“I think that sort of thing warrants it.”
Something tickled the inside of Finnian’s hand.
He dropped his chin to see Ash staring eye-level at his relaxed palm, his arm slightly raised and his small fingers hovering inches from Finnian’s, unsure if he should hold his hand or not.
The hesitation, the urge for affection—such childlike innocence, wonder that Finnian could recall once feeling.
Death is not about separation.
Finnian smiled to himself.
Death is about peace.
He finally understood it as he grabbed his nephew’s tiny hand.
A promise to find those we are intertwined with in life.
Together,they teleported.
The salty, humid air stuck to Finnian’s skin. Old, dusty memories of his childhood sprung to mind—dangling his legs in the water hole at Naia’s side, his back in the sand at Father’s favorite abandoned cove, weaving breadfruit leaves with his magic.
Outstretched before them was the tropical greenery of Nohealani Island. The sea-breeze slapped at their backs, tossing their hair haphazardly in all directions.
Naia held the porcelain jar to her chest, tears already cresting in her eyes.
Ronin gently tapped on Ash’s shoulder, beckoning him to stand back a few paces alongside him and Cassian. “Remember what we talked about last night?” He placed his index finger over his lips, a silent request to keep quiet.
Ash nodded obediently up at his father and stood respectfully still, watching Finnian and Naia.
They had agreed on this days ago, after Mavros delivered the jar of their father’s ashes. They were to spread them on the island, the last place in the Mortal Land he called home.
Naia stepped up to the headstone jutting out of the sand. Along its granite read:
The High God of Nature, Vale.
Wreaths and garlands of tropical flowers decorated its corners and the ground around it. The islanders, no doubt.
Finnian told his legs to move, to follow Naia, but his body felt frozen.
Ash appeared at his side and looked up at him, somberly so. He gave Finnian’s hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.
The act was almost enough to break Finnian.
He let out a breath and joined Naia’s side.
“Father would pinch my cheeks during dinner feasts to cheer me up, after Mira scolded me for my table manners,” he said. “I refused to smile for him, therefore he’d give up and sit his hands back down in his lap. Only, a few minutes later, I would nearly bite down on my spoon, startled by the vine tickling up my pant leg.”
A teary giggle slipped out of Naia. “Or the time he summoned bees to infiltrate the great hall during breakfast when the triplets were antagonizing you.”
It was Finnian’s seventh year. While he hardly recalled the topic that he and Malik had gotten into it over, he had been close to losing control of his magic and sending the silverware spiking through his skull. Father must’ve sensed such, because seconds before Finnian reacted, a swarm of bees randomly burst into the hall.
Finnian smiled widely. “Or the time he grew bouquets for the kitchen maids to thank them for their hard work, and they all became infatuated with him and kept baking him ginger loaves.”
A cackle burst from Naia. “He never knew!”
“He would set the loaves aside and just drink his tea.”
“And they kept baking them for him!”
