wisdom

Azrael "Azra" Khye. 38. Scholar.

[azraelkhye]

graysonlangley​:

“Oh, thank fuck,” is the first thing Grayson says. Or, rather, wheezes, because Azrael might be shorter than him but he’s still six feet worth of stockiness and he’s heavy. After some ungainly struggling, Grayson separates them – and proceeds to pull Azrael into a fierce hug.

He knows it’s probably not appreciated. He doesn’t care. He’s spent the last couple of days watching a brother who thinks Azrael is dead, a brother who’s trying to pretend he’s tough and strong in the midst of absolute terror, and it’s fucking awful.

“We’re so happy to see you alive, you have no idea,” Reshdva sighs in sheer relief. “Archer’s not far. He’s fine, we promise. How are you alive? Were you not here when the black came?”

     Despite himself, Azrael returns the embrace, arms squeezing tightly around Grayson. He has many thoughts about the youngest Langley brother, but for now, there is relief. The thought of Archer losing Grayson after all they’ve gone through in unbearable, and the thought of losing Archer is impossible. His rib cage opens finally at the confirmation, and he nods, tears welling, spilling over his cheekbones before he can stop them.

       “I was here with my patrons,” He confirms, arms resting loosely over his stomach. “The black came in so suddenly, but I––” He swallows. He’s seen the spirits that linger, he’s seen the hand of death clearly. “I wasn’t cast out of the capitol, nothing has harmed me.” He wants to tell Grayson of his mother, but there are other questions first he must ask. “You’re here, you and Archer both? Where had you been? Has the black touched where you were?”

[azraelkhye]

@marlixblacklore​

          It was wrong, to find any joy when so much death and destruction reigned around him, but Azrael cannot help it. Still, his eyes are solemn when he sees Marli. He’s ventured just outside of the capitol, just far enough to see if the darkness has spread beyond it’s borders yet, intending to study it as best he can while never venturing too far so as to not be able to return to his mother. He knows all too well that Marli will not see her mother again. He swallows thickly, hand coming to awkwardly rest at the back of his neck. “I was worried I would not find you.” He confesses, having appreciated Marli’s visits the past few months.

[azraelkhye]

@graysonlangley​

          The only true benefit Azrael could see from the destruction that had swept through his home was this. “I won’t be long,” he promises, hand gently carding through soft dark hair. It’s not so thin now, he notes, but he’s careful not to tug anyway, for fear of pulling any out. He bends down, kissing her forehead, for once not unnaturally cool or clammy and warm with fever. He softens, almost changing his mind entirely, before he straightens and heads out of the bed chamber and the walls of the estate altogether.

          He’s not a healer, nor has he sussed out what precisely is going on right now, but he longs to find a familiar face, to further good news in the darkness, to ease the tightness of his chest as he rubs furiously at the wetness in his eyes. His mother. Not only alive, but seemingly, healed. He plows right into Grayson, fate tying them together in this moment as he sprawls over top of him on the ground. It’s the wrong familiar face, but where there’s Grayson there’s––––

         “You’re alive! Where’s Archer?” He breathes.

[azraelkhye]

archerlangley​:

        𝐈𝐓'𝐒  𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐍  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑  𝐀𝐋𝐋  𝐀𝐓  𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄.  the  gardens  leading  up  to  the  grand  home  with  high  steeples  is  a  path  archer  hadn’t  trodden  in  what  felt  like  time  beyond  measure.  it  had  been  years,  in  truth ;  years  and  the  sinking  feeling  of  something  being  lost,  or  irreparably  broken.  and  yet  here  they  were,  meeting  in  the  middle  of  lush  greenery  that  has  once  dazzled  him,  but  now  seems  to  lack  its  once  envied  luster.  perhaps  it  is  because  his  eyes  don’t  stray  far  from  a  raven  sweep  of  hair  for  very  long.    ❛  so  dramatic,  ❜    he  accuses,  lighthearted  in  his  teasing  as  warmth  creases  in  at  the  corners  of  his   lips,   smile  spilling  sunlight  as  he  approaches.  he  pulls  the  man  into  a  hug,  arms  wrapping  tight  for  the  moment.  when   he  steps  back,  he  knocks  a  knuckle  against  the  beak  of  what  appears  to  be  a  new  mask.    ❛  we’re  back  for  a  few  weeks.  thought  i’d  say  hello  to  a  certain  little  birdie.  ❜ 

       Azrael’s heart bursts at the sight of Archer’s easy smile, his arms going around him just as comfortably despite the shift in their relationship since his presence on the journey. He inhales, catching the familiarity of sandalwood, almost missing the smallest hint of cinnamon in the space between them. Too quickly, Archer withdraws, but he cannot help the grin that forms, sheepish and almost shy, as his knuckle connects with the mask. It was the very first thing his patrons did upon his return. They were horrified, they claimed, that he’d been so careless with his previous mask. This one felt no better than the first, but Archer had always had a way with easing the frustration he bore in wearing one.

