"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Not today Justin
Product Placement
RMH
pixel skylines
cherry valley forever
Jules of Nature
$LAYYYTER
styofa doing anything
No title available
art blog(derogatory)
ojovivo
blake kathryn
@theartofmadeline
Xuebing Du
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Acquired Stardust
Game of Thrones Daily
occasionally subtle
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Norway
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Italy
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Czechia
@indu1ge
𝑹𝑨𝑵 𝑺𝑶𝑳𝑲𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑯 , lord of lumien keep. ⸻ intro. threads.
a study in ... autocannibalism as worship, breaking cycles with your body, immovable objects met at terminal velocity, the terror of transience, & iron-tasting ichor. 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 by reze, for nocturniafm.
Cian wisely does not word neither agreement nor disagreement, though in the specific matter of those blessed with such strength in Braxigar’s lands, well… He could not think of it any further, lest his opinion be betrayed by anything more than the twitch of his brow. “You are very strong!” Diplomatically said. “And I owe my life to such strength. I do think you are charitable, that way.” And those following words are more honest, but he moves past quickly, before Ran finds the gratitude too much. Cian would not wish his friend to act any other way that than in which is his nature—he had found comfort in the surety of the thorns, and in the places where the stem of Ran’s prickly rose did not sting the skin as much.
The little noise is a wonder, somewhere to linger, but he knows better than to press. His eyes close a moment to blink slowly, and his lips twitch, face going on a most perilous journey in an attempt not to laugh, but failing when it comes to his grin. “I am not calling him that.” He eyes the bird, and hopes to not find himself pecked anytime soon. “You couldn’t think of any other name? I don’t know. Lord Feathers.” Cian blushed. If you could not tell he did not name his own bird, you could now. “A friend gave her the name. I think it’s rather cute.” Otherwise, she probably would’ve been Lady Feathers.
“Baby f—” Cian frowns, and does his best not to pout. “We have sparred before, though.” He almost wishes to approach, to speak now in whispers, but stays put. “Unless you mean something of a different nature.” His eyes glint with curiosity, with interest both. Trepidation creeps, as well, but Cian waves it away with a feeling of bitterness in his gut. “Do not worry, I doubt he has much interest in what I am doing. He has been quite busy as of late.” Cian shrugs, careless, attempting to cast away the tension on his shoulders at the reminder of his father’s attentions being elsewhere. Doubtless were it any other way he would be rebelling at the thought of being treated as a child, but that was not the case now, was it? “I scarcely see him, and he scarcely sees me. I would be surprised, if he knew that I was here.”
“But your secret is safe with me.” Cian smiles, kind and boyish. “Just as I hope that mine is kept safe with you.” Promptly, his hand slips into his sleeve and a black letter is procured, like a mage fetching a hare out of a brimmed hat. “Tell me, where does your little—friend, know to go? And how fast is he?”
charity. it is not quite as nauseating as ran came to expect, all things considered. but he did not want to make a habit of it. he has a reputation to maintain ⸻ foisted upon him or otherwise ⸻ and a sense of self to preserve. slowly but surely, he had been taking a hammer to his own walls, just to see what had burrowed within. but even ran, who never does anything by halves, has his limits. no, charity will not become part of his repertoire. he was certain the other could see the appeal in such exclusivity.
brows furrow at the lordling's suggestion, a groan punctuated by rolling eyes. “ how's about lord featherbrain ? take it or leave it. ” his lower lip juts out, a childish expression, as he jabs a finger at the offending creature. “ if i start being too nice to him, he'll start to think we're friends. and then he won't shut up until i feed him, or worse yet, he'll keep pecking me until i do. ” things have their places, even crows. it would not do for them to be unaligned. “ … i suppose it is. ” a light coating of disdain falls upon his agreement. cuteness and beauty hold little value, even as ran's senses can appreciate them. but such transience and subjectivity held no power or sway in his mind; he preferred to deal in fact ( and bias ) than mere preference.
his lips part, i wouldn't call necessarily call that sparring, but the cessation of both statement and scoff starts before he consciously opts for it. there is no need to bring shame into such a pleasant conversation, surely. it is a new trick for an old dog, to keep his ego from erupting through his mouth. “ yes, i could pass the true solkarith secrets onto you. invite you to one of those fancy ‘ dinner parties ‘ people say we get up to. ” at this, the chuff escapes, the dam before a tidal wave of incredulity collapsing under its weight. “ it's a great honor, you know. ” to be so monstrous, to be so feared. to earn such hatred through hearsay alone. he wonders if the other would have the strength for it ⸻ a mental brawn that had little to do with his physique. ran decides that he does. elsewise, cian would not be worthy of ran's esteem.
ran allows himself a brief glimpse at the letter, exhaling slowly. finally, something a little closer to transparency. such chumminess might have grated before long. “ he's fast as lightning, ” he answers, lifting a finger for the corvid to take its perch and prove him right. the digits of his other hand follow the smooth iridescence of its plumage, pausing at an abrupt ruffle. “ like most of our hollow, he's most familiar with our borders. but little f ⸻ lord featherbrain has once, many years ago, seen the skies above moira castle. ” if it is discretion cian wants, ran is well-equipped to oblige. but there is a part of him that finds it difficult to be impressed by the subterfuge.
such trust he offers, in asking ran to help paint a target on his back, as though there isn't one there already. he's touched, truly.
.✦ ݁˖ ⸻ Depths and complexities; it'd be an insult to cast any Braxigarian house under one foothold of brutality or violence. Each held many cruel secrets beneath the brick-laden roofs and each was fastened with rumors of blood personified, each more barbaric than the last the further one traveled throughout. The question is perplexing, enough to nab Taemris out of his own strange stupor. Lately, it had seemed a sickness had been cast over much of Braxigar; many returned to their cyclical facets but the silence had never screamed louder between each house. Taemris had set off from Helia Bastion before he'd ever truly gotten settled, a clash with Marya over the semantics of council and crown was all it had taken before he'd set off.
There was no true destination, trapped within the cage of his origin, the lock around the Braxigarian hollow had never seemed so intricate and damning. Whichever dark corner of the hollow would accept his presence seemed far better than his home, but supplied with such question, Taemris felt utterly baffled. Was the entirety of Braxigar doomed to be unwound ? Each day it felt as though the expectation of the undead loomed closer and many were to lose their heads; figuratively and literally.
