The Stars That Fall

Yesterday, in the dead of night, when the moon’s silver light pierced the black sky, they were all sitting around a glossy, black table, ceiling-to-floor glass windows framing the room in dissonant lights. Eros had sat next to Levi, and his heart raced the entire time as Kireh questioned Levi about the deaths. 

Now, they’d been called to Kireh’s summer residence in the heat of midday, and though everywhere else in Ịtoba reeked of winter snow, white and shadowy as hell, Summer Court looked like summer. 

Endless summer. Roses everywhere, pink carnations, yellow tulips, purple lilacs, and lilies that sat in turquoise ponds. 

His stomach turned as his feet touched soft, green grass. Every inch of this place was sweeter than a decadent cake, but a bitter aftertaste filled his mouth, and no matter what Eros did, he couldn’t shake it. 

He stood in front of Kireh’s Summer Residence; the tall glass building scraped the clouds above, and even as Eros craned his neck back to see what was up there, all he saw was glass. He faced forward, pulling his shoulders tight as his wings locked into position. 

The landing balcony for this place was inside, and inside was where all the sugary tastes of Kireh’s Summer Residence truly began to rot inside his stomach. Yet, Eros was quite taken aback when he whisked past the clean, white walls, the granite countertops, the black marble tiles, and the gold trimmings. 

He was expecting a canopy of trees to somehow erupt out of nowhere, but inside was an open city made of gold with a porcelain fountain right in the middle as tall as perhaps the building itself until Eros flew high enough to realize that the fountain was indeed shorter than the building.

He grinned. How else would Kireh fit it inside this place? 

When Eros finally arrived at the meeting hall, he was greeted by a sour-faced Kireh sitting at the edge of the table, staring at the door. Kireh never invited anyone here, so when the male called an emergency meeting, Eros decided that it was his chance to skim through Summer Court since he’d never been to this part of North Kalér.

He tucked in his wings and pulled a seat before scanning the room to see who else was here. 

Adriel was next to the window, unusually early as the male was accustomed to being the last to arrive. Speaking of which, he needed to see Adriel after this meeting. The Orin-Jua was next week, and Eros hadn’t even begun putting together his offering.

“Blessed Morning,” Eros greeted. “Is there an issue?”

Kireh waved him off. “We’ll wait till the others arrive.”

“Blessed Morning and may the Asayli smile upon your Kingdom this Orin-Jua,” he said to Adriel.

The male barely glanced at Eros before returning his gaze to the window.

“The Asayli have only been a nuisance these past weeks,” Adriel muttered.

“And what do you mean by that?”

Adriel tipped his head to the side. “No tax breaks for Kekere-Daun this Orin-Jua.”

“You haven’t paid taxes in three years,” Kireh said. “Actually, you haven’t paid taxes since being inaugurated.”

“The Ọba before me didn’t pay taxes, and I didn’t think I was required to, seeing that I have gotten the worst Kingdom by far.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Eros said, dropping his shoulders. 

Tax breaks were a common perk of being an ally of the Triune Monarchy, but tax breaks only happened during the Orin-Jua Festival. If Adriel wasn’t receiving his tax break this festival, then how would Eros be able to pay for his—

“You’ve arrived,” Kireh said.

Eros glanced at the door to see Luce strolling into the hall wearing an emerald suit made of silk and embroidered with gold threads. Luce was the darling of the seven gods who ruled the Kingdoms, boasting the best economic structure of all the Kingdoms of Ịtoba.

“Blessed Morning,” Luce said. “I pray the Asayli blesses us this coming year with an abundant harvest.”

Adriel’s face tightened. 

Was everything okay with him?

“Blessings to you as well,” Kireh replied. 

Once Luce had taken his seat, the other ehols waltzed into the room: Bry, then Yugi, then Levi, in that order. Yugi seemed amused, a smile plastered on his face as he sat next to Adriel. Levi, on the other hand, twisted his face into a scathing frown the moment his eyes landed on Kireh. 

And who would wrong the ehol? At the last meeting, Kireh was all but short of directly accusing Levi of the deaths in the Central Octeract. “Sanyas die all the time,” Levi had said when Kireh questioned him. Yet, the statement made everyone tense that night. 

It was true that sanyas were mortals, but little children didn’t just die. Sanyas lived for centuries, perhaps even thousands of years, before their skins began to leather and wrinkle—they never tasted death at such young ages. 

Rumors had spread among those who lived in the Octeract—rumors that Eros would rather not relive because he’d eaten this morning and couldn’t afford to vomit on Kireh’s polished marble floors. 

“Greetings to all,” Kireh began. “I pray that you all find favor in the eyes of the Asayli, that the Monarchy blesses each of you with the abundance of harvest and power.”

“Blessings to you also,” the ehols replied. 

“I would like to start this meeting with no respect to the normal protocols we follow. Instead, this meeting is about Levi.”

