//AN: Picture is of Helena//

132,872 years ago...

Beginning of Story

The smell of smoke and incense fill the air, enough to set the senses of even the least sensitive person aflame. It's far from Eilon's favorite time of year, in fact, it might even be his least favorite. Too many nobles come out of their holes to flaunt their wealth in the most outrageous ways. From the Emerald Market's appearance to the balls within palace walls, nothing about Albetha screams anything but a celebration of wealth and dominance.

Something Eilon really should be more in tune with. But unlike the majority of Lescaeans, he merely finds it arrogant and conceited. They only have all this wealth because of the countless civilizations they have crushed. None of it is their own, and that is something that he simply can't accept.

The entire first two weeks of Albetha are dedicated to this crude celebration, the ostentatious displays of wealth the Lescaeans are so well known for reaching new heights with each year. It's not like the entire palace isn't already bedecked with precious stones and lined with gold and platinum. It's ridiculous that the royal family feels the need to show off even more.

Of course, there is no limit for the Mi'antiae family. No height they cannot reach -- and will not eventually strive for.

Sometimes Eilon wishes he'd been born a peasant instead. It fit his personality much better, even if on the outside it seems like he's the picture perfect prince.

It's all an act, not that anyone ever bothers to look deeper. It only took him two hundred and forty three years to learn that no one is ever going to view him as more than Eilon Pasquale Mi'antiae, the youngest Lescaean prince. Someone who is good for nothing other than parties and entertaining women. Someone who wears his arrogance as a second skin, and drips conceit as if it were sweat.

He would have left by now if Yveira didn't need him. Ever since Merik's death--who'd been Yveira's twin brother, and the eldest of the Mi'antiae children--Yveira hasn't had anyone but Eilon. They are the only two members of their family who want nothing of their wealth and promiscuity. He needs to be here for her, even if it's making him miserable.

There is however, one thing he is looking forward to. On the seventh of Albetha, in the midst of celebration, is the candle festival, the oldest and most renowned of all Lescaean traditions. It's said that millions -- in some stories, even billions -- of years ago two stars fell down to their world, a man and a woman, because they no longer wanted to live in the sky where they could not behold each other, where they could not touch each other.

They had been speaking for eons, had fallen in love with words alone. But the other stars grew jealous and moved them further apart. After all, they could not do their jobs of watching over the worlds if they were watching each other instead.

It's said that their love was so strong, that they needn't even communicate their plans to each other, that they both just knew what to do in order to be together.

They had decided to fall to the closest planet together, without telling the other, without knowing the other was planning on doing the same thing. Even if they were alone, at least they could gaze up into the sky and watch their lover as much as they wanted to, while the lover could gaze back under the guise of looking after the worlds.

But they were stars, burning with an inner fire that needed the vastness of space to grow. The little world of Kracia was not strong enough to handle their power, to even handle their love. They would burn out.

The stars, knowing their fate was to die, didn't care. They had one moment together, for however long it would last. Finally, they could touch the other.

That one day they spent together in each other's embrace is said to be the origin of all Lescaeans. Their love, their light, all of it was passed on to an entire species of people, one more powerful than the so-called 'gods' worshiped by Kracia's mortals.

Their lights fizzled out quickly, but they never let go of each other, extinguished in each other's arms. It's a beautiful, romanticized story, one that gives many people hope and happiness.

It's why Eilon always feels too bad to point out just how utterly ridiculous it truly is. Stars aren't people, and if they did fall to a planet, that planet would be no more from impact alone. But Eilon doesn't even pretend to be under the illusion that anyone would listen to him and his logic. Not many Lescaeans possesses it in the first place. They would rather believe in fairy tales than the truth.

He really doesn't begrudge them that. Especially not since he actually happens to enjoy the candle festival in honor of the old legend.

Candle makers spend all year crafting candles to represent the two fallen stars. As evening hits, a man and a woman will each hold a candle in their hands, both lit, and they will spend the night together the same way the stars did --without the dying part, though. It signifies a bond between the couple, and many use it as a marriage ceremony. Before morning breaks, they will join hands and blow out each other's candles if the wax hasn't completely melted -- a sign that their bond will last.

Eilon has always thought the notion to be romantic, and the couples that participated in it, well, there was never any doubt as to their love and devotion to each other.

It explains why his parents never did it.

It's perhaps silly of him to think, but he's always wanted to meet someone that will make him want to take her out on the evening of Albetha seventh with two candles in hand. He wants that kind of love, even if he knows he's never going to get it.

