Sander, and the City of Seleste

Another grey day sighed heavily through the trees outside of Sander's window. Sparse branches swayed back and forth as gusts of wind rolled laboriously by.

Sander sat at his desk as he often did. Chin on his fists, eyes half closed, breathing rhythmically, as though asleep, to help pass the time. Sleep would not come, of course. Sleep was for the dark, for the night, and Sander's memories were far too active to put to rest.

His memories, more often than not, were far from his own, however. They belonged as much to him, as they did to the world of Azrayell.

It was an interesting thought, to give one's mind over to such a strange world. Have it molded there. Chewed up and spit out in a vastly different form then when it had begun. But Sander did not mind. In fact, he quite enjoyed it. It was a feeling of freedom, to be lost to Azrayell.

He hoped it would happen again today. Hoped that he would be swept up into the mystery of that strange world. So little had happened in his previous visit to the forest. The forest that was like an ocean. So little, yet, so much. Sander yearned to know more about the trees. He wanted to know why the strange bird creature had warned him not to wake them. He wanted, though hesitation kept his thoughts from dwelling too long upon it, to know what exactly he had seen near the end of his visit. Was it dead, or just in the process of living decay? Why had it told him to go?

All these things weighed heavily upon the young boy's mind. Too heavily. He needed to slow his thoughts down, to calm the tornado of words. Of pictures.

Sander focused once again upon his breathing.

Deep breath in...hold...long exhale.

Deep breath in...hold...long exhale. Repeat.

Deep breath in......

Then his eyes opened wide, and he began to dream.

Sander awoke this time laying face-down upon the softest bed he thought he had ever slept upon. Except, it was not a bed, and he had not been sleeping. Though his face was buried deep in whatever substance he now rested, his eyes could see clearly...if seeing one solid shade of greyish-white could be explained as such. No force of gravity pressed against his nose or mouth to flatten them, or provide shortness of breath. He simply lay, eyes open. His steady breathing even and deep, as it had been for a while.

It was an odd experience, Sander thought, though far from un-enjoyable. He simply didn't know if he had ever felt as he did now. He tried to think of a word to describe how he felt, while staring into the blanket of white that encompassed the entirety of his vision.

Was he floating? No, he could feel whatever it was he lay upon as it brushed his skin. It was cool to the touch, though not cold. In fact, now that he thought about it, his back was quite warm, so the soothing touch of chill upon his face and body relaxed him considerably.

Was he flying? No, he felt and saw no movement around himself. No sudden stomach turning drop, or mind dizzying twisting. But if that was how it felt to fly, Sander could only guess. He never actually had flown before. Not in Azrayell. Not yet.

Then it came to him. The only word he could think of to describe this pleasant, peaceful experience. Weightless. Without ties or burdens. Nothing holding him aground. Not even gravity.

Sander felt as though his entire body weighed less than a penny. Less, even, than a feather. He simply was, as he lay there, face down, eyes open. Yes, weightless was the perfect word. And he enjoyed it.

Then Sander had a thought. Why was his back so warm? It was a minor annoyance amidst the waves of bliss upon which he sailed. But he wanted to know.

With an effort, and yet, without any, for it was more a battle of will than of muscle, Sander rolled over.

A brilliant golden sky greeted his eyes. A sky so soft, yet so harshly gold, it took his breath away. The radiant yellow sun of Azrayell was larger than Sander had ever seen it before. Huge, in fact, and hanging what only seemed a couple hundred feet above himself.

He had never been this close to it before, so high he could almost touch it.

Sander wondered if he could actually touch Azrayell's sun if he only climbed higher. It did not seem to burn or blind him, despite its contiguous presence. In fact, it didn't seem to be a 'sun' at all. Not in the way Sander knew the sun to be. Not a burning ball of fire. Not a star. Just a light. A huge, spherical light, emitting radiant warmth and peace.

Then he felt it. The deep, guttural weight of knowledge, pressing against his mind like a tidal wave of emotion. Something was different about the sun, something other than its imminent presence. It was more ancient than ever before, yet, childlike in its existence. And Sander knew, like the memory of a loved one, he remembered and knew that at this moment, Azrayell was younger than any time he had ever visited. Perhaps, it had only just been born.

