The Lost Boy, the, Compass, and the Lady of Space

I was born during an eclipse - that was important apparently.

The sky went dark at noon.

The moon devoured the sun.

The priests called it divine contradiction.

My mother called it auspicious.

My uncle declared it suspicious.

The Compass calls it “a cosmic hiccup with trust issues.”

We’ve been walking for six days now. The Compass was clipped on my belt, humming like a nervous heartbeat—louder today, sharp with anticipation.

“Almost there. I can smell the unresolved trauma from here,” the Compass said grimly.

“Smell?” I remarked. "You don't have a nose."

“Metaphor. Unless grief has a scent, in which case: mercury.” the Compass replied.

"That doesn't make sense."

"I would not expect you mortals to understand," it replied.

"Hey! You said I'm no ordinary mortal! Born in an eclipse and all that." I retorted.

"But you can still die, so my point remains," it replied with mock exhaustion.

I should have died — fell off a tower to Lake Aldaria a week ago with no recollection of what happened. When I came to, I was ashore somewhere on the Lake's southern bank, and this Compass urging me in my head to travel east — or I'll die. Now that's some motivation to keep you going.

I recall names, my own, Seren Solari — and Eldarion, a priest of some sort. He was the last face I remember, the one who pushed me off the tower. There was no hostility in his face however, only pity and apology. Why pity me if you're going to push me off a cliff though? That part still did not make sense.

I remember a family, though I can't recall their names nor their faces. I remember a father, a mother, an uncle, an older brother, and a younger sister. And when I remember them — when I try to remember them, pain shoots up my head and my chest tightens.

I suppressed the memories, the Compass told me. Too traumatic even for him, he said. I remember him as he was slapped on my belt by Eldarion and after it threathened me with death when I woke, it told me to find the Fallen. It was a shock, not being shocked at being talked to by an apparently sentient compass, probably goes to show how much of a brain damage I had.

"What are the Fallen?" I asked one night as I camped.

"Angels, duh," it replied.

"Fallen is not exactly the most welcoming of names, Compass," I replied in frustration.

"Well, short story short," it seemed to sigh, "they were a group of five angels who rebelled against heaven ten millennia ago. The reasons were lost to time, but their legend remained after their defeat and fall."

"Then why should I go asking for help from beings who were already defeated? That does not exactly spur confidence, you know." I asked.

"Because they are the only ones who can help you piece back what happened seven days ago," the Compass answered — and another wave of pain and nausea washed through my head.

"Can't you just tell me?" I groaned, clutching my temple.

"I could, but I couldn't."

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly what it means, my purpose is to guide souls, not tell them answers. And right now, fate is telling me to tell you to go east."

"You don't even point north."

"I point where you need to go, that is enough, that should be enough, and yet you yap on and on and on."

"You're the one yapping," I retorted.

"Let's just head east, shall we?"

"What am I expecting there?"

"The first of the Fallen," it replied smugly.

"Yeah, no shit. You've been telling me that since I woke up."

"Fine," its needle seemed to spin and I interpreted it as it rolling its eyes if it had one. "We're going to Hollowward Cliffs."

"Hollowward what? You can't be serious," I said incredulously. Hollowward Cliffs is known to be untraverseable due to the floating boulders the size of houses which had, on more than one occassion, been flung towards men who tried to enter it. Survivors said it was as if the boulders were thrown by a guiding hand.

"Yeah, Hollowward Cliffs kid. Ever wonder why all the rocks float in there?" The Compass asked.

"All of humanity wonders about that, Compass."

"Because a Fallen has resided there, for many millennia she has made it her... haven so to speak," the Compass began, "and she does not take kindly to those who try to intrude upon her space."

"Great, so you're leading me to certain death, then," I replied dryly.

"If you don't have me then your death is certain," it answered haughtily. "But because you have me, I'd say that your odds have improved from 'none' to a 'coin flip'."

I sighed as I stretched my legs, "Very comforting," I said sarcastically, "Silver linings, I suppose."

"Exactly! Now rest, kid, we have a long way ahead, and the road's not necessarily safe."

"Finally," I said relieved, "something we can both agree on." I laid down in the soft grass beneath the oak tree I called my camp for the night.

"If I sense any danger, I'll scream in your head."

That's a comforting thought, I thought before closing my eyes, being screamed awake only to confront death in the face.

"Thanks, I guess," I yawned before drifting off to sleep.

---------------

We reach the edge of Hollowward Cliffs and my gut twisted with anxiety. Rocks as small as wagons and as big as temples floated absently in the air as if lifted by an unseen hand.

"And you tell me you can guide me through all that without alerting the Fallen residing here?" I asked the Compass.

