#aotau2024

[starrook]

"So, who do you think it was?"

The question has lurked in the recesses of her mind for all the while that they were investigating the library. An unoccupied mind is a restless one, and in the short respite they have between tasks, she finds it resurfacing. It's not something she can afford not to look into.

Ares doesn't remember. Edward seems uninterested in pursuing it, Leo actively opposed. And Lucina she hardly knew, beyond her name and the legends that followed it; to broach such a discussion with her would be a risky endeavor.

Alcryst, though—Alcryst had seemed like he might be amenable.

"Of those I was with, I can't imagine it was Ares, given he ended up here. And Ewan is a kindhearted boy. Which I suppose leaves Rafal..."

But she had a hard time believing that he had. It was certainly not that she didn't want to; only that it wouldn't make sense, given what she remembered of that first day with him, would it?

"Who were among your group?" The girl asks instead. "Were there any that might seem... predisposed?"

Alcryst raises his eyebrows at the sudden question. His first instinct is, of course, to look around and see who might be in earshot. He knows this is supposed to be a finished topic, amongst the rest of the group at least.

Secretly, he's relieved to see Poe willing to get to the bottom of what happened back in the "living world". Because... how could things spiral out of control so quickly? Why hide the truth? Could they not trust each other even now...?

"Rafal was my first thought," Alcryst admits in a hushed voice. "I think he's..." Pauses, struggles to think of the right way to say this. "he seems to have the personality of someone who wants to take charge and decide how things will go. And as a Fell Dragon, he doesn't lack in power... if he thought it necessary to kill them all, then he would allow it. And if he didn't, this wouldn't have happened. Ah, that's my impression, at least..."

As for his group... Alcryst frowns. Earlier questioning them hadn't crossed his mind—at the time it was easier not to suspect the people that he worked so closely with in his last hours alive. But now, with some distance, he think he can consider each option more objectively. "I'd strike Lucina off the list as well, for the same reason as Ares. For the rest... I've only known Erk for a short time, but he didn't seem like someone with the nerve to murder three allies." Alcryst shakes his head, remembering the young mage that couldn't even stand the dark. "I don't believe Seliph would do such a thing either. I never saw him with that kind of disposition."

Which leaves Knoll. And Alcryst opens his mouth to defend the dark mage in turn, but the more he thinks about it, the more pieces fall into place. Unflappable, pragmatic Knoll. "...I don't know if Knoll has the disposition either. But from what I've seen of him, he'd have plenty of nerve to do so." The archer frowns. To think he'd question him now... "...Still. There's more to this than just who did it, don't you think?"

[pryings]

retention (retaliation) of light

ruminations. topic : the suddenness of death.

if one were to ask about the kiss of mandibles on skin, knoll would answer thusly: it had hurt.

this is not a profound statement, by any stretch. he does not remember what it was like to die that first time, he only remembers the after.

the second death is no kinder. poison, magic, and blade. mostly blade.

the priests and clerics used to say that there would be an after. for what it is worth, knoll does not find one. it is simply, one second he is present and the next he is not.

the bite of metal is not unfamiliar. lachesis ( is she is a lady with a title? she acts like noble ladies sometimes do ) does what needs to be done, he does not begrudge her for it. his magic is—different here. wrong. he does not begrudge her. the little tactician helps, until the poison takes her. knoll does not begrudge her either.

—this is consistent with what he knows of human behaviour. prioritization of survival. he wants to see them make it, but he does not think they will. human beings typically take profound satisfaction in a job well done, and knoll is no exception. therefore: he is frustrated over his own failure. one must call this negative creation.

if he had died where he was supposed to, this would not be a concern. had he been executed on schedule, someone would have pushed the rubble to the side of the road, let the corpse-filled wagons pass. his late father was one such, one of those who pulled the corpse-wagons. getting mired in scum and ashes, splintered glass, bloody rags. and as such, his father departed the world earlier than many would like.

he wonders at who would pull his own corpse away, from the executioner's block. from the jaws of the creature in the tower. from the hallway, where he had finally collapsed as lachesis' sword and the ghost before him finally did their work.

he says nothing as he finally dies. death is not quick, and it is not comfortable, and in this instance: it is not what he wanted it to be.

