Spring 52, 511 AV
The Stone Garden's round cobblestones glistened in the light of the moon that hung low in the early evening sky. The half-breed had discovered the garden earlier in the day, but it was rather busy with citizens paying homage to what Seven assumed was a type of graveyard or monument to their fallen kin. Regardless of what exactly the garden represented, Seven found it beautiful and was unable to bring himself to the potential disrespect of boldly asking someone what exactly the garden meant. He was, after all, merely a visitor in this castle city. The stones he walked soundlessly across were still warm from the setting sun, but now they and Seven were bathed in the cold light of Leth's round moon.
Seven didn't regret waiting to explore this place until the sun had set. It was simply enchanting in the dark.
The only downside to Syliras was that the night's sky wasn't nearly as breathtaking as the diamond blanket that covered Lhavit. It was different. That wasn't to say it wasn't gorgeous in its own right. It was something that needed to be recorded, appreciated, examined. Treated like an beautiful new friend, this dome of deep blue that hugged the city and as far as his eyes could see.
Despite Seven's burning fascination with the night sky there felt as if there was a knot in his stomach, flip-flopping and distracting his thoughts. In the few days he had wandered aimlessly throughout the Citadel he had not even seen another Symenestra, not a sliver of a clue or an idea as to if his mother could be here. Eighteen years had passed since Seven had been born. She quite literally could be anywhere or nowhere. Alive, or dead. The adventurous ideals he had when he set off on his journey had nearly all but dissolved, leaving despair in its absence.
Seven sank down to perch on the edge of a lavishly decorated fountain at one far side of the Stone Garden and peered into the glimmering water. A feeling of regret was beginning to bubble up in Seven's throat, causing his stomach to turn again and his head spun. The teen rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels precariously on the edge of the water, hugging his legs to his chest. If he sat still enough he could easily be mistaken for one of the white stone statues that surrounded the fountain. Although this statue is wearing clothing. The darkest blacks of fabric wrapped fitting around his small frame was a star contrast to the silvery glow of his hair, moonlight dancing through the shining tresses he always kept so clean.
Seven exhalted and leaned foreward to dip a hand into the cool water, ripples distorting his stone-faced reflection. He needed an outlet. Somebody to speak to. Perhaps he should go seek out the Squire Dimitri, that polite, calm voice would slow his heart and dissolve the lump in his throat -- or the angelic blond he'd bumped into within hours of making it into the city, quiet, uncomfortable, but graceful.
Although, right now he'd be willing to talk to anyone or anything willing to listen.