Eclipse

Teller was but a passenger in the morning crowd that swept the Rast District's dense laden streets. Vyrian and Sellian traders fought for attention, a cacophony of haggling and bartering rhyming through the winding passage. An airship flew along one of The Foundry's many spokes of light, with many more obstructed by the stack of buildings either side. All Attempting to deliver in before the Eclipse and the darkness that descends with it. 

The Eclipse would strike at noon, as it always did. Maia's crescent would grow thinner and thinner until the day became night and an hour of darkness began. If Teller could make it too noon that is. He hadn't slept and he'd lost a worrying amount of blood. He was heavy of breathing, and his vision was starting to double and wash together. The escape from Hayworth Keep was a rather boring affair in the end, one giant hole in Peylon's wall and they were gone, Zoria had checked for any shadows that were following, but there were none. Just a miraculous escape, one he should thank every star for. But Teller couldn't think of such things right now. The pain in his hand was getting worse and worse. Every minute was more gruesome than the last. And at the end of it all, he was right where he started, with nothing. Zoria led the way in front, an occasional glance over her shoulder to check if Teller wasn't in a pit of drool. Every fibre of his being began regretting his callous attitude. Why did he make such an impulsive decision? He should have left Moonfall that night to never return. Was Veralyr worth all this? The bother, the nuisance, the pain.

Zoria slowed down up ahead and turned to face Teller who wandered directly into her, his mind turning into cloud. "Oh Tel. You think this might finally teach you a lesson?"

"Are you implying I'm too reckless? You? We must truly be drawing near to the end…" Teller replied, every ounce of breath being used.

"Difference is, I can take care of myself," Zori said, a smile starting to creep. "Keep up, we're nearly there."

Teller didn't leave Venya on good terms. Or any terms for that matter. Just a disappointing "Get out" and nothing more. Not exactly a welcome invitation to come back, but not a permanent one, he hoped.

Zoria set off down the winding street again and Teller trundled after. A short walk later and the street widened, the barters dissipated, and Teller could see the front of Venya's workshop. No one looked to be in the window as they approached the condensed connected row of structures. An alleyway hung to the side of the workshop, usually home to the back water dredge of the Moonfall populace, home at last. 

Zoria marched into the front door, the air around her steaming with callousness. Teller limped after her and hobbled into the alley, leaning against the wall like a wounded dog. Every thought was starting to melt between the lines, a beautiful whirl wind of fatigue gracing every corner of his mind. He squinted to look up at the sun, shouldering the lip of the alley. Eclipse hour was close at hand, Maia's crescent was but a sliver in the sky as the two gods kissed. He looked down to the floor, for the sun had become a dark sear in his eye. The floor was alight for few moments longer and then the world was plunged into blackness. The Eclipse hour had started, and Teller, too exhausted to think, passed out.

 ***

Teller awoke to a small room of warmth and familiarity. Lanterns were lit in the Foundry's light, reflecting the maroon shaded walls. Various cheap paintings adorned the miscellaneous furniture in-between the spaces and a dull fire crackled in the corner. This was one of Venya's rooms. He could hear the occasional murmur beyond, but it was too quiet to make anything out. A pain slowly returned to him down his side, but for a finger that wasn't there anymore. The dressing had changed, and his hand was now wrapped up even tighter than it was before. It would seem Venya was kind enough to bring him inside instead of lying passed out in the street. There were no windows to speak of, so time lay in purgatory, weeks could have raced by, and he would have no idea.

Teller carefully lumbered out of bed and stood up. Every step exalted a new numbing pain from a corner of his body he hadn't even thought about before. He would grow too old for all this non-sense soon enough, he'd been scarred before, but never like this. He looked at his hand as it rested on the handle to the door and chuckled to himself. "No uncertain cause is worth the effort," he muttered under his breath. His father's word's. Designed to detract a reckless youth from testing his luck too far, and to stop him from getting involved in every such star fisted nuisance. The older he became the more his father was proved right. Why commit to something that wasn't a forgone conclusion?

Teller peaked his head out into the hall. He hadn't visited the workshop in months. Nevertheless, he knew this place like the back of his hand, well, his right hand at least. The low murmurs he heard before echoed a smidge louder. Their source could be traced downstairs beneath the decadent rug that berthed the hallway. His attempts to stay quiet were thwarted by the creak of the staircase, and with it, the murmurs ceased, and a quick stride could be heard making for the stairs. Zoria poked her head around the end of the stairwell, a desperate smile plastered across her face. "Tel you're finally awake! There's too much to tell. It's been 5 years, and the world has turned ill. Everything as you knew it has come to an end..." she said, exuding a dramatic performance. Teller carefully limped down the stairs with a flat expression aimed at her, "And you haven't aged a day, Zori. How Odd."

"My oh my! You've grown so charming in your long slumber!" Zori said as he rounded the bottom of the staircase. "Seriously, how long was I out?"

"5 hours."

A familiar, gravelly voice, echoed in the room ahead, Venya. He strode through the open door to find Venya's study adorned with warm light and thick set furniture. Everything lay in a state of disorder, but somehow, it felt like everything was right where it was supposed to be. Venya sat at his desk staring down at a piece of parchment, with an inked pen placed in a hovering hand just above. He lifted his head to reveal his lightly tanned face, dark ashen hair waving on top.

Like Zoria, Venya bore Vyrian blood, but Moonfall was all they had ever known. As much Sellian as anyone else who called these streets home, but no one ever saw them that way. Always a sult, thrown in with every other outsider. Their children destined to face the same rifle of discrimination, just as they had.

His face revealed a hint of warmth before being snatched away in an instant. Teller stopped in the middle of the room adjusting his weight to his right foot to ease the numbing pain wandering up his leg. 

"Venya."

"Teller."

"Mind if I sit? You know, terrible aches and all."

Venya nodded and darted his eyes to the bench at the side of the room.

"Thank you."

The silence was deafening, every second that dragged threatened to pierce the veil of politeness. A dance of awkward introduction that will, in time, eventually fade. Teller sat; hand clutched to his knee. The creak of the floorboards rhyming with his sore bones. He let out a relieved groan as the weight of his body was dashed away. His brief relief ended, and his hand returned to its throbbing pyre of pain.

Zoria fell into the seat by the door, swinging it shut as she did so. "A beautiful reunion between two old shits and every emotion has been left unturned. Quite remarkable."

Venya's mouth curled slightly before returning to his dim expression, he put his pen down and rolled up the crunching parchment before meeting Teller's eyes.

"The floors yours. I'm sure you have grand progress on your fairy tale. A minor sacrifice you have endured, but surely, with it, a rising revelation?"

Teller chuckled, his head sinking to his chest. 

"Well, first, thank you for the warm hospitality."

Venya gave Teller a piercing look.

"What would you have me say? 'You're right Venya everything I've ever done is pointless and worthless and not of any import whatsoever?'"

"I'll take that as a no." 

The curtain fell and with it, every stumbling conflict that lay between them. Teller paused in an idle wallow before Venya leant forward, resting his elbows against the desk.

"So, 'Jorr's Key' wasn't all it's cracked up to be then?"

"Empty."

"And now in Dretton's hands forever, you sure are blessed with a choir of cunning."

"Firstly, the thing is probably worthless. And secondly, Dretton doesn't have it."

Venya and Zoria gave each other a slanted look.

"Then who does?"