"I didn't say I can guide you," it replied. "I said I can increase your chances of survival."

"How exactly?" I asked skeptically.

"By guiding you through."

"But you just said you can't guide me!"

I felt it hum and vibrate on my belt, "Same all, same all," it dismissed. "Don't sweat the small details, Seren."

"By the Sun," I exclaimed.

"Just follow my instructions and you'll be fine, Solari."

"I'd have thrown you if I didn't need you," I groaned, more in frustration than rage.

"It's your loss," it replied nonchalantly. "Just, step where I tell you to step."

"Don't make me regret trusting you," I quipped.

"Oh, I'm touched," it replied sarcastically. "Now right foot forward!"

And I let him guide me, towards floating boulders and underneath high cliffs, all the while anxiety was creeping in me. Would the Fallen sense me? And if she did, would she sic these rocks towards me? Would it be painful? Would it be quick? Please let it be quick.

"Stop thinking about death, Seren," the Compass berated me. "It's not your time yet."

"So just because you're round and have needles do you think you're also a watch now?"

"No, just a hunch," it replied.

"Very motivating," I responded dryly.

"Shush, Solari," it murmured suddenly, like someone else can he hear it even though it's talking right inside my head, "we're here."

Below us lies a ruined temple, shattered and quiet. Black fragments — obsidian by the looks of it, hover ever so slightly, as if dark toys hanging by a string.

And at the center: the first of the Fallen.

She dances on the fractured stone — barefoot, breathless, never stopping. Each spin creates ripples in the space around her, each step turns the stones she touches as black as her obsidian wings.

She never stops. Not for beauty. Not for praise. Not for rest.

She moves like stillness will break her, like stopping is never an option.

Every step slashes the air with precision.

Every turn feels like she’s trying to keep the world spinning through motion alone.

And then, there's her, not her dancing nor her movement, just... her.

She's tall, slender, sleek, and graceful. Her hair is a mix of silver and black. Her facial features are delicate yet sharp, just like the way she moves. And her eyes, pure silver but with a hint of melancholy. And by the Sun, she was beautiful, more beautiful than any young lady of the west, both common and noble, that I've ever seen.

"Speechless, I see. Completely valid reaction." The Compass teased.

I then noticed a black sash trailing behind her— too long, too alive — slicing and flowing with impossible control.

"Stillveil," The Compass says with, reverence? That was weird, I thought. "Once known as the Veil of Aeirion. Not a weapon by design, but it became one the day she fell. A Gravemist Sash.

Once, it aligned the stars as she danced. Now, it holds her together from breaking."

"Who is she?" I whispered.

“The StillBlade. The Throne of Motion. The Angel of Grace. Kazuha.” the Compass whispers, its tone almost reverent. "She rules space with her dances, now she never stops dancing after their fall."

I returned my gaze to Kazuha. She looks graceful at a glance, but as one observes closer, there are subtle moments where motion should have give way for stillness, for rest, and yet, she moves on.

"What happens if she stops?" I whispered.

“No one knows, because she hasn't. But if she does, I reckon she'll remember.” the Compass remarks.

“Remember what?” I asked.

“The moment the music died, and all movement stopped.”

"That sounds like a bad title for a song." I observed.

"You have no idea," The Compass replies, its tone reminiscent. Like it recalls a distsant but painful memory.

Kazuha pivots mid-leap and lands without a sound. Alarm and surprise floods my being as her gaze slices toward me, her body remains swaying softly - always in perpetual motion.

Steel eyes.

No surprise. No fear.

Only the recognition of another interruption.

She walks forward slowly. Stillveil flutters behind her like something restrained.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says. Her voice is cold. Her barefeet moves easily in the empty air, encircling me.

“Say something not stupid.” the Compass whispers softly in my head.

“I’m not here to fight.”

“I'll give that a 5 out of 10.” the Compass mocks. I can almost feel its non existent eyes roll in its sockets.

“Then why are you holding that?” she nods toward the Compass.

I raise it. Its glow pulses in rhythm with her heartbeat. Or mine. Or the universe’s.

“It brought me to you.” I answered.

“Bad line to start with if youre trying to be romantic.” the damn Compass mutters in my head.

Stillveil coils tighter along her arm. Not aggressive. Protective. Afraid.

“Do you even know who or what I am?” she asks. As she speaks more, I can hear a hint of warmth and tenderness which seems pushed deep down beneath the coldness of her voice.

“Only what the Compass told me,” I say, calmly, almost defiantly. “It said you aligned the stars as you dance. The Angel of Grace. The Throne of Motion. Kazu--”

Before I can speak her full name the air splits behind me with a sound like a hymn being torn.

“MOVE!” the Compass hissed in my head. The force of his telepathic scream jerks me off my feet.

