Sentinel: Chapter 7
Eros:
It smelled of smoke and rain inside the Temple. Scents associated with grief and sadness for most turians, for Eros they brought forth a feeling of spiritual safety and order. It was the smell of Palavenian pine when it burned on the pyres for the dead. The smoke guided the recently freed Spirit from the mortal coil to the less tangible afterlife and to the collective Spirit of Palaven where all things became whole.
He loosened his grip on Ignatius’ hand as they passed together over the stone threshold and the smoke stung his eyes. But inside the Temple the weight of his grief eased, the burden lifted by the Spirits that always lingered here. Past Valluvian priests like himself, those that had witnessed Spirits or simply felt them more strongly than the average turian, they stayed within the Temple to help the transition of new Spirits and to bring what comfort they could to the living. Eros had always felt weightless here, like he was floating, like he was a Spirit himself. It was foolish, Eros knew, but it made him smile.
Ignatius smiled softly down at him. His mate wasn’t as religious a man as he was but he understood the soul’s call for it and for that Eros was grateful. He was grateful the Spirits had led Ignatius to him. If the Blackwatch hadn’t arrived on that colony when they had, Eros was certain he would have perished with the rest of his unit. He had been dying after an incendiary round had pierced his hardsuit. After it had burned through all the man-made material and begun to burn through him, Eros had begged the Spirits for any mercy from the agony. Even death if it meant the pain would stop. They had sent him a giant in matte black armor.
That Ignatius had stayed for more than just his rescue had been surprising but throughout his recovery, Eros had realized the Spirits had brought him into Ignatius’ life as much as the other way around. Blackwatch assignments had turned him world weary and cynical and finding Eros had restored his purpose to something more than just that of a skilled combatant. Support, companionship and then love had followed close behind.
Eros gave his hand a squeeze and returned that warm smile. Together they found Terronos’ alter and knelt before it. Eros folded his dark blue robes beneath himself and into his lap, then he lowered his head and closed his eyes. He didn’t need the image projected on the wall to see the face of his fallen friend, it was still clear in his mind’s eye. Square features and green star-burst markings that framed sharp golden eyes above a slow smile that had begun to droop on one side as the corpalis syndrome had arrived with its first signs... Shaking hands had followed and when Terronos had been unable to hold things without noticeable difficulty, they had known something was wrong. Loss of dexterity wasn’t uncommon with advancing age, nor were fading memories, but the inability to form new memories, to lose entire conversations the moment they left the mouth...
Eros didn’t want to remember Terronos that way and he struggled not to but the memory was persistent. He wished he could forget those final weeks of losing his friend piece by piece as corpalis had begun to ravage him. The disease had acted much the same as its chosen victims, it had been an overwhelming force of warfare on the body and mind, unstoppable and without mercy. As much as it hurt, Eros knew Terronos had made the correct choice to join the Spirits when he had, before he had lost even the ability to blink.
Ignatius squeezed his hand again tightly, their fingers laced together. Eros heard him clear his throat and swallow. His voice was quiet and cracked at the edges as he spoke to the Spirit of the former Primarch. It was a while before Eros found his own voice beneath the lump of emotion and joined him.
The Primarch:
The twins were sleeping as they always did, snuggled together with tangled limbs and foreplates just barely touching. Vesimir was positive they had spent their time in the womb much the same way, sharing space and breath and Spirit. It brought him endless comfort to know they would always have each other, and Cato, once he was gone. Cicero, he knew would struggle to fit in with his inability to vocalize in an audible range heard by species other than turians, but Marcian would help him. Together they would find a way to adapt as he had taught them to.
Vesimir pressed a kiss to each little fringe and tucked the blanket around them both. Their night-light was on and projecting ocean waves on the ceiling. If he thought hard enough he could almost hear them crashing against the shores. He yearned for the ocean as he had for few things in his life and no facsimile of sound or image compared but he was pleased the little toy gave the ocean back to his boys.
Vesimir re-activated the security console as he left their room, trusting it to alert him and the Sentinels should the door be opened before the morning. He still wasn’t used to having their room so far away from his own but Cicero and Marcian had made a big to-do out of getting to pick their own room and he only wanted to make them happy. Where their room on Parthia had faced the ocean and the rising sun of the south, the room here faced the main garden and the northern setting sun. It was an old superstition, but Vesimir would have been more comfortable had they chosen a southern facing room as he had.
Cato had chosen an eastern facing room with large windows and a balcony for better natural lighting. For his art, Vesimir knew, so he could see color as it was meant to be seen. He smiled for himself, some day he fully expected Cato to ask for ocular implants to see every spectrum of color. He would allow it, of course. There was serenity in art and Cato had as turbulent a nature as Parthia’s seas.
His mother would be proud of him. She had been wild too, a wandering Spirit full of wonder and joy at every new experience whatever it might be. Vesimir ached at her memory. The twins couldn’t remember her and in truth, they hadn’t even gotten the chance to meet her, it had all happened so fast. There were moments, shameful moments, when Vesimir envied them that. More often, he felt a crushing sorrow for what they had lost, what he and Cato had lost. He still remembered the struggle of explaining to Cato the arrival home of the two infants without their mother. So overcome to the point of numbness with grief that he had done nothing but stand there as his first son had collapsed into tears. Vesimir thanked the Spirits daily for the family next door -Philia and her parents- that had supported them through Marcilinaes’ death.
He wondered if she and Cato had made up yet, not seeing her when they’d boarded the shuttle to leave Parthia had been a shock and his son hadn’t mentioned her since. Vesimir sighed to himself and ran a hand back over his long fringe. He shouldn’t worry, children often had spats that seemed big in the moment and were later proven quite small. The two would make up and before long Cato would be asking for Philia to visit Palaven.