The glimmer of the big city appeared to be stars on the horizon. However, it could never be the cosmos watching over the countryside like a guardian of the fields. Marigold had insisted on meeting far from both of their hometowns, so they decided on the unclaimed territory of tall grass. Damien laid back on a mattress of straw while they swapped stories. She pointed at the cosmic guardian while telling tales of a night goddess and sun goddess who fell in love ages ago. The goddesses had a child who would become the ruler of twilight. One day, their marriage fell apart and the sun goddess left with their child, creating the rising and setting of the sun. Marigold’s town found their own different ways of celebrating both goddesses; her family wore the images of suns and moons in their clothes.

“However,” she whispered into Damien’s ear, “I found another way.”

Damien sat up and leaned away from her, raising an eyebrow. Marigold lifted her hair to reveal a moon tattoo on her shoulder and a sun on the other.

“Not to be a downer, but aren’t your parents against tattoos? Like even hate tattoos?” Damien snorted and laid back onto the ground. “Anyways, that was kind of a terrible story. It’s so sad for something pretty as a sunset.”

“I think that was the point.  Don’t get me wrong I love a happy ending, but isn’t humbling in some sort of way? If it’s so bad, tell me your version.”

Damien grinned as he recalled the stories his grandmother would ramble about. Rocking in her worn wooden chair, his grandmother’s eyes fixed on the horizon in the countryside as she recited the history of the sky. The goddess of night chased after the sun goddess for a majority of her lifetime, but when she finally stopped to rest, the sun turned around and sat with her. The night goddess asked her why she ran and never ceased until now. It turned out the sun goddess had been chasing after the night, now that she stopped, they could finally be together. Their child of twilight was a shared fact in Damien and Marigold’s home, except the goddesses had their happy ending.

“Alright, that was pretty good,” Marigold admitted.

With a laugh of victory, Damien boasted about the stories he heard from his grandmother. He pointed out the constellations with each lament and their respective heroes. However, his favourite did not have a place in the sky, not yet at least. It was the narrative of storm gods; one controlled the thunder and the other could summon lightning with the flick of the wrist. This particular story was never discussed by Damien’s father, in fact he refused any mention of it in the house. Damien didn’t understand what the problem was, but he assumed it had to do with his grandmother’s passing. After a grand storyteller died, people usually continued the tradition of reciting the world’s history to their young ones. However, his father differed from the majority and only recited business to climb the ranks of his work. 

The gloomy lights of the city judged from the safety of the horizon. Damien shouldn’t be there; he should be in bed at home, under the soft blankets of security. While his father had no problem with him exploring the city at night, this was different from chasing his friends through alleyways. He broke one of the few rules his father actually set; don’t go outside the city. Running up the stairs of skyscrapers confined by their boundaries and forced to grow upwards, visiting his friends across town at the dead of night, even stealing cars were all fine by his father. Damien struggles to recall a life with more rules and a city free to roam the open fields, but the faint memories are still there. When he could meet Marigold without being forced to sneak out, or his father would watch out over him and his older brother. His father had named his brother Storm because he used to love the tales of the storm gods, siblings who protected the world from darkness but unaware their clouds created another kind of darkness. Damien smiled at the thought.  

“What are you smiling about?” Marigold asked, she elbowed him when he didn’t respond.

“Everything.”

“Your brain is going to overload if you keep thinking about everything.”

“I mean,” Damien hesitated, “do you remember how nice it used to be before we left?”

When he received no answer, Damien glanced over at his friend. A wistful smile was more than enough of an answer for him. Her hands fiddled with a strand of the tall grass while she rattled his question in her mind.

“It was pretty good, wasn’t it?” She mused, tossing the grass aside.

“Yeah, until my dad messed it all up.” Damien scoffed.

It was the first time he said that out loud. There were times when he internally blamed his father, but he kept it to himself. No matter how many years passed by, Damien always remembered that day. He wanted to hang out with Storm, but got blown off, so Marigold came to the rescue. Storm and Marigold never found a way to get along, if there was the possibility, they could pick the nastiest fight available. However, it wasn’t about Storm and Marigold that day, it was about his father and Storm. Together they committed treason as Damien’s father wanted as much control and power as he could get his hands on. In doing so, they were exiled and dragged Damien with them. The aftermath resulted in stricter laws and the cities became their own city-states to keep less trouble from arising. 

Damien didn’t sneak out of the city until that night. Beforehand, Marigold crept along the looming buildings and met up with him. It was a surprise when she appeared the first time. Many years flew by them prior, but the tension between them was undeniable. She was more cautious of him and he kept his distance, behind a stray trash bin.

With a shake of his head, Damien pushed the past memories out of his mind. Rustling of the tall grass shattered the peace of nighttime reminiscing. Damien frantically glanced over at Marigold for an explanation of the sound; however, her frozen demeanor answered all and none of his questions. 

“You must think I’m an idiot,” hissed a familiar voice. “Sneaking in and out. Flashing your little lights to communicate.”

