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The sky is ink-black when Sunday wakes.
His breaths come out in harsh pants, and he clutches the chair’s armrests with white knuckles as he tries to calm the frantic beat of his heart and banish the lingering echoes of his nightmares. His back aches from spending the better part of the day and the night in a chair, and though he can tell he’s been asleep for a while, he doesn’t feel all that rested.
Too many thoughts cloud his mind, too many what ifs threatening to drown him if he isn’t careful. His body feels too warm, too small to hold all the messy parts of him.
Through the open window, the wind carries with it the scent of petrichor and the full moon casts a soft silvery light in the room, but even without it Sunday would be able to find her—she has always been the other half of his soul; the better half. The one destined for the light to his darkness.
Robin’s hand is cold in his and she doesn’t so much as stir when he whispers her name in the infinite space that stretches between them, completely out of reach. Shadows stretch long and thin across her prone body and the dim light and white sheets make her look almost unreal. Like a figure caught between dreaming and waking, unsure of where to go.
Her chest rises and falls steadily but there’s an unnatural stillness to her. Robin has always been light on her feet, constantly moving. A blur of motion and laughter as she dances around in the air. Seeing her like this, confined in bed, feels wrong, like a bird whose wings have been clipped, grounded and caged against its will.
So similar to that Charmony Dove they had found that fateful day so many years ago.
Sunday hates it.
She’s alive, he tells himself, in an attempt to quell the fear snaking through his veins and gripping his heart in an iron fist. She will be fine. She is fine. Just asleep.
But, the assurances he whispers to himself are of little comfort when the bandages wrapped around her neck feel like a noose around his own.
As her older brother, it has always been his job to protect her. To keep her safe. And, yet, he’s failed. At the one thing that has always been the most important to him. Now, her skin is forever marred with the scar of his failure.
He shouldn’t have let her leave Penacony, even if he knows deep down that keeping Robin caged on that planet would have caused her more pain than she is in now. She has always been the braver one out of the two of them. Unafraid to choose her own path, to spread her wings and grasp her destiny with her own two hands.
Sunday…he’s always been bound to others. To serve. A duty placed on his shoulders by The Family.
Without much conscious thought, Sunday’s hand, the one not holding Robin’s in a tight grip, wanders to the wings behind his ear. They are soft to the touch, carefully tended to over the years so that they look their best. Just like the rest of him.
(On the outside, at least.)
The area behind his ear, where his wing joints meet skin, is sensitive, and when he pulls at a feather, not with enough force to rip it out, pain shoots through him. It feels like his nerves have been lit on fire, but the pain does not dull the feelings of guilt and shame building in his chest.
Maybe, if he were to rip out a feather and present it as an offering to THEM, it would help. Not assuage him of his guilt, because he does not deserve that, not when his sister lies broken, but temper it for a while at least.
“Brother?”
Her voice is weak, barely above a whisper, but in the oppressive silence that had enveloped the room ever since he got here, it sounds loud and clear.
It sounds like salvation.
The knot in his chest loosens, ever so slightly giving way to relief, and Sunday grips her hand tighter, afraid to let her go. The smile she offers in return is confused but kind, her half-lidded eyes searching his face for something.
“What are you doing here?” Robin asks.
Sunday knows what she means. What is he doing here when he has so many responsibilities back on Penacony? When The Family expects so much from him?
Too many responsibilities, too many people who need him, who are relying on him, but he can’t quite bring himself to care—not right now. Even though he knows he’ll regret it later.
Still, it stings that his sister thinks he would be anywhere but here. With her.
Before Sunday can swallow down the hurt and offer her an answer, Robin pushes herself up, using her free hand to support her weight. Her tense muscles tell him she’s in pain but her eyes are clouded with fear and worry.
“Ella and Zain,” she says, the words tumbling out in a rush, her breathing too fast, too hard. “They were helping me carry supplies before I…before I got shot. Brother, they were with me. Are they okay? Did something happ—”
Robin coughs—a deep, ragged sound that shakes her frail body. He lets go of her hand to grab her by her shoulders and ease her back down to rest. She struggles to stay upright but she’s also burning up with a fever that weakens her. The fear creeps back in, thoughts of her dying worming their way to the forefront of his mind, and he has to force himself to stay calm.
Sunday can’t lose her.
He won’t.
“They’re fine,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, comforting. That’s what Robin needs right now. Not him panicking because he’s quite sure that’s blood blooming on her bandages. “They found a place to hide when they heard the gunshots, so they didn’t get caught in the fray. You, on the other hand, shouldn’t be pushing yourself. The nurses said the wound wasn’t that bad, but they did stress that you need to rest.”
Robin manages a weak smile at his, no doubt what she would call needless, worrying. Her hand finds its way back into his and she gives it a squeeze with what little strength she has.
Offering him comfort when she’s the one in pain.
“That’s good. I’m glad they’re okay.” Then, quieter, as if she’s afraid that saying the words will somehow change reality, “I’m glad you’re here too.”
The lump that forms in his throat makes it hard to say anything, which is just as well, because no words are needed between them in this moment. Outside, the black of night begins to give way to the yellows and reds and oranges of dawn.
“Will you hum a lullaby to me?” Robin asks, her feverish eyes fixed on his and her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. “The one you used to sing to me when we were younger? I…I haven’t heard it in a while.”
He remembers it all too well. Even though his head is mostly filled with scriptures and responsibilities that need taking care and the sins that people confess to him, he remembers the lullaby he used to hum for Robin whenever she had trouble sleeping.
They would curl up underneath the blankets in his room, her cold feet shoved under his legs, seeking warmth. The tears that he had wiped away and the promises he had made to her in their little slice of heaven remain forever etched in his soul.
“Brother?”
He sighs, a hint of indulgence in his voice. “Only if you promise to rest.”
“I promise.”
And, well, Sunday has never been able to deny his sister anything, so he draws in a deep breath and begins to hum.
He has never had his mother and sister’s talent for singing. Sunday remembers his mother’s voice, the way the lyrics would roll off her tongue, like gentle waves lapping against the sandy shore. Soothing and steady amidst all the chaos. Robin’s is much the same though she does not know this, having only been a fledgling when they lost their mother.
Sunday’s own voice feels small and rough in comparison, but he watches as the corners of his little sister’s mouth turn up in a soft smile, as if she’s reliving the memories of their past.
The strong defending the weak.
That has always been Robin’s greatest conviction, no matter what hardships lay on her path. The one forged the day the Stellaron destroyed their home and realised over the years. That’s why she’s here, on this war-torn planet, helping to gather supplies and bring a little of her own hope to a people who have lost theirs. She has always dreamed of a better future for everyone, has always thought of it as an irrevocable right rather than something to fight and die for.
Sunday will do anything for her dream. Will take the universe in his bloodied hands and shape it for her.
So, as the lullaby comes to an end, Robin’s breathing evening out in sleep, a content smile on her face, Sunday makes her a promise, with the stars and moon as his witness. He will do everything in his power to bring THEM back, to earn THEIR gaze. And when THEIR eyes fall on him, when THEY bless him, he will use THEIR power to ensure that no one in this world will ever suffer. Will ever want for anything.
He will create a world where Robin will be safe and happy. Where sadness will have no place to thrive. Where war and chaos will be no more.
A world where parents won’t grieve their children, nor will children grow up without their parents.
Where siblings won’t be doomed to an eternity apart.
Sunday will bring Order to this world, and his suffering will be but a small price to pay.
“After the Dusk Wars, darkness veiled the sky, and chaos consumed the Earth. Ena, the Order, emerged, destined to restore all existence.
That marked the first day.”