2

Sol reaches for the crescent moon with an upturned palm. The clouds swirl around cream light, melting into strange intricate shapes, each all the more unnatural than the next. He and Yohan are in the land of spirits now, that much is clear.

The fire crackles with dimming light between the two men. Sol is a tad chilled inside his sleeping bag without a tent for shelter; but Yohan insisted that camping out, under the stars for the night, would be safest. Bandits like to roam these parts for treasure, he had said, the tent's shape would alert them of our location.

"Solange?"

Sol's gut drops at the name. His chest fills with a cold, brittle feeling, yet, it is not from the wind.

For a moment, he had gotten too comfortable, he had almost forgotten Yohan doesn't know. It has been a while since the man called him that.

As much as Sol would rather pretend he is sleeping, instead of answering to the name, he is all too aware this could regard something important. So, he parts his lips then says, "Yes, Yohan? What is it?"

"I wanted to make sure you were comfortable."

Sol scoffs. "And here I thought you were going to tell me bandits were on the way…"

"Apologies if I gave you worry. It is merely that—"

Yohan pauses, he presses his lips together. "The last woman I escorted didn't seem too keen on foregoing her tent, and sleeping next to me, you see. And I worried that…"

"That I might feel the same?"

Yohan nods.

Perhaps, it is silly, yet Sol pauses nonetheless to ponder on the idea of Yohan alone with another. "Do you, um—"

Sol's finds his mouth moving before can he stop himself; his lower lip trembles, he laughs, awkwardly. "Often spend a lot of time with women in the woods?"

His face warms, the fatigue from the journey must have gotten to him, if he is already spouting such unbecoming nonsense. What in the gods is he saying?

"Apologies, that is not what I meant to imply…"

Yohan falls silent for a moment then flutters his eyelashes, before he looks away then hooks an arm around the back of his own neck. "I do not."

He shakes his head. "I actually… prefer company of a more virile kind,"

the knight clears his throat, "if you must know."

The silence that follows is agonizing as both men stare at each other without another word.

Sol suddenly becomes very aware of the now deafeningly loud mating calls of a toad some lengths away. "Oh."

He blinks. "I see."

He isn't quite sure what to say now. "Thank you for… sharing."

"Yes, well!"

Yohan clears his throat, there is a light dusting of pink spread across his cheeks now. " Moving on! "

he declares, before he meets Sol's gaze again; and for the first time, Sol notices the lines under his eyes, accentuated by the firelight. "Perchance, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? I know not everyone is used to traveling…under such conditions."

Another ridiculous thought consumes Sol in this instance, but, his sleep-addled mind figures it is harmless. "Could you call me Sol instead?"

"Sol?"

Sol's chest flutters with the warmth of being called for the first time. He blinks, twice, then averts his gaze. He hopes Yohan doesn't take notice of the hot flush that rises to his face. "Y-Yes, I… like it better than Solange."

Is this truly okay? Sol wonders in silence. What if it's an odd request?

Before Sol's ruminations have a chance at growing too loud in his mind, Yohan clears his throat again. "That shouldn't be a problem!"

The knight exclaims, "I've had to surrender my own sleeping bag to traveling nobles, who found it difficult to sleep in the cold nights of winter, more times than I can count!"

He laughs—though, Sol does not know why the knight is casually brushing this off as an everyday occurrence, surviving the biting winds of winter without a sleeping bag sounds quite frankly horrifying.

Yohan's palm finds Sol's knuckles, he rests it there for a moment and smiles at Sol. "One simple difference in your name is not a burden at all, Sol."

And Sol's heart goes still. Although he knows it is wrong, Yohan is eight years his senior—and a cursed man at that, too—Sol cannot help how his eyes linger across the sharp angles that build Yohan's face, the way the knight keeps his greying hair pulled back to reveal his intense, azure gaze.

He is handsome, undeniably so.

Being half-asleep in bed, next to a man Sol could only dream of having, finds him pining for the knight… "Your lover must miss you."

Sol doesn't know what possesses him to blurt such a thing, but he soon finds his bearings again, when the words he's just spoken aloud settle between them. "W-Wait! Actually… nevermind, you don't need to answer that. I apologize, I didn't mean to pry—"

"There is no lover."