         “I’m the dramatic one?” He questions, memories returning unbidden, as he reached out to the small of Archer’s back, gently nudging him toward overgrown willow trees, where they might sit. He has no interest in returning to the walls in the distance, though he will if Archer prefers it. “How is Grayson?” He asks, swallowing back the bite in his tone as best he can.

[azraelkhye]

@archerlangley​

          Azrael’s lips were downturned, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he made his way outside. His patrons rarely commented on his coming and going and that hadn’t changed since his return, but he was mindful that his look of worry could cause unnecessary rumor. There was no shame, no qualms, with visiting Archer, but he didn’t wish to welcome speculation as to why he’d been pacing so much. He wet his lips, stopping at last when he spotted familiar hair, familiar green eyes, coming up the path.

        They were far enough away from the house to not be overheard either, to afford them a semblance of privacy, and Azra couldn’t help the way his lips twitched into a smile. He knew Archer would come back. He’d been telling himself that for the entire week. Archer would come back, though he could never guess what state he’d be in, or if he’d had any fortune in finding something with Grayson. Something ugly unfurled in his chest at the thought of Grayson, selfish as it may be. Why couldn’t Archer simply stay with him? Still, his mood lifted considerably. “I was preparing a search party, Archer. Took you long enough,” he pouted.

[azraelkhye]

@marlixblacklore

        His patrons didn’t understand. He supposed they couldn’t understand, but then, they also demonstrated no desire to try. Coming home to the capitol had been anything but relieving.  He’d risked himself and his relationship with those he loved to go on a fruitless journey, and he was bitter. Sunlight illuminated the dust that had collected in the study in his absence, though he’d taken to cleaning up a bit. He sat in the window, stacks of books pulled from shelves. He’d read them before. He doubted he’d find anything new to aid them, but he had to try.

         His eyes swept over the pages, everything blurring together. No matter. Marli would be there soon, and he shouldn’t let her see him brooding so much. Their relationship was still complicated, but he appreciated and welcomed her company nonetheless. He stood, pulling the study doors open to try to make sure she felt that she could come in.

[azraelkhye]

archerlangley​:

        𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒  a  stone  that  leads  to  nowhere,  path  falling  away  into  the  sky  only  to  reappear  to  turn  to  stone  stairs  that  wind  ever  downward.  archer  thinks  he  spots  the  rippling  surface  of  black  water.  he  can’t  be  sure.    ❛  yeah,  well–––  ❜    he  clears  his  throat,  reaches  an  arm  out  to  help  azra  across  the  chasm.    ❛  i  don’t  think  we  coulda  prepared  for  that.  ❜    none  of  them,  magical  glowing  staff  or  not.  how  do  you  fight  something  that  can  tear  the  world  in  two ?    ❛  s’no  reason  to  feel  bad,  raz.  ❜

     Azrael is careful to walk with Archer, who seems more aware of his surroundings that he feels right now, hand resting on his shoulder as he steps across the chasm, reassured by the firmness of Archer’s strength. “I do,” he insists, “Feel badly, that is,” he adds, eyes dropping downward before rising to meet Archer’s once more, blue eyes stricken. “We could not prepare to fight Hrafn, but I did not make this journey any easier.” He sighs, hand lingering at Archer’s side, “But perhaps, if we can find our way back without anyone being harmed, we may yet stand a chance. There must be something that will help us defeat him.” 

[azraelkhye]

archerlangley​:

         ❛  𝐀𝐈𝐍'𝐓  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃  𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓  𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ?  ❜    surely  the  most  knowledgable  man  archer’s  ever  met  has  read  something.  if  azrael  is  as  clueless  as  the  rest  of  them,  they  have  a  real  problem.  then  again,  they’ve  all  just  been  wandering ;  guided  by  the  light  of  that  strange  staff  and  lynessa  saying  she’s  seeing  birds  again.  he’d  advocated  for  her  because  it  got  them  out  of   the   black  last  time  –––   but  it  still  unsettles  him  to  his  core.  something’s  not  right  about  it,  archer  feels  that  in  his  gut  like  an  undeniable  truth.    ❛  raz,  you  gotta  know  a  little,  right ?  ❜  

