Discordant Note | TBATE

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!

Seris Vritra

The sound of celebrations and rising glee flowed around us, the mana itself alight with life and light. Yuletide preparations rumbled through the great cavern of Burim, one of the oldest Dicathian festivals giving a bit of new life to the beleaguered dwarves.

I found it truly strange, the idea of Yuletide. It was an old Dicathian tradition. During the coldest months of the year, no matter the race, the people would gather together, giving gifts to those they cared for.

We Alacryans had no such holidays. Even in Sehz-Clar, where I had worked to foster communal support and responsibility over the decades, the idea sat strangely. To give without expectation of receiving? To give for the sake of giving?

Toren had laughed when he'd heard of the upcoming festival, his eyes alight as they usually did whenever he found something he thought particularly amusing. After some prodding, he'd revealed that his previous life had had a concept much the same: a season for giving gifts and fellowship.

It is still quite illogical, I mused, staring down at the blueprint I'd delivered to the burly smith in front of me. If one truly cared for their fellows, one would gift things truly needed. That would be true selflessness.

My eyes flicked to a young dwarven child as they scampered past, toddling on little feet. They spared me no mind, instead racing after their parents as they shouted their desire for certain toys.

The greatest gift should be simple currency, I thought with a hint of irritation. Such would give the most freedom to the receiver. To be able to purchase whatever they wish is a greater good than a restrictive item.

I'd said as such to Toren, and he'd been puzzled for a time. For all his virtues, he did not know his way around logic as I did. And I'd made a solid point: for a season supposedly about selflessness, it seemed quite selfish to me. Granted, I had only ever granted gifts out of pragmatism, hoping for the best outcome. Toren's saber and dagger, Caera's blade, and a dozen others… I could not fathom granting a gift for selfless reasons.

"I don't know about that, miss," the boulderish dwarven merchant muttered, stroking his beard. The lavaducts cast him in a low haze as he stared at the design I'd laid out in front of him. His beard was bound by cords, and there were no few gaps where sparks had tunneled their way through his graying hair. "I don't think I can do this."

The man's words cleared my head of earlier contemplations. Thrumir was one of the foremost fire mages in Burim, a master artificer of the dwarves. So talented was he in his craft that he could match some of Alacrya's Instillers. Without spellforms, runes, or formal training in the extensive sciences of my home continent, this singular smith still excelled.

I frowned down at the blueprint I'd presented to the smith. "Is it a matter of funds?" I queried, clasping my hands in front of me. "That should be no problem. I am not limited monetarily, and I have always been generous in my commissions."

Thrumir shook his head. "Apologies, Lady Shorn," he said carefully, "but this isn't like the fire puzzle I created before, or the craft of interlocking blocks after. These designs are more complicated than those, true, but it's more than that."

I let out a sigh, brushing a lock of raven hair behind my ear. I'd donned my age-old mask of Renea Shorn for this outing, and I already felt somewhat foolish for trying this at all. Despite this, I still felt a measure of disappointment. "Explain it to me, then," I said, knowing that I sounded more disappointed than I wished to let on.

The dwarf laid a meaty finger on the design, tracing the small gates with an inquisitive look. He traced the rigid pathways and strata of the design. "I can recognize some of these. Makes me think of the passageways for the lavaducts… When some of them are close to overflowing, channels will trip and divert the flow across the city."

"Logic gates, yes," I replied, tracing the paths with my eyes. "You've worked with such concepts before, have you not? The fire puzzle you crafted for me was based on such circuitry."

Thrumir nodded. "Aye, that is true. But I work with fire mana. It's explosive. Wants to move, wants to burn. It's been my greatest pride to harness that to my will, utilizing that surge for my creations. But this device here would fail quickly. The channels are too close together, and the fire mana wouldn't keep contained to such filaments. If you scaled it up, maybe… or used pure mana instead. But that is beyond my expertise. And with so many of these gates, in all of these different configurations…"

My shoulders slumped slightly against my will as I stared at the blueprints, my suspicions slowly confirmed. I didn't have the tools I needed to make something like this myself: those were all stored safely in my Aedelgard Estate. It had been a loose hope, but still…

I slowly began to roll the blueprint for the 'computer' up again, wondering at my next move. "Thank you for your time, Lord Thrumir," I said with a sigh, rolling up the blueprint for the makeshift 'computer.' "I shall find a workaround, I suppose."

