When Cylus came to its halfway point, there was a moment the people of the Eternal Empire grew spiteful of the dark. They could not control the moon, but they could control themselves, and their wish for sunlight took form in bonfires and hearths stoked to burn as hot as possible.
The Imperial Medical Headquarters, in its way, was a constellation of stars rooted to the ground. Each window flickered, and its doors were thrown open in welcome. A hundred little lights twinkled in the night, both in comfort and defiance of the cruel season. Most of those who attended the Empress’ Feast already lived inside, so it was often a symbolic gesture, but there were those in the dark who could take shelter in this warmth.
Jinyel preferred food to the dark.
Celebrations were still a foreign idea to him, like feather beds and flying mounts. Tables piled high with food belonged to other people, while game meat and forage belonged to him. Most of the year, Jinyel found comfort in a life lived alone, but Cylus was a time of hunger. Of starvation, if he wasn’t careful. And so he slipped from the dark toward those yawning doors, to the roar of a festival and the hope that Cylus would be less cruel afterward.
The scent hit him first, coursing out of the castle in rivers of steam. A great deal of meat, from the smell of it, punctuated with the vinegar of pickled vegetables and fruits. So long into the cold season, plants had to be preserved to be eaten.
Jinyel had never used the front door before, and so kept to the side as he entered. He was used to side doors, unremarkable doors, and to generally being ignored when he conducted business. Time would tell if tonight could be the same; the reception hall was filled with tables and people, all burdened with some sort of food. Some simply ate, while others empty jars and sacks to fill. Jinyel had an empty sack of his own, but hesitated to do the same. He knew, logically, that he was free to take what he needed. He’d heard as much. He was seeing as much with his own eyes. But still he tensed at the thought, as if the guards might fall upon him specifically if he dared take what wasn’t his. Everytime he mustered the courage, his hands curled into fists. His heart rate always spiked as if he’d have to defend himself.
He wanted this. He needed this. He was allowed this. But every time he got close, there was that old, panicked whisper in the back of his mind: This doesn’t belong to you.
.
The Imperial Medical Headquarters, in its way, was a constellation of stars rooted to the ground. Each window flickered, and its doors were thrown open in welcome. A hundred little lights twinkled in the night, both in comfort and defiance of the cruel season. Most of those who attended the Empress’ Feast already lived inside, so it was often a symbolic gesture, but there were those in the dark who could take shelter in this warmth.
Jinyel preferred food to the dark.
Celebrations were still a foreign idea to him, like feather beds and flying mounts. Tables piled high with food belonged to other people, while game meat and forage belonged to him. Most of the year, Jinyel found comfort in a life lived alone, but Cylus was a time of hunger. Of starvation, if he wasn’t careful. And so he slipped from the dark toward those yawning doors, to the roar of a festival and the hope that Cylus would be less cruel afterward.
The scent hit him first, coursing out of the castle in rivers of steam. A great deal of meat, from the smell of it, punctuated with the vinegar of pickled vegetables and fruits. So long into the cold season, plants had to be preserved to be eaten.
Jinyel had never used the front door before, and so kept to the side as he entered. He was used to side doors, unremarkable doors, and to generally being ignored when he conducted business. Time would tell if tonight could be the same; the reception hall was filled with tables and people, all burdened with some sort of food. Some simply ate, while others empty jars and sacks to fill. Jinyel had an empty sack of his own, but hesitated to do the same. He knew, logically, that he was free to take what he needed. He’d heard as much. He was seeing as much with his own eyes. But still he tensed at the thought, as if the guards might fall upon him specifically if he dared take what wasn’t his. Everytime he mustered the courage, his hands curled into fists. His heart rate always spiked as if he’d have to defend himself.
He wanted this. He needed this. He was allowed this. But every time he got close, there was that old, panicked whisper in the back of his mind: This doesn’t belong to you.
.
