With Fall solidifying it's grip on the City, there was something to be said for a trip to the dusty red surface of Mars, and the empty City of Kairatos. He'd been there few times, but since he'd first learned how to go, he had noticed minor changes. Maybe at this point it was his imagination, or wishful thinking, but the painted murals and tiled surfaces looked just a touch brighter, a bit less worn by wind and dust, and he found he could make out details here and there that he hadn't been able to before.

These were not the austere white marbles that text books implied were proper to Greece and Rome, these were bright and vibrant. He thought he remembered reading in one of his late night sessions of not sleeping, that this was in fact the way things were supposed to have looked in earth's history as well, but that the Victorian's had eliminated much of it to make it look 'better'.

He wouldn't have traded one gaudy chip of paint, personally. Especially the one where he was now able to make out a vibrant red shape, and he knew, knew with great certainty that it was a red bull, and not just any bull.

It was Asterion.

His bull.

He was wandering again, trying to provoke a memory, because in one of the store rooms he had found large clay urns. He had initially suspected they might contain grain, but there was no hint of even the most dessicated seed, or any kind of small animal that might have gotten in and eaten them. Instead, when he'd taken off the top of one, there was a few remnants of slick oil that, warmed on his fingers, smelled spicy and sweet. Pleasant even after all this time, which was a surprise.

There were also dippers, and smaller jars, and it drove him a bit nuts because he could feel the hints that there was a memory here that he wanted to get the details of, but it was only shadows. Like watching an after image when you'd looked at something too bright. He blinked, squinted, and thought, pantomiming what he thought he saw... though he remembered. Someone large, dipping oil from one of the huge jars into a smaller jar or bucket and walking from the room. He followed them, hoping he wasn't just making the whole thing up, trailing the shadow to the stables.

When he fell almost in synch with the memory, he thought he saw a glimpse of them out of the corner of his eye. His then-father, looming like a giant in the eyes of a younger man, carrying a painted jar as they entered the stables.

The oil is for the bulls. This small revelation dropped into his thoughts like pearl pried from a surprisingly reluctant oyster. The memory was reluctant, the wonder was reluctant, as though maybe it weren't sure he were yet ready for this. Why he couldn't say, but he followed.

The memory lead him to the stall that had once been Asterion's, though instead of the full grown bull, he stepped inside to the brief image of a mostly grown, gangly creature with half grown horns and disproportionate features. His father stood beside the young animal, carefully pouring oil from the dipper into something he had concealed until then, or at least... that he had not remembered him holding.

A tiny enameled necklace in the shape of a pot, with stars on it gleaming in white. His father filled it with oil, and carefully pushed a stopper into the neck, before he held it out by the cord. So tangible for that moment that he could feel the heat from his skin as he unconsciously reached for it.

"Your bond." His father's voice was rough, firm, and proud. He didn't think he'd caught the pride then, in the past. Only the sound of authority, the weight of enormous responsibility.

"My bond, my partner, my brother in battle. May we burn together brightly, and our light bring truth and honor."

He repeated the words he'd once memorized carefully, and felt the same thrill of pride and nerves he once had, though when he reached to grasp the stoppered necklace, his fingers met air, and the shadow faded.

Disappointed, the moment of elation flagged, and doubt started to take it's place, until he caught a glimpse of it, a small glint in the back corner, which two long strides and a hasty sweep of the fingers unearthed. The colors were dimmed with red grime, and the sturdy black cord a filthy, like the rusty nail that must have at some point fallen from the time battered wood and dropped necklace and nail to the floor of the stable. But it had waited for him, the symbol of his bond, where someone had hung it after his death, to wait for his return for as long as it needed.

"May we burn together brightly." He repeated softly, and hung it carefully around his neck.

[844 words]