As Sander sat there, marveling in his discovery, a gust of wind ruffled his brown hair. The wind drew his attention away from the 'sun' to his actual surroundings, as he tried to watch where it would run off to.

Then his eyes widened. He was sitting on a cloud. A mountainous, goliath of a cloud. Its windswept crest hundreds, if not thousands of feet above. And far, far away in any direction Sander looked, he saw the same. An endless skyscape of snowy-white behemoths. Dips and swirls, twists and turns turned shadows on the fluffy giants into impossibly large cities and mansions. Dark and light that melded together into cavernous divots and blooming hills. As far as he could see above and below himself, the golden-hued sky was littered with clouds of a myriad of shapes and colossal sizes.

In a brief moment of panic, Sander wondered if he would not be able to breathe, so far from the ground as he was. But a deep inhale through his nose dispelled all such fear from his mind.

And in its place, myrth. A joyful bubble of ecstatic energy. He had made it! He was in the golden sky of Azrayell. What amount of luck could he have been blessed with to come here?

Sander cared not.

Leaping to his feet, he danced for joy upon the cloudy ground. It was a forgiving stage for his antics. With each jump into the air, Sander was lifted higher and higher, though he never felt the weight of his own body touch back down. He simply was in the air, and then, was not again. He was free and light. Lighter than air itself. And he danced for the thrill of it all.

Pausing to catch his breath, Sander looked out over the skyscape. An endless sea of fluffy white and golden-yellow. And with a whoop of pure exhilaration, he began to run. To run and leap. Down and up, around and over, from cloud to cloud he threw himself, seemingly flying through the air with ease. Looking down during one of his longer jumps, Sander saw the land of Azrayell, far, far below. Muddled greens and browns of fields and prairies. Gleaming whites and greys of mountain tops. Then he was atop the next cloud, laughing from the lack of effort he exuded. Nothing, no, not even his own mind could stop him now.

And as he ran, he began to sing.

The sky is sweet,

Sweet to me.

The clouds are vast and cool.

The sun, it sleeps

The winds, they creep

Through white as soft as wool.

Oh, Azrayell, I've come again.

I'm here. At last, I'm home.

It's me, your friend, its Sander

And I'll go where you'll have me roam.

There was no telling how far Sander traveled through the sky. Distances that seemed eternities away flew past in a blur of motion as he ran and lepped and sang. And even still, the sun remained motionless, just beyond his reach. Ever above. Ever golden. Ever warm.

Sander's song turned to a hum, then to a whisper as his breathing became transitive. It seemed the vast expanse of sky he had traversed was finally catching up to him. His run became a jog, then a walk, though Sander kept a skip in his step. He simply would not allow weary legs to drag his mood down along with them.

Then Sander heard what he knew he would have from the moment he awoke in the clouds. A distant sonorus echo of song. A string of voices that sung continuously in perfect harmony with one another. There had to be a thousand singers, perhaps even more. Yet the song itself did not split into a myriad of fracteline pieces. Instead, it pierced through the clouds like a seamless bar of sound, rising and falling in huge ripples upon the glassy lake of sky.

Sander stopped still where he stood. He desired nothing more than to listen, though distant as the voices were. He wanted to taste it, drink it in. To make himself sick from gorging upon it. He needed to dive deep into its ethereal flow of rhythm and beauty.

And so, Sander began to run again, though his body ached from the exertion. He chased after each elegant note with a destructive hunger. It pulled at every fiber of his being. The more he sought, the faster he ran towards the music. And the faster he ran, the louder it became. It was enchanting, and Sander could do nothing to stop the mysterious pull he felt upon his very soul.

Distantly, Sander knew of the composers of this music. He had been warned of such beings, in previous visits, by those who walked upon the earth of Azrayell. They were the Ethelin. Dangerously beautiful beings of wind and sky and light. The warning within his mind was drowned, however, by the magnificence of the song to which he ran.

As Sander rounded the turn of a particularly gargantuan spiral of cloud, he stopped dead in his tracks. There in front of him, gleaming in the sunlight, sat the single most spectacular city Sander had ever seen.

