Vailintin sifts the soil between their fingers, disappointed and frustrated with how weak it feels. It’s almost like dust. Anything that grows here will not last long.
It’s just Vai’s luck their job is to return the lush greenery to this dead city. The massive garden they sit in is a testament to Anor Londo’s former glory, now dead and shriveling. Everything is ashen and dead. Birds do not sing. Squirrels do not scamper in the underbrush. There isn’t even the buzz of a mosquito to annoy them. It isn’t just quiet, it’s silent. An occasional whistling breeze provides the only sound.
Thankfully, Vai’s magic still works, even in such a barren place. They need only to touch a rose to return the vibrant red to its petals. They breathe the brilliant yellow back into a cluster of tulips.
But it doesn’t last very long. Any flower Vailintin bestows their magic upon requires their constant attention. The buckets of hearty Irish soil they brought with them can’t sustain these weak blooms alone.
Slowly, Vailintin stands and dusts down their clothes. “The soil is clean, in the sense that it lacks any pollutants. But, it is also clean in the sense that it is sterile.” They sigh, turning to face the one who called them here–the last god of Anor Londo, or so Vailintin has been told.
“My magic is not very strong. And this earth is long dead. I don’t know how much I can accomplish. Any progress will take a long time.”
Vailintin knows they are the last in a long line of attempts. The elves are immortal and their powers are greater, but they are loathe to leave their isolated, scattered havens. Elemental powers such as theirs are rare; most mages develop psychic or healing abilities.
“…But I will try my best.”
( 陰の太陽 ) --- the dark sun’s mouth sits expressionless on his face, a pencil-thin line, utterly neutral. he is half-faced away from his new gardener in an attempt to hide himself from the sun, muted by clouds but still too bright for his taste. they are--- for the moment--- the only two figures within anor londo’s walls. and thus, its silence is palpable.
this will be no easy task, he knows. the land, of course, is dead and has been for countless years, untended. for an age or more, only illusions kept the city alive. and when the dark sun’s power had waned, it had been overrun with filth that would take some time to be fully purged. perhaps it is strange to his companions--- dear yorshka and the lady velka--- that his focus would first settle outside. he has spent so little time there over the ages. but, it is his sister he thinks of in doing this, in bring this stranger into his company. it is a foolish hope, but one he quietly carries, regardless.
if he can return her gardens, perhaps she will return---
“ thou may ask mineself for any need; i will aid thee as i can. ”
perhaps, his aid means little now. he is weak still, but better every day.
“ time is of no concern. take of it what thou wilt to see this place returned. ”
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