"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to hold a cloud in your hand?" Blumiere asked.
The two were teenagers now, sitting up in the meadow by the tree where they first met.
Merlon and the executioner were talking at the bottom of the small hill, though neither Timpani nor Blumiere knew what about. They didn't really care anymore.
These meetings happened about once a month now, and while Timpani used to be afraid of them, now they were one of the only things she looked forward to.
The sun was setting, turning the sky to a deep blue color, but the clouds remained fiery orange. They reminded Timpani of the legendary girl in orange from the books Merlon used to read her, only these were real. These were more than just legends.
Maybe the girl in orange was up there, waiting for her time.
Timpani would have liked to meet her someday. When she was younger, she would often imagine becoming friends with the girl in orange.
She didn't need imaginary friends anymore, though. She had Blumiere.
"It would probably feel cold and wet," Timpani answered. "I mean, clouds are made of water, right?"
"Really?" Blumiere asked. "I always thought they were made of warm cotton, but thicker. Like, the stuff that's inside my pillow!"
"Feathers?" Timpani hummed.
"Wait, you guys have feathers in your pillows?!"
"You don't?!"
The two quietly laughed as the sky continued to darker, revealing thousands of glowing stars. Merlon always loved the stars, he could never stop talking about them. Timpani had usually felt indifferent to them because they were just another part of life, only tonight they seemed more beautiful.
It was winter, so the air was cold. But she didn't feel cold, oddly enough. Aside from a few still-glowing clouds, the sky was clear.
"You guys get so many stars," Blumiere breathed. "They're so pretty..."
"Do they not shine over your village?" Timpani asked.
"No. We just get the moon," he breathed.
"The moon?"
"Yeah! It's like a star, but smaller. Well, it looks bigger, but my dad says it only looks bigger because it's closer. In reality, stars are so much more than the moon could ever hope to be," he explained. "My dad really likes the moon anyway, though. Because it's big to us. Sometimes, he says it shines over my tribe because it's the only one brave enough to share light with us too. Someday, I want to go to the moon, but he says that's impossible."
Timpani quietly laughed to herself, covering her mouth.
"And what do you say?" she asked.
"I say the impossible is possible," Blumiere chimed. He laid back and placed his arms behind his head. He smiled softly at the stars. "I mean, look at us! We shouldn't be friends, but we are. We're proof that anything can happen!"
Timpani laughed again, then moved next to him. In the summertime, the tree branches would completely obscure their view of the sky from under that tree, but it was winter so all the lush, green leaves were gone.
"Merlon really loves the stars," she breathed. "He's talked about sharing them with you guys for years. It's his dream. To unite us all. He thinks we've been apart long enough and that fear is what keeps the world from moving forward."
"That's a beautiful dream," Blumiere smiled.
"Yeah..." Timpani trailed off. She placed her hands over her stomach so she could feel each and every breath she took. "I really hope it works out. He's the closest thing I have to a dad. He's kind, caring, and he deserves to see his dream come to life."
"I think we all deserve it," Blumiere chuckled. "Sharing the moon and the stars doesn't make them go away."
Timpani nodded to herself, then rolled onto her side so she was facing the boy.
"What's it like over there? In your village, I mean," she asked.
Blumiere stilled for a second as if pondering, then shrugged, his gaze still on the stars.
"It's dark," he breathed. "Cold a lot, too. We have strict leaders. People in charge of keeping the Dark Prognosticus safe. My dad and I aren't really important. He's just the executioner. But having these meetings has earned us at least a little respect. Or... maybe respect isn't the right word. We're more well-known now, but it's almost like they're all wary of us."
"And... as an executioner... does he...?" Timpani trailed off.
Blumiere let out a short sigh, then nodded.
"Yeah. He does," the boy breathed. "Murderers get the death sentence, and my dad's the one to do it."
Chills ran down Timpani's spine as her body tensed slightly.
"How... how does he do it?" she asked.
"It's painless," Blumiere assured her, though his voice was softer. It was a hard thing to talk about. To think about. "He's perfected a few spells that make it fast and easy. So there's no blood or anything. It's not a job he wanted to take, though. His dad was an executioner, so he was forced into the position once my grandfather retired. He's considered leaving, but do you know how hard it is to get a different job when the prior one was to literally kill people? Besides, he can't leave unless someone steps up to replace him, and you can guess how often that happens. No one dreams of a job like his. No one dreams of being hated by all and marked as a murderer for all eternity."
Timpani bit her lip, lowering her voice slightly.
"Will.... Will you be an executioner too, then?" she nervously asked.
Blumiere slowly sat up, then ran his hands through his messy blue hair.
"Hmm... nah. I don't think so, anyway. That's one of the reasons my dad has been coming here to meet Merlon. So our tribes can unite, that way we hopefully wouldn't need an executioner anymore. He's really hoping that this will solve all our problems."
Timpani nodded to herself, then looked down the hill, where Merlon and Blumiere's father were speaking. The executioner was tall, his gaze was cold. Deep blue hair and skin made him seem only colder. She had only heard him speak a few times, but he always sounded quiet and slightly harsh. Did being an executioner make him that way, or was he always like that?
She would never have been able to do it. Kill people for a living. With the power he probably had, why didn't he find another way to deal with criminals and murderers? Why was death the solution? Was it his decision, or were the people above him the ones calling the shots?
"And... what about your mother?" Timpani asked. "What's she like?"
"She left years ago," Blumiere breathed. "Once my dad started going to these meetings, actually, back when we first met. We never see her anymore. I think they're still married though, because he wears his ring. I think he misses her a lot... but I think it would have hurt a lot more if it wasn't an arranged marriage. The tribe does that to people who aren't married by a certain age. They didn't really know each other before getting married. I think he still loved her, though."
