My tapestry grew rapidly, then much more slowly as I ran out of stories to chronicle. I had Fosii and Elta beside me, my spyglass, and Surril, but I grew painfully lonely. Saiyon continued to visit me, sometimes briefly, sometimes longer when I allowed conversation. Time played on, scarring over my injuries, stitching together my heart where it could. My anger slowly subsided, and I even found myself smiling again, laughing at times. Saiyon was constant and noble and truthful, and as years and years passed, I found myself growing fond of Him. Never once did He mock me or rage against me, even when I left His side to go to my spire and sing to the Twilight. Never once did He question or cajole me. He simply let me be, and let me heal, and let me suffer in my loneliness while He suffered in His, until I cracked for need of wanting and love. For fifty years He waited for me, whether I wanted Him to or not. In the fifty-first year, I finally came to Him.
During my time in the palace, I spared five star mothers, for Saiyon’s seed took only when there was a gap to fill in the night sky. Through our love I bore Him five more stars, each as brilliant and playful as Surril. She loved her two sisters and three brothers and danced with them in the heavens, forming shapes and patterns beautiful to behold. Like Surril, each star blessed me with light, making me a little less mortal with each new life. And though I was meant to serve out my sentence within the confines of the palace, Saiyon took me heavenward often so I could be with my children, because with them I was at my happiest, and He so dearly wanted me to be happy.
And so time went on, and on, filled with old promises and nightly songs, until 350 years from me, and the same from Ristriel, had fallen into the coffers of time, mending the music that had been stolen from it.
I was not there when Saiyon journeyed into Oblivion at the end of Ristriel’s sentence. But I have heard enough from Him, and from Ristriel, to piece together what happened there.
Ristriel lifted his head, wincing at the bright light filling the space where he knelt, held up by bright chains made of starlight, waiting for the Earth Mother to turn so he could watch her for the sliver of time he was given. So he could hear the distant song that soothed him, for never once had it failed to come in 350 years. It sparked the hope that dwindled each time the darkness returned, and kept him sane against the pull of his captivity.
“It is done.” Saiyon, red and smoldering, held back His powers as best He could. “You’ve only minutes left.”
Relief washed over Ristriel. He sagged against his chains, grateful.
“Ristriel.”
He lifted his head once more.
“You must pay back what you have kept,” Saiyon said. “You must return the last of it.”
Ristriel met Saiyon’s eyes, incredulous. He tried to stand, but the chains forced him to hunch. “I will not.”
Saiyon dimmed further. “You must. It is the law.”
His chains pulled tight. “Do you not know what those minutes are? They are the first that I took.”
Saiyon nodded. “I know.”
“They are the time for which fate meant to claim her.” His voice weakened, disbelieving.
Saiyon nodded again.
Furious, Ristriel tried to stand again and nearly managed it. “You would have her die? After all the time You’ve had with her, after all the new stars I’ve seen? You would let her die?”
“She may not.” Saiyon’s voice was tired and strained. “The time of her death is past. It may merely be replaced, and she will go on as she has before, upheld by the starlight within her.”
“But it might not. It might snap back into her song and end it entirely.”
Saiyon bowed His head, His body heavy with sorrow. “It is the law” was all He could offer.
Ristriel’s chains pulled on him harder than ever before.
Below, the Earth Mother turned, and his power descended upon Her, showing him the oceans and seas, the land and mountains, hills and valleys, and all the people upon her face. And he heard my song so faintly, so far away. A truth, a promise, and a sacrifice.
And so Ristriel reached deep within himself, grasped on to the last of my time, and swallowed.
Saiyon heard it and stiffened. “What have you done?”
Smiling sadly, Ristriel answered, “I’ve taken it into myself. You and the universe will never have it.”
Saiyon blazed. “You fool! Do you not know what will happen, if you make a mortal’s death part of yourself?”
But of course Ristriel knew.
It would make him mortal.
Mortality spread over him like a rampant disease. His violet glow diminished, his starlight chains snapped, and his lungs struggled to work, for a mortal could not exist within Oblivion.