" Wondrously repellent , " Taemris mocked this coldly after a moment, falling into step of winding his own carapace back tightly around himself. " Others of House Solkarith should feel great shame that they do not meet your level of repellence , Lord Ran , " the sarcasm dripped, heavy-laden and irrefutable, though Taemris' brows rose in a silent question to the middle Solkarith as to why he asked something so preposterous.
there was a temptation to offer the younger a seeping bow, the envy of any actor at curtain call ⸻ but then that would be evidence, wouldn't it, that it was all an act ? that the barbed tongue, the casual indifference that bled into meanness-because-he-could, the puffed chest, all served some ulterior end, to make ran solkarith into something he was not ? complexity was an oft-praised virtue, in his experience, but he could not help but disagree. opaqueness was weakness. natural cover for those too weak to stand as they were, too slow or unobservant to make use of their environment. he did not doubt that many of his childhood rivals ensconced themselves in illusory bravado, so it was ( and still is… yes ? ) a point of pride that ran was as sincere as they came. if he said he could pummel someone into the dirt, he would. and has.
a morvaen wouldn't know much of that, he assumed. any belief otherwise would have been beaten out like imperfections above an anvil. wetwork required a certain level of discretion that was foreign to him, unless mitigated by some sort of extreme indifference or extreme amusement. he could sense neither from the man before him. “ wondrously, ” he repeated, somewhat faintly. “ oh, good. ” was it ? “ just making sure. ” but repellent was something different than intimidating, wasn't it ? intimidation was a warning, and to some ⸻ as many as it frightened ⸻ it impressed. to repel was to ceaselessly drive away, to isolate. there was no point in being on a tower if there was no one else to sneer at down below, no one to gnash his teeth at if they came too close. no one to invite onto his pedestal, no one willing to climb into it without his help as though she always belonged there, shoulder-to-shoulder like a pair of lovebirds in their caged perch.
“ indulge my curiosity, if you will. did you form this opinion from a preceding reputation, or was it… more evident up close ? ” perhaps he ought to take notes, pass a survey around the hollow. “ surely you must've heard of me, before the bastion. word of mouth travels fast and far where excellence is concerned ⸻ though, of course, that is not what i am asking after. ” ran felt his lips twitch as he looked the other over. “ your sister is regarded as the terror, i would wager. but you and i move through this world in a way none of our siblings will ever fully understand. you and i know what it is like to be an inherent danger, with all the repugnance it implies. ”
location: outside the citadel, vallarion status: open time: morning
lukesh hated the idea of feeling trapped. he couldn't leave vallarion and while it was home, he felt a bit useless with everything going on. he had to figure out who started this fire. he was heir but if he couldn't even discover his family's own mystery, what made him think he could discover another? he sighed and hung his head between his legs.
the memory of the past fire crept into his mind, the one from the citadel. he shuttered at the thought of seeing hundreds of books burnt. with his eyes closed, it brought him back to the day. the similarities of the most recent fire flashed through his brain and for a moment, he couldn't even decipher them from each other. he heard the sounds of screaming and his eyes shot open.
he smiled at the people around him and stood suddenly. the stress started to bubble underneath his skin and his hands began to sweat. he took a deep breath and he was off, further away from the citadel.
after a bit, lukesh slowed down. he was covered in sweat but he didn't care. he wanted to be as far away from the citadel as he could. he didn't expect to find anyone here but of course, there they were. lukesh laughed and shook his head. "well, you were the last person i thought i'd see out here." he smiled and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "are you here to visit my mother?" he asked.
miharu kept her hands folded politely at her front as she shook her head. “ only insofar as to ask her permission to browse your venerable archives. ” but the truth of her presence was that she needed to be away from the spire. the council's orders were an outright affront, in miharu's eyes. it may have been the most pitifully basic psychology, that forbidding one from an action only made them want it all the more, a maneuver that she should have been above, but she proved to be no exception to the rule. a rare instance, all things considered. obeying orders had become harder and harder as of late, as she felt herself growing colder and colder.
she had first descended from her tower to greet friends and followers. she assuaged concerns with words as best she could, only to find that a gentle touch was the only thing that could calm those who came to see her as their salvation. miharu had thought she would take a momentary reprieve from her parents and their constant reproach, well-versed in plugging her ears to the criticism. only, she had left their range of sight and found that… nothing was stopping her from going further. she had no intention of reaching the boundary of the hollow, but the idea was tempting.
it was mere chance that she had chosen to the citadel as her destination over nithiri keep. both were places she might hazard to learn something, far from the forefront of her mind as it was. and there had been a part of her that thought she might try to look upon the tethalunes' new castle. perhaps she might find some like minds among their new stewards, who had kept the place faithfully for the wretched council. but in all respects, she would have proven an imposition.
“ i apologize for any offense or intrusion. ” miharu paused, frowned softly. she shifted on her feet and then cast a brief look over her shoulder, as though again looking for someone who might stop her. “ forgive me for my insolence, my lord. but it does not appear that you should be alone right now. ”
A smithy was perhaps not the place the Heir of Moira was expected to be seen, but since their return to Morkhul he had been wholly uncharacteristic to himself. He had not heeded the call of well traveled paths across his home hollow, nor followed the faint hum of tavern music to his usual dwellings. Instead he had locked himself behind the great heavy doors of Moira Castle, among the stacks of tomes in the Midnight Library, and wandered silently through the cobbled paths of the Moon Garden without any company treading beside him. His only compatriots were the thoughts roiling in his head. Whatever was on the lord’s mind was locked deep within, and some of his closest confidants in the castle began to worry when his boisterous laughter did not echo through their gilded halls. When he’d emerged that night and saddled his horse, there was hope he was returning to form. That his winsome and gregarious smiles would light up his stony expression, and the sound of singing would be heard as he galloped through Morkhul. But he had been silent, steely-eyed, and a tad more morose. This time, he was this way in the citadels that he typically thrived in.