I turned, realigning and reconsidering my plans. I had crafted a gift for Retainer Cylrit, of course. A way to show my appreciation for his service and stalwart loyalty. So too had I attempted to make something for my pupil far back in Alacrya. Something to show that I… what? Cared?

"Lady Shorn," Thrumir called out behind me. The burly man was wringing his hands, his eyes cast downward slightly. "Forgive my presumptions, but is this puzzle another gift?"

I paused, then turned to look quizzically at the smith. "Another, Lord Thrumir?" I asked, displaying curiosity and mild amusement. "I do not believe I've ever told you what I do with my commissions, and yet you are quick to make assumptions."

I raised my brow, aware of my irregular defensiveness. I didn't want this man to know I was giving gifts. Strange.

The dwarf wrung his meaty hands, working his jaw with discomfort. "Aye, that's true. And I'm sorry for intruding. But, well… Spellsong comes by every now and then. Helps a little bit, then leaves again. He does that for a lot of the dwarven forges. And one time he was here, I saw him with the puzzle I had made."

The dwarf shuffled, growing more and more and more uncomfortable as I kept him pinned with an icy stare. "If I may suggest something… Lady Scythe….?" he muttered, "I might have something that can help remedy this failure of mine."

I narrowed my eyes. He'd put it together. That was irritating.

Toren had explained some about his previous life and his former passions. The idea of computers were not foreign to me: after all, many such devices were made with mana that mimicked thought and action. But those were not quite the same as what my Spellsong had explained.

I slowly strolled back to the blacksmith, a vision in shadow. "If you cannot craft something to these specifications, I do not believe I will be satisfied," I said. "Nonetheless, humor me."

Thrumir nodded sharply, regaining his wits. He bent beneath his counter, and I could hear him shuffling around and cursing slightly. When he resurfaced, there were half a dozen gears, springs, and bits of metal clutched in his hands. He set all the various components onto his desk.

Silence stretched between us. I stared at the miscellaneous items, a brow raised, then looked back at the sweating dwarf. "And this is significant to me because…?"

The dwarf coughed into a fist. "I am deeply sorry that I could not fulfill your specifications, Lady Scy—" I glared at the man. "Lady Shorn. But if you wish to give a gift, might I suggest making something yourself?"

I blinked, looking down at the various components. In my mind's eye, I could imagine the dozens of ways they could mesh together. My basilisk's blood churned slightly, the scientifc part of me drawn forward.

"And, pray tell, what purpose would that serve?" I asked, leaning forward slightly. "Anything made by you would most certainly be of higher quality than what I might put together."

The dwarven blacksmith scratched at his beard, his eyes a little uncertain. "I make all my gifts for my children, Lady Shorn," he said slowly, treading forward as if the only thing beneath his feet was thin lake ice. "They're not all my best work, true. But I put my heart into it. That's what matters most."

My brow wrinkled. Toren travels to the Hearth to bring me an army, the greatest gift I have ever received. I felt strangely small as I stared at the clump of clogs and springs, like I was a confused little girl again in the depths of Taegrin Caelum. Should I not have something just as grand waiting for him?

"It seems… lacking," I muttered quietly. "Anything I can make will be quite small."

The dwarf grunted. "Pardon, my Lady, but gifts aren't just about what the other person receives," he said, strangely gentle. "A small toy can hold so much more of our care for those we love than the grandest of structures."

I tapped my finger against the counter, considering. "That is quite selfish," I said. "As if the gift is for ourselves as well as the recipient. To convince ourselves that we care."

"I don't think its so simple," Thrumir said, bolder now. "We need to remind ourselves of why we love those close to us sometimes, no? Yuletide helps us. We find our gifts and we think of our families, and we remember what draws us together."

That is a little selfish, I mused, coming to a decision. But not so bad as I thought.

I felt my lip quirk up into a slight smile, feeling just a bit vindicated. "I suppose so," I allowed, sweeping the scraps and springs into my dimension ring. In its place, I left a heavy sack of coins. "Thank you, Lord Thrumir."

I strolled away from the dwarf, feeling satisfied. Yuletide was very strange, but perhaps I could grow to appreciate such a custom. Already, I was planning ahead. What I'd make for Toren, how I needed to moderate the celebrations…

I would need to revise my gifts to Caera and Cylrit, too. With this new understanding, I found my earlier presentations lacking.

Maybe I can institute something like this in Sehz-Clar in the years to come, I thought, feeling warmth in my chest despite the chill. A little selfish selflessness could go a long way.

Toren Asclepius

"I think this is a terrible idea," I said for the dozenth time, knowing that it was hopeless. "You really should spare yourselves the trouble!"

