The darkness gave way to pockets of light, dazzling him.

Tristan threw up his borrowed hands to shield his eyes, only for Mallos' magic to do it for him. The lights dimmed, but lost none of their beauty. As Tristan's eyes adjusted, they took on new, clearer shapes. Colours rolled around him like smoke, wrapping around his limbs on their way towards...

Nothingness.

The colours moved like currents, following unseen river banks out into the dark, and then rising up, high above his head; a waterfall in reverse. The space above him shimmered, a perfect aurora of impossible colour.

"Where are we?" He kicked his legs, moving upwards through the smoke.

"Just watch," Mallos' voice replied.

Tristan stopped swimming. Turning in the darkness, he rolled onto his back, spreading his limbs like a swimmer floating on the surface of a lake. The colour and smoke flowered around him. He watched and waited. The silence became music, a symphony of peace.

Tristan's thoughts fell still. No guilt, no anger, no grief.

The smoke took on new purpose, a river after the rains. It formed new, fantastic shapes. And then the shapes began to make sense. A rearing horse rose up amongst the surrounding stars, its front legs pawing the air, its mane billowing in a non-existent breeze.

"Wow."

Mallos moved at the back of his mind, apparently enjoying himself.

"The halimraghba galaxy," he explained. Tristan felt him smile. "You're the only conscious mind for light years, Tristan. Its honing in on your thoughts. It's never seen a horse before."

There were no words. The colours danced across his skin as the smoke curled into a new shape. Celidon ran amongst the stars, his great braided tail lashing against the dark.

"I wish I could stay here."

"I know."

"But I can't."

A sigh.

"I know that too."

But maybe just a little longer.

Another smile. Tristan moved his hands, propelling himself towards the brightest star. As he went, he rolled over again, so he was looking down into the depths of space. The colours pulsed, falling in time with the pounding of his heart. He breathed free.
This was bliss. For the briefest of moments, he felt truly free.

But the smoke was changing again. It brushed past him as it formed a new shape, larger, less soothing.

Tristan found himself looking down into his father's smiling face.

It was as if someone had flicked a switch. His thoughts crashed back in like a tsunami, closing in over his head.

One emotion emerged victorious in the struggle: shame.

His stolen divinity responded, pulling him through the cracks of space. Pressure pressed in on him from all sides, as if he were being forced along the narrowest of tubes.

And then he landed on his knees in the middle of the forest, Kingswood Henge looming over him, cold and unyielding.

Mallos had gone.

put all your faults to bed

TristaN

you can be king again