Yohan rests his chin atop his own hand. He meets Sol with a soft, reassuring gaze, and Sol has never felt so naked before a man despite still wearing his day robe. "Though, I would certainly not be opposed to taking one."

"O-Oh!"

Sol gulps. "Is that so…"

He is delirious if he thinks that means he may have a chance— a chance at what, exactly? Sol wonders—yet, after they retire that night, he is wide awake.

Sol stares at the moon for what feels like hours, his heart pulsing in his ears.

There is no lover.

I would certainly not be opposed to taking one.

Yohan's words ring through the air like a haunting—until morning greets him earlier than he'd like, when the roaring shouts of men pierce the silence and the birds run from the trees.

Sol quickly scrambles to his feet. It seems Yohan has the same idea, for soon the two of them are standing, looking at each other with tense apprehension as Yohan brings a hand to the hilt of his sword. In the distance, the silhouettes of five men running toward them, near. Sol is no expert, but it is clear as the rising dawn that they are either amateurs who seek to intimidate, or quite confident they'll get away with whatever it is they plan to do once here.

"Yohan…"

Sol speaks the knight's name under his breath; he does his best to keep his hands from trembling, but the sheer number of bandits has his mind buzzing with the fear that this will not end well. "What should we—"

"We aren't in any danger,"

Yohan speaks the words plainly. Still, he keeps his voice down all the same. His jaw tenses. "Trust me."

Sol briefly wonders if the knight is simply being brave, but he hasn't time to question the matter for long, as the weight of heavy footsteps stomping circle in on their location.

The bandits—all men of various statures and ages—surround them with their weapons drawn, bows and blades, each one sharper than the last. Silver reflects, shimmering beneath the rising sun, that blesses the horizon like ichor in deep orange streaks. Sol wonders if this is the last light he will ever see. "Well, well, travelers! Seems luck wasn't on your side today,"

their leader cackles then brings his hands to his hips.

Sol does not like how the man is looking his way with great interest, his eyes wide and mad. "But luck has definitely blessed us, on the other hand: A mage! A gods damned mage! To think we'd come across something as valuable as you so early in the morning."

The man licks his lips with a crass snicker.

Sol's blood goes cold as the bandits' leader motions for his group to surround him, and Yohan. "I'm sure you'll be able to do many things for us,"

the man says as he continues to stare right at Sol. "we'll treat you right, ‘long as you behave."

Sol retreats back into himself. Please… not this. Sol has not used his Gift properly in years, he wonders, if he could even take them in a fight. Or, if it would be best to let these bandits seize him, then strike when they least expect it. But everything in his mind is jumbled, he cannot think straight nor form a proper plan, he's never been in a fight like this before.

Sol doesn't understand how Yohan can remain so unperturbed, as if these men are barely a threat at all.

The bandits' leader faces Yohan. "You seem like a smart man."

He snorts. "You know what to do."

Yohan smirks in turn, the only sign of emotion he's shown since the bandits first arrived. "That, I do."

Before Sol can blink, Yohan has slit the man's throat with his sword. The bandits' leader falls—limp—to the floor.

The archers in their group raise their weapons and aim for Yohan, but the men surrounding them barely have time to draw their arrows. Yohan takes them down in one fell swoop. "I have slain dragons and beasts of the foulest kind!"

Yohan growls as he twists steel into a man's chest who writhes amid the pain. "Why do you think you could scare me?"

Four of the men fall to Yohan's sword within moments. Sol is frozen in place, he can only watch as he crosses his arms over his chest to shield himself away from the fray. Another man screams, then topples over into the mud. Sol knew life was a brittle thing, yet seeing men die in battle within the span of mere seconds… Gazing into the well of mortality like this makes him feel so terrifyingly small, insignificant.

Yohan turns towards the last bandit, who trips then falls onto his hind. It is clear this one is younger than the rest; he can barely be called a man. As Yohan strides up to him, the knight looks down to his existence, pity in his gaze. "Whatever glory they promised you, you shall not find it here."

He points his sword's blade to the young boy's neck. "Is this truly how you want to die?"

The boy's lip shakes. "N-No, I'm-merely—"

"Run, then."

Yohan briefly draws his weapon back. He stares the boy in the eye, cold murder in his gaze. "Before I change my mind."

The boy takes the opportunity to rise to his feet, his hands are covered in muck and mud as he stumbles away with a mix of blood, tears sticking to his face.

