Upon a once after all...
The air in the Rainbowsplendent Palace smelled of joy, a complex scent Jethran had spent the last two decades learning to appreciate. It carried a rich blend of baked sugar-bread from the royal kitchens and the distant perfume of purple roses drifting up from the gardens. It mixed with the electric hum of contented magic that was the heartbeat of their kingdom.
Evenhere had become a place united like never before imagined, growing to be unrecognizable compared to the lifeless land that it had once been. Twenty years had passed since the Silvarii King and the Blush Born King sang the world back to life and tonight the people gathered to celebrate that anniversary.
From his throne, carved from the swirled seven-hued wood of the Tree of Hope, King Jethran watched his kingdom celebrate. At thirty-six, he was no longer the haunted boy Fable had found in the woods. He was a king who wore his divinity with an unassuming intention and a humility that was unmatched. The iridescent shimmer of his pink skin served as a constant reminder of the Pixxel of Harmony within. His connection to the Living Pulse, the source of his power, had only grown stronger despite having nearly zero contact with his brothers in the years since having met them.
His deep multi-hued hair now was longer and fell in soft waves around a face that had finally lost its youthful sharpness. The lines around his eyes were now from his smile, not his fear. He still was a colorman with the style of a walking fruit basket, but it was a regal fruit basket. On his head, the elegant quartz crown caught the light, fracturing it into a thousand dancing auroras. The star pendant of his mother's necklace reflected the light in a way that made it seem Regale was always directly with him.
Silvarii from Silvarii Hollow with wings of every conceivable hue and visiting Coloristas from Whispering Grove mingled freely with the Here of Evenhere, whose skin bloomed in shades of soft periwinkle, warm emerald, and deep crimson. The kingdom had been long united through the ongoing partnership between the Kings and Mayor Saga.
Perhaps one of the largest changes to the kingdom brought about by that partnership was the hard-won alliance between the Silvarii, the Coloristas, and the Here which was negotiated by King Jethran. An alliance that proved especially beneficial to Mayor Saga, who was now expecting her first sillie with Stanza, the Eldress of Whispering Grove, and Saga's fiancée.
The King's gaze found his sons. They were sixteen now, two opposing poles of the same love that had brought them into this family. They were a miracle, his and Fable's. Two boys adopted and raised by a fiercely defiant choice to provide a life built upon love that was starkly different from the lives any of them had lived prior.
The new lives they had provided for their sons had created two radically different people. Prince Tierro carried a gentle softness, a clear product of Jethran's loving nature. While Prince Arby exhibited a deep empathy which Fable had instilled within him. Both were shining examples of the difference a loving home can create.
Prince Tierro, with a small circlet made of woven vines sitting atop his wild pink hair, was kneeling on the floor, his back to the main festivities. A teary-eyed sillie named Tassel had taken a tumble, and her grandly constructed block tower had come crashing down with her.
Tierro was there before her parens, his movements gentle and reassuring. The young prince had always felt a special bond with the sillie's gadzu, Eldru Post of Silvarii Hollow. So when Post's dotra, had a sillie of her own with Banner-Captain Banner of the Royal Color Guard, Tierro welcomed Tassel as if she were a part of his family.
"Oh, that was a big tumble," Tierro said softly. "Are your wings alright?"
The little Silvarii looked up at him, her lip trembling, a tear tracing a path down her coppery cheek. She nodded, sniffing.
"Good," Tierro said with a warm smile that was a perfect echo of Jethran. "Silvarii wings are built with strength. Now, the tower... that looks like a tragedy. But I think we can fix it."
"The trick," he said, as he leaned in, "is to put the big ones on the bottom. It gives everything else a strong place to stand."
Tassel watched, mesmerized, as he rolled up the sleeves and his olive-hued tunic and began to rebuild, his thick jade hands moving with a steady grace. Jethran's heart swelled. His quiet boy, always mending the broken things of the world.
Then, his eyes found Prince Arby. He was a vision in his teal silken tunic which contrasted with his magenta-hued skin. His woven circlet, its lilac hue perfectly matching his brother's, was securely nestled in his cobalt hair. He was the charismatic center of an adoring circle of Colorista teens from Whispering Grove near the grand fountain. He was in the middle of a story, his hands gesturing with a theatrical flair.
"...so the Baroness smells the flower, which of course has the sleeping pollen on it, and she just slumps over, right into the bowl of spiced pomemarble sauce!" Arby declared, his voice ringing with amusement. He paused for dramatic effect, his chartreuse eyes wide.
