Artistic Rendition of His Eternal Warmth

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0102/009

Title: Artistic Rendition of His Eternal Warmth

Artist: Aimi

Extent: One illustration

Description: An artistic rendition of His Eternal Warmth, represented as the people of this time commonly understood Him to look like.

Introducing His Eternal Warmth, He Who Sparked Flame Into Being, The Keeper of the Forge, Commander of All the World, The God-King of All Eternity.

Journal Entry, Dated 02/02

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0102/004

Title: Journal Entry, Dated 02/02

Author: Jasmine

Date: Written 02/02, approx. year 5607 A.o.W.

Extent: One journal entry, three pages long

Transcript

02/02

There’s a seagull in the lighthouse today that won’t stop harassing me. It must be the one Blossom sang to last night. The damn bird followed me throughout the lighthouse, squawking. When I shoveled wood into the engine room? It waited outside, as if expecting me to bring it a meal. When I went up to the lantern room to refill the oil, it flew into the stairwell and screeched at me. I checked the lantern room for a stray nest, but I couldn’t find anything. It must have mistaken me for Blossom and thought that I would feed it too. 

It’s finally gone. This is the first quiet moment I’ve gotten all afternoon. 

Warmth above and below, it’s a miracle that fucking bird hasn’t gotten into the Keeper’s Den yet. Maybe Blossom’s right and some part of Dad’s soul is still here, scaring it off to protect my sanity.

…I feel stupid for even writing that. I need to be realistic. After all this time, he’s likely reincarnated. Mom, too. Any part of them I knew has long since disappeared. Remade in the forge, or however Spica would say it. 

Dad once told me that when Blossom took over the lighthouse, or if I decided not to become a merchant and stayed here, the next keeper between the two of us should change The Keeper’s Den to suit us. But I’ve been here for years and it still looks almost exactly the same as the day he died. I see the candelabra that was supposedly a gift forged by His Eternal Warmth himself. The ropes Dad hung in the corner for decoration – though I took one to make a new strap for my bag. The decorative spear that he used to call the little piece of Mom he kept with him. 

After she died, I nearly flung it off the cliffside… but Blossom saw me, and she started crying so hard I had to stop. I could hardly stand to look at it, just as I could hardly look at anything else Mom left behind without my chest threatening to tear in two. But mostly I couldn’t bear the way Dad got lost in it. He’d tell me he’d be home for breakfast, only for the day to slip towards noon without ever coming home. When I’d go look for him, he’d be frozen in place, transfixed.

Maybe I should have known then. That we’d never be enough to keep him here. 

Anyways.

There was already a desk here, and it’s too inconvenient to write anywhere else in the lighthouse. There’s either not enough space to put another desk, or the magic is too strong for me to stay there long. 

Even though the Keeper’s Den is right next to the lantern room, the lingering magic isn’t too strong. That should make it a comfortable place to work, but… the remnants from the fireproofing magic hang in the air and clog my lungs like smoke. I know it won’t hurt me, but every time I inhale a deep breath, I get anxious.

Maybe I’ll bring in a new desk, at least. This one is worn. Parts of it are rotten from storms that have blown in… or broken through… mostly broken through the windows over the years. Dad once told me that the furniture has been here for almost as long as our family has. Strange to think that a few pieces of wood can survive for hundreds of years. 

I’ve done most of what I can accomplish today. I came here a little earlier than usual, which turned out to be a good thing, but I’m exhausted now. I should make something simple for dinner. Maybe that spiced fish and rice recipe Spica taught me last year? It’s easier than it looks, and Blossom likes i-THAT FUCKING BIRD IS BACK

[NOTE: There are a few drops of dried blood scattered across the paper, which I can’t really digitize. The journal entry continues where the blood droplets end, represented by the block of space here. -Ellsyx]

I don’t know what came over me. I just— I was so mad. That fucking bird flew in and landed right on the desk. It looked me dead in the eyes and squawked loud enough to make my ears ring.

I stood up. The thing hopped around and raised its wings at me, squawking the entire time. And when it jabbed its beak into my hand, something in me snapped.

The next thing I knew, there was a spear sticking out of the bird’s skull. 

I didn’t know birds bled that much.

