"Crimson red, eery, familiar."

Called it a 'special fight'.
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Special was a word for it alright.
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He ducked, submerging himself below the surface. The chill of the water washed over him while he watched the blood from his mouth spread out into it like food coloring.
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Been a long time since someone made him bleed like this.
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Ekaitz missed it.
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His opponent reached below the surface. Hands grasped his shirt, pulled him back out and the water cascaded down between them. He laughed and greeted the other man with a fierce head butt. The drop seemed to slow or maybe it was just the chemicals in his brain kicking in. Couldn't be sure, didn't really care.
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The splash of water was just a distraction, some to buy him time to stand back up. They face each other and he throws the first punch, fast and hard. The other guy has weight on him but no one watches the Raging Storm fight because of his muscle, that's not how he earned his name.
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He's in the groove now, smiling. Throw another and another, duck and dodge, the movement is second nature. The victory is swift, solid, undeniable. He knows it, knew it, expected it. He doesn't lose, not now not ever. He can't, not when his life is on the line with every hit he takes. If he doesn't die here he will in a back room the day he loses, the day he's no longer undefeated.
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He wipes the blood from his mouth and extends a hand.
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Its been quite some time since he bled like this.
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The water should be crystal clear, it's been stained a deep red. Eery, familiar.

"There is something enchanting in the night"

The match catches, a soft glow against the imposing darkness. It illuminates the only face that inhabits his home, his own. The light touches down and jumps from the stick to the wick. The flame is soft, the candle that holds it up a pristine white. He find another in the box and places it on the table in a line. One by one he strikes a match and lets the spark jump to the glowing wax.
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He looks out the window. Night. Typical.
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The box is soon emptied and the lights litter the room. Surely he could simply sleep through the misshap but somehow he feels compelled to stay awake.
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Nostalgia eats at the back of his mind reminding him, despite how he tries to quiet the voice, of telling stories by candle light to the young ones. How Ducky would crawl into his lap and turn the pages for him while he sat in front of the tallest candle. Their eyes would always be so wide as he spun the tale, whimsical and dramatic, taking advantage of the darkness and the ambiance of candle light.
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There is something enchanting in the night and he feels it still. The thoughts swell in his heart even as it turns down a road he is hesitant to travel. Returning the nights on the sand dunes, the risks he took in his youth to brave their freezing nights and see the stars when he should have been sleeping with the others. He used to tell them those tales as well, because how often would they hear of such things?
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The lights flicker on and he finds himself squinting, reaching to cover his eyes.
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He ignores the tears he finds there. He knew they were happening but he had hoped to ignore them for as long as possible.

"his people dancing bellow the setting sun"

The blanket is pinned down with rocks at each corner, holding it tight against the grass as the wind rolls in. There's a thunder crack over head and he turns to the sky. Dark, gloomy, the electricity is in the air, on his skin, the change in air pressure fills his lungs with the scent of it. The moisture soon follows and he sits there, exposed to the worst of the storm like a marble column half destroyed.
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But he is not grimacing.
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The man smiles.
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The bowl in front of him is no more than a relic of a bygone era, as he drifts from the desert sands the crystals that once powered its magic wan in power. Even now, bellow the storming skies, it does not glow like it used to. He had hoped beyond hope that it might have a little power left.
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He accepts it.
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Perhaps the time has come to let go of the past?
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It's unlikely he will, but it's a nice thought some times. He can't though, not when he might be the only one left that even knows his people once existed. Traveling through the sand of the desert, following the traces of the desert storms and marveling at the flood waters they brought upon the barren lands. They knew all the wonders of the world by it, the oasis that sustained them, the settlements made by others who braved the sands like they did.
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He had hoped the mourning bowl would have a little strength left in it, that it might let him see the echoes of time again, the last shadows of his people on the waves of time.
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His clothes are wet when he retrieves the items from where it rests, filling till over flowing with the rain water his people held sacred.
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He will have to suffice with the memories in his mind, his people dancing bellow the setting sun forever in his mind.