Thousands of towers, each of the purest silvery-white, reached hundreds of feet into the air. Impossibly large balconies and plazas sat among them, seemingly floating, with little to no supports beneath. Waterfalls with unknown sources among the labyrinth of structures, poured effortlessly through the cloudy surface, cascading silently to the earth below. And... trees? Yes, trees of silver bark and golden foliage, growing from nothing but the voluminous, bulging clouds.

It was a paradise among the heavens.

And among it all, the Ethelin.

Like humans, they were, yet, vastly different, for they danced through the sky with snow-white wings sprouting from their backs. Each one twisted and turned as it flapped its mighty, feathered appendages. A graceful procession of beauty incarnate, each and every one.

The singing, though still emmenant, was no longer the cause for Sander's continuation towards the city, for its magnificence alone was enough to draw him closer.

And closer, he did indeed go.

As he neared the city, Sander observed, with no small amount of embarrassment, that each and every one of the Ethelin, whether walking atop the clouds or soaring through the sky, was completely naked. Their lean, yet well muscled bodies were hairless as well, excepting for the hair upon their heads. If not for the lack of clothes, Sander observed, it would be near impossible to tell the male Ethelin from the female, for each of their faces were so gracefully beautiful, so perfectly crafted, as if made of marble; labored on for countless hours by the finest of sculptures. Their eyes were eyrisless and pulseless yet, in their place, the purest of polished gold, as if the sun itself sat within each socket. Like fiery ingots, glowing with countless ages of wisdom.

Altogether, Sander decided, the Ethelin were terrifying. Beautifly so, yet terrifying all the same.

He was standing at the entrance to the city now, if an entrance it could at all be called. There were no gates, walls or barricades to dissuade entry. No spikes in the ground to ward off oncoming enemies. In their place, an orchard grew. An orchard of the same trees Sander had seen among the spires of the citytop, though, now that he was close to them, they were even more breathtaking yet.

Like oaks, their girthy trunks sprouted proudly from the ground, spreading huge bunches of foliage far and wide and incredibly high. Their leaves, sander found, were not gold like the sun and the sky, or the Ethelin's eyes, but a vibrant yellow. Yellow like the beginnings of fall, or the midsummer sun on earth. And the bark itself was not metallic or reflective, though it was silver. A rough silver of woody spirals.

Each tree seemed to be purposely unplanned in its placement, a chaotic sort of symmetry. Not in rows like any orchard Sander knew, but perfectly spaced out in no particular order. A soft, white light emanated from the trunks of the trees, dispelling any shadows that would have darkened the deep shade provided by the canopy of leaves. Though it was a shock at first to Sander, the glow of the silvery bark did not scare him, or dissuade his persistence towards the city. It was, in a way, commonplace here among the clouds.

Eventually, Sander found himself standing in a hall with a ceiling so high, it almost disappeared far above in a blur of greyish white. He did not know when he had left the orchard, entering into the city itself. It seemed the two had simply melded together along the way.

The hall seemed to be cut from the very trees within the orchard, for though silver in hue, the walls and floor did not reflect Sander's image like a mirror of polished metal.

A quick wrapp of his knuckles on the wall, however, confirmed to sander that the substance around him was indeed stone.

There were many Ethelin traversing the hall. Some flying gracefully by far overhead, some walking and talking with a cool poise that spoke of effortless finesse.

They paid no heed to Sander as he walked by, almost as if he were invisible to their radiant eyes. Their disregard for his existence did not seem to be purposeful, however. Instead, Sander knew, or felt, he was not exactly sure how he came to the understanding exactly, that whatever burdened the Ethelin's minds was far more important than acknowledging a young boy in their presence. A young boy whose face grew increasingly more beet-red in appearance the closer he came to their nudity.

Trying to maintain some level of discrepancy as he rounded endless corners down long corridors, Sander tried to locate the source of the continuous song. The enchanting, even haunting, notes that filled his ears. The harder he searched, however, the more confused he became. Not one of the beautiful winged beings could be seen singing. Some mouths moved in the midst of a conversation, others muttered aloud, voicing their thoughts to the world without a care of who was listening.

But the singers, they were nowhere in sight.

Yet, the masterful music continued. Ever present and echoing through the countless halls, though not definingly so. Though each and every syllable of the song poured into Sander's ears, he thought that, if he had tried, he could have been able to hear the soft warble of a songbird, or the rustle of a summer wind through long blades of grass. It was a living sort of silence, and its lifeblood: the song of the Ethelin.