Crossing into the smithy, his nostrils flared at the scent of fire, human exertion, and melting metals. It was not a normal stop, but he had written ahead of time to this particular blacksmith with a request and had gotten word that this had been fulfilled. He had expected a quick in and out procedure, that he would be back on the road winding towards Moira and back to his chambers in no time, but his blue eyes caught another figure who in turn was asking him a question. Folding his arms over his chest, Evandris lifted a brow as he wordlessly dragged his eyes over the paper being held up. His forehead creased, clear confusion painting his features. His jaw bobbed before he finally spoke, voice gravely from lack of use over the several days they had all been home. “ I… am unsure what I am looking at exactly. ” Candor painted his tone, Evandris’s head tilting slightly as though another angle could stir him to recognizing the shapes. Silently, he dug into the messenger bag that sat at his hip, concealed by the cloak he wore to stave off the cold and hide his noble clothes. Procuring a small leather bound journal and an even smaller stick of graphite, he opened to a fresh page and found a stool against the wall to sit upon, leisurely and lazily, the only hint of his normal self resurfacing. “ Why don’t you explain to me what you were attempting? ” He asked, making broad strokes upon the paper in the more noticeable shapes from the others displayed work.
ah, not even worth a haphazard guess, then. sylvain turned the sheet back toward himself, squinting at his handiwork. the original shapes he had started with, a set of blocky oval-squares, were completely hidden behind the violent hatchwork he'd used to sharpen the edges as a line ( or a dozen ) got away from the main body of the image. digging dents into the paper were black pits where he assumed he meant for the eye holes to be. only, they were so close that one could be forgiven for thinking the pits were meant for his nostrils. the hinge to the helmet especially was a disaster, flown so far off from everything else that it seemed he had drawn it with his eyes closed. and indeed, he probably had, given the sudden yawn that seized him, beaten back with no small amount of effort. sylvain could not remember the last time he had gotten a good night's rest; the fact that he was even here, instead of with his family as he'd sworn to be, was because he felt the sudden and implacable urge to move. “ um, i think there was supposed to be something plant-based in here. ” yes, if he squinted, the lines did start to look like some sort of root system. the smith himself had off-handedly mentioned it might be a good idea to start with. the spikes atop his head and cascading down his skull could be fashioned into petals of some sort. but somewhere along the way, sylvain had gotten lost. he did know what flowers looked like, didn't he ? what sort of kelindorr was he ?
brows lifted with his gaze as the other joined him, caught somewhere in between awe and gratitude. he smoothed out his own workspace, knocking crumpled earlier drafts to the floor and crushing them under his boot as he swept them into a pile with his soles. “ i had hoped for something to go with the whole… dandelion knight sobriquet. it never made much sense for me to trot onto the field after the herald bellowed such a diminutive name with my face framed in black iron and flame. ” he blinked then, cocking his head, as he tried to recall if the man might have first-hand account of such an occurrence. perhaps they had never met along a tilt, but both of them were known to go up and down a few roads in their time. however, sylvain had always taken meticulous care of his armor, and he never exposed it to the elements unless it was absolutely necessary ⸻ which it seldom was. “ here's the original, if you're unfamiliar. ” the helm clattered onto the table with a heavy thunk. “ i haven't the faintest idea how to un-fire-ify it. truth be told, i've always thought it a bit gauche. and now more than anything, it's in exceedingly poor taste. ”
“I heard that the crows of Lumien Keep are the fastest that Braxigar can boast of.” His finger brushes the feather of a crow that allows him such liberties, proud and preening as it flaps its wings and showcases its feathers. “And their bats the most bloodthirsty.” Cian finishes, turning and raising an eyebrow, mouth quirking in a boyish grin.
“Too bad they both find their wings bound to this place. There are many to whom I would write to, were I able to. With some, the distance will be painful.” Cian’s face falls slightly at the name that goes unsaid, of a friend taken for granted until suddenly he had found himself bereft. Did he wish to linger on it? Would Ran? Despite the freedom in Cian’s words now, his characteristic caution is still one he clings to in the shadows of himself—he does not wish to offend nor invite mockery, and, most of all, he does not wish to upset his friend. But, just, if Ran does wish to talk—“I’m sure you do, as well.” Though knowing Ran, the prompting would either be too vague or too much, but never in-between.
“Do you have a favorite? Did you name them? I had to leave Estrella behind. Before her, I’d always wanted a little crow as a companion.” Or a raven, more-like, with dark wings and a sharp beak. Had imagined himself like those far-off tales of sorcerers, with a little familiar at his beck and call. But he had been too shy to reach for the ones in Sheer Castle’s rookery, and then, too busy for such thoughts.
It was still striking how different the holds of each Hollow could be, yet what tied them together. Black brick, darker earth, and darkest the tales that surrounded each of them. Lumien Keep, most of all. “Not really,” he says, truthfully, faux innocence pouring as he blinks. “Where are the bloodpools? I heard people bathed in those. Are you hiding them from me? Maybe I want to remain forever young as well, you know?” He could barely get through the jest without bursting into outright laughter. The welcome into these halls had been refreshing, if only because of the lack of propriety besides the customary greeting to Ran’s parents, and it had lightened Cian’s steps. Rather than not believe them, it would be truer to say the rumors have never really held much of his care.
“ everything in lumien keep is better than its like elsewhere, ” ran snorts. “ including myself. scour the hollow for anyone with my gift, and you'll soon see theirs is charity where mine is providence. ” such boasting should have been miles behind them by now; he has little and less to prove to one he calls a friend, but there's something in the other's tone ⸻ a slight hitch, a backfoot scrape ⸻ that spurs his usual bile. perhaps shoving whichever specter lingered center stage in cian's mind would put an end to it, their shared discomfort. ran has no issue with taking as many laps as is needed. he'll even leap through the proscenium, using the curtain to glide.
“ … hrn. ” the bats he had sent forth years ago, to cling onto illegible scribbles and worthless junk were surely glad to be free of their burdens. gladder still to know that such duties remained locked to the past. neither did he have any interest in posting to solari sanctum; even if he knew what to say to his wayward sibling ( i'm sorry would be a good start, something akin to a conscience mutters ), he would not chance vulnerability finding its way into their mentor's hands. a precious few were worthy of it, a number in the single digits. never in this life or the next would a knight be among them.
ran's brows lift. “ estrella ? ” he repeats, realizing only after he'd spoken how much the incredulity sounded like judgment. “ no, i ⸻ well, i suppose that one there likes me as much as i like him. i call him little fucker because he never listens to me. i think it suits him. ” as though it could understand him, the bird narrows a beady eye at ran. he returns the glare. “ see ? look at him. disrespectful little shit. ” pot, kettle, bird, person. all the same to him.
