❝Hmph—.❞
He is aware that the tale is a hard one to swallow; especially since humans that know about the Seraph Records are displayed as fables rather than actual documentation. Various people laugh and chortle at his human friend’s supposed ludicrous faith in the forlorn race when he speaks out about them in these infested cities. Were people more accepting; may-haps the looming destruction being wrought with the Hyouma wouldn’t have reached this abrupt pinnacle. The scent that festered underneath the soil, the corruption that has begun to churn water into sludge— it felt as though humans were the cause their own ultimatum. The reason the Seraphim abandoned them was no doubt due to the greed and self-righteous perspective. ❝You’re thinking that I’m absolutely mental,❞ and to be quite honest he cannot blame the lordling. ❝And yet all the proof is laid out before you to see.❞
Humans have such a difficult time grasping the ideology that there are creatures above them. Though the Seraph does not see himself as someone to be revered as the Seraph Records state— there were vivid descriptions of the forests and plains that are almost afloat in a separate plane all their own. Sacred villages as the one he came from; surrounded with barriers that are meant to repel humans on sight. Mikleo’s kindred no longer believe in humans but at least acknowledge them as a threat to their tranquil existence that borders isolationism. There was an open-minded leader in his village; someone he affectionately called his ‘grandfather.’
The same person had allowed a sole human to live amongst them until his late teens. But also knew that Sorey would choose to meld in with his own ‘kind’ and forget his affiliation with the Seraphim. Had he not chosen to go with his childhood friend— perhaps he too might’ve assimilated and chosen to forget about the otherworldly deities hidden atop the mountain grotto. Riddled with ruins and unanswered questions; there is little he could use to hinder the blond’s doubts about his lineage.
❝You know, there were some written records about Seraphim—. I think most have been left to gather dust on shelves.❞ Not that he expects Cline to go and seek them out. His host seems to be the scholarly type; but to go digging through ancient records would look like borderline scrupulosity. Or insanity; probably both. But the Seraphim seemed gracious enough to be at the side of someone who could at least see him and commence communication. There might come a time when this lordling loses the sight— and thus Mikleo would have to start all over again. He has to regain his bearings and move forward to connect his world with this one before it is too late. Indeed, it sounds like an unachievable dream. Fantastical, hopeless, and at the same time— admirable. Because he does not choose to struggle for the sake of the Seraphim. But also for those most consider subpar to his people whom bear the divine elements.
❝I—.❞ The white-haired Seraph is speechless that even with that hesitation; Cline accepts him into his home. Not even aware that— it could’ve all been lies. He could be a humanoid Hyouma in disguise that could easily crunch him up and devour him. Bones and flesh; soul and spirit—. ❝Thank you.❞ He makes a vow to protect the human as long as possible. Skies above rumble to signal the natural rain. Befitting since the droplets do not cling to the flesh nor dampen the Seraphim. In fact, it almost like Mikleo is synchronized with the torrents that have begun to gracefully fall from the heavens.
He had not been given such altruistic benevolence since—.
❝Is it more comforting to imagine me as a spirit?❞
He brings his hands behind him, clasped loosely as he lifts his head slightly. It is a gesture, a stance indicative of some kind of pride though it is, for now, an acceptance of this being standing before him. Unbelievable in purpose and form, wavering however slightly, though almost imperceptible now. Cline listens a moment to ponder what the very presence of this Seraph implies, perhaps still waiting for the illusory creature to vanish, though the expectation wanes, ever steadily.
"I admit I am not at ease to believe you--" But neither does he have any reason at this point to disbelieve him. Born entirely of air, whether his warnings and his purpose are imaginary or otherwise, he cannot say that they are entirely impossible. "-- But perhaps you can show me."
There is something small, some sentiment without proper name, that likens him to this apparition's purpose. A facet of human empathy -- a shred of admiration, for the determination to take on such a task for a people that had no inkling of his existence.
"I know little of such records, at least in Sharilton's own archives." Beside the sympathy, there is the slightest thrill of warning. A man cannot function effectively as the lord of a city without some grain of hesitation. But neither would he be doing these people a service in being so closed. Seraph, spirit or otherwise, he cannot bring himself to turn away from his plight. "It may be best if you were to tell me these legends instead."
"-- It is my first reaction to refer to you as such. Whether you are spirit or Seraph, however, makes little difference now."
He nods once, the deep breath he gathers lending some measure of steadiness and reality to a situation his logic would otherwise be eager to dismiss.
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