Storms of Truth (HIATUS)

16 (REVISED)

Orilion squinted, then pressed a spot on the wall. Falora winced when a soft light shone in the center of the roof and the bright cyan disappeared into the storm. "Well, I didn't."

Falora closed the hatch with her foot and sucked on her lips. "You know, you're not doing a very good job at pretending you're mortal," she forced out but put a smile on her face. "Is the thought that appalling to you?"

Orilion sighed and sat back down on the round couch. "No. It's not that. I'm just not a great liar."

"I worked that out for myself." Falora snorted and came closer to him. "Are you even able to lie?"

"Guess not." Orilion leaned against the couch. Storm clouds rumbled outside of Orilion's chosen shelter. Lightning cracked along the mist and bounced between the clouds but remained away from them and the island. Every time one came close, one of the gems glowed. A symphony in the firmament. Drums of thunder and the rain created a hum when it slid down the barrier. "What are you doing up here? Aren't you afraid?"

Falora faced him. "Of what? I've never been afraid of storms. Flynn used to be scared of them. He didn't like the sounds, I guess, or..." She hugged herself and held Father's last piece of art close to her chest. "Our parents went out to sea one day, and a storm hit." Falora faced the sky. "They didn't come back — only the pieces of wreckage."

Orilion lowered his gaze to her boots. "I'm sorry."

Falora jolted at his apology. "Oh—Godsdamnit..." Pressure built in her lungs when she took a seat beside him. "Storms come and go. It happens. It's a force of nature that can't be controlled. I can only hope that whatever happened out there on the sea... I hope Asen'Tharalon guided them peacefully to the Farlands." Falora grasped her fingers. "It wasn't your doing, Orilion. You were imprisoned. It's not like one could pray to you for hope of a safe journey like in the Age of the Dragon Gods. Your worship had been outlawed for... for a long time." Falora hugged herself once more. "If you even heard prayers when you weren't."

Orilion shifted his position. "If you raise your voice high enough, even the sky will hear it." He leaned further against the cushions, a reflection of the misery outside. "I don't remember anything. I can't say how I responded to prayer or worship. Your history books claimed I was barely appeased with the blood and bones of mortal sacrifice." His lips pursed, and he scooted away from her. "Where is the line drawn between tragedy or divine cruelty?"

Falora clasped his shoulder to stop his retreat, but drew her hand from the sizzle of electricity when he faced her. "We're going to get you to Arth'lun," she said. "You'll see for yourself and maybe your memories will come back."

Orilion scoffed. "Would you want me to regain my memory after all history has said about me? What if I turn into a monster again?"

"I think..." Falora took in a breath. "I believe no one deserves to have their memories stripped from them. We can only learn from history if we understand the why's and how's; and we can only do that if we remember it correctly."

Cerulean swirls of wind danced around his pupils and glowed with the distant lightning. Arms folded, she let him stew with the storm and closed her eyes to listen to its music. Back in Crackjaw, lightning struck along the water and into the towers of the temple. Flynn hid behind her, fearful of the monster inside. Is that how you escaped? Is one powerful storm all it took to release you from imprisonment? Falora listened to the rain fade and the thunder quieted. Her thoughts drifted to her little brother and the distant Arth'lun — and Celestan, the holy city of the Celestial Templars. Seasons wrapped around her. Golden leaves fell along the road ahead, painted with the stroke of a brush.

Footsteps creaked in the darkness and a shadow flitted across her vision.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, Miss Falora," Alex said in a low tone.

What is he talking about?

Out of her sleepy haze, she lifted her head to the pilot. Alexavier loomed over her with a wide grin.

"What?"

Alexavier tilted his head when something beside her shifted.

Gooseflesh ripped up her arms when she turned her head. Both her and Orilion leaned into each other with the god in question slowly rousing. Her heart skipped several times and Alexavier looked like a cat who got into the milk. Orilion blinked open his eyes, then met her gaze.

"Good morning, you two!" Alexavier bowed. "Enjoying the storm through the night, were we?"

Falora jumped away from Orilion, who slunk back with tightened pupils. He bowed his head to her, muttered an apology and scooted farther away until he pressed himself against the corner. Heat washed into her face, and she said, "I just wanted to make sure he hadn't jumped off onto a cloud."

"Mhm, I'm a groundhog." Falora twisted between the Azari and not a dragon Dragon God. Orilion raised an eyebrow at Alex, who smiled at him. "It's a figure of speech, Sir Skeptic." He waved his hands at them. "No matter! We're nearing an elementally charged area so we still need to be careful. There's a couple of old temples in the area that connect a small peninsula of islands. It should be interesting to fly through."

"Temples, to who?" Falora asked.

"Asen'Orilion," Alexavier answered. "It's one of my many under the radar paths. People avoid the area because of rumours that it's cursed, or haunted by corrupted pixies, what have you."

"Why would that be?" Orilion muttered and it took all of her self-control to not run up and punch him.

"Some say it's one of the places he cursed during the fall of Arth'lun." Defeat flickered through Orilion's gaze, and he sank deeper into the cushions. Her desire to lash out withered. Alexavier shrugged and smiled. "I hope you two don't mind the detour. I promise it is faster if you know how to navigate storms. I do like gambling." He headed for the hatch.

"You're the flyer of this..." Orilion tapped his heel against the bottom of the crow's nest. "Airship. Only right you decide where you fly."

Alexavier beamed when he opened the hatch. "There will be a bit of turbulence entering this area. You'll see what I mean when we approach."

"And you've..." Falora battled her hesitance. "You've taken this route before?"

"Once, for a bet when I first acquired this airship." Alexavier rolled out his shoulders. "It didn't turn out too well for me. I got caught in a gale and it blew me off course." He whistled and threw his arm out in show. "I had to fumble my way through territory I didn't recognize and returned home sick as a dog and a very angry grandfather." He cleared his throat and folded his arms. "'Respect the forces out there, Alexavier, or Asen'Orilion will smite you for not knowing how to fly properly and instead relying on your young arrogance.'" Alexavier shrugged with a laugh. "I quickly reminded him that Asen'Orilion was imprisoned and surely he couldn't smite me from said prison. Besides, I'd like to see Asen'Orilion out-fly me. I'd make another bet."

Falora forced herself to not look at Orilion.

"And that is the biggest grin I've seen on your face yet, Sir Skeptic."

Falora listened to her impulse and turned to him, and the grin on his face left the previous miserable expression nothing more than a faded memory. "It does sound like an experience," he said and folded one leg over the other. "Did you learn your lesson?"

"I learned not to underestimate storms and that I love a challenge." Alexavier echoed his grin. "If Asen'Orilion truly wanted to smite me, I'll take that gamble. It'd be something of an epic tale. The great Dragon of the sky against me and my modest little airship."

"I think you'd lose," Falora mumbled.

Alexavier winked at her. "Doesn't mean I can't put up a fight," he pointed out. "Let it not be said I wouldn't give it my all as long as he does. I'm sure Asen'Orilion has a strange sense of humour like that. After all, in that gale..." Affection glittered in Alex's eyes. "I met Zyle when I almost literally crash landed on the island he lived on at the time."

Orilion's expression dropped, but Alex turned away from them with a whistled tune, an echo of the rain against her ears.