Roa patted me on the shoulder unhelpfully. "Nonsense, Toren!" she chirped happily, tossing me a few more fruits to dice. "This is a group effort! No excuses! You'll help whether you like it or not!"

All around me, a couple hundred phoenixes darted about, chattering and chirping amiably as they zipped about the Sunset Gardens. Asura shapeshifted into small hummingbirds, tracing streamers across trees in their little birdie forms, while others worked at a haphazard pace to set up more and more cookpots. Half a dozen fires lingered in the air, the asura dancing about them merrily.

All in all, the Yuletide celebrations were going well so far. A celebration of community, life, and love glimmered about me, carried on currents of birdsong. I'd spent the past couple of days putting together nice gifts for those I cared for.

Naereni would get a feather cloak that would hide her from all prying eyes. Wade was going to get an Asclepius beastiary detailing different ways to care for mana beasts. I'd give Sevren a clipping of Sister Nature herself so he could run wild with it. I'd gotten Cylrit a history book on old asuran warriors and folklorish tales as they kept to chivalric ideals. And for Seris…well, her gift wasn't done yet.

Things were rolling toward a beautiful crescendo as the night wound down, the clock ticking to midnight. And now we would eat together, as family should. A wonderful gathering of Hearth and home swirled about me as the great firebirds prepared to celebrate.

Why is it that such celebrations exist on this world, too? I wondered absently. Is it just more multiverse mambo-jumbo? Existential bullcrap that can't really be answered?

I didn't really think so. There was something deeply human about this, gathering close during the coldest times of the year. Something that called to the heart itself in a way that couldn't be explained by multiverse theory or aetheric hypotheses.

And I really didn't want to ruin it.

"Roa, I really don't think you comprehend how bad of a chef I am," I said weakly, my shoulders hunched nervously in front of the bubbling stewpot. If it could even be called a stewpot. A liquid like molten gold flowed in the cauldron, glimmering like captured sunlight. The scent of freshly baked apples, cinnamon, and warm maple wafted up from it, wrapping me like a gentle blanket. The nectar of the gods themselves slowly simmered, inviting me to take a sip.

"Mordain told me you were nearly as poor a chef as he!" Roa said with a smile that only made her features shine. "That's why we're here. I'm going to teach you how to make a real dish!"

I stared into the glowing pot of god's ambrosia. It simmered lightly beneath a magical flame, and the more I gazed at it, the more I could sense the sheer level of magic imbued within. It was already near completion, and I wondered what it would taste like. Apple pie turned to pure liquid? Or maybe an autumn day condensed with all the spices and warmth of a fire? Or perhaps it'd taste like cider…

Regardless, if I laid a single finger on it, it would lose anything that made it taste good.

"Roa, this seems like a really bad idea," I tried one last time, "This can only end in chaos!"

Diella, one of the older phoenixes of this generation, floated forward imperiously. Her hair was ashen, indicating she was close to her second sculpting. "We'll help you, Toren," she said imperiously. "Everyone else has gathered the ingredients. You'll do fine."

I looked over to Aurora, pleading silently over our bond. My mother met my eyes from where she lounged with Mordain, Soleil, and a few others, then looked at my family about me.

Please, Aurora, I thought desperately, afraid to ruin the moment. I felt a pit of quiet shame at my reluctance. You know I'm not a good cook. I really… really don't want to ruin this. Could you get me out of it?

All around me, the swirling emotions of my family embraced and enveloped me like a cloak, warding away the chill. The hovering lights of the Sunset Glades told me I was home, that I had a place to stand. That, even in another world, I had a place that I could belong.

And everyone was so good at what they'd set out to do. Lithen arranged the trees, weaving nests with a smile on his face as he bantered with Aubuen. Soleil's fiery beard flowed around his face as he directed the chaotic hubbub, the flock knowing his commands. And Mordain drifted like an errant feather through it all, smiling warmly and laying a hand on every shoulder, giving a comforting smile and warm affirmation.

I don't want to mess this up, I thought, feeling slightly ashamed at how childish I must have sounded.

My mother's smile became a bit more somber. "I'll be right over, Toren," she conveyed warmly, sensing my distress. She whispered something to the phoenixes around her, before beginning to drift over, our bond alight with reassurance.

Almost immediately, though, I felt a spark of shame. Really, Toren? Calling your mom over to bail you out of a difficult situation?

I squared my shoulders, reassuring myself with my steady hearbeat. Wait, I told my mother, finding my form one more. Wait. I can do this!

