E_S_Sonnomett

Gods rule over the fundamental creations of life.
Lords watch and rule over these Gods’ creations.

Phos, the Lord of Light, found himself cornered by a sharpshooter in the dead of the night. This unlikely encounter led to destiny.

—

The marksman needed to kill a kind, beautiful man.

From the photos, his target had crystalline orange eyes and glowing silver hair that cascaded down to the floor in waves. But, as with everything, the real man looked far more lucent and stunning. Like a soft light, like the first glimmer on the ocean’s surface as the Sun arose.
Before he could raise his sniper’s rifle to extinguish this ray of light, however, the beautiful target pulled out a pistol and shot him straight in the abdomen.
“I hope you don’t die. Good day.”
With that, he swiftly turned and left, disappearing into the darkness, his long hair bouncing to his every crisp footstep. Leaving behind the confused marksman, who, dazed, clutched his new wound and slumped to the floor.

Later on, the marksman managed to act stupid enough to gain his target’s trust. Showing his true colours, he toyed with a lock of his former victim’s hair, which was as silky and soft as he imagined. He held it to his lips, raised a corner of his black turtleneck to show the bulletwound on his abdomen, and whispered in a deep voice:
“This wound, how will you repay it?”
The original target, who shined like a dim candlelight under the rays of the moon, stretched up his bound arms to the hitman, brought a gentle hand to his skin, covered the wound… and with an unapologetic, professional business smile, he replied:
“I’m sorry, are you really sure you have a scar there? How come I don’t see anything?”

The marksman: …
It’s because you’re covering it.

The man he originally had to kill, who wore white silk pyjamas and a flame-like orange scarf every day and who looked like he could fall over with a slight push from the wind, was actually very resistant—and really, really pissed him off.


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Little Light Lord [BL]

Wind rushed past Phos's ears, piercing him with numbing pain.

Was I thrown into the endless abyss?

Surprisingly, Phos did not panic. Instead he thought.

If I continue to fall and never reach the void, I will still be alive.

After his conversation with Aer, though, he didn't understand what 'being alive' meant anymore.

But the concept of a lightbulb will still be there. I will never truly disappear… right?

I don't want to fall forever. It sounds pitiful.

Phos's dazed eyes snapped into focus. He looked to his left, then to his right, seeing if there was anything that could help him. The golden castle above him grew smaller and smaller.

Where was the cloud he had set on fire? Didn't he, Nymph, Kass, and Ornis fly up from there? It couldn't be far.

As the Light Lord tried to turn himself so he could see below, a pang of despair penetrated his bones, rendering them unable to move.

Realisation hit him a lot later than he expected, and a surge of depression swelled up in his chest.

As Phos closed his eyes, accepting his fate, a hot breath blew into his ear, followed by steady arms supporting his body in a bridal-carry. The entire sequence was executed familiarly, tenderly, soft as a feather.

Pyre had been on his way back to Eos when a collective gasp rose from the Lords nearby. He turned, confusedly following their lines of sight, and saw smoke rising in the distance.

No, that wasn't it. The Lord of Air would never let this happen during her event.

Then what could it be? A stray fire gone rogue? Or, perhaps….

Pyre briefly saw the back of a certain glowing-haired Lord of Light.

Ambling towards the fire, which rose in thick columns of smoke, Pyre genuinely considered the possibility that his Little Light Lord caused this mess. Should he save him? Even if Pyre walked right into the fire, he wouldn't be damaged at all. But Phos… was a Lesser Lord.

Anything could burn in fire. Lightbulbs were no exception.

Before he knew it, Pyre had begun to run. His feet had carried him to almost the site without himself even realising. Subconsciously, Pyre looked up.

Meeting his line of sight, a pair of multicoloured orange eyes looked helplessly around. As Phos fell, suspended in the air, time seemed to slow.

The Light Lord must not die. He cannot die.

Arms reaching out towards the faintly glowing body in the sky, Pyre leaped at Phos, catching him in his arms. Phos's eyes were closed, an expression of confusion and despair on his face—one Pyre had never seen before on the serious, kind, and rational Lord of Light.

In shock, perhaps surprise, Phos looked up at Pyre. What was he doing here?

Pyre had a similar expression. How would he safely land?

Both Lords, hiding their puzzlement, gave each other a long, hard stare.

"P…yre?" Phos broke the silence first, his clenched fists unfurling to grab onto the Fire Lord's lapels.

Pyre's pupils turned orange. Phos had never seen such a focused and serious side to the man before. Without responding back, Pyre tightened his hold on Phos and braced himself for a long fall.

Slowed time seemed to flow again as the two Lords plummeted to the abyss below.

Chapter 19 - Abyss