when he was away. And when the nightmares would come anyway, he'd cast a little light spell that floated above me, to keep me safe from darkness. He's just... I know I shouldn't say it but I'm convinced he is perfect, for me at least."

"Is there anything you still wish you could do?"

Milo nodded, leaning back into his mother's embrace. "I wish I confessed my love sooner, honestly. I wish I would have asked for his hand - maybe it would have made him safer, to be affiliated to us? I don't know. And I wish... Um..."

"You don't need to say it, it's okay."

"It's the most important thing though. I just.. I wish I could have said-" he exhaled shakily. "Said... goodbye. Not like we did the morning before the battle, no. Then, I had hope he'd be back. I didn't even say the word... No, I wish I could have said it, in such a way that I may one day hope to get closure. He just... disappeared. One day he was here and the next he wasn't. The funeral will be soon and there'll be nothing of his there. I have no way to say goodbye, one last time. I wish I was there with him, when he- when it happened, so he wasn't alone. And.. and now he's just... he-... "

Eliza exhaled and kissed her sons forehead, wiping his tears away with her thumbs.

"He wasn't alone, my dearest, he had your spirit, and that of everyone he loved, and he likely let them all hold him tight at the last moment. He was probably relieved nobody saw it happen. And he is not gone."

"What?"

"Do you remember how gods are made? It's people who believe in them, their belief creates them. As long as there is even one person who worships them, they remain a god. It is the same for Corym and Norah. As long as we remember them, a part of them stays alive. A part of us will always love them, and we just need to realize that we can keep them alive better if we can say their names with a smile, for them. Don't you think they'd prefer that?"

Milo nodded slowly. "Yes. They both would, yes."

"Then take your time to feel what you need to feel, my little breeze, feel it all, but remember, you aren't alone, and their spirits only want you to be happy. Corym would want to see you smile at his name, Milo, wouldn't you?” 

“... I just miss them… I miss him so much...” 

“I know. That never really goes away, does it? We just learn to live with the love they gave us while they were around.” 

That night, Milo wrapped himself in his familiar blanket, wearing it as a cloak as he sat on his cushioned window sill, looking out at the bright stars over the city. He looked up to the constellation of the Arima, now mirrored on his arms. Corym had told him that he believed the stars were spirits of their ancestors that looked down on them. 

He found himself looking for a new star, in case one appeared in the sky the moment Corym died...

“Good night,” Milo whispered as he stared up at the stars, wondering they looked back at him just as fondly.