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The stars above Golden Hour might have been fake, but not for him. The product of people's ambitions, dreams, and longings for paradise shone bright, enveloping the horizon in an amethyst hue. The man inhaled slowly and let the breath remain in his lungs for a moment - air that he soon would miss. He used to despise spending time in the Golden Hour, the ever-lingering stench of cigarettes, alcohol, and expensive perfume scratching his throat and sending shivers of disgust down his chest. Oh, how it all changed. Those disdained scents, and nauseating flavours felt like... home. Even if he were to remain in smoke and filth, it was a fate far more merciful than leaving. On Penacony's streets, perhaps he could still catch a glimpse of Robin's song.
He should have noticed from the beginning where the road led, where that man was taking him. He might have been just a child... but a child with responsibility. The Halovian raised his fingers to feel his halo, still floating proudly, as if mocking him. That golden crown of Harmony should never be stained by hanging above a fugitive's head. To shatter it... crossed his mind not once. A pathetic fool he was, unable to fulfill his duty as a fallen apostle of Xipe. He ought to tune himself that time, to stand face to face with his sins and pay all the prices - was exile too merciful? The wrath of the Harmony has not reached him, despite himself deceiving others with it, that gambler, the Nameless... his sister. His dearest sister. Unforgivable.
The clench on the halo tightened, the sharp edges cutting into the body with no harm yet, but just a slip of pressure, and the golden rotunda would shatter, piercing into the porcelain skin, untainted with common man's troubles. "See what this world is truly like", the sly snake whispered, offering him a delightful apple. Despite his pride, he chose to sate the hunger - after all, his dearest bit it first. The sinner hoped the price was only his to pay.
The Head of the Oak Family must set and obey rules. The Head of the Oak Family must not stray away from the path arranged for them. The Head of the Oak Family must not cry. He was not the Head anymore. A tear felt cold on his cheek, trailing a path barely explored before. A soft breeze brushed against it, guiding it towards the lip chapped with anxiety and guilt. That salty flavor did not recognize, one he wished never to fill any mouth. A promise made with pure heart was now tainted by his own doing, a bond severed by stone-cold, ever-lasting, and changeless Order. A sweet paradise... turned so bitter.
"An astonishing view, isn't it?", a melodic, feathery voice cut the reminiscing short, making Sunday flinch and cover the sides of his face with his wings. He need not do so as the power of the Harmony concealed his identity enough, but the man still could not adjust to the new experience - living in the shadows. His fists clenched harder on the golden balustrade, the cold metal chilling his skin. A natural act was in order - one he would perform.
"Yes, indeed. The Golden Hour remains eternally glorious." he bowed his head, concealed as a metal Intellitron facade. Sunday hoped the man would soon take his leave, finding a different subject to his storytelling, or conversing, or flirting, or whatever it was that he desired.
"Beautifully said. So you people have a sense of poetry!" the man laughed... the man. Sunday's eyes widened and for just a moment, his whole body froze. Could such an extravagant, confident, and honeyed voice be mistaken for? The Halovian blinked a few times to steady himself and despite selfrestraint and discipline, turned his head to the new comrade of his skygazing.
Such a face would not easily go mistaken, forgotten even more so. The blonde strands shone like quartz under the city lights, covered by a white velour hat that threatened to fly away with the southern wind. The rich teal coat, exorbitantly sprinkled with jewels on each stitch covered the whole silhouette, the material matching that of the headwear. White fur brushed against the smooth, porcelain skin, protecting it from the chilly wind. If the lights were white, the body could resemble a birch bark - milky softness tainted by that dark mark... Sunday grimaced and turned away. What kind of terrible person he must have been, to use such wound against the man? He remembered the way he looked at him then, the way their feelings intertwined under the Harmony's gaze. For just a moment he was no longer a shameless, scheming gambler, but a terrified Avgin boy, standing before his inevitable fate, which seemed to follow his every step - losing all dear. Sunday's throat clenched. He was a terrible, terrible man.
"Something bothering you, miss?" the words snapped the fugitive out of his thoughts.
"... Not at all. Such views simply arouse nostalgia."
"Hm... perhaps they do.", the gambler smiled and looked in the same direction. "On my home planet, the stars were more visible. Ha, you could spot galaxies! No clouds nor lights to obscure the sky." the blonde closed his eyes and inhaled the city air deeply. "This is the furthest from nostalgia I could be."
Sunday only nodded. Most unexpected, to be at a loss for words. He almost never was, always bringing up philosophical contemplations whenever someone dared to finish a sentence. An intriguing individual that IPC executive was... At least such a switch helped the illusion.
"You must have been constructed here, then? In Asdana?"