     Azra’s eyes soften, something akin to warmth filling his stomach despite the guilt that has settled in layers still prominently making him ache. Archer still believes in him. He swallows the lump in his throat as he thinks, trying to sort his thoughts into something coherent. “The veil has been known to exist but there are few known works about what lies beyond the veil. What I do know is that Hrafn is more powerful than I could have anticipated. The strength necessary to tear the veil, whilst wounded, is incomparable, Archer,” he murmurs, “We are up against a greater threat than I understood.” His eyes sweep around them, his eyes shifting from the hazy lands surrounding them, to Archer himself. “I thought perhaps I could learn more by talking to him. I permitted my judgement to be clouded by my awe at the presence of a living elf. I did not consider how one might survive. Hrafn did not live because he is weak and fortunate. I am scared, Archer, and I am sorry.” His eyes burn, grief gripping his ribcage tightly, as a coolness settles on the back of his neck, memories of the way Hrafn looked at him, the sound of his voice when he called him Da’len unsettling him. 

[azraelkhye]

@archerlangley​

     Azra’s mind continues to spin as guilt settles like sand in his stomach, bit by bit until it’s so heavy he feels ill. He knows it’s not productive, not given their circumstances, but he can’t seem to shake it away. He should have been better with Hrafn, he should have looked closer and tried harder to get true information from him before Arkham’s foolishness. Once more they are in danger, and he cannot stop it from happening. He stands, one hand pushing through his hair, eyes sweeping over Archer. There’s something else that has unsettled him, but he doesn’t want to talk about Hrafn’s look. Not now. “This is remarkable,” He murmurs, eyes downcast, “It is foolish that I do not learn,” He sighs, longing to document what he sees, to describe the world they have found themselves in. 

[azraelkhye]

archerlangley​:

        𝐇𝐄  𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐍𝐒.    ❛  god,  i’d  kill  for  a  cup.  ❜    the  thought  of  a  hot  mug  cradled  between  his  hands  is  like  a  distant  dream ;  fingers  twitching  for  want  of  that  warmth,  quelled  when  fingers  slip  into  his  with  familiarity,  long  denied  ease.    ❛  but  i  think  adri  would  kill  you  for  giving  a  dead  man  caffeine.  ❜    a  crude  attempt  at  humor  that  falls  listlessly  from  his  lips,  archer  swallows  thickly  when  he  feels  the  brush  of  a  thumb  against  his  knuckles,  gaze  dropping  to  their  hands  clasped  between  them.    ❛  hey–––––––––  ❜    voice  softer  now,  green  eyes  wide,  glimmering  in  the  flickering  candlelight  of  a  faded  sun.  the  squeeze  of  his  hand  is  a  reassurance  and  a  promise  both,  stronger  than  he  appears.    ❛  i’m  gonna  be  alright.  ❜  

   Azrael’s eyes flick over Archer once more, examining the bruises, dark and ugly against pale flesh as he listens to him. The corner of his lip twitches, something akin to a smile forming at his attempt at humor, though he does not find it particularly amusing. It is because this is his Archer. His tongue presses firmer to the roof of his mouth before Archer speaks, nodding too quickly, too eagerly at his reassurance. Hastily, he brings his free hand up, fist rubbing at his eyes as he continues to nod. “Of course you are, Archer. Now and later, and after this black has been dealt with––––” His voice cracks, lump cutting off his words as he squeezes his hand tighter. 

[azraelkhye]

archerlangley​:

         𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄,  the  cotton  of  the  cot  scratches  the  skin  of  his  back,  but  irritates  him  no  more  than  the  linens  wrapped  tightly  over  his  ribs  and  shoulder,  constricting  his  movement,  his  breath.  the  candle  on  the  bedside  table  is  flickering  flame  against  the  backdrop  of  a  dark  room  at  dusk.  all  is  silent  but  for  the  evening  song  of  chittering  birds  in  the  meadow  beyond  the  windowsill,  and  the  dull  creak  of  warped  floorboards  as  people  pass  beyond  the  door.  but  then,  curiously,  the  door  opens.