A grotesque scar caught both of their attention from the shadowy figure approaching them. Damien felt lightheaded as he recognized his brother’s mangled face in the moon’s soft midnight glow. His trembling hands reached for his knife laying next to his cot of straw. Storm watched with cruel amusement as Damien defensively pointed his blade. 

“You have so much potential, yet here you are, throwing it all away.” His older brother growled as he loomed over them.

“Why are you talking like that? You sound just like Dad.” Damien pulled Marigold away from Storm.

“He really didn’t tell you? Praise the gods, this is my lucky day!”

“What are you talking about?” Damien’s question was rewarded by cackling similar to a hyena’s laughter.

In a swift motion, Storm swiped the knife from Damien’s unsteady hands and pushed him to the ground. The earth collided with Damien’s spine, sending the air out of his lungs as he tried to process his brother’s quick movements. Marigold crouched next to Damien, checking for injuries. Before she could decide her next course of action, Storm continued his rambling.

“You remember little old granny? I thought the hag was out of her mind, but she’s clever. Not an ounce your mind could possibly comprehend the life you think you know!” Storm’s hands began shaking, an unfamiliar sight to Damien.

“What? She only told stories to us when we were younger. What are you talking about?” Damien pushed himself up, his head spinning from his sudden fall.

“That’s what you think! She covered her tracks perfectly,” Storm paused while his stubby fingernails picked at his chapped lips. “Those stories are more real than you think. Grandma planned to give our loyal father a gift, but apparently backstabbing runs in the family. She gave it to you instead.”

Damien was partially convinced his brother had lost his mind— no, fully convinced. He couldn’t recall a time when his grandmother bestowed a gift of a delicate manner upon him.

“No, she never gave me a gift like you’re describing. I think you should go home, Storm. You don’t look good.” He reached out for his brother, but his hand was swatted away by the knife.

“I told you that your mind is too… too stupid! Ignorant and small to understand the old woman! She gave you a gift and we want it back. Why else do you think daddy dearest treats you like a god?” Storm sneered, getting into Damien’s face, only to be pushed away by Marigold. “Because she made you one genius! The little story you loved about the storm siblings? Congrats! You’re apart on the story now.”

“That’s impossible, you’re out of your mind!” Marigold scoffed, “Look at yourself!”

Marigold and Storm argued with each other, which would have been an ideal moment for Damien to think about their previous bickering. However, he could only focus on his sweaty palms and his grandmother. Damien recalled rushing to the infirmary when news spread that she was dying. She never mentioned anything about being a god, or god-like powers on her deathbed. It would have been an excellent time to bring it up. Damien’s mind felt hazy as if time was a thick fog as he processed the news.

“I’m not a god. I think we would both know if I had magical powers, clearly I don’t.” Damien declared as he stumbled onto his feet. “I’m not sure where you heard this, but it’s all wrong.”

“Dad told me himself and I think he would be very interested in finding you outside city limits, so hand it over, Damien. I have a delivery to make.”

Damien cautiously stepped away from his brother, gently nudging Marigold to move with him. He observed his manic brother become more frustrated with his response. Storm stuttered through a list of different threats while waving Damien’s knife. Shivering grass drew Storm back into himself as if he was expecting a guest. Like a curtain revealing the outdoor wonders, the field revealed Damien’s father. His eyes sharp as he looked over the scene.

“You disappoint me,” His father grumbled at Storm and turned his attention to the two children. “I don’t ask for much, Damien. You should cooperate with your family.”

“Family? You want to consider yourself a father now?” Marigold lashed out. “Please, Indra, you are no father and never will be.”

“I don’t recall speaking to you. You should be at home, tucked away with those cowards.” Indra’s lip curled at Marigold, he nodded to the woods concealing her hometown. 

The forest quivered at Indra’s gesture and a steady breeze with the cool fragrance of oncoming rain. Damien’s nose tingled at the smell and he began to wonder if the future rain would be his fault. There’s always the possibility he is the god his grandmother told tales of, which would mean he must have powers. Indra couldn’t take Damien’s powers, if they existed, without his help if his father stood there asking for them. His father was couldn’t lay a hand on him or Marigold because of his “powers.” Damien was untouchable. 

“No, I’m not giving you anything. I am going back with Marigold.” He huffed, proud of himself for standing up to Indra.

“Like they’ll take you back.” Storm gestured the knife at himself and Indra, “We are the only home you’ve got.”

Damien rolled his eyes, looking at Marigold for confirmation. She shrugged mumbling something along the lines of “maybe, I’m not sure.” His confidence momentarily deflated until his mind kept replaying his untouchable record. The sky, growing overcast, growled and snapped like a rabid dog. Hair on Damien’s arms tingled with each thunderous outburst. Indra watched Damien carefully, as if he was hesitating on acting. He had never seen his father hesitate, so he must be doing something right.

“Damien,” Marigold whispered, “let’s go home.”