Suddenly, a host of embers buzzed in the air at the mention of Levi’s name, and Eros’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t possible that Kireh knew.

“What is the problem?” Levi asked. 

“It’s not just you,” Kireh said, twisting his fingers around a loose top button of his tunic. “This meeting concerns all of us.”

Eros leaned forward, clasping his fingers together between his legs.

“The Triune Monarchy ordered that we must all give up our sẹda. Temporarily.”

Eros’s lips tightened. This couldn’t be real. Of all the things the Asayli could ask for, They chose to ask for this?

“Must?” Adriel’s eyes squinted. “Is this a request, or are They forcing us to do it?”

Kireh sighed. “It is an Utterance, though it is not binding. They have asked Bry—and me—to inform you that They are investigating a case and need to suspend the growth of sẹda until They can rectify this situation—”

“And what exactly is this situation?” Levi pressed. “Is it because the sanyas are dying? I already told you that I have nothing to do with that.”

“And I … want to believe you, but I—”

“But what? You sit on the Azharanian Council. Why didn’t you push back against this order?”

“There are rumors that you’re killing the sanyas; the Azharanian Council refuses to hear anything from me until the matter is fully investigated. And that is not the reason why the Asayli has ordered that we temporarily withdraw from wielding sẹda. It is too dangerous at this moment. Sẹda is too great for our minds to handle.”

“I’ve been using my sẹda just fine,” Levi argued.

Air caught in Eros’s throat. Those rumors had spread like an infectious disease, like a fire. Kireh had heard about it, but as much as Eros tried to deny it, tried to swallow the truth whole, he simply couldn’t.

Rumors could be lies—even if he’d seen the truth with eyes. 

Maybe these weren’t ruthless murders. When Eros thought of it as punishment, it made the truth easier to swallow; it allowed him to Sleep at night. He couldn’t stop the nightmares, but he could convince himself that the rumors weren’t true. 

Levi tipped his chin toward Bry. “What does he say?”

“It was Bry’s suggestion.” Kireh’s tone lowered. “The Asayli were planning something worse, and Bry talked Them into offering this choice.”

Levi laughed. “Am I to believe that Bry begged the Asayli to show us mercy?”

“Mercy is what you call this?” Adriel grunted. “I call this torture.”

Bry stood up, his hands slid casually into his pockets as he walked toward them. He seemed to take long and fainted steps as though the hall was too long for him to bother crossing. 

Eros closed his eyes, the image of blood sprawling across his mind. It was sacrilegious. He had stood there as Levi sliced her throat in half. Blood dripped from her skin, and the odor of iron became too thick and stink for Eros to breathe. He remembered that moment like it was his last memory, still freshly branded in his mind. 

Levi had held her limp body, left her dangling in the air as he displayed her corpse to Eros. His explanation seemed so simple, yet so vile. 

“She stole,” Levi had said, his words heartless and filled with poison. “She stole … bread.”

To survive.

“Would you have preferred to be chained to stocks or have your wings be locked with bronze?” Bry asked. 

“I prefer to be left alone. How I do things have always worked for me,” Levi replied. 

Blood and oranges.

Eros smelled it, the odor taking the shape of light pink embers trailing behind Levi. Blood dripped from his alabaster fingers, the young child lifeless in his grasp. 

“I did not dispute that,” Bry argued. “But if believing this pleases you, then so be it. Blood will be on your shoulders if the Asayli find fault with the way you do things.”

She’d been starving for a few months now, and there was no one who could’ve helped her. The shopkeeper had caught her stealing bread and registered her name in the tax pool. Levi must’ve seen her name somehow, must’ve come across her malignant intent to survive hunger, and decided to punish her for it. 

But Levi was her Ọba, and he could’ve helped her. He chose not to.

And Eros remembered it. 

“It’s always the Asayli with you,” Levi snarled. “When would you state how you truly feel? You know my way is right. There are legends—”

“Legends can be interpreted in any twisted way you desire.” 

Eros opened his eyes. 

Bry was now standing in the center of the room. “If you want to know how I truly feel, then respect that I have saved you from a much crueler consequence.”

“You can’t prove anything,” Levi said. 

“I have reports that the sanyas are dying in your Kingdom. That is enough evidence for me to investigate you. You’ve given neither Kireh nor me a response or a statement.”

“I don’t need to. I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Who accused you of killing anyone?” The chill in his voice kept Eros frozen in his seat, and a dreadful feeling overtook him.

What if Bry could kill an ehol?

There had been a time in Ịtoba’s history, a legend, where an elohim had singlehandedly murdered a slew of Titans. Stories were written, and songs were sung. 

“Kireh accused me.”

“He only informed you of a rumor that you yourself are very aware of—”

“And he said he believed it.”

