The Stars That Fall

Opening Scene

Snow collected on the ledges of the windows like a pristine blanket of white contrasting the night sky. 

Yugi closed his eyes. The sounds of chatter drifted into white noise, and the first face he saw in the darkness of his memory was the little girl he’d held in his arms. 

The dead little girl.

That was eons ago, but even telling himself that could not console him. Now, a new year would soon approach, another year filled with antiquated memories of the dead girl in his arms. The dead girl, he thought, how he’d trotted through thick layers of snow, snow that was not white, as snow should’ve been, but brown and red from mud and dirt and blood. 

In the next week, the Orin-Jua Festival would commence; the streets would be crowded with vendors and civilians, all excited for the turn of the year and the coming of spring. 

The only thing Yugi remembered about this time of year was the dead girl in his arms. Her skin was pale and dry; her hair drooped around his shoulders. Her eyes stayed open and unblinking as her final breath bled into the air. Yugi’s job was to reap that soul.

He’d never reaped the soul of a person before, and on the day that all his training would’ve been tested, he broke down. Someone else had to do it. Someone else had to harvest her soul, and he was left to carry her dead body back to the Kalér Mountains. 

Yugi opened his eyes, greeted by Kireh still talking to Levi. The both of them had been arguing for a few minutes like this, their words blending together in an endless sea of yelling and screaming. 

“Sanyas die all the time!” Levi yelled.

“But not like this,” Kireh responded.

And on and on they went. 

On and on until Yugi slipped once again into his own sodden memories. Sanyas died all the time; sanyas died all the time, but not like this. 

Somehow, this year felt different. 

Yugi wanted to believe he knew why he’d felt this emptiness in the pit of his stomach, why he felt so drained. He wanted to believe it was because of the harvest he’d soon need to purchase from Kekere-Daun. Adriel had been unwilling to sell to him the last time, but Yugi managed to pressure the young ehol into giving him a bag of fresh apples. 

The frown on Yamanda’s face when she’d seen what Yugi offered for the Orin-Jua festival; the memory caused Yugi to smile. The Elder was displeased, but she had no other choice but to take it since the harvest offering was simply that: an offering.

Since that time, it had been nothing but bitter embarrassment.

He leaned into his chair, his eyes following the moon as it trailed across the sky. The cold wind brushed across his face, bringing with it a chill that felt ominous. Even with the festivities coming up, Yugi knew something was off. 

He felt it in the air. 

He found himself staring at his reflection, a faint silhouette that could only be noticed against the blackness of the sky. He brushed the long curls of his hair away from his face, exposing a bit of the tattoo that peeked out from above his collar, nearly reaching his ear. 

Titan.

That’s all he’d ever be—

“Aren’t you going to answer the question?” Kireh asked. His green eyes twinkled underneath the lights; his fingers drummed on the obsidian table.

Yugi sat up, realizing the question was directed at him. The other ehols around the table stared at him in hopeless anticipation. 

“What question?” Yugi furrowed his brows. 

The ehols laughed under their breaths. 

“Can you provide Reapers?” Kireh’s eyes narrowed as his lips drew thin, creating a scathing look on his face. 

Reaper. 

Yugi once thought that being a Titan was far worse than being a Reaper, that celestials had feared the ancient creatures of long ago who had torn this world apart. In a distant time, Titans had roamed Ịtoba: tall, muscular creatures with stately horns and wings hewn of smoke and ash. Their ruthless thirst for power nearly destroyed the realms. Once, Ịtoba and Ariwa-Ịte had been one realm known as Xhian, but after the wars, when blood painted the streets and terror filled the air, Xhian was no more. 

It was then, in the peak of war, when bodies lay lifeless on desolate ground, Yugi learned that many had feared one thing far more than a Titan. 

They feared death. 

“Tell me, Yugi,” Kireh pressed as his tone hardened to stone. “Are you going to get the Reapers for the Azharanian Council? They’ve been asking that we provide an answer to the deaths—the sanyas.”

“I’ll try.” Yugi’s throat felt parched as he pushed the words out. 

I’ll try.

Was he going to stick to his word? 

It was more or less an empty promise if Yugi dared call it such. He’d known why the Council wanted the Reapers. Had seen the massacre himself. All it did was rekindle old memories of his past: memories of bodies, of blood.

 
He should’ve been wiser by now, stronger, more resilient to these sorts of things. But he was a Reaper. He was a Titan.
And that’s all he’d ever be. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Kireh’s fingers danced around the lapels of his coat. His eyes glowed in the moonlight, fixed on Yugi, tracking every move he made.

“I will figure something out.”

“Do it quickly,” Kireh hissed. 

