Escaping Darkness

Once, millennia ago, there was a song that filled the universe. Soft woodwinds danced on the wind. Percussions tapped out melodies and harmonies like rain water on leaves and the footsteps of a child. Strings sent ripples across the stars while brass skipped across like a stone across the surface of a lake. They pulled together in such a way that no composer could ever hope to mimic.

There were no players or instruments creating such music though. No, instead, each harmony, every high and low, all represented a soul, a living being. These were not just any beings either, but the Pooka. Only the Pooka were privileged to hear this song, as it was the only thing that connected each of them to each other. Of course, other species had their own connections, but Aster never really cared to learn of those until he was dragged out of his self imposed isolation by North and his group.

However, today, the song that once filled the universe now only played a single tune. Aster listened to the lonely verse as it trudged stubbornly on, clinging to some form of hope when there should be none. That tune played longer than the planet had existed, all by itself with no sign of any accompaniment. Still, Aster listened, hearing the phantom melodies of friends as he slept.

A yawn filled the Warren as night painted the artificial sky dark. It had been a busy day of weeding and watering the ei plants followed by sketching out some designs in between batches of chocolates and E. Aster Bunnymund was exhausted. It was about 2 months to Easter, and the eier were just about to start blooming. Thankfully, he only had to give eier to maybe a million kids this year, his group of believers still pretty small and mostly found in the Holy Roman Empire. Aster was not going to point out how ironic that name was, since it was not really his business, but he couldn’t help but chuckle at Germanic humans claiming to be Roman and holy.

Little did Aster know, that night would be different. He just made it to his nest and was drifting off to the familiar sound of his lonely song when he heard it. There was a soft tinkling of bells accompanied by lilting violins and flutes. The joy that emanated from the song brought Aster back to winter nights he spent curled up next to his brother, sisters, and dam. Honestly, it would have lulled him to sleep had it not been for its mere existence, which caused Aster to forget all of his fatigue.

The Pooka shot up from his nest, ears perked to the song. It was faint, much like a newborn’s laughter, but it was there. After eons of listening to nothing but the same old tune, Aster could easily pick it out, his own tune reflecting the joy of its new companion. Finally, he was no longer alone, there was another Pooka out there, another of his kind.

Unable to contain his excitement, Aster took off down the tunnel that lead to the most readily available friend the Pooka knew. He didn’t care about the frostbite nipping at his paws as the dirt tunnel turned into the ice and snow of North’s insisted home. Before Aster knew it, he was barreling down the halls of the North Pole, throwing himself into the former Cossack's office with no prior announcement.

“Bunny! What is matter? You didn’t even knock!” the heavily Russian accented voice called. Nicholas St. North was already up and reaching for a sword. His toy designs lay abandoned on his desk as his friend came crashing into the room, laughing like a maniac. Aster would have complained about the name and winced as his lack of manners was pointed out, but he didn’t seem to care as he rambled.

“Nothing’s the matter! It’s a miracle, an honest to Moon miracle!” North relaxed and gazed curiously at his friend, rambling on in what sounded to be German.

“Bunny, why don’t you tell me what has your tail in twist, da?” The Pooka nodded, and took an offered chair the Cossack had built specifically for him. The former bandit was pouring himself a glass of what looked to be water, but Aster’s nose attested otherwise. Glass in hand, North sat down in a plush chair and stared over his desk at the Pooka, his eyebrow raised in silent question.

“I noticed the most amazing thing when I was about to fall asleep. Playing faintly was another song. Another Heart Song, North!” The Pooka explained. North’s eyes widened at this explanation. Aster had explained to the Cossack what the Heart Song was a couple of times over the last two centuries after being filled to the brim with good old Russian vodka. Of course he knew what the Pooka meant, but that didn’t stop Aster from continuing and confirming the obvious.. “There’s another Pooka out there.”

“You are correct, E. Aster Bunnymund,” a female voice replied. Both Guardians jumped, caught off guard by the third person’s entrance. The two turned to face her with their weapons lowered, but at the ready.

“Mother Nature,” Aster greeted. North nodded at the young woman. Emily Jane Pitchner returned the greetings before speaking further.