[exclted]

˚ · . anonymous asked:

once, you paid this place as the price for light. footsteps down empty halls; fond memories crumbled beneath dying stones. today, the light has returned to its perch, returned glory to the rooms you knew. laughter fills it, familiar and warm and a little dissonant in the way those you love have sometimes loved and sometimes fought and always stood together. it may not be the same as what you left behind, but it is restored, and is it yours. for as long as you can remember, you've longed to take off the mask. the butterfly of endless blue burns you with its wings, with its false recognition. you wish to wear your hair long; you wish to hear your own name. you are on your knees when a hand extends to you, takes the edge of the mask, and pries it gently from your face. it whispers to you — you are no timeless hero-king. you are mortal, full of flaws and fancy, and you will live as one of us. veil of the rightful king, bend your head for a crown that was never yours. your carriage is laden with the unsatisfied souls of a hundred men. even memory fades with time. which path will you grasp with all your might?

Of promises, Lucina finds she has grown wary. So many things had been promised to her by this life, and one by one she had buried and mourned them all. She tells herself before their graves that it is okay, that this is how it was all meant to be.

That she does not ache for all that she has lost, for it would be cruel to in the face of all the lives saved by her sacrifice.

But hope-- selfish hope-- reminds her that she is a liar. She can see her childhood home before her; the never-ending hallways warmed by afternoon sun, the measured voice of a father who has not forgotten his daughter's mismatched eyes.

It would take only a step to return to it. It would take only a step to watch it crumble to ash for a second time.

Suddenly she is aware of hands at her cheeks, her shoulders, hovering just above her skin. Fingers coax the veil from her eyes, lift the mask that she had forgotten she was wearing. Like a limb, Lucina can feel its absence. There is an ache, pain that swells in her chest and tightens her throat.

How long has it been since she was last allowed to be a girl? Since she had let herself forget all of the things she was meant to be, and remembered all that she truly is?

The vision of her home flickers, fading to nothing as though an old photo set to flame. She cannot scream, cannot beg for it to return or fight the hands that caress her to reach for it. She knows that they would not stop her if she tried, and yet she tells herself that they might.

Because that life had never been meant for her. It cannot be hers. If it could, what would all of these years have been worth?

[princepsumbra]

belonging was your birthright; you have always felt this to be true. you have sickened of fighting for it tooth and nail, with blood and tears. but that is all in the remembered past. today you are someone new. today you are someone respected. when you walk the streets of your dark city, the men, women, and children smile at your approach. they know your strength and your knowledge, and they trust in it as they trust in as they trust in the faces of the old gods.

your once-resplendent clothing has been reduced to tatters, but pain, numbness, ache, and cold no longer trouble you. what you have exchanged in their stead is more precious than any caged comfort a castle could offer. you know this is where you were meant to be, not shackled to the whims of the noble and petty, not haunted by the dark legacy of inheritance, but walking beneath trees that offer you their shelter, among air that invites you to breathe it.

bough of the lifetree, emptiness walks in the wake of your footsteps, but the scepter of renewal resides in your hands.your power straddles life and death itself. which path will you grasp with all your might?

Darkness gives way to dusk's half-light. A figure strides confidently ahead of him, their bearing proud. Assured. Xander, in all his distinguished glory. Why wouldn't this strange land show him the mirror of all his own shortcomings?

Leo feels the old jealousy well in his chest, claw up his throat, and he almost turns his back on the visage. He blinks, as if to clear the lens of insecurity, and realizes with stark clarity that it's him receiving all that glory. Recognition settles around his shoulders in place of the shadows he once favored.

If he's so beloved, what happened to Xander?

Muscles twitch. Temptation replaces jealousy; if he could just reach out and grab it--

There is another apparition.

Peace unlike that he's ever felt before emanates from the trees. Dappled sunlight hides and warms him in equal measure. He has the freedom to choose between seclusion or attention.

He is not meant for walking in the sunlight. He is not the people's hero. Let them foist their gratitude upon the one born for such a burden. Solitude never bothered him.

The young prince casts one last look at the regal man accepting his subjects trust. Hands clasp behind his back, and he steps toward the treeline.

