Vessels: Where the Sun Smiles

I sat on a rock, observing everyone with a quick glance.

Kaelith and Amaya seemed to be deep in conversation. Amorette was practicing her lyre. She had placed a spell around herself so that only she could hear the music she was producing. The shield was invisible, but when you turned your head a certain way, it revealed a soft lavender shimmer.

Matthias was shuffling his cards. Then he began opening small portals and tossing cards into each one as if he were performing a circus act. There was a small tree nearby, and he threw a card with such precision, opening portal after portal in its path, until one of the cards shot out at full speed and struck the tree, cutting it clean in half.

I had not realized Matthias was able to teleport objects other than himself.

He smirked at his work and continued opening portals, throwing cards into different openings and directing them back toward himself, catching each one sharply. Watching him in awe made me realize why he has once worked in a circus.

My eyes then fell on the last person.

The last Vessel, Yulia

Yuila sat quietly on the grass, gazing up at the sky. Her face gleamed like that of a child receiving a gift. I followed her gaze and what captured her attention. She was watching the sun meet the coming dark, the beautiful red, orange, and pink hues spilling across the heavens. It seemed as though the sun itself was blushing, while the clouds danced around it. The pale blue sky swayed with the rays of the fading light.

Her eyes never once left the sunset.

It was as if she were watching an artist paint a masterpiece right before her eyes. Her smile was heartwarming. The last rays of sunlight seemed to catch in her eyes, and when she turned her head slightly, her soft brown irises glistened.

Our eyes met, and she invited me to sit beside her by simply tapping the ground next to her.

I closed the journal resting on my lap and moved to sit beside her. Together, we watched the sun smile at us both. I turned to look at her, and she only shrugged, her body language asking why I had been staring. Then she pointed back at the sunset, gently guiding my attention where it belonged.

Before I knew it, the pink, orange, and red hues slowly disappeared.

Darkness came to welcome us.

Yulia picked up the journal beside her and began to write. Whatever she was writing made her look so happy. The joy within her seemed to radiate outward. When she finished, she eagerly handed me the journal and turned fully toward me, waiting for my response. She tapped her lap with alternating hands, each small movement betraying her anticipation.

I took the journal carefully in both hands.

Yulia had such beautiful penmanship.

As I examined the pages for a moment, I noticed her journal seemed to contain far more than simple entries. It looked as though it had lived many lifetimes. I found myself wondering what Yulia’s voice sounded like when she spoke. I had never heard her speak before.

I shook my head and forced myself to refocus.

I began to read her entry:

I think it is beautiful that God created light and darkness. Just as God created Eve to be Adam’s companion, I believe He created the sun and moon for one another. The sun loves the moon so much that he sleeps at night so she may rise.

I smiled as I looked at her. Such a soft, gentle spirit.

She clapped her hands together in a series of small, happy claps before passing me her quill. I began to write beneath her words:

I have never pondered the idea that God created the sun and moon as companions for one another. God is good, for He created everyone and everything with intention. I found myself looking at the moon, and my eyes softened as she seemed to sparkle so brightly, as if smiling back at us. God is intentional. It is mesmerizing that He has a plan for everyone, even when we do not understand the circumstance we are in.

I hesitated before continuing.

Yulia, I do not mean to pry or offend you, but why do you not speak aloud?

I passed the journal back to her carefully.

She placed it on her lap, then gulped and turned her body away from me. She paused, staring straight ahead as she read the question on the page. She seemed hesitant to answer.

The silence felt as cold as winter ice.

I studied her side profile, wondering if I had angered her.

My thoughts began to scramble all at once.

How insensitive of me to ask such a question.

How absurd, Essence, to ask such a thing.

I may be in charge of writing the tale of the Vessels, but was my question too far? The Vessels are not merely symbols from God. They are human. Real people with real feelings

God, I am so sorry for hurting one of the Vessels. I am sorry for hurting Your daughter, Yuila.

I swallowed hard as I looked at her. And in that moment, I was able to quiet my own thoughts long enough to truly see her.

God, You created such a beautiful young woman

I could not recall ever seeing her side profile so fully before. Yulia usually kept her hood up. She had soft porcelain skin, brown hair, and beautiful eyes like warm honey.

I reached out and touched her shoulder, silently trying to tell her that I had never meant to offend her.

She placed her hand over mine.

Then she let go, and I withdrew my own.

At last, she began to write in her journal.

I am afraid… I am afraid to speak aloud.

The words were written in larger letters than the others across the page. She drew a straight line beneath the sentence, sighed softly, and continued.

Matthias and Amorette know my tale, but I suppose you do not, so it is only natural that you would be curious.

As she wrote, her entire body slowly began to glisten.

I gasped aloud as her skin turned to gold.

She guided my hand to knock against her arm, and it had become solid, indestructible in this form. She smiled softly as I stared at her in amazement.

Then she began to write once more.

Essence, my father made me into an experiment for him. He never let me outside. I never knew how even the Sun looked. I spent most of my life in a laboratory. Instead of loving me as his child, he used me as something to study. Something to test.

What he failed to understand is that God designed me this way.

