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Mortals knew nothing of the heavens.
It was a fact, unchanging even with the test of time.
Mortals had no choice but to look up to the sky and admire the clouds and stars from afar. To be lost in admiration and longing for dreams they could never achieve.
There was once a wandering magician, he wore a face so plain, so normal, to the point that you could never imagine “He” was something special. He wore a top hat, magician's robe, and a bright red scarf. Every city “He” traveled through was blessed with unexplainable miracles.
There was once a thief. He had many faces, such that you could easily lose him amongst a crowd. He wore many things, you, your friends, your enemies—any fate would be stolen by “Him” and become… “Him.” All bodies “He” had had one thing in common: a pointed hat, a magician’s robe, and a crystal monocle resting gently on his right eye.
These two magicians wandered throughout cities, throughout continents. They were never in the same place for more than a day, but yet both of them were everywhere, everyone.
There were countless legends left behind by the two of them, one spreading miracles and fortune, another spreading horror and despair. Myths, legends, have circulated about the two since time immemorial. No matter how outlandish, there was one story that never left children’s bedtime fables.
The magician looked up to the sky, and saw a cloud, it was hovering gently in the sky peacefully floating with the winds.
There were no defining factors of mortals, but one of them was to watch miracles from the ground. To mortals the sky was heaven and to reach the sky was to become divine.
A streetlamp flickered near where the magician stood. It was nighttime, and all visibility relied on these gaslamps to guide the way—less one would rather walk in the dark.
But the magician paid it no mind, his gaze was fixed on the sky above. The streets were empty, but if they were full they would have witnessed yet another miracle.
The Magician snapped his fingers and leisurely, as if his act was something ordinary, began walking on air like it was a staircase and directly to the cloud above.
Within the sky, Merlin broke through the clouds without much flourish. He was the first of mortals to ascend past mortal limits. Yet, his eyes bore no hint of shock upon witnessing another figure, lounging on the clouds, a crystal monocle resting casually on “His” right eye.
Merlin tipped “His” top hat towards the unexpected—expected visitor.
“It seems we had the same idea.”
The thief turned “His” head, looking towards Merlin. “He” put his right hand on “His” crystal monocle, and pinched it, pushing it closer to “His” face.
“He” did not respond, instead turning his head to look towards the sky, and towards the stars.
Merlin took this as a sign of acceptance. “He” sat near this “thief,” enjoying the view from the sky.
The two of them, of course, were not withdrawing from society. The fact that the “Magician” was everyone and that everyone was the "Thief" did not change when they left, to enjoy quiet moments such as this one.
“They” together, even when depicted as nemesis in countless tales, “They” were more similar than people would often remember.
“They” both wore a magician's attire.
“They” both were a city's population and simultaneously themselves, alone.
“They” both could never be found when wanted, but were there when unwanted.
“They” were both magicians, thieves, wandering the world with stolen identities, living countless lives as another, performing miraculous tricks to whoever happened to witness.
So the reason the winds were silent, no conversations were spoken as tales that would shock the world were shared as casually as a breakfast item was not because they were any different.
No, it was the opposite. Their minds were so alike after centuries of wandering that there was no need to speak. Simply their presence, with small gestures between each other were enough to communicate a myriad of feelings, unimaginable to humans—for the topic was often that, humanity.
To become immortal was to lose mortality. But power without humanity was worthless, for it is only with a will to change that power becomes useful and priceless.
Merlin was laying on the clouds, staring off into the night sky, into the cosmos, without a care in the world. He was manipulating his marionettes without a second thought, allowing them to perform various tasks as a skilled puppeteer, ruling over cities from the heavens.
There was no telling what the thief was doing, but his eyes had not shifted from the stars since Merlin had arrived.
It could mean anything, it could mean nothing—there was no understanding and predicting the one who held the title as “The God of Deceit.”
The crimson moon had been illuminating the sky, basking its rays down to the earth, blanketing the slumbering cities with its light. Surrounding it were countless twinkling celestial bodies—stars. If clouds were the lands of immortals, the celestial sky was the land of deities, gods, and the unfathomable.
The thief, his eyes seeming to twinkle, looked over towards the magician—a new scheme seemed to have been brewed within the inconceivable mind of his.
The thief, adjusting his monocle, looked towards a specific star in the sky.
“Merlin, Have you ever wondered what the stars in the sky actually are?”
The magician looked over, surprised that the thief spoke. Their discussions had been nothing but silence—for when there were words there was deceit. And with deceit there is no trust.
The magician looked out towards the star the thief was focusing on. This star seemed no different than the others, it was a small prick in the backdrop of the nightsky, slowly twinkling in and out.
“There is no telling what is within the cosmos.”
The thief seemed to smirk, the crystal monocle shining as the magician hat on “His” head shifted slightly to the right.
“Would you come with me and find out?”
The magician tipped his top hat, letting his own magician’s robe flutter in the wind.
“How else would we know?”
The thief stood up—or was already standing—pinching “His” monocle against “His” right eye.
The two were remotely similar in this scene. They both looked like magicians, ready to perform the next great spectacle of the century.
There are no mortal words to describe the act of those who had let their humanity wane to be free within the sky. The clouds, the night sky, the cosmos, those are the lands of the heavens that no mortal could dare touch.
But, alas, there is one thing that those who walk the land were able to find out.
That night, a star faded out of existence. A light that had once shined in the vastness of the immortal heavens had vanished. A prank was played on the heavens themselves.
There was once a thief that dreamed of mischief.
And there was once a magician who granted that wish.
The proof lies in the clouds, and in the stars.