"Her whole face is purple, and she's snoring like a hibernating bog-bear. The visiting ambassador nearly had a heart attack. He looks at me, I look at him. He's about to scream for the guards, but I just leaned her upright as I looked over to him and said, 'Don't worry, Your Excellency. She's just... deeply appreciating the flavor profile of the sauce.'"
The group erupted in laughter, and Arby took a small bow, his smile bright and triumphant. Jethran shook his head and laughed as he watched the slight embellishments which made Arby's talent for storytelling rival even his dadzu's. His brilliant performer, always ensuring he was the brightest star in the sky.
Jethran turned his head to catch King Fable watching him from his own throne. Everything else seemed to disappear, replaced by a warm grin at the varii who gave him twenty years of happiness. A faint smile touched Fable's lips. He knew that look intimately. It was the soft gaze Jethran got when he was trying to hold a perfect moment in his memory. Jethran winked.
"Ahem," a voice, sharp with theatrical impatience, cut through his reverie. "If the Two Weeks Mayor has quite finished having his sentimental moment, the Royal Decree is still awaiting your signature."
Mayor Saga of Silvarii Hollow stood before them, a formidable figure at thirty-two. The Royal Duchess, whose authority was as palpable as the magic in the air, wore her garnet hair formed in a crown braid on the top of her head. It was threaded with the shimmering silver strands that signified her mayoral station. Her violet skin complemented the mayoral sash that she inherited from her dadzu with the addition of purple rosebuds sewn along the edges. The elegant lines of her deep teal robes had been tailored to accommodate the gentle swell of her belly. The sill was a vision of maternal power as she carried the firstborn of the Woven Melody.
"It can wait, sistra," Fable said, waving a dismissive hand. "The proclamation to declare the squeak of the fuchsia bunny as the official sound of Spring is hardly a matter of state security. And I'm still not convinced that there's not a better suited nickname to refer to your big broven."
"The Bunny Fanciers Guild would disagree. On all counts," Saga retorted, her eyebrow arching. "And my fiancée, the Captain of said Guild, has been insufferable about it for weeks. I am certain that the entire Kingdom will be glad to learn that the squeak of the fuchsia bunny has finally replaced the buzzing of the bees as the official sound of Spring."
"That's my sistra," Fable wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. "All the power of the Mayoral House of Saga, betrothed to the Whispering Grove Eldress, and a master in her own right in the art of the Spectrasy. And what does she do with it? She overthrows the bees!"
"Oh, spice! The bees basically own the pollen count, Fable," Saga insisted, her face flushing with indignation in shades of azure. "They have completely monopolized honey production. It's not right for them to also be the official sound of Spring. No creature should have that much power."
"They are the only ones who know how to make honey, Saga!" Fable's marigold face was simply beaming at her irrational disdain. "But I admire your conviction."
"Let the Duchess have her squeaking bunnies, Fable," Jethran said as he rose from his throne. "Besides, the sooner you sign it the sooner we can have cake."
"But know this," Jethran announced with a faux sincerity, "with regard to your war against the bees, the Monarchy maintains a position of non-involvement."
He walked over, his hand finding the small of Fable's back, a grounding touch that sent a shiver of warmth through him. Having heard this argument countless times over the past twenty years, he was glad to see it finally put to rest.
"A compelling argument," Fable conceded, taking the offered scroll and quill from Saga. "Let the record show that the King Mayor can be swayed by the promise of confection. Let the bunnies squeak."
He scrawled his name with a flourish, the emerald green ink shimmering on the parchment.
"There you go, Mad'ram Mayor," he said, handing it back to Saga as he stood up from his throne. "Now, please, enough work. Go find a comfortable chair and get off your feet. My new nephzu or neesra needs a rested mamra. Before I tell Stanza that you're out here trying to be a warmonger."
Saga accepted the scroll, then gave her broven a smirk. She maintained eye contact, causing Fable to turn as he followed her. She stepped past the King and plopped herself down upon his throne. King Fable stood in awe of her audacity. His mouth opened to speak, and then he simply closed it, standing there blinking as he watched his sistra steal his throne.
Jethran beamed with amusement at the sight of Saga assuming the throne.
"Is this a coup?" Jethran asked.
"The babru told me that it hates all of the chairs in this palace, King Sprittle." she said.
"All of them?" Jethran laughed. "Surely the little babru hasn't tried them all."