Whenever I wept aloud or cried out for help, I was burned with heated rods. I know how to speak but words seemed fleeting in such a situation. I wear this cloak to cover the marks he left behind. I learned very quickly that speaking often brought more pain than comfort.

My father even branded me with his initials behind my ear- RM.

He wanted to test the limits of the gifts God had given me. He put me through horrible trials. He would throw boiling water at me just to see if my body turned to gold before it touched my skin.

By the mercy of God, I bear no worse damage than the scars left by the burning rods.

He made me afraid of the world.

And I keep my hood on because I fear that one day, he will find me again.

Yulia’s final words sat heavy on the page.

I keep my hood on because I fear that one day he will find me again.

My fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the journal.

For a moment, I did nothing.

The night air felt colder now. The moon had climbed higher above us, its light falling softly across the grass. Somewhere behind us I could hear the faint whispers of Kaelith and Amaya and the occasional sharp flick of Matthias’ cards cutting through the air.

But all of it felt distant.

My eyes slowly lifted from the page to Yulia.

She sat very still.

Her golden form had faded, leaving her skin porcelain once again.

Her hands rested in her lap, fingers loosely intertwined. She was not looking at me.

She was staring at the ground.

I could see the tension in her shoulders, as though she were bracing for something.

Judgment.

Fear.

Rejection.

My chest tightened.

Slowly, I reached forward and turned the journal toward myself. I picked up the quill she had left resting between the pages. For a moment I hesitated, staring at the empty space beneath her writing.

Then I began to write.

You never deserved any of that.

The quill paused.

I glanced at her.

She had not moved, but her eyes had shifted slightly, watching my hand as it moved across the page.

I continued.

Your father saw something sacred and tried to control it. But what he could not understand is that what God creates cannot be owned.

The quill scratched softly against the paper.

You are not an experiment

You are not something broken.

You are a miracle God placed in this world.

My hand slowed.

The words felt too small for the weight of what she had lived through.

I set the quill down.

Instead of handing the journal back, I gently reached for her hand.

She flinched at first.

Just barely.

But I did not pull away.

After a moment, her fingers relaxed into mine.

Only then did I slide the journal back into her lap and tap the page softly.

Her eyes lowered to read

As she read her brows slowly pulled together.

Then something in her expression shifted.

Her shoulders loosened slightly.

When she finished reading, she looked up at me.

I didn’t speak

Instead, I gave a small shrug and a soft smile.

That kind that said:

I’m not going anywhere.

For a moment we simply looked at each other.

Then Yulia suddenly leaned forward and wrapped her arms around me.

It was quick.

Almost shy.

But tight.

I froze in surprise for only a moment before returning the embrace, my arms wrapping around her as I gently cradled the back of her head. I leaned into her as she held on tighter.

The moonlight washed over us both.

And somewhere nearby, Amaya and Kaelith roared into laughter.

For a moment we simply stayed there, embracing one another beneath the quiet sky.

Yulia eventually pulled away from the hug, though a soft smile lingered on her face. She wiped at the corner of her eye quickly, as if pretending the tears had never been there.

Then she looked down at the journal resting on her lap.

Her expression changed.

A mischievous little glimmer appeared in her honey-colored eyes.

Before I could wonder what she was thinking, she grabbed the quill and began writing quickly.

Very quickly.

Her shoulders began to bounce slightly as she wrote, as though she were trying not to laugh.

Curiosity tugged at me.

She finished, spun the journal around, and pushed it toward me with an excited little nod.

I leaned forward and read the page.

Please do not look at me with those sad eyes, Essence.

Below the sentence she had drawn a small doodle.

A very poorly drawn stick figure that I could only assume was supposed to be me.

The figure had enormous droopy eyes and a dramatic frown stretching across its face.

Next to it she had drawn another stick figure with a hood.

The hooded figure had sparkles drawn around it and was holding what looked like a tiny sun.

Underneath the drawing she had written:

Look. I am clearly very powerful and mysterious.

I blinked at the page.

Then I looked up at her.

Yulia was biting her lip, trying very hard not to laugh.

Her shoulders were already shaking.

I shook my head and covered my mouth, failing to hide the smile across my face.

She clapped her hands together happily the moment she saw me smile.

Then she pointed at the drawing again and gave an exaggerated nod, as if confirming the accuracy of her masterpiece.

I laughed silently, leaning back slightly as I held the journal.

And in that moment something settled quietly inside my heart.

Strength does not always look like Kaelith’s steady resolve.

Or Amaya’s fearless protection.

Or Matthias’ sharp precision.

Sometimes strength looks like this.

A girl who survived cruelty.

A girl who still finds wonder in sunsets.

A girl who chooses laughter after telling the truth about her pain.

My eyes drifted back to Yulia

She had leaned back onto the grass now, staring up at the stars with the same quiet awe she had given the sunset earlier.

Her fingers absentmindedly twisted the edge of her cloak.

So gentle.

So kind.

Yet somehow unbreakable.

A quiet realization settled into my thoughts.

Yulia might be one of the strongest Vessels among us.

Not because she could turn her body to gold.

But because the world tried to harden her heart…

…and she had refused.