Until then, however distant in the future that may be, Eilon enjoys walking through the Candle Market, where both the candles are being sold, and where select candle makers and their apprentices showcase displays of the old legend as a way to attract people to their candles. There is even a competition every year for the best display.

Eilon finds the whole tradition laughable, but the displays are always quite amusing for him to behold every year. The things candle makers can come up with... Eilon shakes his head.

Of course, there are usually one or two real gems out of their hundreds of displays -- and then of course, those few crude ones that Eilon really enjoys, he makes sure to leave a tip on those stalls.

The market is aglow with all the lit candles in the evening twilight, crowds milling around the displays, stopping to compliment the candle makers, leaving them tips, and buying candles. The air is thick with blooming love, couples walking either hand in hand, or with their arms around them. Eilon feels a pang in his chest. After ten thousand years --ten thousand eight hundred and ninety one to be exact -- he has yet to come across a woman who makes him want to stay with her. To put his arm around her shoulders and walk down this very market with her until they find the perfect set of candles.

Even though he already knows which ones he will choose. They are a set of light, grass green candles with a series of patterns in black and silver painted on them that at first glance seem random, though at closer inspection reveal the legend in all its glory. Eilon loves it because it requires a deeper thought, and because of the simplicity in the design. Besides that, those same two candles are up for purchase each year, and even after all this time, no one has bought them. He seems to be the only one to appreciate their beauty. Perhaps he will buy them this year, just to keep them in case.

He passes the stalls with a feeling of faint amusement, despite his lack of interest this year. None of the displays offer anything new. They are mostly the same thing set on recycle, as if the candle makers have grown lazy after doing this year after year.

Eilon mourns the loss of creativity that is sweeping his people -- and people in general. Even in the mortal realms he has witnessed how deeply the lack of originality runs. Perhaps he's simply become jaded, seeing the patterns after all these years. There is, after all, very little his eyes are blind to. It takes quite a bit to surprise or interest him at all.

He wonders how his siblings still manage to find daily activities fascinating.

Perhaps if there were more things that were a mystery to him -- the way they are to everyone else -- he would feel differently. There isn't a mind around him that he cannot hear. There isn't an action around him that he cannot read.

A motive he doesn't understand.

He sighs to himself, aware of just how melancholy his thoughts are turning. He really needs to stop or he's going to work himself into a depression. It would be sad to waste a night as beautiful as this one in a glum mood.

He keeps moving through the stalls, showing the adequate amount of interest in the displays, even going as far as to stop by a few and asking the candle makers about their inspiration -- despite it being obvious to his eyes. Everyone is either depicting the fall of the stars itself, or the moment they met, or their loving first -- and last -- embrace. Those he actually enjoys, the displays that are brave enough to show the candles populating their world. Each candle maker has a different interpretation of what the stars looked like, though many have chosen to use Eilon's parents as their muses.

He doesn't know what to make of those, and only hopes that the king and queen never see them. They don't need their egos inflated anymore than they already are.

King Normandiar already thinks far too highly of himself. Or so Merik used to say.

Eilon shakes the thought of his brother off before he falls into the trap. He's not going to think about anything that will sink him into a deep depression.

If only he didn't need to do this every day.

The displays start to blur past him, none of them making any particular impact. A few single women even come up to him to offer their company to him for the night. Eilon politely declines their invitations, though after the tenth -- and when he has almost reached the end of the market -- he seriously contemplates saying yes to one of them and whisking them away to his room.

But the seventh of Albetha is not a night for dalliances. At least, that's what Eilon always tells himself. He's starting to question himself about that particular decision.

The minutes and hours tick by, and soon, the couples start disappearing from the market, their candles in hand. Night has fallen, shrouding the whole area in only light from the various displays. Eilon has always enjoyed the aura created by candlelight. Perhaps that is why he finds himself here every year, in the middle of the Candle Festival.

Soon enough, the only people left in the market are the candle makers and the single people who are looking for someone to take home.

Eilon takes a deep breath, close to calling it a night. Despite the relaxing atmosphere, he has grown bored with himself and walking aimlessly.

He's just about to leave, when something finally catches his attention through his peripheral. His full gaze darts to it almost instantly, and what he sees causes him to stop dead in his tracks and... stare.

He blinks a few times before he decides to approach the very strange, very interesting, very... ugly display before him. There is no distinctive shape to, well, anything in it. Eilon can't even make out what it's supposed to be, or what aspect of the story it's supposed to tell. The whole thing is simply a mess of color -- that blends quite beautifully, but is still a mess nonetheless. There doesn't seem to be a rhyme or a reason behind it, and Eilon decides that whoever is responsible for this... this... he really doesn't know what to call it, has absolutely no talent for candle making what-so-ever.