"Are you calling my babru a liar before they are even born?" Saga countered.
"I would never!" Jethran said. His eyes were simply glowing at how flummoxed Fable was. "That would make me a terrible uncle. Everyone knows I'll be an outstanding uncle. The best!"
Fable stood between them, turning his head back and forth, stunned as his husbran and his insurrectionist sistra volleyed back and forth with each other.
Nearby, just inside the Arboretum, Prince Arby was leaning against the trunk of the Tree of Hope, simply basking in his own fabulous nature, as one often does. He overheard his father's pronouncement, and an inexplicable chill traced a path down his spine.
Just then, a shadow bloomed on the branch where his hand was placed. A smudge of gray that seemed as if even the rainbow light did not want to touch it. The shadow moved from the branch to his hand. He frowned. A ripple of cold unease disturbed his perfect contentment. His entire body shivered.
Shaking his head as if to dislodge a stray thought, he pushed himself away from the tree. The joyful hum of the party suddenly feeling so extra. As Arby walked away, the small shadowy spot nestled itself directly at his wrist. No one saw. Not even Arby, though a sudden itch flared, sharp and unplaceable.
"Jethran," Fable whispered, "call the guards and have her sent to the dungeon at once."
"This seat seems a bit sunken in," Saga said as she pretended to adjust herself. "And all this time I thought that the hopewood held nearly any weight without getting dented. Must be all the silverberry tarts."
“Oh, sugar!” Fable let out a guttural gasp, as he adjusted his peach robes and sucked in the barely noticeable belly that had developed over his thirty-nine years of life.
“Yep,” Saga chimed from her broven’s throne. “Probably the sugar intake.”
Jethran was utterly gobsmacked at this comment as he released a snorting laugh. He noticed Fable conjure a small flame at his fingertip. Before a war broke out between the kingdom and Silvarii Hollow, he grabbed his husband and directed him toward the grand balcony overlooking Evenhere City.
"And that, babru," Saga sat looking down towards her protruding belly, "is how you get Unczu Fable to stop telling you to sit down every five minutes."
__________
On the balcony, the previous moment melted away as the joyful noise of the party softened to a distant hum. They stood together, hand in hand, looking out at their kingdom. It was vibrant with life and color stretching to the horizon.
"This," Fable whispered, his voice thick with an emotion too vast for a single word. "This is everything."
"Nothing can ever touch this," Jethran replied, his voice a quiet promise. He raised upward on his toes to kiss Fable.
And then that promise shattered.
Jethran felt the Living Pulse skip a beat. The shift was subtle at first. A small ripple in the joyful pulse of the crowd. It was Spindle, Banner's wifra, her skin the color of a pale blue tangerine, calling for their dotra.
Fable saw her, Tassel, the little sillie Tierro had been helping. She had toddled away from the block tower and into the Arboretum, drawn by the shimmering light of the great Tree of Hope. But as he watched, his smile faltered.
The branch Tassel was reaching for... it was wrong. Unlike the others, which were vibrant and alive, this one was dull and lifeless, almost gray. Its crystalline leaves cloudy and cracked. The sillie plucked a piece of fruit from the tree. This was not like the hopefruit that had always grown there. What she held was a pocket of darkness that seemed as if it was draining the color from her hand as she held it.
Fable felt Jethran tense in his arms, his rainbow eyes fixed on the sillie. His skin paled with a dawning horror, as the blood drained from his face. Jethran knew. In his core, as Cadence, he felt the wrongful Pulse of the fruit. It was hopeless, a primordial poison.
"Tassel, no!" Banner screamed out from across the room.
Banner lunged forward, his sapphire skin paling, his crimson wings flaring in terror as he reached out toward his little girl. But he was too late. With the uncomplicated hunger of a sillie, Tassel took a bite.
No motion. No flash. No scream. For a horrifying second, Tassel simply stood there, the dark fruit in her hand. Then, she wavered, her form became indistinct, like a reflection in a disturbed pool of water. Her bright yellow tunic, the soft copper of her skin, the deep purple of her wings, the vibrant blue of her hair all shifted. She fully desaturated in an instant, collapsing into a colorless gray.
Saga sat up in the throne. She watched, paralyzed, as the gray itself dissolved. The little sillie's form unraveled into a fine dust that didn't settle on the ground. It was pulled inward on itself with a silent implosion. It collapsed into a lightless pinpoint of absolute nothingness. Finally, the pinpoint vanished.