"Indeed. Settled in Penacony soon after." Sunday lied smoothly.
"Lucky you. The Land of Dreams offers opportunities like few others." Aventurine laughed softly and joked sarcastically; "Although, you should come see what Pier Point has to offer. Business flows way better than here."
"You must be an IPC employee then, sir. It was most unexpected, for Penacony to be open for your company again." the Intellitron faced the man. "Even the Land of Dreams must sometimes open its gates for changes, I suppose."
"Can't complain." the gambler shrugged. "But I've definitely had my fair share. It's time to go."
Ah, yes. The cracks created by the cunning peacock turned into a tear, then into a great hole, allowing the IPC to once again establish their rule. That man's job was done, the highest stakes were set, and although for an inconceivable prize - won. No reason to stay any longer. Sunday smiled and let out a relieved huff. He was now more than happy to have been played, especially by such a cunning pair. To be humbled was what he lacked.
They stayed in silence for a few minutes. The Halovian was most pleased, despite his facade lacking mimics, the gambler seemed to understand his needs. His eyes caught the sky again, leaving the handsome individual. Sunday began to imagine what it would be like, to see the true magnificence of the night - real stars, planets, galaxies. For so long he had lived under the sky so narrow, bordered by the boundaries of human imagination and polluted by the festive lights. The dreams he manifested were just what he experienced, the peaceful paradise in his promise... was just his nostalgia. The universe was so far vaster than his limited understanding, forever expanding and bringing unimaginably wondrous sights to life. Aventurine's paradise was entirely different than his own, it seemed. Every man's was.
"... Despite the lack of bonds to your past, do you still find this sky beautiful?" Sunday asked on a whim. It was objectively astounding after all.
"Not really." the Halovian immediately turned his head to the man. Such a surprising answer, which felt almost offensive. If his face had not become a metal mask, it would have surely grimaced. The gambler leaned against the railing with his hip, smiling softy at the Intellitron lady. "You seem surprised."
"I must admit, I am." Sunday nodded. "The Dreamweavers have worked for years to structurize the Dreamscape fitting to every soul's liking. To not enjoy it is... a rare occurrence."
"I didn't say I don't enjoy it." a charming laugh escaped Aventurine's lips. "You must have always lived here, miss. If you traveled the cosmos even once you would know... There are far better sights."
Traveled the cosmos?... He planned to set off on a journey not so distant, settle on some planet far enough not to be pursued, but close enough to home. He promised himself to spread his wings eventually, to fly towards the sun and once again grasp a glimpse of the promise made between the siblings... he was too afraid of burning. A coward with clipped wings.
"Something tells me you'd enjoy the oceans of Lushaka." the IPC executive continued with no consideration for the Intellitron's silence. "Had to catch a quick business meeting there once and let me tell you, I fell in love. There's water everywhere, reflecting any light below and above!" he raised his hand and motioned it as if showing a picture, one that he longed for. "Submarine sky is a sight. I almost wish I could take some of that aquamarine water home." His eyes darkened for just a moment, his memories taking the best of him. Sunday knew well why. "Besides, your Watchmaker had something to do with Lushaka, right?"
Sunday nodded. A trip to the beginnings, to the roots of his land... would be an eye-opening experience. What kind of dream that man imagined when his home was slowly being swallowed by the depths? Did he too pray for a paradise where nobody would suffer, all breathed fresh air and danced along with the morning birds' performance? Aventurine was right - the Halovian would be grateful to experience such a story.
"Oh, or maybe something colder? It can be chilly here sometimes, but to experience some true freeze you should definitely visit Kalevala or Jarilo-VI. My colleague had a mission there recently." Aventurine leaned closer to whisper and Sunday had to hold all restraints not to step away. "And she failed miserably. Unlike me." he giggled with pride and fixed his coat, his chin confidently raised.
Cold... Sunday had never seen snow before. He was always under the impression that people despised the bone-chilling atmosphere, and so thought the ones before him. Penacony was supposed to be the promised dreamy land where none suffered, even from such trivial ailment as being cold. To become aware that for some, the shattering of teeth, the redness of skin, the shivering of limbs was home... A stunning realization.
"... There's also a planet where it never rains." suddenly, the gambler's voice became quiet and softer than before. He let the assertive mask move and reveal part of his real face, not the confident stone facade used for business and deceit. "Such a wasteland... It's hardly believable anyone would long for it."
