Even In The Grave, All Is Not Lost

Little Moon: Part 2

A/N:

Sol is the name that I've chosen for Luna's brother. It's Latin for sun and also means peace because of King Solomon. It can also mean 'alone'. Also the whole Sol/soul thing. I don't know, it just felt kind of perfect.

. . .

Years ago, she offered the man beside her a place in Floukru, hoping but not daring to believe that he would take it.

He didn't.

Luna knew that Nyko hated war as much as she did. But he could not abandon his people.

Would not.

He was a healer. And so he would heal.

That was how he found his peace. In amongst the blood and the death. Fixing the few broken parts of the world he could.

Luna was no healer.

She was born to take life, not preserve it.

But she could also give it. She had that power. She'd-

But was that a blessing or a curse?

Was giving life any better than taking it away? Creating a life to suffer in the darkness, to endure it.

Life was a miracle.

But the giving of it?

A curse. How could it not be?

So she could curse a soul with life or with death.

That was her power.

That was the legacy of her blood.

Luna swallowed, leaning over the edge of the boat once again. The waves crashed under her and she welcomed their familiar music and the occasional spray against her face.

If she could replace the black in her veins with the clear water below, she would do so in a heartbeat.

Perhaps that would finally grant her the freedom of peace.

Something caught her attention in the distance and she sighed, watching the sharpening appearance of land with growing resignation.

But there was one last thing they needed to talk about before it finally reached them. She had resisted the subject for days, heart too heavy to reopen another wound.

But she could not delay any longer.

"Nyko," Luna started, eyes drawn to the approaching island. The boat ride had at once been too short, and too long. She hadn't wanted it to end, yet she'd been itching to escape the rusty contraption the second she'd stepped onto it, her skin growing tight and claustrophobic. She knew without a doubt that she was trapped, that the boy, Jasper, had spoken the truth, even as he'd armed it in vitriol.

The last two times Luna had been trapped, she'd been forced to kill someone she loved.

She prayed Skaikru were more merciful than the Fleimkepas or A.L.I.E.

Nyko inclined his head in acknowledgment, expression open and receptive to whatever she had to say.

He had always been a good listener.

Always been kind.

And moral.

She was counting on that now.

Having surpassed her tolerance for watchful eyes, Luna turned and made her way towards the cabin. Nyko followed.

At least in here, she could be granted some privacy. Possibly the last she would ever have, depending on what was in store for her on the island. She'd been granted almost no time alone in Arkadia and doubted her time here would be any different.