Height. Light. A bubbling heat that should have been associated with the fires of hell. It was ironic, really, how something so vile could dare to stretch towards the realm of the gods. It was a tool of Nature used for destruction, a beast that had taken many lives. It had direct access to the devil's lair. And yet, it stood tall and proud atop the island, staring out like a watch guard as it blew smoke towards the heavens. After all, it was Pievunt-An, the volcano that had shaped Anikira. It was Pievunt-An, the volcano that had destroyed Zahir.
"To think, Puppet. If it weren't for the eruption, I would still be the alphess. We wouldn't have been driven from our homeland and into the jaws of those bloodthirsty rogues. Had Zahir not crumbled so easily, the threat of war would not have been upon us. At least, not as swiftly as it came. And now... Now I linger in a land that no longer needs my guidance. Why? ...Why am I still here?" The wispy form of the deceased Iranian hovered at the lip of the volcano, wide eyes staring into the depths of magma. To the untrained eye she was invisible, a voice in the mind of the disillusioned.
But the Maned wolf that sat near by knew better. Irirangi understood all to well the strange gift she had to converse with the dead. Her head was tilted back, nose pointed towards the stars on this moonless night. Silver eyes were closed as she listened intently to the spirits of the desert. While Alya, the Iranian, was nothing new, she wasn't the only ghost out and about tonight. The volcano seemed to have attracted many past lives. Hundreds of voices whispered on the wind, their forms fading in and out as they congregated around the rim. Each had complaints, regrets to voice. And as she listened to each in turn, Irirangi vaguely wondered why this was no longer the life she lead.
The life of a medium was all she had known up until a year and a half ago. This midnight vigil under the stars had always been so common place, for natural for the lonely souls. The deceased where more her friends than the living. And then she'd met the stubborn Iranian, who still clung to this world with every fiber of her undead being. Alya had changed her life drastically, going so far as to take over her body and force her into the position of Beta.
Irirangi had been a part of Zahir for a long time now, and she had joined not because she had wanted to but because the ghost needed her. She had been doing her service to the spirit. But now... Never before had one remained for so long. The former alphess was an anomaly, and as she questioned her lingering presence the Maned wolf too could not help but wonder as well. What was still keeping her tied to this earth? Why could she not move on?
"You will cross over when you learn to let go," she finally spoke, breaking a long half-silence filled with contemplation. "So long as you dwell on the life you once had, you will never be able to move on. Zahir is alive. Zahir is strong. Zahir is peaceful... Accept that and you will finally accept the terms your death. You will finally let your spirit rest." Her eyes opened then, fixing themselves upon the unreal form of the ghost that stood at her side. If Alya ever wanted to pass on, she would have to learn to let go.
Last Edit: May 10, 2011 16:02:38 GMT -5 by irirangi