I turn.

A Purity Wraith slips out of a rift in space — tall, faceless, draped in ivory bindings.

No face. No features.

Only a hum — dissonant and rising — like a god trying to erase a mistake it never admitted to.

It lashes out, I side stepped as fast as I could and drew my blades, twin daggers given by Eldarion the same day he pushed me off the tower.

“Another Wraith, Seren!” the Compass comments in my head.

It lunges but not towards me, towards Kazuha.

My body moved before I could think. I rushed myself between Kazuha and the Wraith. I blocked with my daggers, each blade locking one five-clawed hand in place —

—and Kazuha doesn’t move.

She’s frozen.

“Kazuha—!” I screamed, my arms burning with the strain of holding the Wraith off.

Stillveil flickers, waiting for her mistress, but she’s still stuck. Too still.

The Wraith withdrew its claws and regrouped. It now circled us, trying to get through my flank and directly to the frozen angel. Then it lunges again and before I can act — Stillveil snaps, its color turns from black to silver. In one breath, it lashes around me — then past me — and slices across the wraith’s shoulder.

Kazuha moves.

She dances.

But it’s not perfect anymore. Her rhythm disrupted as her spins falter and her foot drags. Stillveil frays in mid-air.

But she moves anyway.

The temple becomes a vortex of silk and distorted space as Kazuha dances around the Wraith with Stillveil.

Each strike disrupts the wraith. Each step breaks the cage she built inside herself. A small ripple appears. Then grows larger and larger as Kazuha's dancing intensifies — sucking in the wraith towards its center.

The wraith screams with its mouthless face — its hum distorting — before it gets fully sucked into the vortex almost unceremoniously.

Silence follows.

Kazuha stands trembling, Stillveil coiled loosely at her side, frayed at its end.

Her breath is uneven. Her feet… still.

Moments passed as our breathing stabilized. “You made me stop,” she says, voice soft but shaking, like stopping made her more exhausted than dancing ever did.

“I’m sorry,” I reply.

“Don’t be.” A beat passes. "I thought... I feared..." and she stopped. She doesn’t elaborate. She doesn’t need to.

She turns and walks away — slower than before. Stillveil trails behind her, its blackness now highlighting a pulsing streak of silver.

“She froze, then danced imperfectly. That’s new.” the Compass remarks quietly.

“Is that a good thing?” i asked.

“No idea. But it means she felt something.” it replied.

"Felt what?"

"Does it matter? She just saved us, and she probably has no intention of killing you now than when she saw us first."

"You mean she would have killed us if that Wraith didn't appear?" I asked in shock.

"Oh no, kid. She would only kill you. I'm an immortal relic you see." The Compass replied smugly.

I looked over at Kazuha, she has stopped a good few feet from me. Her body sways softly, but her feet are still, grounded.

Against my better judgment, I followed after The Lady of Space as the floating rocks of Hollowward Cliffs slowly descended towards the ground.

----------‐-------

Two hours.

We walked in silence for two hours.

Not the peaceful kind.

The kind that crackles between two people who know they’ve seen something in each other neither fully understands.

Hollowward Cliffs is already miles away. No boulder was left floating once we cleared the cliffs as Kazuha released her power holding them and explorers can now safely traverse the area.

My wander shifted from the Cliffs towards Kazuha. The Fallen angel doesn’t speak. She barely breathes. Do angels even breathe? I wondered.

Her steps are light — does she even step at all? She seems to be hovering a few inches from the ground, the motion of walking is like an excuse to keep her body moving.

Her silence seemed louder than my thoughts. Or is it just because the usually talkative Compass is also silent.

Stillveil trails behind her, part weapon, part wound — the silver now threading visibly through the black.

“You’re following me,” she says, without turning around.

“The Compass keeps pointing at you.” I replied flatly, raising the Compass whose needle points directly at her obsidian wings.

She stops and looks at the Compass, her head tilting slightly.

Stillveil tightens — not in hostility, but in something closer to defense. Or embarrassment.

"Stillveil says the Compass is leading you to me and my sisters," Kazuha says after a few breaths of silence.

"Yeah." I answered absently - and then it clicked. "Wait, Stillveil can talk to you?" I asked. "And Stillveil can talk to the Compass?" I added, confusion and wonder battling in the recesses of my mind.

Kazuha nods. "Relics have a mind of their own. They can also talk to other relics. But outside that, only the one they chose can hear their voice." She says so matter-of-fact-flatly that it made me feel stupid.

"Huh." I huffed, making a mental note to strangle the Compass's non existing neck once it starts speaking again.

"And you mentioned sisters?" I asked cautiously.

She sighed, as if a memory has stirred inside of her — bad or sad — or both.