ran remains unused to the sound of laughter not his own. it brings a boyish grin to the fore, and a head bowed closer. even when he'd had companions on the streets, there had never been much mind to camaraderie. he'd wanted attention more than he wanted laughs, and he can't imagine he has changed all that much since then. except for, perhaps, at this moment. “ unsatisfied with the baby face you already have, you greedy little wretch ? maybe i do want to keep somethings all to my own. filled those pools myself, i'll have you know, and i'm not one to share. ” he sniffs. “ however… i suppose, since you're here, i may as well teach you how to make your own. do try to hide it from your father, though. ”
who: seren tenelith & any vallarion muses [2/4]
option one. within the library of vynetwist citadel.
being back in her home, amongst the tombs that felt so familiar, centered seren in a way she did not know she needed. while it had not been long since she first left the citadel for moira castle, she felt as though she had experienced years upon years worth of moments. almost as though she had lost sight of who she was and what she wanted. but being back home, where on certain days the smell of burning parchment still lingered, seren was reminded of her goals. of the truths she wanted to uncover. grasping a few books that needed to be returned back to their homes on their shelves, the brunette turned towards the entrance of the library when she heard footsteps approaching, "hello," she called, walking towards the visitor. "let me know if you need any help finding anything, i know this place like the back of my hand." the tenelith said with a smile. it was not unusual for residents within town or even other areas of the hollow to come in search of tombs and scrolls for their own personally research or enjoyment. in the past seren would smile and not bother them unless they addressed her first, but if she had become anything in the last few months, it was more confident.
option two. nearby a lake within vallarion.
when seren had first picked up a piece of charcoal and decided she was to draw in her free time, she had only done so as an excuse. but to her surprise, seren had found she had grown to enjoy it. the task could be technical, in a way. she could try her hardest to perfectly replicate a large stained glass window or the numerous tiles in a roof. which she found to be a delightful challenge. recently, seren enjoyment extended to sketching more academic subjects (such as the bat skull before her). her head cocked to the side as she tried to find the correct angle to approach such a subject. "i often find the first few lines the hardest to get right. it will set up the progress for the entire piece." she spoke to the person who shared the blanket she was sitting atop.
though she had never lain eyes on them herself, miharu could not imagine that the ashes of vynetwist citadel looked very different from those of kal'thera. they proved, in their gray lifelessness that history was but a circle. an ouroboros, a serpent swallowing its tail. the image of it marked into her own skin was at least a figure eight ⸻ twists and writhing exhibitions of a fight that vallarion's pure ring lacked. not that such an issue of stagnancy was endemic solely to their hollow. nor were those who suffered fiery ruins worth much scorn. “ that is a very kind of you to offer, ” miharu hums, inclining her head in gratitude. though, truth be told, she was not very enthusiastic about her mission, even if she had set it into motion herself. “ i am looking for any texts and illustrations you have on star charts. i wished to compare them with my own. ” and she did mean hers, individually, not the flecks of ink her parents bade her memorize shortly after she learned to write her name. none here could be more accurate than the ones meticulously kept in enimarah spire's own archives, or the ones sitting beneath the false bottoms of miharu's trunks. but still. call it curiosity. “ have you ever read them yourself, lady tenelith ? i should not be offended by one considering them arduously esoteric. ”
he gave his companion a transient glance, flitting over sharp blues, before they drifted to the little bowl of nuts betwixt them. a snap of his head and a muffled chuckle revealed his amusement, he had never been much for singing, himself -- or had he? well, he'd not truly had a chance to sample it. he preferred the outlet of conversation, be it of the compelling sort or thoroughly insipid, and what it revealed of the other -- what they wished it to reveal. but cai had a fondness for people, what moved and motivated them, their tales, their frivolities -- their lies. song was just another form of oration.
a hand dove into the bowl without ceremony, and he chose to devote his full attention to the other, after he'd pondered the observation. "sounds to me like you've half a plan laid out there. am i to bawl out a song first, or do i chime along with whatever takes your fancy?"
“ that eager for my lyrical genius, are you ? it's about time my true mastery of dactylic hexameter found some appreciation. ” rather, sylvain's performances were mostly of the wordless variety. he was more accustomed to drawing out vowels or startling them out of his observers. the most frequent word he found himself luring past reluctant lips was his own name ⸻ but he's been fairly removed from that era, so it occurred to him.
too long had it been since he alighted a saddle for some reason other than travel, since had knocked someone off their own destrier to a triumphant roar. any harshness he exchanged found life in the form of words to the woman he loved, calculated hurts that found no refuge in the excuse of martial games, or in castigations lacerating his own soft underbelly. usually, when sylvain took to the drink, it was because he had something he wanted to celebrate. there was nothing here to feel great about. but that was hardly cai's fault. willing some vague glimmer into his eye, sylvain nudged the other with his elbow. “ if you'd like to take the reins, though, be my guest ! at the very least, you'd have my support. ” which was clearly worth so much.
The barren soil of Braxigar, cold and unkind, welcomed them home; a language they understood too well. The very air felt more dense here, wet, muddy; it was not often he stained the soles of his boots by descending from his ivory tower, from the fortress that was Perrelor's Keep, to commune with the locals—the gossip was like flies buzzing in his ear—but he was searching for a very special item his servants had been incapable of locating, and so, here he was. He'd been far away from home for too long, his father told him, and yet as he returned it felt as though he never left.
It was mid-exchange that he was spotted, his impassive face and impervious red eyes flickering between the vendor and Ran, quiet for a long moment before sighing with what felt like weary resignation. He was not going away, was he?
How does he keep finding him? He does not know. They are opposing forces, and he doubts he had nothing better to do with his time than trailing after his heels, so he must accept then that there was no one to blame but the mindless cruelty of an uncaring universe, forcing them to remain in each other's company. "...Yes." quick, but composed; the Lord of Perrelor's Keep deadpans without an ounce of emotion, looking utterly unenthused and unfazed somehow, by the brazenness of his demeanor. He looks every bit disinterested in engaging in whatever this was or was gonna turn into, knowing whatever response he offered was unlikely to end it, but he had a feeling there was no avoiding it, either. Trying to ignore the Solkarith was like trying to ignore a whirlwind, ripping every house and tree off the ground on the way as it headed your way, demanding recognition. "Why? Did someone say you weren't?"
surely there can be no more important a conversation than the one ran has just initiated. whilst the tongue of braxigar is most often scripted through blood and bone, that simply makes it all the more significant. whichever trivial pursuit occupying the nuwa heir can most certainly wait; ran thought it, so, like most things, it must be decidedly true. a cursory look ⸻ not a glare, thank you very much ⸻ to the stranger his words had interrupted dispels any forthcoming argument, and a direct answer to ran's query locks their line of conversation tight. the extracted affirmative itself pulls a perfunctory nod from ran. the confirmation was not one that he needed, he thought. but then, why else would he have asked, if there was not doubt in his heart ? suffice it to say that the opinion of the man before him weighed more than a feather, if only because of the eminence that linked them. a dark, heavy chain no one beyond the closed borders of their hollow could ever truly gasp saw them as two polished ebon links, elsewise counterweights forever bound by the strength of their own gravitational pull.
the returning question yanks a barking laugh from him. “ who would dare ? some simpering idiot foolish enough to think flattery the best way to worm into my good graces ? ” few and fewer sought such a thing, regardless of intelligence.