Sometimes, Yugi wondered about Kireh. Sometimes, he wondered if Kireh still had the memories and nightmares of his clan dying from the disease that spread across Xhian during the wars. Surely, Yugi wasn’t the only one haunted by death. 

Kireh stood in front of them, the Ọba of North Kalér and the pinnacle of what an ehol should be. He was dressed in his finest, a plum-colored double-breasted coat made of atụran fabric pressed neatly over silk, black trousers. Kireh was meticulous, choosing each garment to complement his sand-colored complexion and red hair. 

Yet, even as Kireh stood before them dressed in his finest, something beneath his piercing gaze always caught Yugi off-guard. His eyes were always sunken and hollow—and perhaps Yugi would’ve thought that his soulless eyes and sharp jawlines were merely traits of his Churan ethnicity, but it was more than just that. It was a terrible reminder that Kireh had been the only one of his clan to survive.

Just like Yugi. 

Here, Kireh was the lone survivor of the Eccentrics, a clan almost as formidable as the Titans, a promising group of young gods who wielded sẹda that could control the shadows. But they’d succumb to the disease, leaving a young Kireh to fend for himself.

And perhaps that worried Kireh. 

Yugi should know: after all, he was the only surviving Titan. The war had led to the merciless slaughter of the clan, and the few who hadn’t died were forced to go into hiding, taking up residence in the deepest parts of the Abyss. Yugi was the only one allowed to roam free above ground. 

“The sanyas are dying, Yugi.” Kireh’s voice trembled like a leaf trapped in a storm. “There are too many deaths, too many bodies lying around, and no one can give an account for it.”

“I didn’t kill the sanyas,” Yugi said. “And the Reapers should’ve collected their souls. The Reapers should know—”

“That’s why you need to bring the Reapers to the Council. The Collectors have been questioned already, and they all said the same thing: no new souls were collected.”

Yugi swallowed a breath. “You know I am not a part of the Reaper’s Council.”

For a moment, Kireh stood still like a statue. “I know.”

Why was Kireh so interested in the affairs of the sanyas? The sanyas were creatures of the lowest rank: the Seventh Rank—the mortals. No god nor aingeal should care about them. At least not the ones who sat around this table. Each ehol present was of the Third Rank of celestials: the erelim. They were the demi-gods of this world, soon to grow in power, to become Ancient Gods themselves.

So, why did they care? Why were they sitting here in the middle of the night trying to decipher why the sanyas were dying?

“You’ll need to think of something before the festival.” Kireh’s face hardened.

“I’ll pass by your residence,” Yugi said, hoping it would ease the tension; Kireh squared his shoulders in response. 

“Does anyone else want to add to this?” Kireh asked. His eyes locked on Levi. 

The ehol slipped into his seat, arms folded.

“I have no plans for the festival,” Levi replied. 

“I was not talking about the festival,” Kireh snarled. “I meant the sudden uptick in deaths that’s been coming from your Kingdom.”

“Are we to have this argument again?”

Kireh stepped back, keeping his hands folded in place. 

Yugi glanced at the male sitting next to him. Levi, the Ọba of the Central Octeract, had wielded incredible political power. He knew he ruled over the Kingdom the Zamŷni Wars was fought over: a Kingdom most prized by the Asayli. They would’ve been concerned if anything happened in that Kingdom. Even sanya deaths. 

The war had lasted several eons, had seen many moons and many deaths before it all finally came to a faltering end. Yugi had been young then, witnessing what a Titan could do if given time and power. And Yugi had witnessed what a Reaper truly was when bodies littered the ground, the last of their souls ready to be harvested. 

Levi was no doubt beautiful: any ehol should be. It was said that power came with beauty: the more enthralling a god, the more powerful he was. So, sẹda bubbled from Levi; his embers skirted around him whenever he walked. Yet … something about him didn’t sit right with Yugi. 

“Shall we adjourn this meeting?” Bry asked. The male had been silent this entire time. 

Yugi relaxed his shoulders, taking deep and calming breaths. What would he do now that he had to pull together Reapers? Kireh could’ve asked the Reaper’s Council to send someone, but would they even want to concern themselves with sanyas? 

After this, he’d need to start the vetting process, and hopefully, before the festival, he’d have something to give to Kireh. 

“I need to have a private discussion with you,” Kireh said to Bry. 

 The male nodded in response, returning his gaze to the moonlit night. 

Yugi stood up as the others made their way outside the meeting hall. Bry stayed there; not an ember flicked from his skin. The room was now empty, and Kireh frowned at him, his freckles around his nose darkening. 

“I’ll get the Reapers,” Yugi said under his breath, but then again, when did he ever keep a promise to Kireh?