He Makes The Stars Shine Brighter [Sting x Reader] || First Book

26 : Avatar, Rise and Fall

» edited: 05.17.2017

» author's note is found at the very end of the chapter.

» just a note! for those wondering why there's such a massive gap in the chapter number (e.g: this chapter is chapter #25, and the next chapter is #39 if i'm not mistaken,) not to worry! you can still read the chapters without any problem, i assure you :)! i've made it so there are no gaps in the plot, and you can read on without any confusion; with that out of the way, enjoy the chapter <3

xx

"An organization that worships Zeref, huh?" you look to the side, away from their own thoughtful gazes, examining a tangle of tree roots clothed a vivid green with old moss. 

"Avatar. . ." you spit the word disdainfully, and you see the way Natsu's brows scrunch in response, like he too was deciding whether this alien of a word, one-half the letter 'A', was a welcome ally or a dangerous parasite.

"We have to take down an entire organization, are you sure we won't need-" You don't know what ends Lucy's sentence: the realization of the absurdity of her statement? Or was it the way Natsu's eyes turned so sharply to face hers that it was like she was forced to bite back her words? Either reason forced the ends of her lips to meet, and the apprehensiveness of her gaze to connect to the solidity of Natsu's.

"We defeated Tartaros didn't we?" Natsu asks, and Lucy's eyes blink a 'yes'. "Maybe we had a lot more help that time- but you have me, and we have (Y/N), and we have you. We took a couple of Zeref-worshipers down once, what's a matter with a second time?"

Lucy's mouth smiles a 'Nothing's wrong with a second time,' lips still sealed and colored fleshy pink under the light that invaded the gaps between the branches. Nobody chooses to argue with Natsu.

» time skip

Nobody speaks after that, and the silence is weak enough that the noises of animals hidden far too deep in the foliage and the crunch of fallen, dry leaves under slippers, boots and paws are still heard all too clearly.

The only scars left of humanity is quickly bandaged by the intertwine of plant roots, aged and bulging and above ground; the tree trunks are wide enough it's a few footsteps before you can see what hides behind it, and you're only met with more tree trunks, with green moss clambering up to even the highest branches, where the best sunlight dances. There's water, down below at the ground dark and mourning the absence of the sprightly sun, that splishes it's protests under your shoes. It slithers all its collected filthiness up the ends of the roots before sliding back down to where the rest of it gathered, as if chasing the beams that crisscross and twirl to different spots as the day changes.

There are many splishes and splashes before the trunks finally bend to the invisible might of a church, all faultless bricks and windows without glass and a regal ancientness achieved only by the living objects that have survived the years as beautifully as it has. The branches, the vines, and the moss have all clambered the stature of the building, tossing their heads into the air hoping for the blessing of the sunlight and spilling a fading green from the base upwards, like blood during a private ritual, until it becomes nothing more than a splotch of blooms in the cracks between the bricks.

It's implanted too deep into the knots of the trunks and the creak of the branches against powerful winds that it could only hope to be a myth exchanged among the veterans in the nearby towns, remembered only by the human beings as long-lived as it, that still breathe fresh air, that have eyes dull from oldness, and hands tired, wrinkled and callous from youthful years relinquished on labor.