“ no, rather the opposite, in all senses. no one has called me alluring ⸻ no one has said much of anything to me at all, actually. but actions speak louder than words, so the cliché goes. ” ran's mouth clicks shut in consideration. a honest assessment of his skills was a requirement in his particular line of work, insofar as seeking ways to avoid the pitfalls of overexertion, or to seek ways to improve. his psyche, on the other hand, remains a dark, echoing, uncharted cavern; he can only imagine it filled to the brim with skeletons. “ i have been mulling over my … being an imposition. which seems to have been a rather frequent occurrence, even if i had been invited. ” a glimmer of irony glints off the dagger of his own words and into his eyes, momentarily blinding. “ i suppose i had hoped to find confirmation of such from one i know not to mince words. ”
open starter (3/4).
location: a bustling tavern, somewhere in morkhul.
as a noble offspring with no good in mind, cai had often preferred more secluded, ramshackle establishments. rough patrons, bawdy talk, and cheap ale to wash the unbecoming grime down with -- nooks of nocturnia where not a soul recognised him. he hadn't ventured far enough, in this particular instance, barred from crossing beyond his hollow. in his irrelevant opinion, a vexing decision that he feared may yet serve to heighten tensions, for it provided no answers and foisted restrictions upon those who had long questioned the council's judgement -- and made others begin to nurse doubt yet. but he voiced no such misgivings to his lord father, for he wielded no power to prompt change, and so, he sulked.
a gilded hand coiled about his tankard, the clank of rings preceded his crooked smile. "the ale is palatable enough," he muttered, preferring the richness of red, but he hadn't come to savour his drink. he came to idle away time he would rather spend elsewhere. "the conversations, however, are positively engaging. there is a certain beauty to drunken rambling -- crude, but honest."
the open air was more to his preference, just so he could gaze at the stars above him and make up stories about the little shapes he saw. not necessarily the ones recorded by the oracles of vallarion, just little squiggles he called dog and hammer and sheep shit. but sometimes a man needed a hovel. a dingy corner, a sticky table above some questionable stain, and a heavy tankard that carried each belch and turned it into a warn horn. and sylvain liked the little nuts too; they were easier on his pockets, at the very least. traveling the tourney circuit for years meant he knew how to stretch his coin as needed, though there seemed to truly be no need, when all he had to do was write home. something between pride and shame stayed his hand, left his letters to more gilded dreams sent off to sun-lit lands. he hadn't truly appreciated the freedom of it, sylvain realized, until the council's decree.
“ wait until they get into the singing. ” he snorted to himself, then shoved another fistful of cashews and pecans into his mouth. “ don't even have to learn the words, just get the melody right ⸻ and, really, all you have to do is go along with the person nearest to you. won't have to pay for another drink for the rest of the night. ” he should know; his whalesong impressions were the stuff of legends. obviously.
𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊. lumien keep: cradle, forge, a nest to be pushed out of. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓. @prodigxlis's cian garramoth, bird of a feather, bat of a wing.
“ and here… is the rookery. ” ran answers a nearby crow with a squawk of his own, a harsh, grating greeting that causes a flurry of squeaks and leathery fluttering overhead. the belfry is more his haven than the bats' at this point, so much so that they'd seen fit to migrate all the way here, across the keep. perhaps they prefer the creepy birds because they can almost perfectly replicate the ruling couple's voices, much less offensive than ran's own. the talent unsettles him still, but here the shoddy excuse has led them, so ran can only oblige. he is an unexperienced host, and so surely he must also be a poor one. on the occasion they received visitors, his mother and father saw to them. ran hid ⸻ no, sequestered ⸻ himself in his rooms. only if he felt like showing off did he dare to grace the practice yard. but he'd oft been warned not to speak either way, for somehow, almost always, he'd do so out of turn. which was fine by him; hardly anyone's shoulders were worth rubbing, even if his parents had tasked him to bring a nice pair home.
suffice it to say he has no clue what the lordling thinks of his home, let alone what had truly brought him here. ran's own exploration of sheer castle had been meticulous in nature, searching for any gaps that his charge might've used to slip out of his sight, merely part of the duties impressed upon him by its ruling lord. that this seems to be a social call leaves ran at a loss. was the rest of this tour too much ? should he have just taken cian here ? ran certainly isn't going to ask. “ well ? have i sufficiently dispelled any tall tales about this illustrious house ? ”
𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊. a darkened street and ancient haunt, scuffed by ponderous pacing. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓. ( 2 / 4 ) open, a bystander of braxigar.
ran should be glad to return to the source of his vitality, the land of blackened dirt and rot, but he can think of little else save his own misery. ( typical, says someone from around his cerebellum, somewhat recognizably. ) he was ⸻ is ? that is the question ⸻ a storm with no eye, the pebble dashing a tranquil pond, the harsh wind stripping dead leaves from a dozen branches. he is fluent in the language of the body, especially his own; his right wrist can forecast rains and cold fronts from its aches, his blood sings in harmony with his muscles' protests, a searing bliss.
but when it comes to others, he is less sure. for all he can spy the coil preceding a strike, ran suffers the uncertainty of a tightened jaw as a consequence of his pointed joviality, unsure which of, if not all, the delicate sensibilities he's upset today. somehow, his tongue had managed to do more damage than his fists this time ( and, once again, as it swipes over the stinging scar at the corner of his mouth ). heroic hands paled in comparison to the trebuchet in his voice box, flinging boulders with abandon. he's always had trouble judging the weight of things. was that how he had always been, or had something changed ? had he changed ?
that couldn't be. he is a brute through and through, and he's always been. everyone else has grown soft. or maybe he'd just lashed out at the few who had. “ you. ” his monosyllabic call carries, surely in aid of his case, as he addresses the figure lurking nearby. he stops short in the middle of his routine march to spin on his heel and stare. “ am i repellent ? ”
𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊. the antechamber of a well-respected smithy, sweltering and sooty. 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓. ( 1 / 4 ) open, a mortal of morkhul.
as skilled as he is with his hands, artwork has never been sylvain's forte. many and more can testify to articulate fingers and a sort of creativity, but when it comes to charcoal on paper, he's about as talented as a blind three-legged dog. trying to smudge his errors with the pad of a ring finger only makes things worse. the entire endeavor may very well be beyond salvaging. but hope springs anew at the swinging of the heavy oaken door and the jet of cold, night air that streams in from the outside. he'd been hunched here for ages, left to his own devices as he tried to figure out just what it was he wanted.
