Here is the Well at Last [Cyrus, Al'in]

Cyrus supposed that it was inevitable she would have come to the seaside, if only because it was one of the few places she found both calming and unsettling. She was a child of the sands, and as such she had never much cared for the ocean. Such a vast expanse of water was something that almost unsettled her, really.

She supposed, however, that was only fair at this moment. She still had much to consider, didn't she? Frankly, she felt that it was best to think on these matters in the aspect of the Blissful Flame. There were many things that she was less than ideal in handling, but when it came to emotions, she was the best of all possible natures.

So she simply walked along the shore, eyes moving between the sand and the sea.

Al'in spent most of his time since arriving in the City of Lights on the beach, his feet firmly planted in the sands just as he had spent most of his life in the wasteland doing. For all the change that he had experienced, it was good to keep oneself grounded in the memories of where he had come from. What he had lost to get here.

It was most peculiar, then, to see a reminder of that past slowly approaching him from the far distance.

Of course, at first, he might have believed it to be a mirage. But she walked with such innocent purpose, her mind elsewhere even if her body was not, that there was not a doubt in his mind that she was real. At such a distance, though, perhaps it was his eyes playing a trick upon him. Still, he stood and began to brush the sands from his garments. A hand cupped against his forehead to shield the sun from his eyes, he focused upon her all the more as she drew closer. Certainly, his were not the only eyes that lingered but their reasoning for doing so were not the same as his.

There were no words that he could say, for he suddenly found the back of his throat to be as dry as the desert itself, so, instead, he simply stepped into her path. An unwavering gaze of emerald green now plying her face for every little detail.

It was not necessarily unsurprising or unusual for someone to approach Cyrus when she was on her walks. She was aware, on some level or another, of the way that others tended to view her appearance, but it meant little to her. Such things were to be shared with those she held the most dear, even if her own nature had made even that thought seem almost hollow.

However, as her eyes turned to greet this particular supplicant with her typical cheer and grace, there was an undeniable moment of what could only be described as earnestly human terror in her expression. Before her was a face that she surely had seen before. A face that haunted her through all of her life, which had in so many ways driven her to become what she now was.

"Al'in?"

Her voice was unsteady, unsure. It lacked all of the confidence with which she typically carried herself. But how else could one react in such a moment as this?

There was not an insignificant part of Al'in who wanted her to look at him with utter confusion, to stare straight through him like the outsider he was. But, as recognition welled behind those unforgettable eyes, he could not deny himself anymore. This was not the face of a stranger, not even close to it, and so the ever-present smile fell from his face as his mouth hung ever so slightly agape.

"I.. Mo..."

He stumbled forwards, gone was the confidence that had carried him upon its back for decades and in that moment he was little more than a bumbling child again. One foot found its way in front of the other, but there was no longer the grace with which he so calmly exuded. Even his words had faltered, that flowery eastern twang buried beneath a mire of disbelief and replaced by a rasping whisper that clawed its way from his throat like sandpaper.

"I... Returned... Saw your... Standing next to my own."

Closer still he continued to approach, showing no sign of stopping his crooked advance, as broken words tumbled from arid lips. With eyes that were now widened by shock, a hand reached out to touch her as if he doubted that she was real. A wind was rolling in off the ocean, kicking up a little dust at their feet, but he could not have paid it any less heed.

What was Cyrus to do in this moment? For she realized all too quickly what it was that had happened, that Al'in did not see the face of his eldest brother before him. What he saw, instead, was the face that his eldest brother had taken up when manifesting as his idea of motherly compassion.

"No, Al'in. I am afraid that our mother remains in the heavens. She is in that very same place that father has gone to, and where I had been most certain you, too, had joined them"

Looking away in what could only ever be described as shame, Cyrus allowed the pretense of aspect to disperse, leaving only his most mundane and true appearance. The appearance of the brother who had left Al'in behind in the dust.

"I did not think that I would see you again."

Nor, for that matter, had he ever wished to. Not for the sake of leaving them behind, but because he knew all too well that there was never anything that he might have done to face his family again. Cyrus had long since accepted that, when the final days came, and judgement was meted out, he would not live with them among the blessed. But having to see those eyes yet again was a curse far more damning than even a fall into the House of Lies.

Al'in's outstretched hand clasped at the air between them as Cyrus shifted his aspect, feeling the lost connection slip through his grasp as a different visage now declined to grace him by meeting his gaze. Like dirt slipping through his fingers. It was not his mother that could not meet his eyes, but it was still his kin. The distinction was slight, with it still being that of someone he had never thought to see again, yet there was a notable shift in the atmosphere from both sides.

"Azmi."

