Silver for the Heart
"Sarak," Ama called, her voice low and exhausted. "The hour is near."
Sarak left a gathering of the hosts, gliding through the wide doorway onto the large cliffside balcony. There, Ama sat at the top of five steps, her small frame leaning against one of the sculpted pillars. The pillar depicted an eight-foot figure, bowed, its expansive wings forming a protective canopy over a raised stone slab. Upon the slab lay Azavan''s body, her wings folded in a solemn embrace. A silver-embroidered linen draped over her form, leaving only her face visible, covered by a delicate silver mask. Ama''s gaze seemed fixed on the distant, desolate expanse of grey rocks below—a mournful landscape that mirrored her grief. At her side, Agalai, the black spotted hyena, rested its head near her feet, its posture conveying silent sorrow.
Slowly, Ama stood and approached Azavan''s body. She lifted the mask, revealing a visage both brutalized and achingly beautiful. She traced her fingers across Azavan''s features, her touch tender and reverent.
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"I remember the first time I held you, Ava," Ama whispered. "Your spirited wails touched my heart, like a love I had known for a thousand lifetimes." Tears traced silent paths down her cheeks as she spoke. After a moment, she replaced the mask with great care and stepped back.
Sarak approached, his larger frame moving with quiet humility. He bowed deeply before the stone slab, then climbed the steps to stand beside Ama. Though he towered over her, his presence was subdued, his head lowered in respectful silence. Ama turned to him, and they exchanged tearful but comforting smiles, a shared acknowledgment of their loss. Gently, Sarak helped her down the steps.
From the shadows of the balcony, blue-robed figures emerged, their movements fluid and otherworldly. They surrounded the raised stone slab, their hands sinking gracefully into its marble base as they lifted it with ease. The slab, now borne aloft, seemed weightless in their grasp. The robed figures began their solemn procession, leading the way through the grand city of silver and light. Behind them walked Sarak, holding his mother close, their steps steady despite their grief. Agalai followed, its dark form fixed forward, its bearing dignified.
The procession swelled as others joined, forming a long line of mourners. They moved in silence through the gleaming avenues, the city’s brilliance softened by their sorrow. Finally, they arrived at the hallowed grounds of eternal peace. Here, amidst towering spires and tranquil pools, the final farewell awaited—a beloved daughter returning to the embrace of eternity.