>>6256137

The glow spreads through you. You feel like a drop of ink, disappearing inside a bottle of clear water, stretching its tendrils about, holding onto its shade for just a moment more—
Like a book eaten by fire, the paper curling and darkening as it bursts into a wheeze of flame, leaving behind just tuft of cinder—
But you are neither ink nor paper.
You are neither.
You are Argia Candente, and you will withstand. You grit your teeth, focusing on your body. On the weight of your bones, on the heat upon your flesh — it spreads — but you are still there, beneath. If a little crispier.
The heat and light fade.
You stand, alone amidst a garden of flowers.
Have you overcome your trial? At least the one that this memory conceals?
Air smells strong — sweet, with all the perfumes — the tinge of citrus, the thick scent of flowers in bloom, and resin, coming from rows upon rows of cypresses, like the ones you saw in the Holy Land.
And, carried from away, the salty smell of the sea.
A flock of seagulls fly above you, like lost thoughts carried away by the wind, while about you bees buzz busily, hopping from flower to flower.
Bees are sacred to Ansàrra.
And—
“I am here! Back again, sorry!” Comes Bragia’s voice, from just beyond this spot of the garden. You follow it, walking past the canopy of plants. And as you peek through the last few hanging flower pots, you gasp, the immensity of the ocean opening just before you.
The sky is as blue and sharp as paint. A white sun, brighter and less yellow than the one that graces you, shines above, as well as…
Something gets stuck in your throat at the sight of a giant rock?A sphere of some sort…? — floating in the sky, its face covered in darker spots. Is that what Willow told you about?
A moon is much better.
You can still hear her voice echo in your mind.

[cont.]