Bry turned his face from Levi, then returned to the front of the hall. “For the rest of you, I have observed that you are unable to properly handle your sẹda, and this is just shallow water compared to the insanity it can cause if used excessively. Insanity, I fear, has already begun manifesting in some of you.”

The hall fell deafeningly silent. 

“Is that why you want us to refrain from harnessing our sẹda?” Adriel asked. “You think we don’t know how to wield it? May I remind you that we all passed our exams—”

“Wielding sẹda is much more than concentrating energy to the palms of your hands. As your sẹda grows, you must be able to mentally direct the flow of power, and to do that, you must be able to manage your emotions effectively.”

“How?” Yugi asked. 

Eros grunted. He was a Reaper; he should already know how.

“Your mental capacity as ehols is built to withstand many things. As ehols, you have transcended even time itself, but as much power as you have come to gain, you lack the comprehension of it, and as such, the power steals from you the ability to control it. With each use, your mind deteriorates. You become more mortal and ignorant in your understanding. You slowly die.”

Yugi’s face went blank. “So, because we’re not old enough to use our own sẹda, we’re going crazy? Am I hearing this right?”

“Half of it.” Bry’s tone held amusement, though his face was stoic. “You are old enough. You are just an idiot.” He turned to the others as they chuckled under their breaths. “For the rest of you, he is right.”

Yugi raised a questionable eyebrow at Bry.

“Does this ring true for you as well?” Eros pulled himself up in his seat. If he stayed silent, engulfed in the memories of the dead mortals, he’d only sink deeper into the hole inside him. 

“No.” Bry let the word slip out. “I had no reason to use my sẹda in my youth. I was able to control it. Age has fused my power with me; I have become it.”

“It sounds rather silly.” Levi got up. “You cannot become power.” Levi pressed his hands against his coat and strode toward the door.

“Sit.” The word swarmed toward Levi, draping him in some sort of sẹda so ancient Eros couldn’t depict what it was. 

The room seemed overcast with swirls of gray and red, and Eros himself felt a heat penetrating his skin. Was this Bry’s power—even just a fraction of it? Bry’s eyes glowed as they locked to Levi, but something dark lurked in his gaze. 

The ehol’s face turned red, sweat dripping from his skin as he carefully sat back down. 

If Bry could do that with spoken word alone, what else could he do?

 “It’s true that to you, I cannot become power, but if you ever live to see my Age, then you would think otherwise.” He shifted his gaze to Yugi. “To give up power isn’t a hard thing to do. It is merely a question of trust and greed. We all want power, but we don’t need it.”

“And what if we don’t stop using it?” Yugi pushed. 

“Then consequences will follow. But for now, I’ve given you the choice.”

***

“Adriel. Adriel, wait!”

He turned to see Yugi walking toward him with brisk and wide strides, a witty smile etched into his face. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, all the tales Adriel could tell about him. Yugi, the only Titan to survive the merciless slaughter that put an abrupt end to the Zamŷni Wars. The only Titan granted permission by the Asayli to actually become an Ọba and rule one of Ịtoba’s Kingdoms. 

The ehol swung an arm around his shoulder. “What do you say we work together during this Orin-Jua? It would be easier on us both,” he said. “I know you can’t afford your taxes, but if you supply me with some grain for the banquet, I can pay them up for you.”

“Why?” Adriel pulled himself from Yugi’s embrace. “Why would I want to do that?” 

“How else are you going to pay the taxes off? We’ve all seen the records, and we know your economy isn’t stable—”

“It’s Kekere-Daun we’re talking about.” he forced his way past Yugi. “You should know the factions are the reasons why Ịtoba is running in the first place. Plus, your people have a tax break, and I do not.”

“Because you didn’t pay taxes for three years.”

Of course, he didn’t. 

His chest burned in anger. He didn’t think he needed to, since the last Ọba told him that Kekere-Daun was exempted from paying taxes because of the Nightingalers. 

He turned toward Yugi. “Why are you here?”

The male grinned. “Daun doesn’t have an agricultural system, so we can’t supply a grain offering at the banquet—”

“You do this every Orin-Jua. I can no longer continue doing this.”

“Even if I get a bag of fruits from you, that would be good enough.” 

“Daun has markets.”

“Daun has a lot of things, but one can easily spot when you’ve gone shopping at one of Daun’s markets. The food isn’t vibrant.”

Adriel clenched his fist and continued walking. 

“With the Utterance in place, you’re going to be in a tight spot paying your taxes, and at this moment, there is nothing you can do about it.”

He stopped in his tracks. “How do you feel about what Bryël said?”

Yugi arched an eyebrow, then laughed. “You actually believe him?”

“Don’t you?”

“I mean, he is the Ambassador of the Asayli.” Yugi dropped his shoulders. “He’s the reason why the Kingdoms are now grafted into the Ariwanian government.”

He tipped his head to the side, confused at Yugi’s statement. 

