𝒅𝒆𝒋𝒂 𝒗𝒖

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆- 𝒉𝒆𝒓

General Kirigian, the name he was currently borrowing. There were many names he'd borrowed, but out of the lives he had lived, only three names ever had meaning.

There was Aleksander, his second name. True name in this world. The name his mother gave him. But there were many Aleksander's in Ravka, that name, was special to him. Special to the mother who called out "foolish Aleksander". The name itself was not special, yet it was special to his mother who named him and the young memories he had with it. 

There was The Black Heretic. A name cursed by society. A feared name. One trashed and destroyed in history books. Legends for children. A name told to children to encourage them to eat their vegetables or the Black Heretic would get them. A name told over campfires, scaring them away from the dark.

They were always scared of the dark. The name didn't help.

The last name was the most important to Aleksander. The name in itself was nothing special. But it had been his first name. For his first life. There had been others before him and there would be others after him. But the way she said his name. That was special. The way she would struggle, breaking down in fits of laughter, after he stated something amusing he had heard that day.

Caspian. That name was special, not because the name was anything important, but she was. And she made him special, and that's all that mattered.

That made his heart ache. This was the reason he tried not to let her invade his thoughts. It had been centuries, years since his first and only wife had been taken from him.

That had been his first life. Before Aslan gave him shadows. Before he was reborn. In this life he was just a boy, a foolish, ignorant boy. A boy that believed in happiness, fate, and sunshine.

That boy used to appreciated sunrises, because she looked like a sunrise, ethereal, god like, everything good in the world. But he was the only god here, controlling the shadows, haunting like death and looming over the sunrise.

He blocked out the sunrises with his shadows, they were two painful to look at. 

So when he realised that she was not the sun to his moon, the light to his darkness in this world. That she did not follow him to balance his darkness with her light. He broke. All because of her.

Why would Aslan create the dark but not allow for light?

For centuries everyone knew the shadow summoners. General Kirigan was no exception, a hundred and twenty year old man with a blank and impassive face. So structured that you could walk past and be teleported to a museum staring at a sculpture of a man, a true work of art.

Because he was a man now, not a boy who believed in sunrises anymore, he believed in the moon and the dark, because he could control it. 

He was a work of art, hand sculpted for the finest Narinan clay from Aslan's hands. And while Grisha were known for their looks, General Kirigan was a true work of art.

High cheekbones, sculpting a face surrounded by black silk like hair. Tall brooding shoulders, carrying the weight of the fold on top. Lips, missing hers.

If anyone ever thought that General Kirigan spends his days, other than working at building a better home for Grisha, helping the army, pinning over memories of his late wife, you would call them crazy. But that's what he did.

It is what stopped him from truly breaking. 

One would think that centuries of memories would dull the memories from so long ago, but visiting them everyday keeps these memories fresh. So that's what Aleksander did, dreaming of her smile, that infuriating smirk, her eyes in the light of a warm summer's sunset.

He dreamed of her so he did lose her, after all memories were the only thing of her he had left, other than a broken heart.

Aleksander would gladly melt into that sunset if he could. He would do anything for the opportunity.

Maybe Aslan gave him the shadows, the dark, because she was the sun, the light.