Yohan's back is turned to Sol as he sheathes his sword; he kneels around the corpses and presses his hands together in a silent prayer, mumbling words from an ancient language Sol does not understand. The air carries the strong reek of iron when the knight finally stands.

Sol asks him, "You pray?"

Yet Yohan only shakes his head. "It was a spell from the Old King, so that their souls would not find me again."

Sol pauses. "A common occurrence?"

"Unlikely, but not unheard of,"

Yohans tells him. "I do not take chances."

The knight turns towards their belongings. He bends his knees, he begins to reach for his own backpack, when he finally catches a glimpse of himself. His hands.

Yohan's eyes widen in slight, Sol assumes, once the knight realizes he is covered in blood. "There…"

Yohan stares up at Sol, in an oddly apologetic manner. "There should be a well on the outskirts of a nearby village. Do you mind if we wash up there quickly?"

"Yohan, I don't mean to be a pessimist…"

Sol mutters as he, too, makes quick work of grabbing his belongings for the journey to come; his fingers are still shaking. "But all that blood on your armor might not work in your favor, if someone were to accidentally see you."

The knight does not respond, he seems lost in thought; his eyes are fixated on the ground, where a patch of daisies were squashed during the fray, all the life bent out of them in the shape of sollerets—only one remains untouched.

"Yohan?"

Sols calls out to him again. "Are you all right?"

Yohan snaps out of his daze, his lower lips jerk downward briefly, before he looks away from the flowers, back to Sol. "I will be fine, but…"

Yohan's attention lingers on Sol's sleeve, where blood was splattered across its bright fabric, during one of his kills; he shuts his eyes for a moment. "I am sorry you had to witness such an unsightly spectacle."

Even though he is still a tad antsy, Sol takes a step forward. He tells the knight, "Don't be sorry for saving me."

"I always strive to avoid a fight whenever possible, if I am not traveling with the Old King's Riders."

Yohan shakes his head as he rises to his feet. "But… regarding your question, I hoped it may be early enough in the morning to avoid any villagers…"

Yohan presses his lips together. "Though, I suppose, you aren't wrong. That remains a possibility,"

he says, before falling silent again for a short while. Yohan straightens up, then stares at Sol. "Right. I apologize, Sol, but could I ask you for a favor?"

Of course, Sol is not one to refuse when Yohan suggests he be the one to scout the area. "A wise suggestion,"

Sol tells the knight—and although the two doubt running into more bandits will be an issue after Yohan's… rather sanguine demonstration , Yohan trails behind Sol. Just in case.

Heathlocke , Sol had heard of this mellow little village from his mentor. Androcles had mentioned buying a good few ingredients from their herbalist in the past, when he'd briefly taken up the task of selling batches of enchanted herbal tea ingredients to local tearooms for their brews: an endeavor that, as fun as it was, ended up being too much for the two of them alone.

Sol can still remember the late nights he'd spend choosing what herbs to order, and which ones he'd have to go out and gather himself.

The village is close to desolate. Sol had heard most of the mages and apothecaries took their business elsewhere, once the roads became all the more difficult to cross, after the bandits and their maleficence started taking root in Heathlocke's environs.

Sol reaches the village entrance. Aside from the odd cat prowling gravel streets, the village is quiet, and the houses that line its outskirts still very much asleep. A relieved huff leaves Sol's lips as he signals for Yohan to come forth, out from where he'd been hiding in the bushes of a vegetable garden nearby.

The two make quick work of rinsing the blood out of their clothes; Sol had cursed himself for accidentally packing too many towels for the journey, yet, they are coming in quite handy now. Though his nose wrinkles throughout the whole ordeal, this is far from a pleasant experience, and Sol could do without the strong iron stench that imbues itself in the fabric.

"We should leave them behind,"

Yohan tells him as he twists then squeezes scarlet soaked cotton between his fists. "I'll buy you new towels."

"What? Why?"

The knight presses his lips together. "It'll be hard to get that scent out while we're on the road. We don't want to attract wolves."

Yohan stares down at the towels, his eyebrows raised in a regretful arch. "Sorry, I hope you weren't too attached to them."

"No."

Sol shakes his head. "No, it's fine…"

He sighs as his mind wanders back to their encounter with the bandits. "That was barely a fight at all…"

Sol isn't quite certain why he spouts this, but it's been on his mind. The way in which Yohan ruthlessly took them out.