“ i beg you, be honest with me ⸻ would you be caught dead in this ? ” sylvain holds the sheet up at eye level, arm extended and elbow locked as a child might display a doodle to his parents. “ i was trying to go for something more… no, tell me what you think this is first. ” if the world is merciful, he can at least get a laugh or two out of his sheer incompetence. he knew he'd have to change his helm sooner or later; he just hadn't expected it to be this hard. then, remembering himself, he ducks his head in apology and gestures further into the shop. “ oh, but you're probably here for something of your own, aren't you ? the smith should help you first. i'll ⸻ probably be a while. ”
The fury rushes and hits her like a mace to the head, ears ringing and mouth full of blood. “How dare you.” She’s hissing. The pain to her scalp is nothing as it tugs, lasts little because she’s closing the distance before any rational thought can speak. Their faces are almost touching. Better to reach his throat. “How dare you. I should claw your useless eyes out of your skull to call me so.” Her hands twitch. Ruoxi digs her nails deep into her palms as to not follow through on her words.
Why had she come? A storm of curses and anger turned hurricane in her mind, as if she were yet a girl. Had it been years ago, she would’ve shed bitter tears even as her hands urged to cut him to ribbons, even as they attempted to tear a piece of flesh off him to keep to herself. Such impulses had been tempered only by gentleness, cruelty smothered by a love too tender for her careless and unworthy self. Callous violence had turned indulgence and jest, a blood-thrum that made her laughter sweeter. Blunt and bruising, like a child skimming their knee after stumbling, but it did not cut.
And now it was back. Burning poison, leaving open wounds meant to scar as it went down. Alongside the anger was a shame that she had been covering with pretty silks and her pearl teeth. She did not want to show her face to him, she knew this before she came, before she stalked to find but the shadow of him. Why hadn’t she hid like the craven he called her? Is that why she felt as if she could break him open for spitting on her such a word? Because she had braved much and ignored the clawing in her head screaming at her to keep away, to remain distant, to keep him but another whim meant to be drowned under a flagon of sweet wine and sweeter foreign lips? Why had she come?
She just wanted to see him.
Her eyes reddened, irises bright with a sky-torn wrath. She was trembling with the need to strike. “Pathetic? Pathetic? Go, then,” She was so close. He was so close. “and look for your true equal. Go walk the wretched earth seeking to find another that will match you that is not I. You think there will be others, Ranran? Oh, and here I was, one of the few that doubted your stupidity. I see how wrong I was. You won’t find it!” She spits. “Drag yourself through the blackened dirt of your rotten Hollow and see if there's anything but your worms and weaklings, easily amazed by your brute strength; cowering and lesser and ignorant of what it is like to be us.”
“You think there will ever be anyone as cursed?” She almost laughed from the madness overpowering her, but instead Ruoxi’s voice lowered, thick and venomous. “It’s just you and me.”
ran's joy takes a goldenrod hue, aglow with the vindication at having finally driven what he wanted, if only in part, out of her. “ call them useless, but they see you as you truly are. ” such gloating is unbecoming of a warrior, but only if they give a damn about honor. ideals mean less than nothing to him; what fills ran's gut is what's most important, and now he has a feast: her rage, his vengeance, her closeness, his victory. each course is an assortment of spices and flavors more mouthwatering than the last. it's why he's so incensed when a chunk is stolen form his meal, a falcon swooping down to pluck a tray between precise claws, up and away before he can make a grab for it, at her insult.
he is not stupid ⸻ and even if he is, she's even dumber for losing to him. “ you've mistaken my interest for loneliness, xixi. i do not need an equal. the idea of having one was novel, a possibility to be explored, now understood to be a dead end. i could live a hundred well-sated lifetimes without ever knowing you, living off of worms and weaklings. ” if he says it fiercely and ferociously enough, it will come true. “ as your gutlessness has made startlingly clear, there is no ‘ us. ’ ”
none of this is natural, and none if it is what he's learned. strike hard and fast, leave no room for counterattacks, leave no survivors. to be still is to die, and yet here he stands, waiting, daring, goading. does he want her to run them both off a cliff ? he's always wanted to fly ⸻ not the same as jumping off the ground really hard, mind. the weightlessness of the fall would feel nice compared to the shackles binding him to her, wrist to wrist, neck to neck.
ran does not look away from her eyes, can barely find it in himself to blink, the purest sign of aggression between animals. he used to lay such challenges upon stray dogs for fun if not for food, for he had been one of them so long ago. if she was as like him as she said, she would snap. he gets closer in anticipation of it, nearly nose to nose now. air slithers between his teeth in a hiss and ran clicks his tongue. “ that curse is your burden to bear. i decide what is placed upon my shoulders. i am inexorable. ”
for: @indu1ge, miharu usami. location: the gardens behind celembron castle
She had often wondered what sort of flowers grew in a land of pine and thistle. Braxigar had a beauty in its own way, the scent of death and Jasmine cloying and clinging to the air. The way the stars twinkled high above surreptitious and distant as if they held some secret she could never ascertain. She had spent so little time outside of Perrelor Keep that each new discovery seemed monumental to her, every petal and leaf foreign to her hands.
She took a couple trepidatious steps across the cobbelstone and then leaned heavily against her cane. She could feel her attendant's hands hovering, wavering over the edge of helpfulness and oppression and she dismissed them with a flick of her palm. She would be granted no boons for suffering but she did it all the same, if only out of a deep and reverent sense of pride that imbued her body at every moment.
"Lady Usami." She says not looking up from the thatch of Red Asters billowing gently in the wind. Their petals ruffled, shaking their fat lion-maned heads in the breeze as the day continued to move around them. Rongfei wanted to kneel to touch one, to know the feather-soft texture of them but she knew she would not be able to rise again on her own. Finally, she looked up a slight pallor blanching the color from her face and sat meaningfully on a stone bench.