“I have a strong feeling you know nothing about Ịtoba’s history.”

“I happened to be born after the Zamŷni Wars.”

“So, you don’t even know there are three Asayli and not two?”

Adriel’s stomach twisted. “There are three of Them?” No one had told him this. “Where is the last one? Was He killed?”

“Some may say so,” Yugi shrugged. “But the last time I heard of Him was when I was a young child, and I hadn’t been awakened yet, so I don’t know. But He is supposed to oversee the Reaper’s Council.”

“What do you know about Him?”

“Everything and nothing. Legends say that He is the true harbinger of death. Legends say that He plucks the eyes out of His opponents and turns them into jewelry and that His throne is made of the bones and skin of past gods. That His power flows through the wind like strings of violet cloaked in a deep, ink-like shadow. He controls Fate and Time and Death. He is the Life Bringer, the maker of the living. And the dead.”

“And you’ve seen Him?”

Yugi shook his head. “None of the ehols alive have seen Him. So, if He were to suddenly show up now, we won’t know what He looks like.”

“Do you think—”

“You think Bry might be the third Asaylin.”

It was possible. How was Bry able to threaten Levi like that, to speak with a single word and force Levi to obey him? 

Yugi shook his head. “Bry is not an Asaylin. I know this because Bry has a mother, and the Asayli don’t have parents.”

“So, just a mere celestial then. Well—a celestial of the Second Rank, that is.”

Yugi smiled. “He could be an Ancient God.”

He rolled his eyes at Yugi. “You think we’re going insane?” He needed to change the topic—get his mind off this supposed third Asaylin. 

The ehol shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know whether Bry speaks the truth or he’s trying to frighten Levi into admitting that he’s the reason for the sanyas dying.”

“But if it’s true, if we were going insane, we would know it, right?”

“Probably. But then again, Bry is old. He gets a little ‘aṣiwere,’ if you know what I mean.”

 “He is old, so he has seen a lot of things.” Adriel fiddled with his fingers. Perhaps he believed Bry. 

If he were honest with himself, he’d admit to the migraines he’d suddenly begun having every time he wielded his sẹda. He hadn’t told anyone yet, was too afraid that the Azharanian Council would disbar him from the Ịtoban Government and seize all his tabs. 

What if the slicing pain Adriel felt every time he harnessed his power was the insanity? 

“You worry a lot,” Yugi said. “Even if what Bry said is true, it wouldn’t be until Ages have passed. You’re only in your Ujana Age, recently awakened. You have nothing to fear.”

Yugi was right—for once. 

He ran his fingers through his locs, staring at the marble floor beneath him. It wouldn’t be until another ten years before he saw his Ukuaji Age. Why should he have to worry about his sẹda now?

“But what about Leviathan?” He glanced at Yugi. “He shouldn’t be going insane; he’s still young.”

“You think he’s young?”

Wasn’t the ehol in his Ukuaji Age?

“Levi is wielding his sẹda, but he also seems to be growing it. I’ve seen it for myself, how he trains endlessly and attempts to harness more of his power by forcing himself to withstand the mental strain. He pushes his mind beyond what it can do. I wouldn’t blame him, though. Who wouldn’t want more sẹda?”

“I thought sẹda grew as you Aged. I thought with each Owurọ that happens, your power grows just a little bit. You’re telling me that we can artificially grow our power?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never done it.”

For a second, Adriel thought back to the many times he’d used his power only to feel a spark of new energy burst from his fingertips. Indeed, Yugi couldn’t be saying that with the continuous use of sẹda, it grew. Or else, why were none of the ehols pushing their boundaries? Why did they only limit themselves to simple energy-balls and metal forging? 

Why hadn’t any of them attempted a ritual or bend time or even another to their will? None of them ever healed a wound or created portals.

Perhaps Yugi had been the only one who used his sẹda nearly every day, having to harvest all those souls. Yet, every time Adriel channeled his sẹda, he felt something, like an ocean ripping through his body, like a current dragging him under the water … and it felt good….

“Couldn’t you convince Bry that we can control our sẹda?”

Yugi shook his head. “I can’t convince Bry to do anything. He’s old-fashioned and he has a method of doing things that I don’t attempt to interfere with.”

“You’re a Reaper, Yugi.”

The male’s face tightened. “I know what I am.”

“I meant to say that Bry has incredible respect for your opinions.”

“I am only a Reaper because I harness Nyoki naturally. I haven’t been officially invited into the Reaper’s Council, so I have no rank or division. None of them would respect a word I say. Though they call me the Ehol of Death, I am nothing more than a traitor.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” The male pulled in a breath. “Bry gets his orders directly from the Asayli, and once They make a decision, it cannot be changed. Perhaps Bry could convince Them to change Their minds, but They’ve already settled for a temporary ban, and I don’t think Bry can push his luck any further.”