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On the nth day of the Centennial, Isla Crown fell asleep to the question ‘What made us like this?’ She did not wonder why the curses were cast– she could assume some sin was committed there– but instead why this had begun as a deadly sort of game, where they hated each other. Who cast the first stone? Was there even a stone cast at all? Had they entered the world hating each other?
She dreamt, but did not fall into fantasies about Grim that seemed familiar– instead, her mind went down in a spiral, spinning, spinning, spinning…
Isla opened her eyes and was standing in the midst of a market. It reminded her somewhat of the marketplace she’d eaten chocolate at with Grim; but this one was much more ramshackle. When she looked down, she nearly saw through herself– she was wearing only the nightie she had gone to bed in, and her entire body was translucent, like tulle.
“Wh–” Isla looked back at the market, befuddled. Now that she looked closer, she could see that even if she had been wearing one of her normal gowns, she would have stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd here. They were dressed differently, their hair styled in very simple styles. When she looked around, she saw hints of power, but nothing like the displays that she had seen even just since joining the Centennial.
What had happened?
Carefully, she took a step, wondering if her transparent legs would sink through the ground. They didn’t, and she continued to walk through the market. As she did, she realized that not only was this a long time ago, but it was a time before the curses– here, the different peoples mingled without any regard to their histories, and the people wore clothes that had no particular color schemes.
She saw Wildlings in the crowd, and it was a shock to do so. How far had she gone back? Was this all a dream, or had she truly traveled? Was this someone’s flair? She glanced about for one of the other Rulers, thinking that perhaps this was some strange demonstration. But what did it signify?
Isla noticed as the people began to gather in a crowd, streaming in a great river of people. She found herself swept up with them, walking amongst the crowd. They moved around her without noticing, talking to each other in loud tones that she barely understood. Once more, she wondered when she was, as their language seemed even more ancient than the oldest books she had read.
The crowd stopped in front of a stage, one that looked grown from the ground itself. Isla found herself near the front, inspecting the foundations– she had never seen such an excellent use of the Wildlings’ power for construction in this way. Isla knew vaguely of Lark Crown, whom Oro had claimed was part of the birth of Lightlark– was this that? Was she looking at Lightlark in its youth?
She watched as three figures walked onto the stage. It was like looking into a mirror– or perhaps she was the reflection, and it was they who were peering into the mirror. The woman was just Isla’s height, and had her long brown hair, light brown skin, her green eyes. If she was not Lark, then she was at least a Crown.
If Isla’s intuition were right, and this was Lark, it meant that the Nightshade and Sunling had to be Cronan Malvere and Horus Rey respectively. She couldn’t remember exactly when Oro had told her about the ways that these ancestors had crafted the island of Lightlark, but she felt in her heart that it was likely all of them if it was one of them.
It was Horus Rey– perhaps– who stepped forward first. He reminded her slightly of Oro, but his skin was far closer to a golden brown, and instead of Oro’s reserved cropped hair, Horus’s spilled over his shoulders in a great wave, a strong red-gold that made Isla realize how pale and even frail Oro looked.
Cronan Malvere was wearing a black veil that covered his face, and he stood just behind Lark, not that much taller than her. Because of the coverage it gave, Isla couldn’t evaluate him in comparison to Grim– but she imagined that he was all the more beautiful, based on the hint of profile visible under the fabric.
They seemed a united front– there was no quiet tension between them that belied hatred of any sort. When had it all fallen apart?
She knew that it was apparently a fight between Cronan and Horus that had sent the Nightshade fleeing from Lightlark– but why had they fought? Isla listened as Lark(?) began to speak. Her voice was low and melodious, her accent a little strange, but familiar enough to the ear.
Isla watched as the three of them gathered, the relationship between them evident– Lark(?) spoke of unity, of a world in which, someday, it wouldn’t be the six people groups with separate magic, but one. Someday, there would be one people, one people with varying powers and a cohesive history.
So what had gone wrong?
Isla opened her eyes, and she was laying in bed, her hair sprawled out about her like an ivy crawling across a wall. When she looked at the ceiling, she remembered that Cronan and Horus had dueled, and that had sent it all spiraling away.
But it did not answer her questions.