“I am sorry we have withheld this information from you, Bunnymund, but there have been other Pooka survivors. A few, in fact. It was just unsafe to reveal their existence.” To this, the two Guardian’s eyes narrowed. What could possibly make assuring Aster that he is not the last of his species ‘unsafe’?

“And why would it be ‘unsafe’ for me to know of these Pooka, Ma’am?” Aster asked. Emily Jane sighed and leaned back against the wall with crossed arms.

“Because all of them are kits.” Aster’s eyes widened in surprise. Not only was he no longer the last of his kind, but those few survivors were kits to boot! So young and innocent, they would have no memories of the slaughter. Emily Jane did not allow either Guardian to speak and carried on.

“They were born right before the attack, all of different dams, yet were born so close that they probably would have been raised as siblings. Their dams seemed to sense the oncoming danger of my father’s attack, and cast a spell on these kits; one that would hide them from danger until it was safe to reveal themselves. After the spell was cast, they were taken to a place to hide, where myself and Father Time found them after the fighting had stopped.

“The kits themselves were asleep by then, but the spell on them had yet to take full effect. Father Time said it would not until it was time for them to awaken. When I asked what he meant, he explained that the kits had entered a sleep which they would not come out of until they were in the safety of a family that would care for and protect the kits like their own. Until that time, the kits were to remain in that sleep with the spell not taking effect, unaging, hidden from the world. Hidden from Pitch Black.”

The news took Aster several minutes to process. Kits- kits- managed survived Pitch’s attack through the sacrifices of their mothers to keep them hidden. Now they were in an unwakeable sleep. When those kits awoke, they would be raised as another species, not knowing who or what they were. Aster just wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation, but could only bring himself to ask one question.

“How many?” Emily Jane bowed her head.

“Four. Three from the remaining clan leaders, the fourth from a close friend of yours. Two bucks, two does.” Emily Jane explained, though Aster stopped listening after ‘clan leaders’ and ‘close friend’. Azalea- Azalea’s kit lived. Not only that, but Heather’s, Versik’s, and Rue’s. Oh, thank the Moon! Tears started to well in Aster’s eyes at the thought of his best friends’ kits surviving the genocide. All these eons he had suppressed all hopes and dreams that anyone had survived. He never even dreamed those remaining survivors would have been the kits of his friends out of the billions of Pookas that once lived. Aster felt unadulterated joy flood his system. The realization that none of his friends survived had yet to sink in, but Aster had made peace with that fact long ago when he no longer heard their songs.

It took Aster several minutes recognize the silence in the room. He rubbed his eyes before turning back to Emily Jane. “Thank you for telling me, Mother Nature, and thank you for protecting the kits until now.” Emily Jane simply nodded in acknowledgement before turning to leave.

“I must warn you of one thing before I leave, Bunnymund. Manny has made it so that each will live to about the age they would be in their true form before turning them to spirits. The transformation will not be like that of yours or your friends’. Theirs will be painful, and will require a great sacrifice before they become a spirit, and even then, it will most likely be several centuries before they may reveal themselves without fear of being killed. I know it will be painful, but you must not approach them about it until they are revealed. I feel that I do not need to explain what would happen should my father catch wind of their existence.”

Aster’s eyes widened a bit, but then dropped down when he recognized the sense in this. He let out a sigh before nodding in agreement while watching his feet resting on the floor. Emily Jane bid both farewell and dissipated.

Neither North nor Aster spoke, instead choosing to drink- water for Aster, something stronger for North- before Aster retired as his fatigue returned. As he collapsed into his nest, he listened to the tune now playing along side his own. It was so crisp and clear, so filled with joy that he could just feel a smile on his own face.

Over the years, he listened to the song as it grew louder and more complex. He learned how the kits would become spirits when that first, so much like winter, stopped completely before picking up again that night mixed with confusion and loneliness. Aster listened as three more went through the same process: softly playing and growing for a several years, gaining complexity and boldness before stopping and starting again the one night. It hurt to hear such pain the kits went through, especially after they became spirits, but Aster knew he must keep his distance. If he were to approach the kits, he would only give away who they were, what they were. He did not wish to do that to those poor kits. They were already growing more and more confused as the spell slowly weakened, letting long repressed instincts rise to the surface. The kits did not need giant targets painted on their heads just because Aster could no longer put up with his loneliness.