I feel awful. Yes, it was annoying, but being annoying shouldn’t be a death sentence. It was just an idiot bird.

It probably just wanted some food.

I put the body in the corner on top of a few rags so its blood wouldn’t stain the floor. Then I went back and covered it with another rag. I couldn’t stand looking at it any longer. 

I should have controlled myself better. But then I get so angry, and…

It died so suddenly. It didn’t thrash around or cry; it just toppled over. It wasn’t a painless death, but… at least it was fast.

The best thing I can do for now is not let it go to waste.

Letter to Blossom From Spica, Sent Roughly 01/02

Metadata

Reference Number: BICI/SSP/CRJ0102/005

Title: Letter to Blossom From Spica, Sent Roughly 01/02

Author: Spica

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

Extent: One letter, two pages long, sent

Transcript

To Blossom, my own sister in all but blood:

Please forgive me for my delay in writing this. My heart has been heavy as of late. I find myself approaching a crossroads with no sign to guide me forward. The path I had been so set upon has all but disappeared. That loss is a grief of its own. A feeling I know you are intimately acquainted with. 

Enough about my own sorrows. I was delighted to receive your last missive. Your penmanship has improved greatly since we last exchanged letters! I hope the practice has been helpful for you. I know you are fond of neither reading nor writing, but I admire your determination to improve in both. I am certain you will excel before long. Please let me know if you’d ever like me to lend you one of Father’s books. They are difficult reads, but I think you will find them fascinating. He wrote mostly of smithing jewelry, and how the practice has evolved over the past few centuries. He included many visual references in his work! Hopefully those will serve to break up the text in a way that will aid your understanding.

Thank you for inviting me over yesterday evening. I think Jasmine would have suffered through trying to prepare and cook the seagull herself once again had you not let me know. I’m sorry that this happened to you yet again; I know how fond you are of the seagulls. Your sister’s temper is poor even on her best days, and it only grows all the more wild the closer we approach the new moon. I’m sure she’ll come to appreciate that you were willing to make the best of a bad situation. 

Gull is a hard meat to work with. For a bird, it is incredibly… fishy. Father tells me that is why it’s so rarely eaten. Unfortunately, I suspect that this will not be the last time Jasmine will feel obligated to eat gull meat. If I were a better cook, perhaps I could have salvaged the meal. I hope to improve my cooking skills so that the next meal will be palatable, at the very least. You and I both fear that this may not be the final time you’ll be asked to eat gull. 

The meal may have left something to be desired, but as always, your company did not. I always cherish the time I spend with your sister. (And you as well, naturally!) It had been several days since I had last spoken to her. If she ever wants help tending the lighthouse, please let her know that I am willing to accept any task she feels comfortable assigning me. Keeping your lighthouse may be your family’s legacy, but loved ones have always been drawn into the fold as well.

I don’t mean to imply anything… Hopefully you understand what I mean. I won’t be presumptuous. That, and I’m sure you understand my sentiment. When she refuses to let you help, please do not take it as a slight against your own capability. You may have been too young to remember this, but Jasmine once dreamed of seeing the world. Her duty to her family — to everything your parents left behind, and to you — keeps her in place. She knows you love the lighthouse, but she wants to give you the opportunity to leave should you so choose. 

She keeps her burdens from everyone. But she loves you dearly. Never mistake that. If she did not, she would have left long ago.

When you do see Jasmine next, please pass along one additional message for me: let her know that I would be delighted to keep her company after the new moon, should she desire it. You may ask why I did not mention that last night, after you had gone to bed. 

The truth is that we hardly spoke at all once you were gone. There’s often so much I wish to say to her that I don’t know how to express. Most of the time, I simply stay silent. We linger in the gaps between everything I wish to say, and everything she wishes not to.

I hope that some more time together would loosen both our tongues, and bridge the gap between what my heart wants to say and what can escape my mouth.

The new moon is tomorrow. Jasmine will be busy throughout the evening. You are welcome to stay with Father and I should you feel lonely. I’m sure Jasmine will prepare something for you that isn’t leftover seagull soup, but know that our food is your food, and our home is always open to you.

Until we see each other again, may His Eternal Warmth bless your hearth and forge you into something spectacular.

Love,
Spica