"And you?"
Blumiere's shoulders shrugged slightly.
"I miss the way he used to smile when she was there. As for her... I guess a part of me is a little mad at her. It hurt more to think about when it was still fresh. Now, I think I'm mostly past it," Blumiere explained. "Although... she did used to smell like flowers. Lavender and lilac. Sometimes, when I see them I still think of her."
Timpani nodded and briefly wondered where her own parents were. For as long as she could remember, it had been just her and Merlon. He took care of her, even though he wasn't her real dad. He was the one buying her food, teaching her to read, and taking her out to do fun activities.
She hoped her real parents were dead. It was a terrible thing to think, but that would explain why they weren't there in the least painful way. It was easier to think of them as good people who were tragically killed as opposed to thinking that they just left her.
He looked back down at Merlon and Blumiere's father. While the executioner hadn't aged since they first met, Merlon was getting older. His hair was starting to turn white. Ancients would stop aging at different times. Merlon had explained it to her long ago, it's all dependent on what their birth-given roles are. Merlon's role was to watch over the Light Prognosticus and guide future heroes on quests, so his body wouldn't need to stop aging until later in life. Blumiere had told her once that his dad already stopped aging. It was always a strange thing to think about, the way some people grow old and others don't, all depending on who they are and what they do with their lives.
She looked down and wondered what would happen to her. She didn't know what roots she technically had.
The idea of her growing old and becoming some wrinkly old maid made her want to throw up.
Although, the idea of not getting to become that also felt sickening.
There was the sound of swishing. Suddenly, the executioner appeared in front of them, holding his hand out to Blumiere. His gaze was icy and cold, sending chills down Timpani's spine.
"Blumiere, we have to go. Now," he stated.
Blumiere took his hand and allowed him to pull him up, though the boy's eyebrows were furrowed in confusion.
"Why?" Blumiere asked. "Usually we have a little more time."
Something washed over the executioner's eyes as he quickly looked away, avoiding eye contact. He let out a strained breath as he grasped the ring on his hand and started fidgeting with it.
"We won't be able to be back for a while. I'm sorry," he stated. "We have to go. Now. No more questions in the presence of people like her."
"People like her?!" Blumiere gasped. He took his hand back instantly and narrowed his gaze at his father. "What in Grambi's name is that supposed to mean?!"
"It means we're leaving. Now." the executioner repeated, his tone slightly harsher. He grasped Blumiere's arm, then waved his hand, making the two of them vanish from sight.
Timpani remained frozen in place, unsure if she felt more confused or hurt. What was that all about?!
She quickly picked herself up, then scrambled down the hill to Merlon, who was just silently standing there. The air around him felt slightly tense and cold.
"Merlon?" she asked. "What happened?! Why was he mad?!"
Merlon remained silent and bowed his head, slowly letting out a breath.
"Come, Timpani," he muttered, his voice quiet and practically devoid of emotion. "Let's go home."
"Dad, what is it?!" Blumiere demanded as the two of them landed in the forest just outside of their village.
The trickling of a nearby stream grew louder and louder as Blumiere's father grasped his wrist and dragged him back to town.
"Dad, you're hurting me," Blumiere cried out. "What's going on?!"
The executioner suddenly stilled, then let go and lowered his head.
"Let it go, Blumiere," the executioner breathed. His voice shook slightly.
"No! You can't keep doing this!" Blumiere hissed, tense. "You can't just shut down the moment things get scary and run away! What happened?!"
"BLUMIERE, THAT'S ENOUGH!" the executioner yelled, turning and raising his hand in a threatening manner.
Blumiere flinched and stumbled back, trembling now.
The executioner looked up at his hand, then covered his face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. All the energy he just displayed was gone. He was small again. "I... I just... I thought someone finally saw us."
"Dad..."
"He didn't care about you. Or me," the executioner stated. He lowered his hands and clenched his fists. " Merlon and the tribe of ancients were just after the book."
Blumiere frowned.
The Dark Prognosticus?
"I told him that in order to unite, we need to bring the books together," Merlon explained to Timpani as the two walked back home. "I said... that maybe the first step to fixing things would be bringing the Dark Prognosticus here, so we could watch over both and prove that both light and dark could coexist."
"He just wanted power," the executioner stated. "All these years... they were just an act so he could get his hands on the book. And... I fell for it. No one else did, it was just me. I... I thought I could be something, but I was wrong. I wasted all this time. I'm so sorry, Blumiere."
Blumiere shook his head, looking behind himself.
"But... Timpani," the boy whispered. "I can still see her, right? I want to see her!"
The executioner let out a sigh, then waved for his son to follow. Blumiere did as he was told, following his father to the small stream of water that flowed next to the village he had grown up in. He could see the moonlight reflecting off of it, through the trees.
The executioner briefly fidgeted with his ring one last time, then took it off, holding it up to the sky. It was a black ring, though the moonlight reflected off of it. Instead of a traditional gem, his had a small purple flower engraved onto it.
"Sometimes... we love things," the executioner breathed. "Sometimes, we have dreams. And... one of the hardest things to do is to let them go. But... if you never let go, then how will you ever move forward?"
He took a deep breath, then dropped the ring, allowing it to sink into the creek and be swept away by the rapidly moving water.
"Dad..."
"We can't see them anymore," the executioner stated. "We have to let go."
Blumiere looked behind himself, longing to run back. He had grown so used to these visits.
But, when he looked back at his dad, he knew there was no arguing.
"Yes, sir," he breathed, lowering his head and pressing his eyes shut.