ORIGIN

Mercurius seemed bewildered for a second, staring right back at his co-parent as his mind struggled to catch up to the levity of what exactly he was telling these children --- children who were newborns. As he was admonished, the lion's ears flickered back and his gaze fell to his paws first, then the side. "I..." he began, at length, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to scare Azizos and Arsu." He swung his head towards the children in question, moonlit gaze full of ages of worry and guilt, "there's nothing to fear, now. I'm sorry."

Wholeheartedly and honestly, the pale beast wanted to reassure his children, to offer them comfort and whisper against the big, dark world outside of this garden; yet, Mercy could only manage to turn around and gaze pensively into the thicket. A flicker of magicka ran through his pelt, an age-old security blanket shrouding him --- hopefully --- in a blanket of light. A blanket of light to stave off the shadows and the darkness, he had thought at one point. His shoulders sagged visibly, even as he listened to Pride's story, gentle and melodic. Following the spiders, Mercurius managed to turn himself around and step carefully towards the menagerie of family lying together.

Nodding mutely, he gently turned and laid down so that both fawn-cubs would be sandwiched in a --- again, hopefully --- comforting manner. Giving poor, bleating Arsu a firm lick on the flank and a reassuring nuzzle, he murmured, "not all change is bad, little one." Then, he picked up where Pride had left off:

"One day, the cub found a strange sort of creature, new and familiar at the same time: it shimmered and had a tail like the fish; it flew and had eyes like the beetles; it had many limbs and was black like the spiders." He was, of course, describing a dragonfly. "This creature danced on the waters, weaved through the trees, slept on the leaves. The cub called out to it, as it played alone with the whispering sea, asking, 'what are you, strange one? You seem like the fish, the beetles, and the spiders!' He heard a little scoff as the creature stopped and flew toward the cub, landing atop his big 'ol nose," he paused with a gentle bat at Azizos's nose, intending to imitate the dragonfly's landing. "And the creature said, 'why, I am none of those! I am a dragonfly! Can't you see my great tail?' With a shake of its rear, the dragonfly spun and the cub nodded. 'I can!'"

Realizing that, perhaps, he may be rambling for entirely too long, Mercurius paused and tossed his head towards Pride, offering him the next turn of the story.

The little one could not understand his maned father, or why he seemed too distraught to even answer whether or not he was okay. It seemed obvious at this point that the answer would be no, yet Azizos yearned for a proper word from the lion. His antlered father seemed to share calm, direct words with Mercurius, who then turned away and began to be bathed in ethereal glow. Before he could push up onto his feet, his poor twin had already stifled his face into his own flank. He could only listen to Pride as he began to tell his tale, and to offer licks and nuzzles to Arsu.

Nothing would get them. They'd all be safe, here in this haven. Azizos swore himself to two goals, now: one, to protect his brother at all costs; two, to give him a gift back. Even as he tried to comfort his twin, the fawn-cub listened avidly to his fathers' story, wondering how they managed to take turns telling the same, beautiful story. Already, the little one was trying to imagine what a dragonfly looked like, despite having not seen any of the other aforementioned creatures. Spiders must have many limbs, so the dragonfly did. Fish were shiny and had a tail. Beetles flew and had, apparently, eyes. The latter seemed very obvious, but maybe they were strange eyes?

Rather conveniently, the Morning Star imagined the biggest eyes possible, and giggled softly to himself.

As Mercurius passed the storytelling torch to his pale cervid companion, he was careful to take note of his own breathing rate as well as the children's. The therapeutic effects of spinning tales seemed to translate to Arsu well, as he seemed to calm and his fretful tears ceased slightly. Suddenly, as the little one was involved in the story, his tear-stained face became visible with a rapt expression in his eyes. A warm smile unwittingly found its way onto the pale lion's face, as he leaned down and nuzzled the Evening Star. With a soft rumble, Mercy continued the tale:

"Ah, then the cub asked the dragonfly about the Eventide. The dragonfly buzzed softly and told the little cub about all of the fantastic flowers and creatures that dwelled within the dusk. He told the cub about the trees that scraped the roof of the sky, they were so tall, and he told the cub about the creatures of snow from the north and the south." In each direction, Mercurius swung his head. He continued, but not without a burst of attempted light magic to set the scene further and immerse the children gently in the seemingly alien world. "The snow-creatures would come from the endless white, meeting at the heart of the Eventide. Because, you see, at the heart was a great tree that bore fruit of many colors, of many shapes. They would reach up with their big, furry hands and harvest these fruit and carry them home." A bolt of pain lanced through his skull, though he managed to only grimace a little. The pale beast glanced Pride's way, an unspoken cue to take his turn, if he so desired.