She was gone. Erased. Unmade. Not dead. Not a spirit departing for the Afterhere. Gone. An empty space of air was all that remained where a life had been a moment before.
The music continued on. Banner and Spindle laughed as they danced along with the other guests. Kings Fable and Jethran moved toward the cake. Saga sat on the throne imagining herself as the Queen. The celebration was full of joy and unmatched peace.
Prince Tierro stood in silence. He watched as no one present seemed to be aware of what had occurred. A wave of panic ripped through him. The young prince shrieked. His screams jolted the crowd. The party goers all looked upon him with shock.
"What is wrong with all of you?" Tierro screamed. "Did you not see what just happened? She's gone!"
Saga scrambled to the spot where her nephzu was clawing at the empty air, at the indifferent grass, his cries tore at Saga's spirit. She knelt there beside the young hereman who she had helped the Kings raise.
"Who is it?" Saga asked him. "Who is gone?"
Tierro looked at her with confusion. "Tassel!" he yelled. "She was here. And then she just turned to dust and disappeared into light."
The crowd moved away from him, as the Prince's horror threatened to boil over into a rage. Talk of Silvarii turning to dust hadn't been heard since the FADES Crisis nearly twenty years ago. Still, it was a pain that none wished to revisit.
"Tierro," Saga calmly tried to understand. "I need you to tell me who Tassel is. Then we can have Banner search for her. She must be here somewhere."
Banner-Captain Banner stepped forward to assist. He was always ready to help the Princes with anything they needed.
"Your Highness, what does she look like?” The Banner-Captain asked, “Is she one of the visitors from Whispering Grove?"
"She is Tassel!" Tierro screamed. "She looks like Tassel! She is your dotra, Banner!"
Banner and Spindle exchanged a look. Spindle's face flushed with anger.
"Do you think our pain is a game?" Spindle demanded, her voice shaking. "This is a cruelty that I never expected from you. You know the Melody has denied us a sillie."
Banner stepped back, betrayal coloring his features. "Your Highness, a joke like this is beneath you."
Tierro was shocked by the accusation. He knew Tassel. He had watched her grow.
"I was just playing blocks with her," Tierro's voice trembled. "She was my friend."
Saga placed a comforting hand on Tierro's shoulder, her eyes filled with sympathy. "Tierro, you must be confused. They have no sillies. Let’s get you to the Well Keeps."
"I don't need a Well Keep!" Tierro demanded, pushing away from her. "Auntra Saga, you need to remember."
Saga's head tilted at his phrasing and the conviction that he held. She began to realize something was truly wrong.
Having witnessed the exchange, Jethran approached. He knew that his son was not a fan of jokes, and would never play a joke so out of line.
"Tierro, none of us have memory of a sillie named Tassel," he said. "Though I do recognize a missing beat in the Living Pulse."
He knelt beside his son. "I understand that you believe what you're saying," Jethran said firmly. "I'm sorry that you've lost your friend. Can I try a lullaby? Something to show me what you've seen? And maybe we can find her."
"Please," Tierro demanded. He was shaking with fear. "You have to help her!"
Jethran placed his hands upon Tierro's trembling shoulders and sang the Lullaby of Song's Before.
_____
The past is now gone away,
Only its lessons here to stay.
Show me now what you've seen,
Provide the truth dry and clean.
_____
Jethran's vision blurred. He watched as the history of Tierro's sight unfolded before him. He saw the sillie. He knew her. He saw her eat the fruit and he witnessed the erasure. He stumbled backward, his eyes opening. He looked at the Tree of Hope, seeing the gray branch and the blackened piece of hopefruit on the ground. Jethran looked back at his son.
“How?” he whispered.
Fable saw the look of abject terror on his husbran's face. He acted immediately.
"The party is over," Fable announced, his voice carrying the absolute authority of the King. "This Palace is on lockdown."
The music stumbled to a halt. Guests murmured in confusion.
"Banner-Captain Banner, go wake Commander Block," Jethran commanded. "Clear the arboretum. Set a perimeter of the Royal Color Guard around the Tree of Hope. Lock the gates. No one leaves here until we find out what has happened to the missing sillie."
"But Your Majesty," Banner argued. "I do not have a sillie!"
Jethran looked at his old friend. "I know," the King said. "Yet I just witnessed her disappear into a cloud of dust."
"Your Majesty..." Banner tried to reason with the King.
"Go!" Jethran ordered with a booming voice that left no room for argument.