I had faced countless battles! This was no different! I could face down countless foes without fear. This stew was no different!

Aurora's smile widened as she sensed me settle in. You'll succeed, my son, she conveyed gently. You only need try.

I shook my head, banishing my earlier reservations, before looking back up at Diella and Roa. Aurora was right. I made a show of rolling up my sleeves and taking a deep breath, the golden liquid within the cauldron in front of me seeming to mirror that calming motion. "You're all right. I can do this!" I declared, staring down at the ambrosia as if it were an SS-class mana beast barring my path. I had crossed the boundaries of worlds, faced amalgamations of utter fear in the Relictombs, and triumphed over the Vicar of Plague himself. "I can learn to cook!"

Diella chuckled, a beautiful sound like music. She sidled closer to me, staring deep into the golden stewpot. "I am the best cook in the Asclepius Clan," she declared confidently, turning her chin up. "You won't fail in this, I promise. The expertise of thousands of years of culinary masters will guide your steps!"

I nodded, feeling myself confidence return as I watched the swirl of gold.

—

Diella stared in awe at what had become of the stew, her jaw slack and her intent rife with confusion and disbelief. "You only dropped a single fruit in," she muttered, uncomprehending. "What… how?"

My shoulders slumped mournfully as I stared at the cauldron. What had once been a whirlpool of life had turned—somehow—to a maelstrom of dark shadow. The smells, which had once been inviting and lovely, had become sharp and bitter, the sweet turned sickly.

"This doesn't make sense," she whispered, poking at the stew with a ladle. I could have sworn it poked the ladle back. What the fuck? "This is scientifically impossible!"

I glared angrily at the stew. The stew might have glared back, a Frankenstein's monster in the making. "One day," I muttered angrily. "One day, the stew won't win."

Roa nervously poked at the stew, then shrieked when a tendril of darkness snapped out from the pot. A blaze of phoenix fire ignited on her hands, before it funneled with a powerful fwoosh into the cauldron.

Diella and I both stumbled back, covering our faces with our arms. I could hear the thing scream.

When it was done, there was nothing left in the pot except for ashes, and Roa's eyes were feverish and wide as she stared at the charred remnants.

Half the Sunset Glades were staring at us, curiosity and confusion radiating from a hundred living deities.

Roa chuckled nervously, waving at them while she hid the pot behind her back. "Nothing! Don't worry about it!" she declared with a smile that was a little too brittle.

I licked my lips, before raising my hand. I still felt that fire in my gut: it was personal now. "I think we should try again," I said slowly. "Maybe if we only try putting in half a fruit…"

"Absolutely not!" Roa squeaked, grabbing the pot and moving it away from me. "You aren't allowed to touch he pot ever again!"

Diella, thankfully, was on my side. "Come on, Roa!" she said, her eyes shining slightly. "Imagine all we could learn if he puts random things in the pot!"

My eyes narrowed as I focused on the pot, calculations running in my head. Roa wasn't looking at me, her intent entirely focused on Diella.

"That's not how science works!" Roa said back, keeping the pot even further away. "It's gotta be reproducible, right? I don't think anyone can be trusted with this."

A hand settled on my shoulders, taking me from my silent schemes. I blinked, turning to see my bond hovering behind me, a soft smile on her face. Mordain fluttered next to us a moment later, fondly watching Roa and Diella argue the ethos of letting me near the cookpots again.

"I am proud of you for giving it your best effort, my son," Aurora said helpfully, ruffling my hair. "Perhaps you might not excel at everything, but it is no matter."

Mordain hummed, staring at the pot inquisitively. "Your mother is right, Toren. Sometimes certain things are beyond us. That is no fault, simply fact."

I grumbled, turning and looking down at the ground far below. "If I used a quarter of a fruit instead of a half, then…"

Roa and Diella oriented sharply on us, noticing Mordain's presence. "Mordain!" Diella cried, zipping forward. "Please, tell Roa that it would be a great idea to keep trying to let Toren make stew! The advancements we could make in magic would be amazing!"

"No, I was wrong!" Roa interjected, speaking over her clanmember. "We can't let anyone else suffer the consequences of our mistakes!"

"Hey," I retorted, puffing out my chest. How could someone shift from supporting me so wholeheartedly to trying to prevent me from trying again?