He reaches out one hand to trail it over the disjointed wax, almost as if to make sure it is real and not a mere image concocted by his brain due to his excessive boredom. Further inspection reveals that it is, in fact, very real.

How by the stars did this display end up in the market in the first place? What self-respecting candle maker would allow this to represent their work or their shop?

Eilon is suddenly very curious.

Someone either cares very little what people think, or they are completely delusional regarding their own abilities. Either way, it should at least spark an interesting conversation.

He could really use some interesting right about now.

A small smirk forms on his lips when he hears shuffling behind the stall, though he doesn't quite bother to distinguish the thoughts that belong to the presence, and he doesn't lift his head when he speaks. "This has got to be the worst candle display I have ever seen. And I've been coming to this market for ten thousand years." His amusement heavily coats his words.

The sharp sound of indignation causes him to finally look up to see who he has to thank for bringing a bit of spark to his otherwise uneventful day.

He barely has a chance to register what's happening before a hand connects with his cheek. The blow is so unexpected that Eilon doesn't bother to brace for it and it actually causes him to stagger a bit.

"If you don't like it," comes the clipped voice, "go look at something else."

Eilon finally turns to the owner of the voice, rubbing absently at his cheek. Stars, it's been ages since anyone has been able to catch him off guard like that. He doesn't know what to make of it.

The voice, the honey sweet voice he notices a minute later, belongs to a woman. A very indignant, raging woman who appears to want to chew off his head for daring to insult her display -- regardless of how terrible it actually is. Deep red hair cascades down her back in soft waves, one lock falling over her shoulder. She's stands about a head shorter than him, but with the way she's glaring at him, she almost seems taller.

But it's her eyes that captivate him and hold his gaze. They are the most piercing shade of green Eilon thinks he's ever seen. For a moment, he's struck by their sight, unable to respond to the woman before him. They are molten with a fiery rage that very few ever direct at him.

The night really has become far more interesting than he'd anticipated. He finds himself suddenly wanting to know this woman.

He manages to shake off the stupor and grin at her. "Deepest apologies. I didn't mean to offend you Miss...?"

She scoffs and moves back behind the stall. Eilon almost reached out to stop her retreating form. Instead, he opts to follow her. He's not leaving without a name at least.

But, the woman doesn't appear to want to give it to him.

He tries again. "You can slap me again, if it will make you feel better," he says with a wry grin.

She turns those green orbs on him again. "No, I suspect you will enjoy it too much. Who knows what kinks you are into."

Eilon chuckles. "You may have a point there. Perhaps if I ask nicely...?"

She huffs and very clearly puts more space between them, even going as far as pulling a chair that stood off to the side in between them to keep him from closing that space once again. He chuckles again.

He definitely wants that name.

"I'm afraid that I don't do things even if people ask nicely," she responds, dismissing him.

"I can ask rudely...?" He suggests, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

She simply sends him a look that seems to say he's an idiot.

He might agree with her... in this instance at least. He really should have looked up before commenting.

Could've avoided all this unpleasantness.

She walks back into the shop behind her stall, disappearing from his sight. But Eilon is not one to give up so easily. He follows her inside, much to her dismay.

"You insult me, and then won't leave?" She demands, her tone very irritated.

Eilon shrugs. "I'll leave if you tell me your name," he says with his most charming grin.

She sees right through it. "I know better than to trust the word of a jerk."

Eilon pretends to weigh this over for a moment before grinning brightly at her. "Well, then I guess it's a good thing I'm a bastard, not a jerk."

She regards him for a second as if trying to figure out whether or not he actually just uttered those words.

She shakes her head with clear distaste, seeming to have decided his words were in fact, very real.

"You will leave if I tell you my name?" She asks, raising a skeptical brow.

"You have my word, m'lady."

She scoffs again. "Helena," she says and gestures at the door behind him. "You know the way."

Eilon chuckles again and bows to her. "A pleasure, Helena. I'm --"

"I know who you are, Prince Eilon," she interrupts, her features not softening. She gestures at the door again. "The door is behind you."

Eilon tries to hide his amusement as he bows to her again. "Hopefully we'll run into each other again soon enough."

"Oh joy. I'm looking forward to it," she says dryly, still gesturing at the door.

He laughs and turns on his heel to leave as he promised her he would. Eilon is nothing if not a man of his word.

He never promised he wouldn't come back, after all.