Waning of the Sun Gods

Rain that Falls on May 9th: II

When I was very young, before I even had any younger sisters to concern myself with, I could not understand the difference between my father and my mortal mother. I don't think I realized there was something that seperated gods and their ilk from mortals at all. But I recall even now how I learned of it.

We were in a very large building, and there were many adults I didn't know all in somber clothing. I was sitting on my mother's lap, her dark curly hair falling over my head as she bounced me on her knee.

A few people were carrying a very large box, and when I looked inside just briefly I saw what I thought must have been the oldest person ever. They had a very calm expression on their face. I thought they were sleeping.

I realized something was wrong when my father set the box on fire, and his flames quicked consumed the body and wood alike. I looked up at my mother and clung to her arms, not understanding why the person had screamed for help or why my father would do something like that.

All I wanted to do was scream. It was like the world had gone mad and everyone was still just sitting quietly.

My father gave a lovely speech, I'm sure. It had been one of his advisors, who had served the country loyally for decades. When he sat down by us to let their loved ones take the stand, I looked at him and something in my childish face must have threatened an oncoming weeping fit, so he quietly explained that some people as they got older had a harder and harder time doing things, until finally their bodies stopped doing everything.

And at that point, their soul – the thing that made them what they were – left the world and didn't come back.

"Is that going to happen to me?" I asked.

"No, sweetheart, never." My mother. If she was bitter over this fact, it did not seem that way to me then.

"What about you?"

She didn't say anything at all.

"What about dad?"

"No, no," he said, lifting me up in his arms. "No, don't worry. I'll never leave you. And even if I do – even if someone makes me – I'll come back, alright? It won't be for long. And you're a big girl now, you don't need your old dad around to have fun."

"You promise you'll come back fast?"

"Of course I will." He held me close, and squeezed my tiny hands in his. "Faster than daybreak. Fast as the sunlight."

My mother, wisest of us all – said nothing.

The day after that meeting with the minister and the rain-spirit started like any other. I put on my crown and necklace (five tries for the clasp) and had my daily ill-thought out walk through the sea of my failures.

But midway through I hear shuffling feet from somewhere behind me. Instinctively, my muscles seize, and I reach for a sword I have long left in my rooms despite myself. I whirl around, and feel ashamed of myself as I realize it is only my personal assistant.

Rital is old. Old enough that their hair is completely white and that they remember if not my father's reign than the beginning of mine. When they began to serve me I was in my second decade of my rule and all my sisters had burned already, so they have only ever known me as the empress with shadowed eyes.

It is only that once I think they had hope that I would slowly improve, only to realize that only upon the return of my family would I reclaim any kind of glory for myself.

"Your Majesty," they greet me with. My own gloomy nature has never seemed to drag theirs down, and they seem determined to continue with their best work no matter how they feel about the one they serve. "There is a small issue."