Skyfall by A
By A P.
Let there be light.
That is how it began. That is how the sun first rose from the horizon before the horizon even had a name. That is how the waters began to flow, reflecting such a beautiful beacon in the sky. That is how the land began to form, and the flowers began to bloom.
Everything has an opposite. The light included.
When the sun set, the moon would rise. A different light, but one no less loved. Unlike the sun, the moon did not overpower the land. It did not boast its holy light, the golden child from above. It was a guide for the lost, a beacon in the night—something to keep your secrets close to its stone heart, safe from prying eyes.
Away from the sister lights of the sky, there was the ocean and the land.
The land held beautiful creatures. Humans that walked beside camels in desert sands, or wranglers that rode horses from town to town. The lavender flowers blooming along hills, or iced trees from a winter breeze.
The ocean held everything from fish to coral, forgotten horrors or unknown wonders. Beneath the surface tide, far from the prying eyes of humans, there was another people. People with tails, colorful skin, and webbed hands. They guarded the waters and celebrated even the smallest of occasions. Guiding blooms of Jellyfish or orchestrating light shows with bioluminescent creatures. They were welcoming, and curious, even if they were guarded. Afraid of what would happen if they were found by the eyes of man.
As previously said, everything has an opposite.
From the tallest mountains to the fluffiest clouds, there were the people of the sky. People who had wings twice the length of their bodies, big enough to carry them into. They lived in shimmering gold homes, glowing under the light of the sun. But unlike the festive merpeople, these angels lived by a strict set of tenants. Ones not to be tarnished, or broken. The second they were, the perpetrator would be cast out. The slightest mistake could call for exile. The angels accepted nothing less than prim, proper, and perfect.
Unfortunately, perfection is a standard that Lior could never quite reach. Fortunately, Ayla never cared for perfection.
—
One mistake. That’s all it would take. Or had it been more than that, and Lior had simply never noticed? Sloth. Fool. An error to the ways of the wings. What had it been? The way they walked, or something they had said? Were their feathers not preened to pristine? Had there always been a flaw in the code? If so, how had they not been cast out before?
It happened so quickly that Lior hardly understood what to do. One moment, they were walking to the archive with a friend. The next, they were brought to the Head of their Covey. She never wore a smile. Today was no different.
The punishment required no ceremony. No time for farewells. If there was a flaw in the system, there was no need to point it out to every feather in their nest.
Lior tried to remain calm, they tried to keep up that false image of perfect. A set jaw, a steady gaze, even as their lips began to tremble. The Head of Covey led them to the gate. Perfect, golden arches.