          the  door  opens,  and  archer’s  brow  furrows,  a  hand  coming  up  to  momentarily  shield  green  eyes  from  the  light  spilling  in  from  the  hall.  he  wants  to  speak  but  the  cotton – dry  feeling  lodged  at  the  back  of  his  throat  prevents  this.  skin  pekid,  pale,  bruises  blossom  up  from  shoulder  to  neck.  breaths  come,  short,  when  a  hand  takes  his  own.  what  does  he  say ?    ❛  uhm––––––  ❜    he  could  be  dying  –––  it’s  not  exactly  something  he  wants  to  talk  about.  but,  not  for  the  first  time,  he  gets  caught  up  in  blue  eyes.  he  croaks,  voice  ragged  from  disuse,    ❛  thanks  for  the  tea ?  ❜  

     archer doesn’t like tea, azrael knows this, but had sought tea for his own comfort, and thus, had chosen the beverage. his eyes soften, dark lashes framing his cheeks damp despite his best efforts, as he nods. “I will find you coffee,” he offers, knowing archer does not prefer tea at all. his tongue presses to the roof of his mouth, just behind his teeth, and for a long moment, he merely watches him, weak and battered. he wants to ease every bruise, to bring color back to his cheeks, to even his breaths, but he cannot. he is no healer, despite owning and having read a multitude of literature on the topic. 

      a thought hits him squarely in the chest at the realization. it dawns on him that he is adept in reading about things, but it seems his ability to carry them out has sorely paled in comparison. no wonder archer didn’t want him on this journey. his thumb brushes gently across archer’s knuckles, desperate to soothe in that way if he can do nothing else. “you’re healing, are you feeling any better?” he nearly whispers, not willing to push and prod too hard just yet. 

[azraelkhye]

@archerlangley​

      “You scared the hell out of me.” Azra croaked, eyelashes damp with unshed tears. He knew Archer was healing, but he was weak, and it wasn’t unusual for patients to take a turn for the worse, and the possibility of seeing him well only to still lose him was unbearable. He strayed closer, hands wrapping around the warm cup of tea he’d managed from their hosts. He was thankful for semi-comfortable lodging, and a dry place for Archer to rest. He exhaled, breath shaky, before he swiped at his eyes, and then his nose. “We need to talk, Archer.” He murmured, knowing it was perhaps not the best timing, but things needed to be shared, needed to be said, before the worst could happen. 

        He exhaled, biting at his lip, “I know you are angry, and perhaps rightfully so, that I am here at all. I have tried my best to not burden you senselessly, to help where I am able with the book,” he began, “but I cannot,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, “I cannot allow us to be at odds, not when I almost lost you to the basilisk, not when I still might.” He whispered, reaching out to take his hand, to squeeze tightly. 

[aurelio-amoranth]

@azraelkhye​

“Have you made any progress with the book?”

It’s not the most polite of greetings, but Aurelio isn’t impolite for any specific reason. Though he hasn’t had much chance to speak with Azrael, he likes him just fine – as much as Aurelio ever likes anybody, which, granted, isn’t very much. He sees the use for a scholar on this journey.

It’s the situation he has no patience for. This city, the black creeping up on his home, chasing after books that may not be of any use.

“Do you think it will be any help?”

[azraelkhye]

      Azrael only partially welcomes Aurelio’s presence. He doesn’t yet know him well, and his vulnerability has only increased on this journey. He feels wildly out of sorts, finding comfort in the familiarity of translation. He has done much already, directing their journey according to his findings, but there is much left to be done. He purses his lips, eyes flicking to take in Aurelio’s stature. He is every bit a man of strength, but he does not feel threatened by it. 

      “I believe this book will be very helpful, Aurelio.” Azra murmurs, “There is finite wisdom in it, yes, but it will be decades before I’ve uncovered every kernel of truth within these pages.” He hums, eyes lighting with something familiar to those who know Azrael’s deep love for knowledge. He wets his lips before gesturing for Aurelio to come sit, “Look,” he instructs, guiding his fingers gently over the aged parchment, “even here, there are four meanings to interpret for this word alone. It is perplexing, and a bit daunting if I may say so, but I do believe I’ve sussed out the correct translation.” 

      He speaks as though he’s about to share an epiphany, but instead his voice is low and warm, the words of a long forgotten song leaving his lips, from the tiny notes in the corner of the page, not related whatsoever to the more substantial information to be had. He hasn’t ignored it, but there is something soothing about the lyrics, and so he sings. 

[azraelkhye]

archerlangley‌:

         𝐀𝐍𝐗𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐘  𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒  𝐇𝐈𝐌  in  a  way  archer  hasn’t  known  since  he  was  ten ;  tearing  up  his  nerves  and  re-weaving  them  until  he  is  made  of  steel  or  stone,  iron  in  his  veins  like  lead  weight.  he  feels  cold  –––  chilled  from  the  mountain ;  a  glacial  giant  that  breathes  its  frost  down  into  the  valley,  yes,  but  it’s  more  than  that.  it  is  bone  deep,  ice  that  has  seeped  into  sinew  and  skin  and  set.  he  is  frozen.  and  yet,  he  is  on  fire.    ❛  there  is  no  we.  ❜    embers  burning  low  in  belly,  set  alight  by  fury  and  smoldering  flame,  campfire  long  extinguished,  forgotten  ( rekindled  for  warmth,  but  all  archer  sees,  tastes  is  smoke ).  it  is  acrid  on  his  tongue,  like  bile  at  the  back  of  his  throat.  he  can’t  stop  staring.    ❛  i  hear  them  talking,  m’not  an  idiot.  ❜    green  eyes  flicker  to  the  offered  bowl,  stomach  churning,  bile  rising  higher.