Mordain coughed lightly into one of his fists, drawing attention back to him. "Unfortunately, Diella, I will have to side with Roa on this matter," he said candidly. He gave me a little wink. "If Toren wishes to improve his cooking skills, I would advise a secure bunker and plenty more precautions than what can be brought to bear here. Perhaps the 'Relictombs,' as our Friends in Life used to call them. But I think I have a better suggestion for us all."

Mordain leaned forward, his eyes taking me in in my fullest. "We have everything necessary for a wonderful night. Good food, good company… but not good music."

My eyes slowly widened, and I spared my mother a glance. Damn, Mordain was right. Though the preparations for dinner were nearing completion and all the setup was nearly ready, the only sound was the constant chatter of excited phoenixes.

Roa's frantic worry about my eldritch cooking capabilities slowly misted away as she blinked, looking between me and Mordain. "Music?" she echoed, blinking. "Toren, you're a musician?"

I looked out at my gathered family, our intents laced with so much life and happiness and joy. Though the winter chill bit through the night sky, deep in this pleace of peace, one could stop with a mug of cider and laugh about the olden times, when things weren't so complicated. You could hold those you loved, and they'd hold you back. The sense of it wrapped around me, hundreds of heartbeats a symphony on their own.

Am I a musician? I asked myself, sensing how my heartbeat found its home among all the others. Aren't we all, when we have someone we love?

I blinked, and I realized that my vision was blurring. I let out a shuddering breath, pulling myself back to the moment. "Y-yeah," I muttered. My mother's shoulder massaged mine, her emotions a warm balm across my mind. "Yeah. I'm a violinist. Pretty good, if I say so myself. Anyways," I said, pushing forward, "there's a song I'd like to play, Roa. And I'd love if you—and Lithen, Diella, and everyone else—could join me."

I looked back at my mother, my eyes hopeful. "And if you're able to… I'd like you to join me, too."

—

It's the coldest months, I decided, setting my violin against my jaw. They take our warmth, leaving us shivering.

My mother stood beside me, looking down at me fondly, finding solace in our emotional tether. Finding foundations.

That's the same on every world, isn't it? The harsh bite of winter, taking away your solace. Making your fingers turn blue as the blood freezes in your veins, ripping away the illusion of eternal safety…

Roa stood by my side, a lyre strung with fiery threads of magic that I couldn't identify glimmering in the low light. Diella lounged in the air, a stringed instrument I didn't recognize in her hands.

"We'll follow your lead, young blood," Diella said quietly, much calmer than before. "I look forward to it."

Above us, our family was finishing their preparations for the celebration. Some had noticed us and begun to drift down, interested. And still others noticed, yet continued on in their cooking, tasting, and laughter.

But I didn't need their attention yet. I was just a part of the whole, not a sole concert like in Alacrya. Not a monument of magical prowess or an otherworldly enigma.

Just… me. Just Toren.

"It's been so long since I've sung," my mother whispered quietly. "I wonder if I've forgotten."

I'd heard my mother's angelic voice only once. A long, long time ago, deep in the expanse of the Relictombs. When I'd stared into the endless abyss of aether, she'd sat with me, singing a lullaby she'd first learned from her own mother.

I hadn't heard her voice since.

I let go of my violin handle for a moment, clasping Aurora's hand softly with mine in reassurance. "You know how, Mom," I said quietly. "I've never heard anyone sing as beautifully as you."

Aurora stared up at her family as they flew through the skies, her eyes narrowed. I thought she was struggling against tears. "Maybe I do remember," she whispered. "Maybe, if I try, I can recall…"

Mordain, with his hands tucked characteristically into his belt, spared the few of us a smile. I'd always considered him a being of utmost age, an ancient marble statue fighting against the wear of time. Today, though, as his eyes lingered on his sister, I caught the first hint of happiness I'd ever witnessed from him.

You're home, Aura, those eyes said. You're with me, with us. Our family is whole again. We're whole again.

As he stepped forward, a collective breath of wind seemed to flow through the entirety of the Sunswept Glades. It tickled at my ear, laughing at the absurdity of things like responsibility and care. It banished every bit of cold I could ever feel, brushing my fears aside as if they were only paper mache.

"Friends and fellows!" Mordain called, raising his arms. His loose robes flowed like molten honey, drinking in the light. "Lend me an ear!"

The fluttering and flapping of wings slowed as the attention of the entire clan gradually shifted to their leader. Mordain's gaze drifted about the glades, meeting the eyes of each and every phoenix. I could see how he inspired their loyalty, their respect with each heartbeat.

