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Radz-at-Han was splendorous during the day. But at night, it became a true city of wonders. The streets lined with market vendors came to life, flooding with artisans and buyers alike. Performers thumped drums and danced in flowing garb around the aetheryte plaza, singing ancient songs in loud Thavnairian. Food stalls were erected, displaying offerings from all over the Ilsabard Islands, samples and stories being shared from hand to hand in a rich cultural exchange.
All the way from Megadhuta, D’fhiri heard the people enjoying their night. They had earned it, she thought, after all they’d been through. Joy and revelry was something that had far too recently been thought of as a precious commodity they wouldn’t have again, maybe for generations, maybe forever. Still, her sensitive hearing meant the festivities left her wide awake, unable to rest in anticipation of the upcoming foray into the void.
The halls of the palace were eerily quiet, as palaces often were in the middle of the night. Her soft slippers only whispered against the stone-tiled floor.
It had been a long time since she had slept soundly, although she always made an effort. Ever since they returned to the Source, it seemed, she had been thrown to and fro constantly. Where on the First her companions had been especially gentle with her exhaustion levels, here, there was no danger of her transforming into a light-aspected abomination. So, as she was wont to do, D’fhiri had run herself ragged, catching only brief winks of sleep on Raha’s shoulder as he studied beside her, or as they rocketed across the stars. After they returned from Ultima Thule, injuries willing, she slept for nearly a month.
Radz-at-Han, she found, had a delightful selection of vantage points for the restless, and Megadhuta held several. As she traipsed up the stairs to the roof, she wondered if Vrtra had ever taken his vessel up here to stare over the city, remember what it was like to fly. She’d shared a few nights with him up here, trading stories and memories. Understandably, they both enjoyed her recollections of the Dragonsong war, and the fraught path of peace she sought with his brethren.
When arriving on the roof, though, she was not greeted with the slight frame of Varshawn, but the more elegant silhouette of Y’shtola. She had arrived from Old Sharlayan earlier that day in preparation for the next leg of their experimentation. Both of them being Seekers, it was no accident that they both wound up on the highest point of the building. But their upbringing had been so disparate, D’fhiri often forgot to compare their mannerisms.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she said gently. Y’shtola was looking directly at her with a fond smile, her milky gaze searching D’fhiri’s aetherial signature. She had forgone her typical sorceress garb for a more relaxed off-the-shoulder nightgown and leggings, and it was a relief to see her in any kind of casual clothing for once.
“I’ve had far too many portentous dreams as of late,” Y’shtola said. “‘Tis good to see you hale, my friend. I can’t deny it is always a relief to see you as yourself.”
Settling down close by, D’fhiri dangled her legs off the roof. The city below glistened with lights reflecting off the sides of the tall, multicolored buildings. Above, the glittering sky shined with a calm warmth. It was moments like this that caught D’fhiri’s breath and reminded her what she had been fighting for all along, what Venat, and later Hydaelyn, had sacrificed everything for. Countless years, endless generations, all so a city could glow and thrive and pulse with the lifeblood of its people.
Had Hydaelyn ever slept, all that time? Perhaps not. Perhaps she observed from afar, always invested, always learning of the people she loved so desperately. Perhaps it was not in the fate of any who carried Azem’s title to find true rest, because they were always, always moving.
“Gil for your thoughts?” Y’shtola asked.
“Just internally complaining about how tired I am,” D’fhiri said. She chuckled softly. She leaned back on her palms, tail sweeping to the side. “Back in the First, was it as difficult for you to sleep as it was for everyone else? Could you see all that light-aspected aether in the sky?”
“Indeed, I could. It was part of why the Night’s Blessed held such an appeal for me in those early days. Surrounded by the forest, by the life of all those trees and birds, I could ignore the light and focus on the people — on myself. It helped me to calm my dithering mind enough to finally rest.”
D’fhiri nodded sagely. “Like your own dark curtain, made of leaves, mostly.”
“Wise words from the sleep-deprived,” Y’shtola giggled. D’fhiri laughed as well, bumping their shoulders together.
“If we keep talking about it, maybe it will finally happen.”
“I’ve noticed you seem to find plenty of comfort with G’raha,” Y’shtola said, a teasing lilt still in her voice. “Why not send him a message via linkpearl? He’d teleport right here, no aetheryte required.”
“Perhaps we Seekers of the Sun simply aren’t built to sleep alone,” D’fhiri said. Y’shtola didn’t respond for a long moment. The rhythm of banter fell flat between them, and an awkward pause ensued. D’fhiri brought one of her hands up to her face, inspecting the edges for dirt. “You’re still one of us, you know. Even if you weren’t raised that way.”
“I never identified with it all that thoroughly,” Y’shtola said, shaking her head. “But you rejected your home tribe, did you not?”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not what I am,” she said. “No differently from how I am still Miqo’te.”
“Just as you are a Scion.” Y’shtola wrinkled her nose. “Ex-Scion, I mean.”
“This is different. It’s a matter of biology.”
“And yet, we are not cousins, are we? How can you say we have any familial connection except for what we have chosen?”
“I’m not going to win a philosophical debate with you, Shtola!” D’fhiri threw back her head in laughter. “But how about a dare? Let’s try to go to sleep here, now, in bodily contact with each other. You can’t deny it may work. And if it doesn’t, I will forever admit you’re right.”
“You already admit I’m right, all of the time,” Y’shtola said, grinning. “Because I am.”
“Indeed, Master Matoya,” D’fhiri said. She scooted up the roof a bit, patting the empty space beside her. “Come, now. Lay down.”
They settled on the roof on a slant, D’fhiri taking the position of the larger spoon, although she was somewhat shorter, volunteering her arm to serve as a pillow for both of them. She looped her arm around Y’shtola’s waist and snuggled her face into the back of her neck. She smelled of herbal tinctures and dusty leather tomes. Their legs tangled, as did their fingers. Pleasantly warm, they looked out over the city, still awake with its persistent glow.
And of course, not a few minutes had gone by before they fell asleep this way, staying in that position until dawn.