Gone was the unassuredness, though his voice still remained a hollow shell of its usual self. He straightened his posture too, correcting the crooked form that had nearly brought him to his knees, but there was still a vulnerability to Al'in. He was a ghost, and yet he was staring at a ghost of himself.

"She deserves that rest, so I am glad it remains undisturbed... No mother should have to suffer as she no doubt did."

No brother should suffer as you did.

"I once wished that the wastes had claimed me, and perhaps they did for a while, but that was never what they wanted for us. High hopes and higher expectations."

The words came easier for each one spoken, the bottomless pit in his stomach now finding that it was not as infinite as had been expected, but even as he did so the pain that languished behind Azmi's eyes became only more apparent. He drew closer still to his brother, close enough that his arms could begin to wrap around him and pull him ever so slowly into a sideward embrace. There were onlookers that likely found the scene so utterly perplexing, as the foreigner latched on to the Grandmaster, but Al'in cared not.

"But I wasn't ready then, I am now."

Cyrus had, over the centuries, built up an image of his family in his own mind, of what they might think of him now. That they would assuredly despise everything that he had been, and everything that he had become. After all, had he not failed them? And in failing them, had he not deigned to chase godhood only to fall all the further into disgrace?

He had never, at any point, imagined that he might feel his brother offer him an embrace such as this. It was so surprising that it took him a moment to collect himself, to return the gesture, but when he did so it was with whatever warmth was still left in him, the hold of a man who had at one time lost everything he held dear.

"I have countless times wished that the sands took me as they did all of you. That, at least in death, I could have found some forgiveness."

Every mistake he had ever made felt magnified in this moment, knowing that even his family was now here. Cyrus knew, quite viscerally, that he had never changed, not across 400 years. He knew, all the more deeply, that he needed to.

“You were the best of us, Azmi. The sole candle against darkness.”

It was likely rather poetic that Al’in too had built up many different images of what his family would think of him, had he returned to find them all alive and waiting for him. He who had been the weakest link, who had faltered at the first sign of struggle. The fear that they might reject him still after all these years had remained a driving force, keeping him going when the night was at it’s harshest. But, sometimes, he had dared to dream that they might welcome him back with open arms.

So, as Azmi slowly turned into his embrace and he felt the slightest rays of compassion seep from the weariest of souls, he shed tears of joy that ran down his cheeks and soon stained his brother’s shoulder. For all that had happened, he was glad to be here. That all those years had not been in vain, and his continued life was not a sentence of punishment from on high.

“There is so much that I do not know, you have no doubt lived countless lives without me, and yet I can still feel my brother’s heart beating in this chest. Forgive me, please, for the hurt that I caused you. I will atone for my sins, if you will only embrace me again.”

That Azmi was himself likely looking for forgiveness had not crossed Al’in’s mind. He was the one that had been left for dead in the sands, he was the one who had first failed father. He was the little brother who had always looked up to his elders and failed to notice that they were pulling him apart.

It wounded Cyrus all the more to hear his brother speak so highly of him. To know that he still held him in such high regard, even when Cyrus certainly knew that he did not deserve that praise. For that was who he was-- Cyrus. The name he had taken centuries ago was the name he had grown to know as his own. He had become that vain, empty, callous creature, and for what?

Simply to flee from the truth, from the fact that he had left those memories behind.

"It is I who ought to beg your forgiveness, Al'in. I, who looked only forward, who pursued only greatness without ever thinking of what you or our family might deserve. It was I who sought only glory, who let you fall in that task."

What else could Cyrus do but cry as well, as he begged forgiveness from someone that certainly did not need to give it? That had become something of a recurring event in his life, he realized. That he had caused such grief in so many lives, and for what? Nothing at all, but for the hope that he might have lived a better life for himself.

It was remorsefully comforting to feel Azmi crying too, even if he had his own reasons for doing so. That he blamed himself was understandable, he likely would have done the same in his position, but he was adamant in his own belief that there was one person at fault for Al'in's fate and that was himself. He wanted to deny his brother, to tell him that, but what good would it do either of them now to languish in ancient history. The people from those stories were dead and buried, if not physically then certainly in spirit.

"Perhaps we were not meant to be as we were then, but our paths have wound around and around until, finally, they have crossed again. Here we find ourselves, at what must be the turning of the tide."

His head did retreat from where it had briefly rested against Azmi, his gaze once more seeking to meet with his sibling. Emerald eyes, stricken with the stains of tears that ran down his cheeks, now appraised him again. Azmi looked to be doing well, which was hardly a surprise, and yet he could not help but be curious.

"Wh-why did you appear to me in mother's image? Or, if not as her, then an imitation of her. And there is a curiosity about you that I cannot place, something more that lingers on the edge of my senses. You are Azmi but is that all you are?"