[searingenvy]

wanderer, where do you stand that these sheer winds lash you so? behind you lies your home, a vortex of meaning that once defined you. before you lies the unknown, but if nothing else it promises to be different. to walk forward is to shed all that has brought you pain and create a self in your own image, even if you must go it wholly, wholly alone.

the soft heat of a fire and the even softer weight of a child's hand; you keep one at your back and the other to your heart. it may not be the admiration of thousands, but it is the adoration of one that peers up at you, wide with love unencompassable. for the time being, it is boundless, yours to claim and yours to protect.

ghost of the end, the shadows behind you lengthen with every step. tread carefully — the wheel does not wait for you before it begins to turn.this you remember clearly. which path will you grasp with all your might?

“What is…?” Wanderer. A title that felt right. Rarely did she feel like she belonged even back in her home in Plegia— while others devoted their lives to a cause they could believe in…Tharja simply did. Because why not? There was no alternative, no cause that felt quite right…and even when the Shepherds took her under their wing, she knew deep down she could not be trusted. Perhaps over time she managed to gain it, forge bonds unlike anything she had ever had.

But those bonds…they’ve made her weak. They open your heart to pain, to suffering— other people leave you completely and utterly vulnerable. The image of herself, alone, but free from burden…there is something that feels right, as if that was the woman she had always been destined to be. That much she cannot deny.

For a moment she reaches out towards it, preparing herself to make a decision without hesitation— but suddenly it falls.

To hesitate is to be weak as well. She knows that. She cannot afford to think twice about what she wants— what she deserves—

But those eyes peer into her soul. The child in her arms knows better than anyone else on this planet about what she truly feels. Her innocent self, not yet sullied by the world— by her own mother— knows that the woman who holds her close would do anything to protect her. No…she would never let harm come to her daughter. Not again.

“…I’ve let her down once before…I will never let her suffer again.”

The image of her daughter is clear in her mind as she steps forward to make her choice.

Because…one must be weak in order to be loved.

[magisolsmiles]

when the fog clears, when the war ends, when the monsters are vanquished, it is caer pelyn that stands. shimmering amid the mountains at sunrise, an idyllic, rustic reminder of what it means to be free from strife and the noise of the world. here, each day is fulfilling, full of simple comforts, and your magic grows and grows. as years pass, you understand the meaning behind your teacher's words — that the peace of home is to be cherished, and kept from all harm.

those who understand and stand with your heart will know when you have done nothing to warrant rebuke. this is the comprehension you crave: a sympathetic ear, the tenderness of one who will listen. a hand reaches out and ruffles cardinal-red locks of boyish fire. rest your weary head upon this boundless heart, and let the comfort of their endearment wash clean the sands of guilt.

seed of nature, like the ancients before you, your life is everchanging. before long, the world will turn its own hunger upon you.the summer days are long and still. which path will you grasp with all your might?

Two paths stand before the mage, both ever so lovely. Both so very familiar. Past and future. Hope and desire. What is the path the little star, still finding his own light, will choose?

Standing before one door, he sees his future. Joy, enlightenment, passion and hope. That which he reaches out for with all his heart, with the strength gained from all the love he was blessed to receive. This path felt like light. The smell of nature tickling his nose, it was ever so beautiful and ever so welcoming.

Standing before the other door, he sees his past. A comforting hand, warm and gentle. Bringing with her kindness and understanding no matter how hard the world had been to him. The feeling of being understood even when nobody else would listen. A pillar of strength when alone he would’ve crumbled. The reason the little flame in his heart was never snuffed out.

“What.. is it that I truly want?”

To be loved.. to be understood.. that is what he desired, yes. A save haven to return to when everything hurt too much, when everything was too hard. But.. she was suffering then too, wasn’t she? As he grew older, he started to understand more and more of the world. Her warmth, her love.. she gave it unconditionally, even if it chipped away at her own heart.

The gratitude he feels, the sheer amount of love he received despite everything they went through… to keep taking would be selfish. It would mean consuming her warmth until nothing would be left. And the guilt in his heart… it meant that his choice was a difficult one, wasn’t it? To take that away would be to take away someone else’s right to be upset with him. No, he deserves their ire. Letting go of that in a moment of pure self indulgence… would that be what she wanted for him? No, all her effort, all her strength, all her love… it was all to help him grow.

“Thank you…”

For just one moment, in this world where nobody could see, he cried. He leaned into the warmth one more time, and let his tears flow, freed of the masquerade of smiles he wore so often. “Thank you so much… for everything…” For her understanding… for her strength… her wisdom, her love… her hope… all of it, the boy will carry within him until the day he breathes his last.