"Red as an apple"

She's frantic in her search of her bags. She couldn't have possibly forgotten it could she? No that wasn't possible it was one of the only things she was borderline paranoid over. Even if she wasn't going anywhere near the sun she had the small pack with her. Always always always.
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Skin was already turning red as an apple. Slowly but surely and it would get worse and worse and worse.
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The person she was with was innocent and unknowing. They called it a sunburn just a bad one. If only that's all it was. But got how she wanted to sit with them on the beach! Just once! Fuck, just once!
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Isra knew better. It was never okay. The rash on her skin had begun to be unbearable and she had to retreat to her hotel room, rummaging through her things until she found what she was after. In her panic forgetting which bag the medicines for her allergy were hidden.
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Nothing could fix it, but they would get her through the worst of it. She'd be up all night nursing the exposed parts, watching for how severe the reaction was this time. Scolding herself over and over again for wanting something she couldn't have- something that wasn't meant for her. Not now not ever.
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If only all it was, was a sunburn.

"the man watches her with sorrow filled eyes"

Small and quiet, she pours herself into the book like its the last one she'll ever read. The green haired child delves into with a gusto that even her father can't quite match though he tries. The man watches her with sorrow filled eyes. He can only hope and pray she never loses this, the drive that pushes her forward. The same thing he lost so many years ago and tries so hard to cultivate in her. If he can, if he succeeds, then maybe just maybe she will make it out of this box. She will do what he has not.
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"Isra, I snuck something out of the kitchen for you to try." he places the plate on the table in front of, a brownie topped with a decadent ice cream. Something fit for a person of their status to treat themselves with at the end of the day. She looks up at him, gold eyes bright with questions about what she has been reading and he holds up a hand to stop her.
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He knows she let go of her childhood a long time ago. She's old enough to have told him so. But every once in awhile he tries to return it to her. To let her be a kid again, trying things for the first time, playing in the den amongst the piles of books. It's hard but he's determined.
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She relents and tentatively tries the brownie, she looks almost as if it might hurt her when she first tries a bite. And then she gives him one and they rejoice.
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In the moments that she is a child, knees curled under her as she devours her brownie, he remembers why he wakes up at the end of every day still.

"here beneath the trees of their youth, they are home"

They would all eventually drift back home one day, it was inevitable. It was something about their family, their blood, it forced them back one way or another.
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It didn't make the room warm. It didn't bring cheer and laughter to the table. They sat across from each other in stiff polite fashion. The only real sound was the delicate clinks of their silverware on their plates as they ate because none of them wanted to be here for this. None of them wanted to be surrounded by their extended family.
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They eye each other over the table. The silent words parsed between them enough to tell a tale to anyone that knew the siblings well enough. They had never needed to talk out loud to know each other, a set of four all aligned together. Even as they got up from the table one at a time it was like watching the same one four times over.
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The moment the sun sets they all gather in the garden and its home again. Its the childhood they all remember. Quietly sneaking out of the windows so the rest of the family doesn't hear them make it outside. Isra is walking across the top of the fence already when the boys get there, jumping down on the eldest of her brothers trusting him to catch her as he passes by. They are like children again. Quietly laughing and throwing witty remarks at each other. A precious closeness fostered in a home determined to keep them separate.
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With every step they take away from each other they pull closer and closer. They are family, and here beneath the trees of their youth, they are home.

"It was like an eruption"

Road trip.
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The last time she'd gone on such a thing it had ended horrendously and perhaps that was why the woman was so tense in the back of the car with tinted windows. This one was not orchestrated by their mother however, it as entirely the idea of her siblings and that changed everything. The middle one was driving with the youngest in the seat. The eldest of her siblings sat beside her with a comfortable silence as he waited for her to loosen up. They waited for her to loosen up. They knew why she was tense and didn't rush her.
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That is, until the youngest got tired of the tension surrounding her and threw a wadded up piece of paper at her. Her eyes snapped to him he gave her a shit eating grin and threw it back. It was like an eruption.
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The driver turned on the radio and yelled at everyone to at least keep their seat belts on while the other three found everything small they could to toss across the car at each other. It was a familiar thing that transpired amongst them often. They often found their way back to their youth when no one was watching and this was the greatest home any of them had ever had.
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Her heart settled with the giggling of her youngest brother as the one besides her assaulted him with tickles until he was nearly crying. The smile wider than anyone had seen on her in months.
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Isra didn't know where they were going this time, but for once she didn't really care.