"I was pleased to hear you were well after the events of the grand ceremony." Her hands rap against the head of her cane, the sharp-toothed dragon upon staring lifelessly from between her finger. "So much tragedy in one night. Tell me, do you think the sycophants consider it a loss or an achievement?"
“ as was i for you, lady nuwa. ” some called miharu's teachings madness, yet to her the only truly maddened babblings came from the beasts of braxigar. their nonsense war against childhood cautionary tales and heavy-handed metaphors left them neatly snipped from her purview like a loosened thread by a pair of shears to save the rest the rest of a tapestry. and yet, she cannot help but but intrigued by the nuwa lady. she is of an age with miharu's beloved sister, though their parents would not have looked fondly upon a brokered introduction ⸻ one of the few times miharu would agree with them. it would be smarter and safer, at least for minako, for miharu to get the lay of the land herself, to divine if there is any worth in the acquaintance.
after all, the lady's family had been renowned, once upon a time, for arming the regime. now, however, spurned by the council as they were ? she would be a fool not to search for allies among them. yet even so, she had difficulty in devising an in-road. admittedly, prejudice clouded her judgment. beyond the general insanity of their native hollow, miharu does not want to risk the attention of the gifted elder brother, surely some sort of brute just like his peers.
the servants are a more precarious set; she could never assume the loyalty of one not in her employ. but it seems indeed that her missives have made it into the correct hands untampered, for which she is grateful. her head dips in greeting to the attendant as they pass her, a serene smile hoping to sooth the dismissal. “ something so engineered could hardly be considered either. a pity for those who've lost a home, but martyrdom takes a little more effort. ” she would know. miharu's words soften with her approach, until she seats herself shoulder-to-shoulder wtih the other woman. “ i know what i think of it, at least. grieving history when an unpaved future lays before you is a fool's errand. now we've all been shoved forward into the abyss. some will catch themselves gracefully, and the rest will plummet. and you ? ”
It’s vindictive, the ire that Diya lets herself feel crude from the precision, and too blunt for the thud in her chest that she tries to keep contained, for it was no mere temper, no passing of her spite. Diya, in all her indomitable wayward drifts, was tempered into elegance, holding the fire behind her teeth as if she could be clutched within its own immunity. Though she's always been headstrong; this time, she felt as any other knight who was forced beneath the torn edge of her banner. Swiftly, her eyes follow the movements of his limbs; the swing of his head, his fingertips that were inching closer to his chin, and the strong width of his shoulders that she so dearly loved. The thought comes and goes like an elusive thief in the night, where Diya wants to close her fists around the sweet, pale softness of his neck. Instead, for a solitary moment, the lady knight only basks in her own retributive glory, and her heart swells in blatant self placed rationale, her own instigation of self security. She feels wronged in a simple sense for she felt errant; as though loosened from her own murk, like an arrow speaking itself into motion and slipping from its bow. She tells herself to hold her own ground, for how could a swan ask the water how to bear its own weight? " Yes dull. " Gaze of warm ambers turn cooler, and every syllable of hers is steady.
Finally, Diya rips herself from the stoned wall she held herself against, and digs her lithe fingers inside a hidden pocket from the silk of her dress. Out comes the sweetened flower the knight had gifted her before it all went into flames. She does not look at it, does not see how the petals were like a painting, warmed from the heat of her body, safely kept and memorialized. Her breath turns sharper, and her eyes are planted to the azure of his irises. But there’s a stern crease that settles between her brows, and each long step of her carries straight toward him a quick rhythm, a marching cadence. She holds the flower up against him. For Diya will always make sure she’s seen. " Because this is what I fell for. Your sweetness. Your words, " A breath as if she shakes something loose. " Your triumphs and your trophies ; those things may draw my attention. But they are not what holds it. You do. " Diya does not falter in her words. Does not register how agitated he made her. With a start of a sigh, she speaks once more. " So do not decide for me what I can or cannot like. " Tone no gentle melody, only the familiar echo of an intensity she no longer wanted to feel.
The fight leaves her like sea water rushing back towards the vast body of its origin. Chastened and inevitable in its withdrawal. But as Diya takes a step back, she wishes she kept her feet planted, strongly rooted like an oak tree; for this was no retreat, no burrow of her own disintegration. Digits inadvertently tighten around the stem of the flower. " What I see is a man who knows better than the reputation he hides behind. " A lock of her wild curls flutters back from behind her ear and into the straight line of her vision, yet only this time, Diya lets it obscure her sight, though the curl of the corners of his mouth does not go unseen. She thinks again of her fists around his neck. When she comes to speak, her voice is light; but no mock lies in it, only the breath of exasperation. " Well you’ve quite the poetic way of insulting yourself. " Said she, her gaze holding. " Did you think I’d stand here and agree with you? If you are so certain of your nature, then why try so hard to convince me of it? " The beauty of fleeing unfurls deep from within the pit of her stomach, but as the feeling drapes itself around the bones of her shoulders, Diya can’t tell if she wants to run towards him or out the door.
A scoff. Then, a foreboding curl of her lip. " If you wish to frighten me off, then do remember I’m not so easily driven away. So please, spare yourself the effort, and do choose something less elaborate to scare me with. " The fingers that hold the colorful petals dig into the bones of his chest. Still, her eyes soften warming with salt. " But do not ever lie to me again. "
he had almost forgotten the act. the careful steps and lowered gaze, ponderous footfalls that sent him near-careening into shrubbery and their hard, stony planters as he searched with a hawk's focus. the catch in his throat when he finally spotted the bud, the triumph that washed over him at having found perfection, the product of both luck and a trained eye. the delicate task of plucking it, careful movements of forefinger and thumb so as not to harm the mother plant. they were skills that had been derived from his boyhood, preceding his days as a squire yet parallel to his dreaming of it. sylvain recalled watching his mother cut bouquets for his father for his birthday, chin tipped up to peer over her worktable, the top of his head barely meeting her waist. he remembered wanting such a love for himself one day. tender devotion channeled into a craft, a vivid and beautiful love. he had thought his works would be stories.
