[Welcome to the World of Solaria]
Warning: HP 5/25 | Sta 3/25 | Mana 4/50
Life Status: Critical
Quest: Survive the Night
You've learned skills: Sense, and Mend
Aurelian reached for the words glowing in the dark. Hello? The system did not reply, though he sensed it listening, a presence waiting in the corners of his thoughts.
The memory of the fox returned in a rush, sharp as teeth. He jerked upright, lungs dragging ragged air, eyes darting. Lantern glass scattered jeweled light across the chamber, painting arcs of gold and violet over walls grown from the living heart of a tree. Shelves curved into the wood like ribs, heavy with books. A low fire burned on the far wall, its light weaving shadows into the grain. Beyond the glass window, storm winds tore at the grove.
Eden sat close, her posture both watchful and calm. Her kaftan shimmered with dawn colors that shifted as she moved. "Be still. Your birth pressed hard against you."
Something stirred against his chest. He lowered his gaze. Fayte, feathers as radiant as hammered gold, fur glinting, lifted his head and stared with storm-colored eyes that seemed far too knowing for a newborn. Eden steadied his trembling hand with her own. She placed a cup in his palm, amber light swirling in the water. "Drink."
She delivered the command carefully, but clearly. He obeyed. Salt bit his tongue, bitterness tightened his jaw, then warmth burst open in his chest. The heat traveled with his pulse, expanding outward until his body no longer felt trapped in its own weakness.
[Effect] Rapid Regeneration — 6h
"Tears of the Sun," Eden said. "It mends what the struggle stole. Breathe slowly."
His chest rose in a full breath for the first time since waking. He curled his fingers. Muscles, weak moments before, now answered his will. Fayte cried against his chest, the note piercing like iron struck on stone.
Aurelian's arms moved before thought. He drew the ardentis against him, protective, and raw. Fayte pressed close, beak knocking against his collarbone, wings stretching wide enough to brush his shoulders before tucking in again. The weight of him forced Aurelian to shift his form, yet he tightened his hold and felt the invisible tether pulse with each beat of his heart.
Eden laid a hand on Aurelian's chest, firm yet gentle. "Enough, Starbriar. Your strength needs time to settle. I will tend you and him."
Fayte squawked, indignant. Eden smiled as if amused by his defiance. She prepared a bottle with practiced ease, warming milk, adding a single tear of amber. When she offered it, Fayte latched on with such force that Aurelian's arms strained. His talons flexed, pricking Aurelian's chest in rhythm with his drinking.
"He drinks like he means to wrestle the world," Aurelian said, voice shaking between weariness and wonder.
"Large, yes, but still new to breath," Eden replied. Her hands moved with confidence, guiding Aurelian to adjust his grip. "He also lived within your seed until tonight. Now he claims the world alongside you."
He frowned, meaning slipping past him, but his body sagged against the cot. Exhaustion pulled harder than curiosity. Rain filled the silence, steady and unrelenting.
Eden stood and moved to the kitchen. She returned with a clay bowl, placed it in his hands, steam curling from the rich broth. Thick bread, buttered golden, lay against the rim. While he ate, Eden gathered Fayte into her arms. With the dawn-colored kaftan flowing around them, Fayte seemed content, as if she had always been their mother.
Aurelian lifted a spoonful, savoring the taste. The stew carried the deep strength of meat, the sharpness of herbs, and the grounding warmth of roots. Hunger sharpened his senses. He tore bread and dipped it, soaking every drop. Butter melted across his knuckles. He licked it away and laughed at himself for the hunger that owned him. Eden saw the laugh and answered with a smile that reached her eyes. She shifted Fayte so the ardentis could watch him eat, because Fayte clearly wanted that privilege.
Fayte tracked every spoonful as if judging technique. He loosed a sharp note that would have been scolding if it had come from a person. Aurelian broke the bread again and offered a piece. Fayte nipped it neatly and swallowed like a thief. He cleaned the bowl to the bottom. Bread caught the last brown sheen and left the clay dry. Hunger eased, and something gentler took its place. He felt the tired peace that follows a good meal. He felt the way the body forgives the day when warmth and salt and fat sit right.
Eden refilled his cup with water that smelled faintly of mint. She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and watched him finish as if the act of eating itself told her a story she needed to hear. He tried to speak and found instead that he wanted to listen. The fire settled to a quieter glow. Rain softened against the glass.
Eden shifted closer, her voice turning into a story. "Would you like to hear a tale? Such nights are best given a tale."
Fayte trilled in answer, and he nodded. A lantern-fueled story after a meal? Images of camping with his parents in youth rolled into his mind. Eden placed Fayte next to him, collected his bowl, and returned with a platter of fruit and cheese. She sat it beside them.
Eden's gaze caught the fire. Shadows shifted across her face as she began. "This is the tale of Ozythar, once bearer of the stars. Each night he carried them across the heavens so no traveler would lose their way." She stopped and nodded toward the tray of cheese and fruit.
Catching her meaning, he collected a creamy rectangle of cheese, a date, and chewed them slowly.
"Pride crept into him, sly and certain. He believed no shadow could overtake him, no depth could deny him. One night he carried his crown of stars into the places no light had touched. The darkness pressed down. Ash weighed on his wings. His glow failed, ember by ember until no spark remained." She gathered her own bite of fruit and cheese, took a bite, then held the remaining bit to Fayte.
He sniffed it, then accepted it reluctantly.
"When he returned, his crown had shattered into thorns, his wings lay in ruin, and his gaze carried the silence of the void. From that night forward, he led not the lost home, but deeper into the night."
Her voice faltered, the tale cutting into her own ribs. She pressed a hand to her stomach. Fayte pressed against her, sensing her unease. She stroked his back, then drew strength from his warmth, then continued.
"Keep your stars close." Her hand brushed Aurelian's foot through the blanket. "Even the brightest light fades when it wanders too far."
Aurelian's skin prickled at the words. The story clung to him, cold as fog. Fayte returned to him and curled in his lap.
"I was just born, but I'm grown," Aurelian whispered.
"A fair question," Eden said. Her golden eyes met his, steady and warm. "It's how it is with us. Would you want to feed Fayte?"
The tether inside him pulsed again, undeniable and alive. He nodded. Eden placed the bottle in his hands. Fayte seized it, talons kneading Aurelian's chest with sharp insistence. His beak clicked against the glass as he drank, eyes never leaving Aurelian's face.
"He knows you," Eden said. "That is how he learns who will guard him."
Aurelian rubbed his cheek against downy feathers, overwhelmed. He fed Fayte. No more remained. Fayte accepted the truth and folded his wings with the dignity of a prince forced to wait for the next course. The weight pinned him to the moment in the best way. He could not drift. He did not want to.
Eden gathered the empty bowl. Her knuckles brushed his wrist. Warmth passed between them that had nothing to do with the hearth. Pride lived in her gaze. Not pride in power, but in care, both well given and received.
He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The stew sat in him like a small sun. The storm kept on with its work, but the room belonged to a different weather now. Pine, broth, and clean fur filled his breath. He breathed out the last of the shivering.
"I belong," he said. His tone was soft, as if the words worked better when spoken gently.
Eden nodded. Fayte rested his beak against Aurelian's collarbone.
Aurelian held that image the way a man holds heat in his hands on a chilly night. It shaped something deep inside. Death yielded; he was reborn and was no longer an orphan.