But Aventurine did. His inhabitable, merciless land was inhuman even before the IPC's exploit, and yet it was called home. The two might now have become complete opposites. Aventurine - a poor innocent child born into a cruel world for even the last dearest to him be taken away, to become a tormented slave but rise like a phoenix to the very top of his own oppressors. Sunday - a holy kid, set to be a great apostle from the day of his adoption, raised in a paradise he betrayed and fell victim to his own blasphemy, barely being excused from the gallows to flee as a fugitive. If they had not stood on the opposite sides of the barricade, would Sunday be able to show Aventurine his land as it was intended to be, dreamy and wondrous, not tainted by the Order? Could they have become friends? Could they have smiled at one another?
"As I said, you can also come to Pier Point but I hardly believe anyone's dream is to see that corporate hellhole. Unless artificial sun is what fires you up, I don't judge." and the mask was back on. Sunday found it surprising that the gambler would let it slip in front of a stranger. "Seriously though, if it does then give me a call. I'll take you in.", a wink.
Sunday swallowed as his wings automatically covered his cheeks. Aventurine was a charming individual, he must give him that. The Halovian began to ponder what would the man have said if he knew who in reality was standing beside him. Punch and spit on him, possibly. More probably, he would not even spare him a glance and just observe from a distance, vary of the power Sunday had used on him before. Or perhaps, just perhaps... he would send him a nod of forgiveness. It was pointless to hypothesize.
"I believe that won't be necessary." a tiny chuckle escaped the Intellitron's voice synthesizer, fitting the soft smile that formed on Sunday's lips.
"Just saying." Aventurine shrugged.
They stared at the sky for a moment more. It has somehow become warmer, for both the men. The IPC executive checked his frivolously sprinkled in aventurines or jades (Sunday still could not tell) platinum watch and sighed heavily. He extended his leather-gloved hand to the lady, lowering his head in plea.
"Spare me a dance before I leave for good?"
Sunday swallowed, taken aback by the request. For a moment he almost forgot what the gambler's eyes saw instead of him and felt... welcome. A surprising emotion, given their brief and stormy relationship which was supposed to end tragically. The fugitive was unworthy of a handshake, let alone a dance from the man. However, it was the very last time they would see one another... or he would see him. The action was a lie, but a delightful one. The sinner would indulge himself one last time.
"With pleasure."
Hand on hand, on arm, on hip. Aventurine's first step was to the back, a welcoming sign for Sunday to lead. An unexpected act after being the one to propose the dance, but the Halovian quickly followed and let his low heels click on the ground under the blonde man. Left, back, right. Their waltz has concluded its first cycle, just like their first private meeting orchestrated by Sunday. He raised his hand above the man, spinning him in a rhythmical, orderly matter. Just like a tie must be on the center line, a shirt must not protrude from a vest, trousers' creases should be perfectly straight and always aligned with the tips of one's shoes, steps and moves shall be pure and methodical. That was the will of the Order.
Suddenly, Aventurine grabbed the man's waist tighter, letting his hand slide to his back. He advanced, causing the Halovian’s body to fall and bend back.
The mysterious lady gasped, Sunday's wings flapped, and eyes widened. The man's dominance was unexpected but not unwelcomed as the fugitive’s fingers slipped deeper behind his neck, holding onto him not to fall. His control was only so brief - Aventurine has always been the lead dancer. He allowed the twists, let the man take that first step further, and orchestrated the submission scheme just to tear it out in the end. Sunday's first sincere failure in dancing... in creating the sweet paradise. He closed his eyes and got taken back to Robin's unexpected death, Aventurine's hearing, the last seventeen hours of his dream existence, the grand performance in the sky. All odds were against the Avgin, Sunday has made sure of it in all his power. Yet, the gambler has not let go of the director's baton, indifferent to its thorns piercing his skin. Sunday breathed in deeply and finally surrendered. A decision long due. They danced under the fake stars, permanently still sky, perpetual city lights. Matching pace, steps answering one another, finally reconciled as two wounded souls. They swayed like they were always supposed to - as alike equals.
Sunday opened his eyes slowly just to see Aventurine bowed in front of him. Like people had kneeled before him, now the gambler sent him his respect and admiration. It was just for the Intellitron lady, just for the sake of savior-vivre and yet, Sunday found it shockingly gratifying. With no admission, but perhaps, just perhaps, he had dreamed about it before - to be respectfully forgiven by Aventurine. A delusion, a marvelous dream, a congenial thought. One Sunday would hold onto.
The gambler pulled sunglasses out of a golden turquoise case and camouflaged his uncommon irises. It was time to go. When Sunday first saw him that night, he was certain it would be their last meeting. Now, after new galaxies and destinations were revealed to him, igniting a longing to explore the vastness of the universe, the distant worlds... He was not as convinced. The Halovian glanced at the man, wishing he could say proper goodbyes, but he remained silent. Aventurine turned his back to the balustrade and before he stepped away to adieu to the Land of Dreams, he whispered:
"The pleasure is all mine, sir."