Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 04/02, Recreated Here

Spica

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0402/001

Title: Unsent Letter to Jasmine, Written Approximately 04/02, Recreated Here

Author: Spica

Date: Written approximately 04/02, Year 5607 A.o.W.

Extent: One letter, three pages long

Additional notes: Was originally found burnt, like most of Spica’s writings. The letter has been recreated here.

To Jasmine, my dearest friend:

My heart wars between hope and sorrow as I write this. Just when I had accepted that my prayers would not be answered, His Eternal Warmth gave me my heart’s desire. I saw it this morning as I cleaned out our hearth. For all my devotion, I had always assumed the stories exaggerated the truth. I was proven wrong. The stories can’t capture the splendor of the moment. 

The ashes scattered into the air. From black and gray came a glow of bright gold, revealing His Eternal Warmth’s sigil suspended in the air. A Spark, meant solely for I. I didn’t dare touch it, my fingers far too unworthy, but the warmth of the embers was proof enough of its veracity. All these years of waiting, and now His Eternal Warmth has finally called me to serve as an Undying Ember! 

You never cared much for history, but I grew pious on the legacies of Undying Embers like Mica The Shield and Garnet Glassheart. I’m not foolhardy enough to proclaim that my name could ever be encased in legend like theirs, but to think that my lowly self could share the title of Undying Ember alongside them… what grander blessing could there be, than to be a beacon of hope for those who will rise long after your fall?

As His sigil faded, so did my joy. At first, I felt a little silly. I’ve heard stories of Embers receiving their Sparks my entire life. No one explains how Mica The Shield found his way to the burning tree where he heard His Eternal Warmth’s voice, or how Garnet Glassheart knew to approach Strinarre’s fallen walls. I didn’t know what to do next. I asked my father, but his years of studying at the Hall of Kindling and Charcoal existed a lifetime away from the frenetic paces of becoming an Undying Ember.

Shame tugged at my every step, but shame has long since been my old companion, and so I forged onwards. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I must have missed another message in the ashes. If anyone would have more insight, it would be Pina and Deodar. I went to the entrance of Seabreeze Shoal and found them stationed by the main gate, their more permanent home than the cottage they sleep in.

I’m eternally grateful for how they’ve tolerated my antics throughout the years. Even as my dream of serving as an Ember grew increasingly unrealistic, they still encouraged my prayers.

I told them what I had found. Shock reflected in the orange of their irises. For the first time, that color was not a far-off fantasy. Maybe my own eyes would soon reflect the orange glow of His mighty forge, and I would no longer be stained by the dull purple in my hair and eyes. I would don the same uniform, protected by obsidian and gold. His sigil would emblazon my stole, showing that I carried His blessing with me everywhere. And that same sigil would brand my skin, proving that I was forever His.

Perhaps if I wasn’t standing between them, they would have muttered their suspicions to one another. What they did instead was congratulate me, though I could hear the confusion in their voices. It wasn’t until Pina touched me that they accepted my words. Unlike them, no embers rolled off my skin, but they must have felt His Eternal Warmth’s blaze within me. 

Deodar recovered first. “Now that you have a Spark, maybe Pina and I will finally get to take a vacation,” he had joked. His words, as teasing as they were, set my heart aflame. To stand at their side as a sister-in-arms and not merely a childish admirer driven by an unrealistic dream, and to be trusted with the protection of our village would be the highest honor. The fear that had seized my heart — could I truly become strong enough to protect everyone? — burned away with the reminder that His Eternal Warmth had accepted me. If He saw me as worthy, then who was I to deny that assertion?

I asked them what I was to do next. What had happened when they received their sigils? 

Deodar and Pina paused yet again. Their faces, already bearing a strong resemblance, only grew even more alike as they adopted the same expression. 

“We didn’t do anything. A few minutes after we received our Sparks, our parents let an Ember in to explain what would happen next. We left for the Tending Grounds the next day.” Pina explained. 

“It’s different out here. Fifteen years and we’ve never seen a single Ember come from this place,” Pina continued.

Longer, if the other villagers were to be believed. As you know, my family does not hail from here. I hold no claim to the legacy of this village, not at all like you. Despite that, the villagers have been open with me, and I know that a Spark has not been sighted within Seabreeze Shoal’s walls for decades.

“That makes you very special, Spica,” Deodar added.

“Your best bet is to ask the Embers coming into town today. There’s a good chance one could be here for you,” Pina said.

I knew better than to ask them to accompany me to the Tending Grounds. Aberrations don’t often attack our village, but everyone here would meet a grisly and guaranteed death should they abandon their posts.

Before I venture out into the village to search for my destiny, I sit at my desk for what may be the last time, writing to you. My items are already packed. For all the items that fill Father and I’s home, there are surprisingly few I find myself packing. My spear, my clothes, plenty of paper and ink to write letters to you with, my favorite seaglass necklace that you and I made together as children — all of those must come with me. But my books, my cooking utensils, all the maps of the village square that Father and I drafted over the years… I love them, and yet I need none of them. I can say goodbye to them all without hesitation.

Yet I find myself hesitating at the thought of leaving you, Jasmine… Though I do not know if you would feel the same. You have defined the best parts of my life. You taught me how to dream. How to hope. You welcomed me not as an outsider to the village, but as a dear companion. My childhood memories are cast in rays of warm gold because of you. 

We must have met in our previous lives. My earliest memories, as unclear as they are, are of the Hall of Kindling and Charcoal. Of lectures that flowed in my blood as I was learning language, of grand walls and of scholars passing by me in their magnificent robes. But I remember the day I met you, not long after Father and I arrived at Seabreeze Shoal. Our eyes met, and something settled within me, a crooked piece of metal I hadn’t known was bent before you. 

My life without you is a life half-lived, and yet your life without me would still be filled with both duty and love. I hope that, in all our years together, I provided you at least a fraction of the solace you have provided me. 

The only solace I can grasp onto is the thought that this separation will be temporary. I know I may not have a choice in where His Eternal Warmth calls me to serve in the world, but I sincerely hope that He will see my desire and bring me back to you. As long as I may live, I promise — you will never be alone. 

Although I hesitate, I know I must leave. Even as I write this, I can hear your voice telling me to go. I can hear your frustration. “Don’t be stupid, Spica! You’ve wanted this your whole life, haven’t you? Just because I’m stuck here doesn’t mean you have to be, too.” 

You would never ask me to stay. I know this. You would also never ask me to return. I know this, too. Please, do not take this letter as a goodbye. Take it as a farewell. I promise you, I will not disappear. I will send you so many letters that you will tire of reading them. Even if my feet carry me far away from you, my heart will remain.

Whether it takes me three months or thirty years, I will return to you. I wish I had the courage to tell you all this in person. But I have always been a coward, and the words that flow from my ink remain trapped in my throat.

When I return to you, I hope that I can speak aloud all of the sweet secrets nestled deep in my chest. 

Yours, now and forever,
Spica