The journey back to Ladylake would take a good part of the day. So, after an evening of reminiscing and catching up, and a good night’s rest in his old bedroom, Mikleo was sent off with flourish at dawn the next day (but not before Michael made him promise to visit again). Still, even as an apprentice onmyōji, there were responsibilities to fulfil. Mikleo almost wished he could stay a day or two longer. As he sipped the warm, fragrant stew from his bowl, he realised how much he’d really missed this-the quiet but hearty conversations over dinner, the way Michael’s face would scrunch up with awkward chuckles as he attempted a bad joke or two. Admittedly, being home again was a nice feeling, even if his uncle’s cooking was still as he remembered-a little burnt and smoky, but otherwise satisfying. I tried to follow Lailah’s recipe as best I could-I know you’ve always been fond of her dragostew, but, ah, don’t get your hopes up, all right?” Mikleo sighed, and knew that was that. But Michael rose to his feet then, smoothing down the front of his robes by way of changing the subject, before he headed towards the kitchen. It is yours now, Mikleo.” He would have pressed his uncle for more information, to dig deeper. “But what do I do with the book… With Ephēmerís?” Mikleo asked, just as Michael was visited by yet another bout of awkward coughing, before he attempted both a nervous and cryptic smile as he said: “Whatever you wish and deem necessary. But strung together in lines like this on every page, the glyphs held no meaning-at least, not any he could discern right now. He recognised the inscriptions as Ancient Avarost glyphs and could easily read the sounds each letter represented. The pages were now yellow, grainy to the touch, and upon every sheet were large inscriptions inked in velvet black. The book was wider than the length of his palm, stitched together by hand with a rich crimson binding. He swept his gaze back down over the book, studying the cracks and hardened creases on the leather cover, the title Ephēmerís inked in bold, black script. It is time.” Mikleo blinked, trying to make sense of his uncle’s puzzling words. So, I waited and now-Well, they have waited long enough. “You were still so very young then and-I hadn’t wished to burden you with such heavy choices either when you were still a child. Perhaps it would have been better if I’d given it to you right after she passed on, but, ah-” Another pause, then a soft clack, as Michael placed the cup back on the tray. It had always been Muse’s wish for you to have it. “Your mother’s book-well, yours now, really. “Ah, right, right.” Michael cleared his throat, tried again. As I was saying-Ah, where were we again?” Mikleo held up the book before him. “Well then,” he said, balancing the cup between his fingers. He lifted it to his lips, taking careful sips in the silence that lingered, stretched thin and long, until Mikleo wondered if he should speak again- Then Michael broke the silence with an abrupt, awkward cough into his fist. But Michael only reached for a cup of steaming tea from the tray set before them. “I know this must be important, but I don’t think I quite understand yet.” A pause, as Mikleo waited for a nod, a reply of sorts. “Uncle Michael,” Mikleo began, fingers brushing over the book he’d been presented with just moments before. His uncle, seated beside him, was gazing out at the blooming garden with rueful eyes he had made no attempt to elaborate further.
#Sitting on clouds ostzesteria how to
He still wasn’t quite sure how to process the new information given to him on such short notice. And while he’d never felt lonesome as he was raised with care and affection, he had, admittedly, always been curious about Muse’s reasons for leaving-was it by choice or just circumstance? Mikleo found himself lost in these thoughts as he sat, knees bent in seiza, on the veranda of his uncle’s home. It was hard to when she’d left home when he was but a toddler, leaving him in the care of her brother, Michael, the village shrine priest. Mikleo couldn’t quite bring himself to begrudge Muse of her absence during his childhood, however. And even if she had been his mother only in name, he felt compelled-not by filial piety or duty, no-by courtesy and by a touch of sympathy, to take pause in his apprenticeship in the Capital when he’d received the news, hastening back to Camlann. But as the saying goes, blood is thicker than water. He barely knew her, let alone remembered her. ( astronomy) a table giving the apparent position of celestial bodies throughout the year normally given as right ascension and declination Stats: Published: Words: 19729 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 13 Kudos: 67 Bookmarks: 9 Hits: 915Įphēmerís Monogatari: a Zestiria fic Onmyōji and Ōkami AU. if asteria isn’t giving me alluring werewolf!Sorey.