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They were in Lumirel. Not the charred husk it was now but before …
She’d forgotten how beautiful it was. Sunlight warmed her cheeks, and her eyes pricked as a gleaming white-and-gold train zipped past on the monorail overhead, more tears threatening to break free as she stared and stared at the glass flowers of every shape and size that covered the walls, the streets, the bridges.
Sky buses floated past while metal animals trotted happily beside their human companions, not a gleam of rot in sight, and people—oh, there were so many people. Dressed in fancy robes in a rainbow of colors she’d almost forgotten existed with elaborate gold neck and headpieces, reading from holographic charts on pieces of glass in their hands, walking side by side with beaming smiles on their faces.
No blood. No screaming. No death. Just blue skies and sunlight and people enjoying their lives exactly as they should’ve been.
She spotted a younger version of herself among the crowd. Six, maybe seven years old, dressed in flowing white trousers and sleeveless yellow robes covered in silver flowers that matched the charms in the two high braids that hung just past her chest. Bertok was there too, hovering protectively at her back, his tail swishing gently in what might have seemed like a casual stance had his eyes not darted from left to right every now and again, marking every passerby, every potential threat.
Her younger version turned away from the friends she’d been chatting with, a beaming smile spreading across her tanned face before she sprinted through the masses, those high braids springing wildly around her face, and leaped into a pair of strong arms Soraya thought she’d never see again.
There was no amount of will or training that could’ve stopped the tears that slipped down Soraya’s face as she watched her father press a kiss to the top of her head, or muffled the small sob that escaped when he hoisted her onto his shoulders.
“Got your wish ready?” he asked, playfully spinning in a circle until little Soraya erupted in giggles. Her chest ached at the sound of it. When was the last time she’d laughed like that?
Ikarus stepped beside her. “I’d expected more from you. One little memory, and the great God Killer crumbles—”
“Oh, do shut up,” Soraya spat, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear your voice right now.” She could feel his eyes boring into the side of her face, watching her every movement, taking everything in. She didn’t care. Couldn’t take her eyes off her father. How strong he looked. How the suns’ rays seemed to bounce off his short golden curls that were the double of her own.
Bertok had just padded to their side when her younger self held up a piece of folded parchment, the countless gold bangles that stretched all the way up her arm clanging loudly against one another. “Got it right here.”
Her father’s answering smile could’ve shattered the Iron Sky. “Fantastic. Then to Helliana we go, little one!”
Soraya’s mind started to whirl. Helliana … Wish … The fancy dress robes … Did that mean … She gasped, looking around the street again, to the bunting draped between the smooth white-bricked buildings and the announcements glowing on holographic screens. She’d been so distracted with Ikarus getting into her memories that she hadn’t realized what door he’d torn down until now.
This was the Lumination festival.
One of Vordell’s oldest traditions, the festival stretched the last three days of the year, full of live bands, dancers, food markets, light shows in the sky, and a great big carnival with rides that soared so high it felt like flying, and concluded on the final day of the year, Lumination Day, the one day where all of Vordell really slowed down and families stayed in their homes to exchange gifts.
Ikarus completely forgotten, Soraya followed her father through the crowds, the sound of her laugh and his own carving away at her chest like those same scars she’d left in the cell walls, to the base of one mighty statue that stretched hundreds of feet into the air.
“I remember these,” Ikarus said—because of course he’d followed her. “There were three of them, one for each of the suns.”
Were, because he and his kind had decimated them all when they’d invaded, not to live in or because they were full of weapons or even being used as safe houses but just because they were a symbol of hope for the Vordellians. Because they could.
Most of Helliana remained still proud as far as Soraya knew, but the others …
Soraya ignored him and followed her father through a set of sliding gold doors built into the statue’s feet. The lobby was packed with people wearing chiffon robes of every color, families, children, elderly couples, and even a few drunken revelers harmlessly chanting the Vordellian national anthem as a surly and certainly underpaid lower guard tried to usher them out.
Long may she rise each morn,
May she keep us fed and warm,
Long may she rise,
Always our glorious queen,
Long may she shine and burn,
Long may she slay the dark,
Long may she rise.
They strode through the room, Soraya weaving between the crowd while Ikarus strode right through it, their bodies shimmering like smoke where they met his, and followed her father into a glass elevator full of people. Just before it moved, Soraya chanced a glance at Ikarus, prepared to find him scanning the faces of the guards stationed by the wall looking for potential future prisoners, but found him studying an elderly man with a thick mustache on the other side of the lobby, his brow creasing as he watched the man sell a decorative golden headpiece in the shape of a rising sun from his cart to a passerby.
“I wouldn’t bother remembering his face,” Soraya said. “He’s likely dead now. I’d guess everyone here is.”
When the elevator came to a stop on the top level, they filed out with the rest of the tourists following her father along the platform built into the statue’s arms, all the way to the dish held high above the city.
