For over a week Světlo had slept during the day and walked through the night. It was risky for him to be out after dark, but it was dangerous to be seen in the daylight as well, so he took his chances with the velvet softness of the land after sundown. His pale skin and white hair marked him as a curiosity, but when people saw his eyes they began telling each other stories of demons in the streets, of danger and terrors unimaginable. So he walked the roads by night, covered in a dark hooded cape in order to hide as much of his appearance as possible. Along the country roads he found plates of food, pitchers of ale, and the traditional dill cookies of the region, set out for the ancestors during this month-long festival season. It was said the Old Ones ate from the tables of the worthy, and Světlo knew there would be fantastic stories told the next morning by eager children. He would not have thought to travel this way, but Ezrabel had assured him it would be the proper way to achieve his goal. "You need to be there by midnight on the longest day of the year," she had said that night she made him tea and promises. Světlo had lived his whole life knowing his paleness meant something, knowing he had been made for a purpose. He knew in his core that he should not have to hide and live in fear, that there was something - something - he didn't know what. Ezrabel had not questioned his knowing. In fact, she seemed to know what he was going to say before he said it. She listened patiently, but he thought it was more to allow him to speak than for her to learn something she did not already know. "There is a place you need to see," she had told him when he finished speaking. "You must come to this place in the darkness, and see it in its fullness for the first time when the afternoon rays of the sun are upon it." Ezrabel poured more of that hot, smoky tea, offering it to him casually, as if they had known each other forever. She had talked then, while he finished that last cup of tea, telling him everything he needed to know in order to make this journey. He thought about taking notes, but realized he would remember everything without effort. It seemed as if Ezrabel was reminding him of something he already knew well, but had somehow forgotten. As he walked the final miles to his destination Světlo mulled over the time he had spent with Ezrabel, remembering her instructions. He could see the light now, flashing on and off, and it helped him cover the final half mile of his journey as he climbed the side of the escarpment. Finally at the base of the tower, Světlo stopped to catch his breath. He had arrived in darkness, as was proper, and it was time to rest. He thought to sleep inside the tower, to enjoy safety and security for the first time in several days, but sleep eluded him. The next seventeen hours were the most peaceful of Světlo's life. He touched the brick walls, ran his hands along the iron of the stairs, and wondered about the people who had maintained this place in the before time, when it was said the ocean came right up to the foot of the cliff. Of the people who kept the light going now, even though the water was far, far from here. At last it was time. Late afternoon sun was streaming in the windows from the west, and Světlo began to climb the spiral stairs. The mechanism came into view, the clockworks that kept the light turning even now. He did not need to ascend the final steps, steep as a ladder. His head cleared the floor of the light chamber and he stared in awe. The light was on, a steady glow, and all the tons and tons of glass, perfectly cut, spun around him. Holding his hand out in front of his face, he finally understood. His pale skin disappeared in the face of the brilliance surrounding him, and he was home. As he merged into the light, became his true self, he heard Ezrabel's voice across time. "You were meant to light the way ..." Happy Birthday, Chip!