"In these parts, they are infamous for the brutal murders of many a traveler,"

Yohan tells him. "I did what I needed to, for they would not have left the next unsuspecting soul unscathed."

Yohan rubs the wet cloth across the grime that clings to his face, down the reds that drip across his arm; there is no hesitation in his movements, Sol cannot help but wonder how many times he's done this before. What sort of life he's been living up until now. "If their surrender had been an option, I would have considered it."

When Sol lifts his arm to clean himself off in turn, Yohan pauses.

"Sol."

The knight reaches for Sol's hand, where he inspects the blood that has dried over Sol's knuckles. "Are you hurt?"

The genuine worry in Yohan's voice catches Sol by surprise; he did not expect it, after the man was able to kill like that. "No, it's—"

Sol glances away from him and tugs his arm back towards his own chest. "Not mine."

"Apologies."

Yohan immediately releases him, he glances down to Sol's arm. "I didn't mean to startle you."

He sighs in relief. "I— Thank the gods, I'm glad you are unharmed."

Sol stares down to his fingers in silence. "It is thanks to you that I am unharmed. Not the Gods,"

he mutters under his breaths.

He does not think Yohan hears him, for the knight continues to wash himself clean of the blood and the gore and of today's morning.

* * *

They've been traveling for three whole days now, across vast plains each all the more endless than the last, until they finally reach the woodlands. "I can't tell if this is better or worse,"

Sol mutters, as he and Yohan step through a rather imposing crowd of pine trees, pushing past branches with a scent so strong they curse Sol with a scrunched nose.

"Quiet,"

Yohan presses a hand to Sol's mouth. "I hear something in the distance."

The heat of Yohan's skin against his—the sheer size of Yohan's palm covering half his face—does things to Sol he would rather not admit.

But Yohan soon pulls away. "Come,"

he tells Sol. "I believe this might be good news, actually."

Yohan leads him toward the sound of running water, until they reach another clearing, a stream. And Sol's eyes widen with excitement, as he whistles, "Good find."

Yohan dashes towards the water. "And just when we'd been running low!"

Yohan is on the verge of dipping his hands into clear blue, when Sol stops him.

"Let me, first."

From his satchel, Sol fetches a small triangular vial filled with sheer violet liquid. He then reaches around for his backpack, from which he grasps a large round bottle that has been emptied of its contents.

Sol dips the round bottle into the stream, until it has gathered enough water inside its now filled body. Then, he adds a single drop of the purple solution to the water—Sol swirls both inside the glass with a flick of his wrist.

He gives the bottle's new contents a subtle whiff, nodding in approval at the water. "We should be good now. I've cleansed it."

Yohan stares at him and, at the sight of the bottle, tilts his head with intrigue. "I've rarely seen that type of potion around."

"For good reason,"

Sol says, whilst he absent-mindedly repeats the process again with a second, new vial. "They're incredibly expensive to make. As a result, nobody ever buys them, so they're rarely produced."

Once he is finished, Sol packs the water away with another sigh. "Travelers seem more fond of unfortunate bathroom trips from impure water, rather than parting ways with their coin."

Sol furrows his brows. "But! Not me."

He faces Yohan as he rises to his feet again. "I'd rather my ass intact for the journey, thank you very much."

He doesn't expect Yohan to laugh as much as he does.

Sol's eyebrow twitches. "W-What?"

"Nothing of importance, this merely…"

Yohan shuts his eyes, though his expression remains fond. "It reminds me of when I used to travel with my comrades, years ago."

Sol nods, in a slow, deliberate manner. "Did they…"

"There are loads of reasons why people disappear."

Yohan steps away from the stream.

"But, you haven't disappeared."

"Not yet."

Yohan looks to the ground in mute contemplation, a frown etches itself into his features. It is as if he is remembering something. Something painful. "But, who knows what the future holds…"

The knight forces a smile as he raises his head, and meets Sol's eyes again, he motions for Sol to follow him into the woods.

The way Yohan talks about himself—like some disposable tool—makes Sol's heart ache.

Above, pine warblers sing songs of love in the springtime; Sol takes unadulterated delight in watching their fuzzy round coats vibrate when they land, flying from branch to branch, free as birds are. Amid their featherlight chirps, crowds of trees sway under the burning sun, goldlight spills at Sol's and Yohan's feet then warms the forest bed.

