It's like whipping ice and strong blizzards when Rhen and Lars first meet, and they clash like hailstorms and avalanching snow in the Northern Isle.
Whenever Rhen and Lars argue, it's like lightning, where thunder booms and organs play in the background, dark clouds gathering and raining foreboding omens on every onlooker in the Academy.
Realization hits them like cold, damp rain, and they huddle together and save themselves from the freezing breeze, gazing at the dew dripping from their hairs and whispering their apologies (and it’s crazy that Rhen and Lars would ever apologize to each other) with shivering voices in the darkness of the Underworld.
Friendship is warm like the earth, stronger than stone and more beautiful than flowers, and they tumble on the meadows of foreign lands as they celebrate their progress in this stupid quest, laughing to the rhythm of nature and holding hands over the grass of the Highlands. (Because, really, who would’ve thought Rhen and Lars would become friends?)
The stars twinkle, and the moon shines, and but the whimsical colors of the galaxy still cannot convince Lars that there is anything more beautiful in the world than Rhen, and he must be a lunatic, because she's a brutish jock with a vibrantly-colored sword, but he accepts it, anyway.
He just doesn't know yet that when Rhen looks at him, she sees the dawn of hope in his mischievous eyes and the spark of the sun in his annoying smirk, and the aurorae that dances along with his magic only adds to his charm, and Rhen is fully convinced she's been enchanted by this scrawny nerd.
(It’s the lull of the sea’s constellations that make their eyes meet, and one thing lead to another, and a shower of comets in the sky helps them celebrate.)
Every time they kiss, it's like fire, and they cannot remember when lips were not a burning flame, or fingers not little embers dragging across skin, and the heat can get to their heads and they have to be careful not to give in to that blaze of love-lust-love inspired by the many lovers kissing under the sun of Veldt.
(Nobody thought this would ever happen, not even the Oracle.
And for Aia’s sake, Rhen, stop tempting Lars.)
It's so, so, so exhausting, and guilt and regret gnaw on every edge of your heart like a curse, and the prophecy is a blight, a venom that burdens you between what you want and what you think is right.
But their hands are clasped together in the unknown caves of the South, because no matter what will happen, no matter what she chooses or where destiny will take them, they will be together, together, together.
Like a miracle, they made it to the light at the end of the tunnel, and with the blessings of the Oracle in Aveyond, Rhen makes her decision to return with Lars to the flourishing Eastern Empire.
The Oracle herself doesn't understand - a holy being, the creator of the world, she does not understand?! For the prophecy told of a queen ascending to the throne and being a glimmer of hope for her people. It has also foreseen a village girl returning home, back to the plain and simple but happy rhythm of her old life. A smaller vision suggested a tired woman choosing a celibate, recluse lifestyle in the peace of a forest, away from the chaos.
But the Oracle allows this warrior to go back to the place who taught her to be one, anyway, because what kind of benevolent seer and goddess would punish her chosen for doing the good deeds as instructed?
Life is still very unpredictable, it seems.
And so Rhen and Lars walk away, fingers interlaced. The future welcomes them with open arms, and they jump in, not fearing its hazy uncertainty.
And, though the Oracle herself cannot see them anymore, and no matter what naysayers might say, and even if the details fade away from the history books, the elements of the world will not lie. They are witnesses to the chronicle of this journey, and if you would only close your eyes, if only you would let your heart lead you, you will hear them speak the story of the Sword Singer and the Sorcerer...