Page 23 of Starlit Bargains

“Fine,” Eliar said after a long moment. “But not here. The temple is too... resonant. Too many memories.”

Relief flashed across Kai's face, quickly masked by a casual nod. “Lead the way, star-boy.”

Eliar gave him a withering look. “Don't call me that.”

“Would you prefer 'cosmic guardian'? 'Celestial exile'? 'Grumpy constellation'?”

Despite himself, Eliar felt a flicker of amusement. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to tease him. Centuries, perhaps. “My name will suffice.”

He led Kai away from the temple, deeper into the forest but in a different direction than they had fled the night before. The path wound through ancient trees whose massive trunks had stood witness to Eliar's arrival on this world. Their roots remembered his fall, their leaves whispered the story to each new generation of saplings.

Eventually, they reached a small clearing where a stream cut through the forest floor, its banks lined with smooth stones. The water was clear and cold, reflecting the first stars appearing in the twilight sky above. Eliar sat on one of the larger stones, gesturing for Kai to do the same.

For a moment, neither spoke. The forest sounds enveloped them—the gentle burble of the stream, the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze, the distant call of a night bird. Briar had disappeared into Kai's pocket, perhaps sensing that the conversation to come wasn't meant for her ears.

“I was a protector of the boundaries between realms, between stars, between possibilities.”

Kai listened silently, his usual restless energy temporarily subdued.

“There are forces in the universe that exist beyond mortal comprehension,” Eliar continued. “Entities and energies that would destroy reality as you know it if they were to cross freely between domains. My kind stood watch at these boundaries, ensuring the cosmic order remained intact.”

“Your kind,” Kai echoed. “There are others like you?”

“Were,” Eliar corrected. “I don't know if any remain. It's been... a very long time.”

The admission sent a pang of loneliness through him, so familiar he barely registered it anymore. He stared at the stream, watching the water flow over rocks worn smooth by time.

“We were created for a singular purpose—to maintain balance. To be impartial and absolute in our judgment.” A bitter smile touched his lips. “I failed in that purpose.”

“How?” Kai asked quietly.

Eliar hesitated, the memories both ancient and painfully fresh. “I began to question. To wonder if the strict separation of realms was necessary, if some crossings might bring benefit rather than harm. I saw beauty in the mortal realm that my kind had been taught to regard as chaotic and inferior.” He looked up at the stars now visible in the darkening sky. “Most of all, I began to feel—compassion, curiosity, doubt. Emotions that were forbidden to us.”

“Forbidden?” Kai frowned. “That seems a bit extreme.”

“Emotion clouds judgment,” Eliar explained. “For beings with our power, clarity was essential. Or so we were taught.”

“So you had feelings, and that was enough to get you kicked out of celestial border patrol?” Kai sounded incredulous. “Harsh management style.”

Despite the gravity of the conversation, Eliar found himself almost smiling at Kai's characterization. “It was more complicated than that. I intervened in a situation where I should have remained neutral. Prevented a crossing that had been ordained, because I judged it unnecessarily cruel.”

“Sounds like you did the right thing,” Kai said.

“Perhaps. But it wasn't my place to decide. My role was to enforce the cosmic laws, not interpret them.” Eliar clasped his hands together, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else. “For that transgression, I was cast out. Stripped of most of my power and sent falling through the void until I crashed here.” He gestured vaguely at the forest around them. “The temple was built centuries later, over the crater of my landing.”

Kai was quiet for a long moment, absorbing this information. When he finally spoke, his words were not at all what Eliar expected.

“Sounds lonely.”

The simple observation, spoken without pity but with genuine understanding, struck Eliar like a physical blow. In all his centuries of exile, no one had ever acknowledged that aspect of his punishment. Humans had feared him, worshipped him, ignored him, forgotten him—but none had ever seen past his otherness to recognize the simple, devastating loneliness of his existence.

He turned away, unable to meet Kai's gaze, unsure how to respond to such unexpected empathy.

“It was my sentence,” he said finally, his voice rougher than he intended. “Isolation. Remembrance. Watching but never belonging.”

“For how long?” Kai asked. “I mean, it's been centuries already. Is there an end date? Parole for good behavior?”

Eliar shook his head. “It was meant to be eternal. Or at least until the end of this world.”

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