Sander rounded yet another corner of the maze-like city, only to be greeted by a towering archway, leading to a large, open air plaza. Many more trees as he had seen before, among other perfectly sculpted shrubs and hedges, grew among the chiseled stone. Fountains with impossible shapes that boggled the mind spewed a water so clear, into the air, that one could have mistaken it for glass. Beyond, Sander could see only clouds and an endless expanse of golden sky.

With a shock, he realized that he was quite far above where he had entered the city, though no memory of climbing any form of stairs could be recollected. As he drank in his surroundings, Sander came across a rather large hole in the stone, surrounded by a low parapet, no higher than his waist. Bending over to look within, Sander's stomach tied itself in knots at the sight of at least a hundred foot drop to the clouds below.

Stumbling back, Sander breathed in deeply to calm his nerves, smelling a faint floral aroma drifting through the breeze. Closing his eyes, Sander listened to the myriad of sounds that brushed past his ears. The gurgle of the fountains, the slight hush of the leaves upon the trees brushing together, the singing of the Ethelin. It was calming. Peaceful.

Then another sound. The sound of voices, not quite arguing, but speaking in polite discourse. Sander followed the noise curiously.

Just around a rather large hedge of yellow leaves, sander saw six Ethelin standing around a waist high table of stone. Though each winged being stood just as naked as any others Sander had seen, these six wore jewelry. Jewelry made of a metal so white, it's finely polished surfaces seemed to disappear against the skin of the Ethelin. Sander had seen no articles of clothing, much less adornment such as this, on any others. Some wore bands around forearms or biceps, others, thin rings upon their fingers, or chain link necklaces so intricately woven, they seemed to be made of one piece. They wore no earrings, however. In fact, none of the six, as far as Sander could see, retained any piercings at all.

One particular Ethelin was speaking, now. The tallest of the group by a few inches, and at least twice over the size of Sander. His skin, for he was indeed male, was that of a deep, rich bronze, and his hair, which cascaded over his shoulders with many small braids therein, more ebony than the darkest night. He wore two bands, one on each forearm, and the top of his head was graced with an incredibly thin circlet of the same white metal.

Though his fingers lay poised upon the stone table before himself in earnest, his voice, and face, for that matter, betrayed no emotion.

"...Shall walk under the light of Ealenvar, once more." he continued in a deep, smooth baritone. "Remember the night. Remember the dark. Remember our promises, my ethimallar. Such things as of yet, we have not seen the likes will scourge land and sky."

"Oh, Vestriel," interrupted a woman on the opposite side of the circular table. Her pale skin and golden hair gleaming with the capacious amount of jewelry laid there. "Have not you spoken of such warnings before? Within your mind, the very clouds themselves speak of damnation and despair. And when have we seen the fruition of your herald?"

"Perhaps, on morrow's wind, Anethilia?" mocked in a third, though his voice held no scorn. His silvery white hair spoke of ages long since gone, but beyond that snowy shade, no other marks of age marred the Ethelin's skin.

"I do share your sentiment, Vestriel." He continued. "Perhaps an age will come to pass, bearing such terrible fruit as you now predict. But this age is not to be berated by vile words. Speak no longer on this."

"Tilinar..." the first Ethelin began. But he was cut off short.

Sander stood directly in front of the table now, though he could not remember walking closer. Silence lay over the Ethelin, broken only by the faint, yet ever present melody of voices drifting upon the breeze. Each and every one of the Ethelin stared at him in silence. Vestrial's lips still parted, mid sentence.

Sander blushed so hard, he thought his very face might explode into flame, yet he could not turn. He could not run. He simply stood under the gaze of the terrifyingly beautiful beings before him.

A woman, her tanned skin and auburn hair devoid of all jewelry but a single ring on her right hand, was the first to speak. Her shining, golden eyes betrayed no emotion as they seemed to gaze into his very soul.

"And who might you be, young surface child?" she asked, her voice rippling with the hint of a smile.

"Sander...from...from earth." Sander heard himself say. It felt as though the answer was pulled out of his chest by a soft, yet powerful grip. He had to answer. He must answer correctly. All else would be a disgrace.