When they reach more complicated terrain, Yohan offers his hand to Sol.

And at the palm outreached before him, Sol hesitates for a moment, before he touches Yohan skin with reluctance. There is a spark, electric fire in his veins, yet Sol walks in silence and dares not speak up, for he feels as though he would blurt something foolish if he were to. Because the warmth of the knight's body heat is more reassuring than he likes to admit, and Sol has not felt so protected in years.

"Let's find a safe place to set up camp,"

Yohan tells him. And Sol can only agree as he nods.

The two journey deeper, sinking into the greenery and its foliage, Sol thinks of tales from his childhood. Of fallen heroes, legends who were there until they were not. Kings who were important, until they were gone. What it is like to exist in this world, and to disappear.

Yohan seems comforted by the idea of falling into his own shadow, even when he is on the verge of leaving behind his legends to become an ordinary man. There is solace on the knight's features whenever he talks of fading away from tales told amid inns at midnight. Sol only wishes he could find such peace.

The thought of departing without leaving behind a mark, a trace of himself across these lands, has him terrified. Sol wonders if there is a future in which he, too, could be content with his own existence—able to let go.

When was the last time life was a journey to be explored, and not some hollowed out, threadbare sad body to be filled with distractions? Sol asks himself. When was the last time he did something he truly wanted to? Because he can't remember. He only wishes he could have Yohan's courage to leave it all behind.

To become the man he wants to be.

When it is night, they set up their tents for the first time.

Sol is left sleepless. As he stares at the dark green tarp above, he thinks of the knight's smile, the way his lips curve into that perfect, inviting grin.

Throughout the day, there were moments in which he caught Yohan looking for a tad longer than usual; the knight's gaze lingered on Sol's shoulders during dinner, and when they were washing up by the riverside, too. Though Sol does not quite understand why, since the knight supposedly does not see him in that light, the visions linger in his mind like herbs left out to dry. He wonders, if Yohan would want this just as much as Sol wants this.

To be touched.

To forget.

To do the unimaginable, after having played a role to perfection for so long. A knight should not bed his King's hire. They say a woman should not open her legs for a man she barely knows. But Sol is tired of being a woman, just as Yohan tires of being a Rider. He craves to slip into Yohan's tent and share his first kiss with the knight. To shed his past beneath Yohan. Have Yohan take him as a silent act of rebellion.

He wants to have him and to be had.

Clearly, he is losing his mind.

Sol takes a deep breath. He gets up.

He does not walk toward Yohan's tent. Instead, he sighs, as he wraps his arms around his own shoulders then looks to the ground. "As if I could even convince him that I am a man…"

Sol mutters under his breath. "He was probably staring because I had something on my face…"

In a nearby puddle, Sol catches a glimpse of himself. His chest tightens.

Soon, it is not arousal that swims in his belly, but ragefire from wearing the skin of a stranger for so long: everywhere Sol looks, Solange is present. In people's hearts. In their memories. In the documents he signs. In the dresses he wears for the odd occasion.

Throughout each corner of his life, she haunts him like a ghost.

Sol takes another step forward, his breaths are heavy, as he strides towards the woods. He feels ill. The idea of escaping Solange sounds like the purest bliss, but the reality of leaving her behind is not that simple. If only—if only he could make it all disappear with a snap of his fingers, if only, he could be himself. But vulnerability is a scary thing. He does not want to feel that way again.

Sol submerges himself deeper into the woods, away from the camp and Yohan, in hopes of calming his mind. His heart races. He cannot believe that—for a second—he actually considered telling Yohan.

Perhaps, it is the fresh mountain air that makes Sol feel as though he could have the world in his palm, if he simply gave himself to it. And yet, the possibility of such a life existing, is… somehow, more daunting, than having once passively accepted the fate of never knowing the warmth of one's existence.

For Sol finds himself yearning to take action. To do anything and everything and become all that he has dreamed of. But… he does not know how, nor if it is maybe, too late for that.

And it is suffocating.

Sol comes to a halt once he arrives amid an alcove within the forest trees. This place does not feel like the rest of the woods; whispers linger in the air, the winds are gentler here, embracing Sol like a friend. "Come out,"

Sol mutters under his breath, because he knows magic when he sees it. Someone's here.

