Feet on the Ground
There's a craving in Esteban's bones. Something melancholic and frantic that begs for him to go home.
He knows, logically speaking, that the monastery is his home. He knows. That's where he lives. That's where he grew up. that's where Father Rodriguez lives, and if nothing else is then Father Rodriguez must be his home.
But Barcelona isn't his home. It feels a little like betrayal, to think like this, but it isn't. Barcelona can't be, not with its whispers of son of the Sun and its people who keep using him and using him and using him anytime their insanity lead them to strand him up in the sky. Barcelona isn't his home, not with how he has to watch his every steps and be wary of every single of its inhabitants.
Esteban wants to go home.
Good god above, let him go home.
Father Rodriguez dies.
It feels like the world crumbling under his feet. Like snuffing out every single star. Like a punch in the guts, again and again, a monstrous cold inside his chest.
Father Rodriguez dies.
Esteban's home dies.
Except then some stranger corners him and tells him a story. Quite an impressive tale; a story of storms and sailing, of harsh winds and sea salt and a man standing tall on a raft handing out a toddler. Quite an impressive tale. So much so that Esteban would call it false.
But then the man presents then a golden coin. A sparkling sun born to nest in the moon around his neck.
It's the truth. It's the truth. It's the truth.
This man has known his father.
It's nothing. It's next to nothing. Esteban has no idea what this supposed father of his is like, if he's alive at all.
It's next to nothing, but it's a clue and Esteban has nothing else to hold on, so Esteban boards to the New World.
Zia is one strange girl.
She does not scream when he unbinds her. She does not wail, or curse, or weep over her current state. She accepts her fate calmly, and crawls to see the rising Sun through the window.
Zia, Esteban learns quickly enough, has no home and no father, either.
The situation is quite different, Esteban is aware of that. Nonetheless, Esteban anchors himself on her, and anchors himself hard. They both do, because they're children and they need something, anything to hold onto, and they're children.
Tao is very, very different from Esteban- more of a thinker, more knowledgeable, more in touch with his roots. But he's also not so much- he has a place he calls home because there are no words for a house you live in with no heat and no hearth.
He's looking for something, too. A destiny, ruins, a city of gold and light- Esteban doesn't really follow all of it. But it's close enough to a father, so he thinks he kind of gets it.
They find a bird of gold and fire.
The controls are foreign, but they feel right in his palms. Being here, midair, feels right. He's farther from the ground, yes, and that scares him- but most importantly he's closer to the sky and for once once once the itch in his throat stops.
Above the clouds, the Sun shines.
It's easier, to forget about his wants, with people around him and a goal to work towards to. But Esteban is a greedy greedy sinner child, so against his better judgement his thoughts keep crawling back.
Esteban wants. He wants. He wants. He wants a place to belong. He wants home. He wants home.
But home isn’t Barcelona, isn’t Spain, isn't those streets and those churches he finds familiar but not safe. Home isn’t the New World, ravaged by his kin (not his kin, he’s not Spanish; but he might as well be, by upbringing if not by blood. Not his kin, but his guilt all the same). Home isn’t any of those faraway countries that recognize him as a foreigner, a kid with no family, China or Japan or the land in the desert that reject him, imprison him. And home isn’t the old ruins of Mu, isn’t the cities of gold- because- he is- not- Muan.
And it’s killing him. He wants to come to a home that never existed. All he has is his friends. All he has is those two kids, and some giant bird of gold and fire.
So Esteban travels. Because his friends travels, because maybe his medallion is the key to his peace as well as the cities. Because his ears ring with Spaniard and Atlantean and son of the Sun and all he wants to know is why, why, why.
Zia's hand rests on his neck. Tao's palms squeezes his shoulder.
The craving calms down, for a while.