Under Purple Clouds

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Beneath them, the only building with a distinctive art deco crown and spire, shone with a star-like shimmer to make up for the ones in the sky. Further east, as the water lapped against the man-made rocks, the river reflected the rendezvous of the two unlikely entities. Unlikely only to the humankind, for it was oh so anticipated for centuries now, by the Fae.

I know dear reader, I know, of all the places in the world, you would not expect the backdrop of this story to be Manhattan, but, think about it with your hearts now, what could be more befitting than the city of dreamers? How could it not be the place where magic unfolds?

So dear readers, let me take you to the beginning, the beginning of this tale, the tale that tells you, you can run for eons, you can run for miles, but you can never outrun your heart.

A tall man dressed in a black suit with an upturned coat collar, briskly walking through Wall Street would seem commonplace, but if you looked closely, you would notice the ever-so-slight sharpness of his incisors as he blew air through his teeth into his palms - almost like a canine's, sharp enough to make you question your sanity and elusive enough to assure you you had lost it. And, had you continued to followed him closely to look for your marbles, or justify losing them, you would also notice that the pockets on his coat were not fake, just hidden.

As he slewed through the morning crowd, a hit of another instance of his paracusia, "You know the inside out clothing trick works only part of the time, and none of the times if you yourself are fae". "Arghhh", he aggressively jerked his head, startling noone, because this was New York, and it was rush hour, and inhabitants of this city unanimously remained unfazed by temperamental outbursts, now if you were to walk slowly in their way with no attempts to move, well, that would be a whole different story. But, we are in this one, and in this one we will stay, at least for now.

Myran, that's our guy, our grumpy, annoyed, stuck-in-denial, and frankly, quite oblivious that he is walking past the window of the shop of the very soul he is so actively trying to avoid guy. Siraya might be the sanctioned mentor and monarch and his only grandfather, but Myran didn't need another father-figure, he was already trying to get away from one, or so he thought. A whistle here from this girl on his left, a tinkle up front of the coffee shop door, another hum on his shoulder to his left again, and in walked Myran straight into the magick shop. You know what they say dear readers, none wiser than the fairies and none a better trickster.

While Myran regains his wits, and his grandfather gloats, let's move a bit up North, another part of the city. Amani rode his bicycle through the Brooklyn Bridge, swearing that there were more people than yesterday, just like he did everyday. Oblivious to the mini family reunion currently underway just a few miles from him, and resting in the assuredness of his newly found life. Searching, hunting, running for years, he finally had something he never had - a career, community - something that wanted him back, something that felt tangible. That's the thing about Fate, it sneaks up on you when you feel you have deceived it.

Would meeting his brother kill Amani? Probably no.

Would Amani attempt to kill his brother upon meeting him? A resounding yes.

Families are complicated, sibling relationships more so. Throw in royal repatriations and you've got yourself a blue-blooded mess. With the Princes of Night, and Light having found a new canvas, no wonder the sunsets were prettier in the city.