"Not long ago, we welcomed a long-lost member of our family home," the Lost Prince said, gesturing back to my mother's shade. "We gathered here, embracing and remembering days long-gone. And now, as we reach the coldest times of the year, we gather together once again to remember what it is to be together.

"We have set up food, community, light, and color. But it has been so long since we've let ourselves sing. And I believe it it high time for music."

Mordain glided to the side, giving me a warm smile. We had our differences, and my animosity ran truly deep. But right here, right now? When I swam in a sea of pulses, blessed with this rhythm in my chest?

I didn't care.

"When I first came to this world," I called up to the flitting firebirds, feeling their growing love for me, "it was in a place of utmost sorrow. The strong ruled the weak, and there was no solace for those on the ground."

My fingers clenched around my violin as I remembered the first woman to inspire me in this world. The one who helped me learn to love music and love my neighbor. Greahd, the mother of Fiachra.

"The first time I found that I belonged… was among the cookfires of those people, deep in the heart of winter. Because even with their sorrow, even with their pain, they held a wisdom that eludes even some of the greatest gods. A wisdom that is lost on Epheotus, so-called land of deities."

It was so terribly ironic. The lowest of the low, squeezed of every ounce of hope and joy, knew something of living more than their Sovereigns. More than Kezess Indrath could ever grasp. As men went from cookfire to cookfire, giving thanks for Greahds little kindnesses, they understood something of each other that transcended worlds.

I let my words hang, the intents of my family drifting down like a hundred warm feathers. Smiles were exchanged, hands squeezed. Arms wrapped around shoulders, and the many firelights bathing the Glades in light began to dim lower and lower.

Not like a dying fire, no. But a Hearth that everyone needed to gather round, or a classic tale whispered by your old uncle that demanded your utmost attention. Every one of us somehow gravitated towards each other, unbound by the winter cold.

"I played them a song, long ago," I called, settling my bow on my strings. "A song from my old world, about love and friendship and days past. And I want you all to know it here, too."

I took a deep breath, pressing out with my intent…

And then I began to play, familiar chords drawing themselves from the depths of my soul. And like a miracle fit for a story, my mother began to sing.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And days of auld lang syne?

Earlier, I'd wondered why Yuletide existed in this world. Some sort of multiversal shenanigans? Or signs of another reincarnate somewhere? Her voice was so angelic. Like the breath of the universe itself, holding my soul in its hands and coaxing every beat. Around us, our family drifted closer, carrying their plates of food and their instruments and tapestries and everything else they'd been setting up.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

We'll take a cup of kindness yet,

For days of auld lang syne.

Roa played her strings, Diella her own instrument. And more and more of the phoenixes reached for their voices and instruments, a wonderful tapestry joining the display. A somber, loving melody, professing something that transcended Fate itself. The lights fell lower, our hearts rowing us along.

Drinks were shared, bowls of stew handed around. The scent of apples and cinnamon warmed me as I paused in my playing to take a drink from a beautiful mug, knowing I could afford to do so. Because those around me could carry me on when I needed to rest.

We have traveled 'round the slopes,

And picked the daisies fine.

We've wandered many weary foot,

Since days of auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

We'll take a cup of kindness yet,

For days of auld lang syne.

As the music threaded through hundreds of hearts, drawing them into one, I found the truth. When we were coldest, the heat of our bodies seeping away in the chill… That was when our Hearths mattered most. That was when the embrace of our loved ones meant the most, because no longer could we stay warm by ourselves.

As the song ended amidst a chorus of laughter and good cheer, my mother trembled. She stared at her family, and I knew she could sense their joy. She trembled lightly, her voice exhausted. A single song took so much from her, leaving her exhausted. But as the joy she'd allowed to kindle and burn echoed around her in shouts and echoed singing…

She turned, wrapping me in an embrace as she struggled not break into tears again. Though her shade no longer bore a heart, I knew she'd felt this with all her soul.

I smiled, returning her hug, grateful that we had this time together.

Christmas, Yuletide, Saturnalia, the Solstice… They all meant the same thing, in a way. A way to share our warmth and remember that we had a Hearth. That, no matter what, we were never alone.

—

I didn't have much time to write or revise this, but here you go. A little non-canon omake. I imagine that King Arthur and Lance Silverthorn are having a happier time too, glad for what they have.

If one couldn't already tell, one of DN's greatest themes is that of community, and what it takes to belong. Christmas is one of those holidays that—regardless of if you celebrate it as a Christian or not—tends to be about the warmth at the depth of the coldest time of the year.

I hope all of you have a merry Christmas and a very happy new year! :)