     Azrael’s lips turn down. He knows better than to look over his shoulder at the others Archer mentions, knows it is rude, but he tucks his chin anyhow, blue eyes taking in the strangers and acquaintances, before he turns back. “No, you’re not an idiot.” Azra confirms, finding the opposite to be the truth. He’s never known someone as clever and resourceful as Archer. “But there is still we.” He insists, knees cracking as he moves to sit, stiff and unused to such travel. It has been too long. He sighs softly, shifting the bowl aside. He knew he wouldn’t take it. Instead, he offers the scratchy blanket. “You will need warmth if we are to search for Grayson,” he insists, eyes sharper than he means them to be. “I do not care what they whisper. Let them shout.” He shrugs, grabbing the bowl again to take a bite, careful to not eat too much so that Archer will have some too. 

[azraelkhye]

@dmiitris​

     Azra is perplexed by Dmitri’s presence here. He does not seem the type to join in this camaraderie and yet he did not think he would find Marli here either. He knows how to talk to people like Dmitri, has grown up with them, but it feels off here in this forsaken land, where he is cold and without mask, and his stomach rumbles near constantly. Still, he is curious about him, and what has happened. He approaches, head tilted slightly, and offers a hesitant smile. “You disappeared in the thick of things. Are you alright? You’ve not said what’s happened.” He remarks, as if it is but a casual observation and nothing more. 

[azraelkhye]

@archerlangley​

        Azrael feels guilty. The weight of it wraps tightly around his chest, like bandages holding together broken ribs, making it difficult to breathe evenly, even as he plasters a hesitant smile atop his lips and tries his damndest to get to know his compatriots. He is at risk of further isolating himself from the one reason he’s joined this venture, but he does not miss the way Archer approaches others like a wounded animal, frightened, on edge, willing to lash out. It troubles Azra deeply. There are no books to describe what one ought to do should their lover’s younger brother disappear again. He has never known sibling bonds, only knows what he sees in Archer, and has suspected Archer’s bond to be something unusual. 

       There is not much to go around, when it comes to food, or warmth, or things to offer, but Azra tucks the scratchy woolen blanket over his arm anyway, and carries with him his ration. Archer will not take it, he knows this. It is a fool’s errand, but when the shoe fits. He approaches cautiously, moving to sit down near him, the blanket large enough to share if they sit together. “You’ve not eaten.” He observes, “If we are to go in search of Grayson, you will need your strength.” He rationalizes, carefully offering the roasted scraps. They are still mostly warm. 

[azraelkhye]

archerlangley‌:

         𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐊  and  blue  eyes  stare  back  at  him,  obstructed  as  azra’s  face  may  be  by  pomp  and  circumstance  in  such  a  wasteland,  of  all  places.  yes,  there  is  anger  stirring  in  archer’s  gut,  but  mostly,  he  is  tired ;  has  been  tired  for  years.    ❛  yeah,  well.  ❜    you  are  naive,  he  thinks.  incredibly  intelligent  and  incredibly  stupid.  he  wants  to  scream  in  azra’s  face,  but  he  doesn’t.    ❛  it’s  gonna  get  you  killed.  ❜    the  war  won,  a  light  shove,  a  step  back ;  desperate  for  space  between  them.  guilt  comes  clawing  up  archer’s  throat  like  bile.  he  feels  the  cracked  door  of  so  many  years  closing  in  the  same  raw  breath  drawn,  tight  chest  aching,    ❛  and  that’s  on  me.  ❜    

     Azrael looks back, dumbfounded, as Archer pushes him away, the distance feeling far larger than it truly is. His lip quivers, teeth coming to bite it, to still it. He has placed a weight on Archer’s shoulders similar to the one Grayson has time and time again, and he should be ashamed of himself. He blinks beneath the mask, hoping to clear his eyes, as he watches him. There is nothing that can be said. His mother taught him long ago that a true scholar knows when not to speak. He exhales, feeling weary, and lost. Archer does not want him on this journey. Archer will blame himself for anything that happens to him. Every step feels more precarious. Every decision more daunting. He falls into silent step, giving the man he loves distance.