[lunisolar] Crescendo

The sky was beginning to fall in searing bright ethereal splashes, bigger than the world had ever been, brighter than the sun could ever dream of, and somehow more holy than any deity that could have ever been prayed to or revered by any ancient humans that had once lived here so long ago.

Of course, the sky itself was not actually falling, just simply the heavenly meteors during the shower, paramount and yet exclusive to the Lunisolar festival taking place across the surface of the earth. And yet, in the quiet calm of the crystalline caverns, one might think that they were alone on Capricorn-13, and that the universe and all of time itself had come to a standstill.

Echoes of unknown voices seem to gently flit from crystal to crystal, perpetuating a sort of angelic, crystalline chiming sound, coming from nothing, yet coming from everywhere. Will’o knows the sounds of spirits better than most, and she knows when they have a defined presence. This is one of those places.

In front of her, the large mound of dark obsidian infused with bright blue and green crystals from which wrought the shrine she stands humbly before, and it is magnificent on its own, truly. Silently, the crystalline skull seems to stare forlornly at her with its once-hollowed eye sockets, each one filled with crystal blooms, reflecting the small lights in the cave, as if its very gaze could burn. She looks at it still, as if she could communicate with it silently. Perhaps she is.

Held between her two hands, the black pearl statue gleams and glints in the flickering cavern light. The Byssian lake is far from these caves; surely the pearls birthed from its oysters could have never made their way here before. A slow but deep breath is taken, and Will’o gently sets the statue on the smooth, flat surface of the cave stone that bears the weight of its shrine, and with it, the crystalline keeper atop. She can almost hear the sound of an unseen breath, a gentle hum of approval from something or someone that she may never see. Her own breath catches in her throat, thin above her tongue, and imprisoned behind the cages of her teeth.

In that moment, the world feels like a blank canvas, like the birth of a universe, molded by freeform thought and shaped like clay. Will’o can sense that there are presences here in these caverns that maybe have not been noticed for centuries. They permeate the air like honeysuckle on a summer breeze, wrapping around her body as if she were a blade of grass, bending gently under the morning dew. Her eyes close, her breath drawn quick, and and her arms are held out at her sides, palms facing towards the crystal ceiling, and the skies above. Almost in that same instance, she can feel soft, wispy fingers entangling with her own, her very body being graced by the touch of those who once were. Gentle peals of angelic chimes ring softly throughout the caverns as Will’o can hear the far-distant sounds of cheering Symprites, knowing that at this exact moment, the meteors are at their peak, hurtling through space and gracing the skies with blinding brilliance and streaking the sunset, tearing it asunder. Keeping her eyes closed, she gently curls her fingers towards her palms ever so slightly, still feeling the fingers of ancient spirits laced with hers. They celebrate together, in their own way.

Perhaps, despite their differences in time and spiritual planes, they truly are one and the same, and perhaps they always have been.