The little one was enthralled by the story, rather at loss for the images it conjured up within his mind. Were these places real? Would he --- and his brother --- someday find the places that the dragonfly spoke of? Azizos was only familiar with this garden, but he already couldn't wait to see the rest of the caves. Hopefully his twin would, as well! The Morning Star craned his neck to peer back at his brother, who's face had suddenly left his side in order to answer their antlered father's question. Azizos, of course, did not mind the wet patch on his side at all and nodded eagerly, "yes! Night sunset!"

Then, as their maned father spoke, the fawn-cub wondered if he would someday see the creatures of snow with their furry white... hands? Or this great white tree in the center of the Eventide, wherever that was? He leaned over to whisper conspiratorially into Arsu's ear, "we should find Eventide and go." There, goal number three for life.

Mercurius looked back to Pride, moonlit eyes blinking once or twice in an unspoken affirmative. Just in case his subtle gesture wasn't enough, he smiled slightly and tilted his head upward as he regaled the children with the Eventide. A sudden sense of relaxation finally enveloped him, as did a sphere of light and darkness enveloping the garden itself. Within this garden, the world of the Eventide seemingly came to life. Flowers that seemed ready to burst with bioluminescent pollen sprouted from muted undergrowth. The earth teemed with all sorts of strange glowing creatures, flashing blue against the violet soil. At the heart of the garden, lie the great tree. The cub and the dragonfly lay at its foot, the latter still perched atop the former's muzzle.

"And... with a little magic and a lot of imagination, dreams can come to life for a moment," Mercurius rumbled softly, adding the enormous figures of the snow-creatures to the image. They resembled yetis, like the one that haunted Polaris now and then. He intended to sustain the image, to immerse the children in the story and to introduce them to the wonders of deeper magic without much of the... emotional consequences.

Hearing his companion question for Azizos, now, Mercurius placed an empty patch at the foot of the tree, an awaiting image of a fruit to be sculpted by the fawn-cub. The glance spared to Mercy by the pale deer went woefully unnoticed; he was too focused on what the youngest of the twins had to say.

The Eventide was not... real? Azizos frowned, then pouted. His head tilted down a little and his ears flickered back. A strange, foreign concept of dreaming invaded his mind --- perhaps a byproduct of the Gembound instinct to listen, learn, and speak. With the notion of dreaming also came a resurgence of his exhaustion. The Morning Star shifted carefully so that he could tuck his limbs beneath himself and get into a comfortable loafing position, not unlike a cat. He started a little at Arsu's mew and again at the sudden immersion into the Eventide itself.

And... it was far more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. Compared to Eridanus itself, it was so warm and so peaceful, quiet and filled only with birdsong. Not that Mercurius had any affinity for noise production or cancelling --- that was pure imagination on the little one's part. The snow-creatures were far larger than he ever could have imagined, dwarfing himself and his parents easily. If, perhaps, the four of them stood atop one another, Azizos didn't think they'd manage to match up to one of the snow-creatures.

He was nearly too enraptured with the sight to hear his antlered father's drawing question. With a quick whirl of his head from its lying position, Azizos blinked. His silvery gaze drifted towards the emptiness at the base of the tree, and he mulled over it for a moment. Sleepily, the Morning Star yawned and set his head down on the stone before him. "It smell... like all love. Feel warm. And... orange, with sparkly center. Lights inside." As each description was offered forth, the blackness morphed and merged into the prized fruit. It was heart-shaped, with a fiery glow to it. "Taste like what you love. What you want. What you need." Perhaps the fruit was prophetic.

Azizos wouldn't really know, since his eyes had already drifted closed. Being awake and alive was exhausting, y'know