"And how have you come to Seleste, young Sander, without wings of your own to aid in your ascent?" Another asked. A male voice, he thought, though he was unsure, embarrassment had tugged his eyes to the stones.

Just as quickly as he had looked down, however, his head snapped back up as the answer was once again forced from his lungs.

"I walked... well... ran here. On the clouds. From a long ways away," sander rambled, "I was dreaming... actually, I think I am dreaming, but I'm here too. Here in Azrayell. I've come many times before, but never here. I am asleep, I think, somewhere else." Sander's tongue felt dry and sticky within his mouth when he finished, as though he had been talking for hours without a single drop of water. He swallowed hard, coughing as he did so, as his throat only clicked together without any moisture.

The Ethelin paid his complaints no mind, however.

"Walking... upon the clouds, you say...? And with no wings to keep you aloft?" Vestrial blinked, and Sander very nearly jumped. It was the first time he had seen one of the Ethelin close its eyes. No doubt, it was more so an expression of confusion than for a need to wet those fiery lights.

"Yes." Sander rasped.

The other Ethelin murmured incoherently, yet, obviously displeased now.

Vestrial spoke again, yet this time, to the Ethelin around himself.

"Warned, were we of this day, my ethimallar! The one who sleeps, yet, is awake, has come to warn us of our Father's return."

The murmuring grew louder this time.

The Ethelin called Anethilia wrapped her ring bound fingers upon the stone table.

"Quiet yourselves." She commanded in a level voice. Then looking across from herself:

"My dearest Vestriel," she crooned, "do not but look upon this Sander, and see the truth! He is but a child. He knows not of what he rambles on about."

Some of the Ethelin muttered their agreements, while others sighed in protest. Vestriel remained silent.

Anethilia continued, however.

"Let us bring him back to the surface, where he might find himself to be among his own people. He does not belong in Seleste."

Still more murmurs of agreement.

Sander tried to voice his opinion on the matter, but was silenced, along with the other Ethelin, when Vestrial began to speak once more.

"Those are the wrong words to speak, Anethilia. Have we not seen far stranger things before? Heed my warnings, my ethimallar! For as I have spoken," here, he pointed to Sander, "so, I have been confirmed."

Silence fell once more upon the winged group. And though he tried to move, Sanders' feet were as glued to the stone floor as his lips were sealed together.

Finally, an Ethelin man with golden hair and a large band around his neck spoke, his soft voice a hesitant question.

"And are you sure of this, Vestrial If what you claim is that of truth, and it is known, we of the ethimallar do not lie, then immediate action must be taken. So I ask of you once more, Vestrial, are you sure of this?"

The dark-skinned Ethelin looked upon his addresser with a small, stern smile tilting the corners of his lips.

"Never in my living moments, have I been more sure of anything, Gillian. If our father returns, Seleste shall be damned to a fate of eternal silence. And we shall be no more. This I know, this I have seen, and in young Sander, I am affirmed."

"So be it." the auburn hair woman said. Her voice, almost sorrowful in its sighing acceptance. "And now, we shall prepare."

"So be it." Echoed Gillian.

"So be it." stated another.

"So be it."

"So be it."

There was a flash of brilliant white light, and Sander awoke. He was back in his grey room, with grey walls. Sitting back in his chair, Sander tried to take deep breaths as he watched the rain streak down his window in rivulets. The grey clouds still hung, swollen and heavy above him. The grey trees still stretched out beyond the view from his room.

Smacking his lips together, Sander was reminded of how incredibly thirsty he was, as if it had been years since his last sip of water.

But that was not what held his attention. Not in the least.

Looking up through his window at the ominous, weeping clouds, Sander glimpsed a break. Brilliant sky shone forth for no more than a second. But a second was all Sander needed. For in that brief moment of breakthrough, he could have sworn he had glimpsed a dazzling city, far, far above, shining in the sunlight.

And then that moment ended. The angry, grey clouds closed together again, bleak rain pouring from the heavens.

Sander stood from his desk. It was a daydream, that was all. Nothing but a trick of his mind.

Sighing, Sander walked to his door, smacking his dry lips together again. He needed a drink.