"You set off in this journey with no knowledge of us?" She asked in frustration.

I nodded in embarrassment. "I know of angels, everybody does. I've read of divine rebellions and I know of fallen angels, yet I didn't know of you or your sisters specifically."

She nodded, turned, and continued walking. "Makes sense," she remarked woefully, "it was our rebellion that exposed the decline of the Silver City, it is no wonder they're trying to erase the memory of us. Yet some legends remained, I hope."

"Could you..." I began warily, "tell me about your rebellion? Or about you and your sisters?"

"No," she replied flatly.

Sheesh, I thought. Where is the Compass when I need his guidance the most.

"Anyway, do you have any idea where you're going?" I asked the Fallen Angel.

“I don’t remember where I’m going.” she replied like its not a concern.

“Then let’s just walk,” I offered.

After a few more minutes, we paused at a stone outcropping — half a ruin, half a cradle. A breeze moves gently through the broken pillars and wildflowers pushing through cracks.

Kazuha doesn’t sit. She stretches her arms. Not like a dancer — more like someone testing a body she doesn’t trust.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she says suddenly. “The moment I froze.”

“I’m glad I did.”

She looks at me, sharp and uncertain.

“Why?”

“Because it made you real,” I answer. “Before that, you were myth. Wings and silk and space and gravity. After? You were human.”

“I’m not human.”

“No,” I say. “But I feel you know what it means to be, even if you were never one.”

She doesn’t reply. But the way her fingers flex at her sides — like she’s clenching invisible strings — tells me I hit something.

"The Compass said something back there,” I begin. “About you being in constant movement. What… what did it mean?”

She doesn’t speak for a while.

Then, quietly:

“Motion is survival. If I stop, I fall. If I fall, I remember. And if I remember…”

She doesn’t finish.

“It hurts?” I ask.

“No.”

A beat passes. A second.

“It tempts me.”

Stillveil tightens — almost like it recoils at the confession. I can only wonder of the conversation those two were having.

“Stillness is peace,” she says, to me and, it seems, to Stillveil. “But peace is dangerous. Because peace lets you feel.”

“And feeling is what broke you?” I ask.

She meets my eyes.

“No. Feeling is what made me.”

“But they told me it was a flaw.” she added.

"Who told you?"

"The One who cast us down."

"Who is He?" I asked, knowing it is against my better judgment. But I needed to know, no more vague prophecies from priests, no more high hopes from the people of the village.

"Not here." Kazuha replied softly, almost painfully. "Names have power." She finished. Another non-answer, another frustration.

The wind moves through her obsidian wings. Feathers flicker. I can’t tell if they’re made of shadow or light that gave up.

“Do you remember falling?” I ask.

“Every day,” she whispers.

Then she looks at me. Really looks.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?” she says.

“Not a clue. Freaking Compass just told me to follow his needle.” I replied.

“The Compass chose you," She said with a finality that made me uncomfortable.

“It was sort of slapped into me. It complains about me constantly, but it hasn’t ditched me yet.”

“Then maybe you’re what it needs. Not what it wants.”

The hell does that mean? I'm the one in need, not the Compass. I thought meeting a Fallen, an angel, would help clear things for me, but instead, more questions emerged than answers.

She finally sits. Not gracefully. Not like a dancer. Just… tired. Her wings fold behind her like a memory being tucked hidden.

"I don’t trust you,” she says. “But you stood between me and a Wraith, the only ones who did were my sisters. That counts for something.”

“So… friends?”

She gives me a look. I instantly regret saying it if not for her beauty when she smiled faintly. It was warm, uplifting, like a pull to a dance. Her obsidian wings seemed to shine a little less darker.

“Temporary truce.” she replies, with a soft smile that seemed brighter than the sunset and warmer than the sunrise.

I tapped the Compass, trying to divert my attention from Kazuha's smile which threatens to undue everything I know about beauty. “What’s the next direction?” I ask, earning a curious look from Kazuha.

The Compass pulses faintly, then spins wildly.

“That’s… not helpful.”

Kazuha closes her eyes. The wind shifts and Stillveil flows slowly, pointing eastward.

“East,” she says softly. “There’s something broken out there. I can feel it.”

“Another Fallen?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps a wound waiting to open.”

"Or both." I whispered.

"Or both." She whispers back.

Stillveil pulses once — a slow, uncertain heartbeat. Kazuha closes her eyes, "Yes. Time. Memory — and dreams." Great, more riddles, I thought. She whispers softly before standing up and looking at me. "Ready?" She asks, almost uncharacteristically cheerful.

I nod, and we begin to walk.

This time, side by side.

Not in perfect step. Not in harmony.

But in motion. Together.