“But… I’ll be okay now. I’m stronger now.. I’ll show you.”

With a shaky breath, he turned to the other path. The one of his future. He would grow.. he would learn.. he would be happy. That was all she ever wanted for him, right? Happiness.. and to him, happiness existed to be shared. It was his turn to be strong. To take the light she gave him, the light his master taught him to nurture. To allow it to grow, beautiful and bright, so he may give back to everyone who made him who he was today.

A beautiful dancer in red, who gave him the strength to live…

A man with the spirit of a tiger, who gave him the chance to take his first steps..

A woman of steel, who inspired within him what it meant to fight…

A great sage, who gave him a chance to nurture the star shining within his heart..

All of them… they were so very precious in his heart. He’s finally strong enough to give back. He would live the happiest life imaginable, he would see so many beautiful sights, eat so many gorgeous foods, he would share all the joy he found with everyone.

“Watch over me… okay? I’ll make you all proud.”

And with a genuine, grateful smile, the boy walked towards his future.

[adalrikr]

though you are lord pent's child, you were never his son. not as klein or clarine were, but in magic you excelled them both. did that not speak for something? the flame answers to your hand as you face the darkness ahead, and you will give it its answer — whether by blood or founding, he never treated you any different. and so the same should be said for yourself. the darkness roars, and you will give it the proof of your teaching.

ambition sharpens its edges upon you, and though you have never grasped for status, you cannot help but welcome its praises. the presentation of the appointment to mage general is the highest honor to a battlefield scholar of etruria, spokesman to your efforts in spite of humble beginnings. now, yours is the glory of the once-splenderous, before the tide of time yet washes it away.

untempered spirit, let your soul sleep awhile. beneath the glass, the future makes demure and inviting sounds if you listen.before the pines turn brittle with ice, which path will you grasp with all your might?

The darkness overwhelms his vision, and Erk is at once alone. His head swims as the images flash before him. One, a darkness to overcome, a flame in hand. The other, recognition, a future that he wanted so badly to be able to reach a hand out to.

He knows his answer before the question is even asked. He's known the answer all along; hasn't he? He knew the answer before he had even seen this vision. It was the exact reason he was in Fodlan, the exact reason he was here at this very moment.

"... Do I even need to answer...?" He asks into the void around him. He does not get a response. Typical.

Fine then! I want the future! I want that recognition! I... I don't to be unseen...

A small hand reaches towards the vision of the person he could be, the highest praises that could be awarded him. He wants his future more than he could ever speak it out loud, more than he could ever admit to even himself.

The vision disappates before him just as quickly as it had come, but Erk has already made his choice.

It was always clear... wasn't it?

[starrook]

in the distance, the strong walls of your forebearers rise beneath the dawn of a new day. memory sweeps you like a tide, flush with pride, for no matter your misgivings, it's never been questioned that this is where you belong. a father's embrace heralds your return, a mother's love cocoons you. the halls of heroes count you among their number. you will take your name among those who came before and will come after, cherished, welcome, and safe.

when one enemy rises, you slay them. when difficulty comes, you know to weather the storm. when shattered hearts weep alone, you reach with words of understanding. these are your strengths, and this is the world that knows them. the watchers wait in the wings with their many, many eyes, observing your success or your honest failure. they wait for your homecoming in triumph, or perhaps in death.

warbearer, the fields are parched and dry, the deadness already set in. everything is simply waiting for the right moment to come.one match is all it takes. which path will you grasp with all your might?

The prince of Brodia knows the path he must walk.

Alcryst wavers.

(One. Because he knows that he will never be satisfied with merely being told that he belongs. Belonging is more than words, more than actions, more than mere blood ties. It's a feeling he can't ever have doubt in, he believes, and yet doubt is all he fights. Is this love truly for him, or an Alcryst they wish he'd become? To finally have the confidence to welcome their love and acceptance without question would mean everything to him.)

(Two. Because he wishes he could be so sure in his own strengths, to see them clear as day as he sees the strengths of others. To know his virtues and trust that they can be relied upon. To be seen for himself, instead of someone he may never become. There will always be watchers, but at least they are watching him and not a shadow, not the man who came eight years before him.)

Both paths call out to him...

...but would Alcryst be wrong to believe one path will lead to the other?