observing kayn feels almost as if he were watching a neverending spectacle. the assassin is as unforeseeable as they come. even in the midst of their rapid and concise conversation conversation, sylas takes notice of the struggle kayn seems to be under. it’s not uncanny per se, kayn’s demeanor, however the air encompassing them is thick with peril. and it’s not because of the army approaching at a fast pace, but perhaps, he presumes, because of something that labors within the confines of kayn’s head. rhaast. the name snaps to attention almost immediately. he’s heard it many a times in myths and rumors before. could it be true, perhaps? could this… adolescent be the host of the ever so nefarious darkin? he doesn’t dwell on the thought. it’s not a proper time. sylas sits there motionless, surveying each and every single motion brought about by his newly found ally. he refuses to rush him; instead, he outstretches a shackled hand.
the scythe glows almost menacingly in response. were they not under the pressure of fighting an array of incoming troops, perhaps he would have stepped back and heeded the warning. however, almost mindlessly, sylas jolts the scythe aside with his foot, leaning forward in order to help lift kayn’s taut body off the ground. once he’s back on his feet, sylas wordlessly takes lead, raising his chin in order to direct their escape. to sylas’ fortune, he manages to keep up with kayn’s shadow steps. the way the assassin steps in and out of being befuddles him almost. his form is smooth, cascading forth in nebulous strands of fluid darkness. the technique piques his interest almost immediately.
not long after they begun their retreat, they manage to free themselves from danger. sheltered within a secluded mountain alcove, where the mist is far too thick for one to take notice of another human form, they finally prevail. sundown is quick to narrow the horizon, the gossamer clouds gradually being engulfed by the unending cloak of darkness. sylas is quick to make camp and collect some scrap scrap. he returns with an armful of twigs and tree bark and sets it down in the midst of the cave where he, with a flick of the wrist, sets them on fire immediately. the atmosphere remains heavy with strain and tension, and despite his colossal curiosity, he doesn’t quite want to being interrogating kayn just yet.
he’ll cast a scrutinizing glance in kayn’s direction, checking on him a final time before finally occupying a spot adjacent to the fire. ‘ are you wounded? ’ is all he idly asks before allowing the silence to encompass the proximity anew.
𝐊𝐀𝐘𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐒 he feels Sylas’ hand pull him easily back to his feet, chains rattling against his forearm as he does. It intrigues him, this stranger : just enough to cut through the wretchedness of Rhaast’s grip on his mind. The curiosity pokes holes in whatever influence Rhaast still has over the assassin — by the time he reaches his feet again, his head is beginning to clear. His eyes ( almost nervously ) watch the toe of the soldier’s boot shift his scythe out of their way, & he hears the roar of the Darkin’s anger in his head, blocking sound from his eardrums & leaving them ringing momentarily in the aftermath. He hisses beneath his breath, but lifts his head & keeps moving, content for the moment to follow behind Sylas’ lead ( usually his pride would overwhelm his logic, but for now his mind feels too COMPROMISED for him to argue ).
A lithe form clips in & out of reality, darkness trailing Kayn as he moves & allowing his leaden footsteps to slip into the dirt beneath. He can feel Sylas’ eyes on him, but he is used to the staring : there are few people left in Runeterra now who haven’t at least HEARD of him ( or the CREATURE ), & with his power comes the, at times unsavory, attention from strangers.
It is his intent not to show too much weakness or exhaustion to the other man : but when they finally reach a safe place, the assassin is nearly too tired to go on. It is not often that he fights as hard as he had this day & still must trek on; usually, he wins, he retires, he REGENERATES. Kayn’s shoulders slump against the cavern walls as he sits momentarily, fingertips falling away from the scythe & Rhaast’s insults for at least a moment. Instead he settles it across his knees, lotus posed, & takes a deep breath as he closes his eyes. It will be a brief meditation, he can tell : but it is all that he needs to collect himself & to create at least a temporary peace between he & the Darkin.
Sylas’ activities disturb him only slightly, eyes opening & then closing again occasionally before the other finally settles beside him, & his voice lulls Kayn out of a place that only he can touch. Blazing yellow eyes peer over at the other, & he collects himself, pulling out of lotus pose & discarding Rhaast on the rock beside him. ❛ 𝑵𝒐. ❜ It’s untrue : several smaller gashes litter his torso & arms, though they’ve nearly healed themselves by now, aided by the pressure of shadow tears adorning Kayn’s sides. He feels terribly bruised, but it’s not worse than other injuries he’s had. A pause follows before Kayn continues, voice cool & low as he does, questioning beginning abruptly as it often does, from him. ❛ 𝑺𝒐, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ? 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎 ... 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆. ❜ His eyes narrow. ❛ 𝒀𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 ? ❜
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