"Found already, I see."

A woman's playful voice echoes through the forest and bounces off the trees. She materializes before Sol, and he freezes at the sight of her.

The woman's hair is pulled back, a braid of roots from which leaves sprout. Her opal eyes gleam iridescent under the moonlit lands. Despite her naked body clearly belonging to the woodlands, her face looks closer to Sol's elven side than he would have expected. A forest nymph , Sol realizes.

The forest nymph giggles. "You're talented. Most take a few days to notice."

She sways her hips then clasps her palms together behind her back. Sol does his best not to look.

He has heard tales of these creatures abducting mortals. It would be best to walk away.

"Shy, are we?"

Her tone is like poisoned honey—seductive yet lethal. As she tiptoes around Sol, she breathes him in. " Ah. "

The forest nymph pauses. "Not exactly, I see."

Sol can feel her digging through his mind. "Worry. Fear. Excitement. "

He knows it would take one single push to stop her. But she is right. His heart cannot stop pounding at the idea of this encounter: forest nymphs do not seek what humans yearn for, and she would not prey on Sol like that horrid man did.

The idea of being bare before a spirit who has likely seen worse than Sol in her lifetime is, in some ways, exactly what he needs.

"Oh?"

the forest nymph hums. She runs a hand down Sol's shoulder, and Sol leans into it, into her. " Interesting. I was planning on simply devouring you, you see. But…"

Her cool breaths fall against Sol's neck. "Sol,"

she whispers, chilled words into Sol's skin. "I want to experience you."

Sol stares at the ground, never at her. His face warms. "And what would that entail?"

She runs her lips across his ear. "I have seen your desires—I can make you feel like the man you've always been."

"How…"

Sol's arms tense by his sides as his knees tremble with want. Perhaps, he is mad for even considering the offer. "How do I know you will not eat me?"

She scoffs again. "If I wanted to, I would have already."

However dreadful that thought may be, it reassures Sol all the same. He does not feel as though she is lying. Nymphs are known for taking as they please—and yet, here she is. Asking. Not taking.

"Say I agree…"

Sol's jaw tightens. His pulse rises up his throat. "Would I be allowed to walk away?"

She laughs, her voice pretty yet sharp as thorns. "Yes, but you will not want to."

The forest nymph runs her fingers beneath Sol's chin, she rubs her thumb against his lip, and smiles. And Sol cannot help but think that she is beautiful. "You will return, if we do this once."

Sol's lower lip quivers. He presses his legs together as warmth spreads through him—he is sure she can feel this, too, for her grin grows wider. He lets her in. She wraps her arms around his neck. Her hardened nipples press into his chest. The forest nymph is sorting through his memories now, holding his life in the palm of her nimble hands—there is something exhilarating about having her infiltrate his essence, it is like being connected to magic, to the ancient world itself.

" Yes— "

Sol breathes the word into her mouth as she runs her tongue close to his lips. But they do not kiss. She undresses him. And Sol tilts his head back, he loses himself to the feel of the forest nymph's hands exploring his body that stirs with elation. So, this is what it's like to be touched… the thought buzzes through his mind that she continues to pick apart. He wonders if she can feel herself through him, the delight and ecstasy running hot in his veins. If this is why she had wanted to share a moment with him.

The roots that shackle the forest nymph's ankles move like waves, contracting in strange, intricate motions until the flora— wildflowers, tree-bark, pine needles —quiver then spew three more of her into the alcove with the next gust of wind that follows. One of her copies embraces Sol from behind, her naked chest pressed to his back as she thrusts her fingers into his mouth, he suckles on the taste of sweet leaf.

The second, plays with Sol's nipples, leaving kisses all the more tender against Sol's jaw. And the third touches herself to the sight of them. She is the one who talks to Sol. Who whispers, "Come play with us tomorrow, Sol."

As she moans then tenses, the small buds around her roots blossom into multitudes of flowers from all across the lands. "Meet us by the stream, Sol."

And Sol thinks that even if he never meets the world as himself, even if love never finds him, at least he was given a tender gesture tonight. Something to cling to when he will be old and deprived of an existence that could have been.

The forest nymph embraces him again, ancient timeless creature that she is, reaching for his heart; if he is destined to leave this world as Solange, then at least, he hopes the existence of Sol will live on inside her for the eons to come.