A Fos like her—one of the oldest—couldn’t escape the sight of ichor. She had, most likely, seen more of it than many of the others. That didn’t mean she liked it or ever got comfortable seeing it. She would say she definitely was never prepared for it.
Especially not when it came from Danai’s now-shattered wings.
She also stood among them as one of the few that realized what was going on, the handful that maintained a false sense of calm as they helped usher the other Fos out of the way. She’d been there for many of the births of these Fos; she’d heard how, almost every time, Sokratas would remind Danai that the Fos were not like Eldrianna’s Skiá. The Skiá were created from the shadows, meant to be servants and soldiers. The Fos were made from Danai’s power alone, born from her light to be guides and companions. While there was no limit to Eldrianna’s army, there was for Danai’s messengers.
And the Fos sitting in front of Danai, with the white robes and blank expression, must’ve been the last one.
Mazel, in her mind, had prepared the explanation she would give the others. Being the elder among them, she was the most likely to quell their fears. But… the longer she thought about it, making quiet promises to the others to help ease their anxieties, she realized she didn’t know as much as she needed to. She couldn’t really assure them. Not when she herself grew nervous thinking of the implications. As the scene went on, she became less confident; Daphni emerged from her room to guide Danai into it and Sokratas and Natasa worked together to bring the new Fos into where the rest were. Sokratas left again, asking something of Micah, before also going to Daphni’s room. Natasa stayed with the Fos, her kind voice and eventual harp performance contributing to the lack of chaos.
“What’s going to happen..?” Aither dared to ask. He usually went on missions with the older Fos—he was probably the youngest to not instead ask, What happened?
Natasa didn’t lose her soft expression. “We don’t know. Micah should be talking with Orestis now—He’ll know what we should do. Until then, we’ve just got to wait for His answer. There’s certainly nothing that we can do on our own.”
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None of them seemed to like that answer, but none of them were in a position to question it.
“Well, we should go about work like usual, right?” Mazel asked.
“See if Kiri’s busy,” Natasa suggested with a nod. “They can help you get all the Fos where they need to be. Then you can take care of your new sibling.”
…
The new Fos was given the name Iztali. He had a Skiá counterpart—Lekra—who stayed with their dreamer. Even though Iztali was meant to be with that dreamer, too, the gods decided to keep him in Sanctuary for six years. Mazel liked talking to him during that time; he was kind, but there was a lot happening that he either didn’t know or didn’t understand. She wanted to help him, for some reason more than the hundreds of Fos that she’d been present for the births of.
Maybe it was because everyone knew how important he was, and most decided not to interact with him because of it.
After those six years, Iztali went to be with his dreamer. He’d never returned to Sanctuary once in that time—it never seemed to be a good moment to do so. Mazel visited him once or twice, though, as a mourning dove to see how he was doing. His dreamer really took good care of him. She’d heard fragments of what the gods’ plans were and, seeing them together, she’d felt confident that they’d be able to work.
But things didn’t work out that way. Now his dreamer and Lekra were in a place where gods could not help them, and Iztali was back in Sanctuary… unable to transform, surrounded by darkness, and kept alive through the ambrosia-feeding contraption Faidon and Sokratas had built.
Mazel still visited him between her own missions; she was the only Fos brave enough to step into the room, or walk past its doors without exchanging nervous glances or whispers. She didn’t know if he could feel it, but she held his hand when he started getting nightmares. Sometimes she and Danai would be there together, and they’d bring up the possibility of his light going out—neither of them knew, so it always ended with a simple “Let’s hope we don’t find out.”
But this time, Mazel was alone. She held his hand though it did nothing to help his frantic mumbles.
Her role as a Fos was to make the most impossible of wishes come true. Yet only mortals would ever be able to feel that satisfaction; she could do nothing for the other Fos. She couldn’t help Iztali… and she couldn’t save herself from seeing any more of her fellow lights getting snuffed out.
