“ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 . ” they move like a ghost through limbo as they pass through the expanse of shadow in the room . their uneven steps betray weakness . every stilted footfall whispers of still - tender flesh , of silver scars snaking across golden flesh , but their back is kept ramrod straight . TODAY WAS A VICTORY . a bitter one , stinging with the iron taste of blood , but still a victory . a planet lost , but twice more gained , their enemies sent scrambling from the system in the wake of defeat . the accolades are already pouring in , the admiration and awards for brilliant , cunning strategy , the cries of triumph louder than those of anguish . but the one who approaches tildreen is no conqueror , no commander , no terrible god of war . the trappings are gone in this quiet space , and all that remains are aching bones and a muted flame . ( the kindling , the terrible ascension and its sacrifices will all come later . for now , the storm is quiet . )
“ 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 . ” for once their words to not ring with command . EVERYTHING IS FLAT — even their gaze , lit with eye-shine , is dull and unfocused . they gesture for tildreen to follow , but the movement seems mechanical . “ i’ve made tea . ”