“ you kept it. ” a whisper so low it seems almost to himself. look, idiot. of course she did. to have offered a gift in the first place carried the implication that he'd accept whatever became of it ⸻ whether she tossed it, burned it, fed it to someone she didn't particularly like. but that was the disposition of a better man. a man she seemed to think he could be, if only because sylvain understood him. his actual self would want to pitch a fit if she hadn't pocketed it, perhaps even if it was sadly lost to the inferno, wanted to kick and flail on the ground like a child. you should have kept it for ten years ⸻ no, ten thousand ! never again should you accept flowers from anyone else ! he would never do it. that the impulse was there, though, disgusted him.
“ i know little and less of certainty, ” sylvain protests. “ i know what occurs to me in one moment, and i know what occurs to me in the next. and if i cannot make sense of both at once, then the newest thing must be true. ” a laugh, somewhat delirious, arises unbidden. “ and then, if i don't like that, then i settle for what is easiest. ” a consequence of a lack of insight, despite the relatively solitary existence he'd lived after having been released from his master's service. elevated, he corrects, as most would put it, blessed by his vows. at the time, he'd felt like a skiff sent off by a ship to paddle itself to shore in its looming shadow. and before the bitterness could take hold, glory hoisted him onto his shoulders, and with it, the glimmer beamed to a family he avoided and a woman he read more than he spoke to, at least up until this very moment. “ i thought if i could convince you, then perhaps i would have, for once, stumbled upon some sort of truth. ” it's pathetic to say out loud. unbecoming. he should have arrived at this point sooner, he thinks. instead, he had started running and never stopped. but at least he is bare, flayed before her. stripped of his cloak and shield, the ribbon of ink he kept between them unravels to expose the floret of him.
and still he cracks wise, lest he feel too exposed. “ would the armor have worked ? the faceplate is hideous, and so long as i keep my mouth shut, i don't need to shove my entire foot into it. ” quietly, honestly, sylvain adds, “ i envy you. i thought that if i had severed… us, then the fog in my head would clear after i cauterized the wound. instead, i said things i did not plan to and which may not have been entirely true, and even after all that, you are still here. ” sylvain does not yet dare to touch her hand, though the impulse races from synapse to nerve, a minute curl of his fingers. “ i wasted so much time painting the façade of a brick wall, and yet you are the one holding me upright. you are right that i cannot presuppose your desires, but neither can i understand them. i can only be grateful for them and jealous of their assurance. ”
he hesitates, a running start for his leap of faith. “ i will not, ” he promises, then takes the bud to tuck behind her ear, bringing with it the swinging forelock, just as he had when he first presented it to her. sylvain leans his weight on the balls of his feet, stems re-cut at a slant to take in water and live once more. “ i will never lie to you again. ”
Her sister's voice split the air like a thunderclap. Minako’s hands flew to her ears, startled. If she were a bird, she would’ve taken flight in a dark cloud of bodies, panicked wings beating at the sky. Anything to avoid the lash of her sister’s tongue, even if their ire was aimed elsewhere, for she felt their storm reverberate inside—could hear her bones clacking with fear. She imagined a tremor running beneath her feet, the stone splitting into a gaping chasm, devouring her whole. Her fingers trembled against her scalp; the rhythm was beyond her control, like her fear was beyond her control. Oh, oh, oh, how she shuddered! Minako looked at her sister’s feet and counted and waited for the winds to abate. When they did, when her consonants shaped themselves less like a drum, she breathed out a sigh of relief. Minako lowered her hands. Her smile shivered at its edges. “Fear is no crime, sister.” If it was, Minako would have been hanged ten times over. “And the fearful need your guidance the most.” She shuffled closer, socked feet sliding smoothly, hidden beneath many layers, a secret dance. She did not flinch as Miharu grabbed her hands, even though she wished to—she was learning.
Eyes filled with devotion, the darkness within rushed liquid and deep. It mattered not that oftentimes Miharu's words felt like a thread tangling around itself, a story she could only half unravel. It was further proof that her sister possessed a wisdom that could not be matched. "The world is painted in so many colors, but so few see. Is it bad that I pity their anger, their short-sightedness? After all, they will be left behind, won't they? They will dwell in the dark forevermore and not ascend with us to the light." She chewed her lower lip. Miharu continued to bestow her with honor higher than she deserved. Knowing that she could always rest her head in the warmth of her sister's lap, safe and nurtured, she was content with her position at her feet. "Your careful hands have shaped whatever strength I possess. I can only hope that eventually mother and father will see that." How often had Mother made overtures to separate them? A horrible prospect. But even so, she loved those whose stems she'd bloomed from. Her lower lip quivered. "Do you think a veil will forever separate us?"
oh, strike her down for her wicked tongue! the gravitational pull within miharu had rent the fabric of her sister, the tug to keep minako in her orbit yanked with curved talons. blue-white still was this star, young and full of promise. her duty was to be the hand cupped round the candle's flame, not the howling wind to snuff it out. miharu's voice shrank as her frame did, sinking into a whisper. “ i am sorry for speaking so harshly, my dear. ” her head bowed at the other's words, half in awe and half in gratitude. a well-learned disciple, she was ( and well-taught, miharu reminded herself ). “ such wisdom from you, sister. it makes me wonder if you truly need my guidance for much longer. ” there ought not be room for glibness in a space carved for contrition ⸻ and in truth, there was some sincerity in the pondering, light though her tone may have been. the day would come sooner than she expected. sooner, perhaps, than she would ever like. someday, like a comet, minako would use miharu's pull to launch herself further and faster than she would have traveled on inertia alone. miharu wondered if she would be lonely, then, left behind. if she could learn to live with loneliness.
“ i must admit that i have grown… inflexible with time. ” the utterance of failures did not seem so appalling when aimed at minako, a younger sister's love mitigating her stomach's churn. it was cowardice, most like ⸻ most definitely, given that miharu could not even bring herself to acknowledge it for what it was. a lightbringer who feared the shadows she cast, awash in her own glow. there were few who knew her core, who could tell her that she was no monster and whom she could believe with near reckless abandon. “ there will be some we cannot save, and others who would spurn our salvation. ” she bit back a scowl at the mere mention of the latter. “ i have come to realize that i must reserve my attention for those who would accept it, so as to save as many of them as i can. so that all may get a fair chance. ” the thought of anabasis without their forebearers no longer moved her, for good or for ill. but she knew it was different for minako. “ if such a veil falls, i think you may be the one to tear it down. you are greater than you know. ” the first half was not a lie, nor was it a truth she cared to see. the latter was a promise, a declaration scored into the fabric of reality. miharu had seen this, and as with all her visions, she would make it so.
