In 1602, Crimson Photon and Ikaris had just returned from a skirmish against a minor Deviant threat, and the stars are beginning to realign in strange ways. The ruins of a once-grand cathedral in the French countryside are now scorched with starfire and arcane flame. The air crackles faintly with residual energy. The sun sets blood-red on the horizon.
Ikaris brushed ash from his blue cloak, eyes fixed on the darkening sky. He ran a hand through his mess of curls that Sersi insisted was a good look to blend into mortal society. He felt ridiculous with them. “The Deviant fell too easily. It was a test, not a war.”
Y/N folded his arms, crimson light faintly flickering around his silhouette. “Or perhaps your kind is not as indispensable as you imagine. Mortals can still win their battles, Ikaris. We are perfectly capable of protecting our own, without the aid of people amongst the stars and heavens.”
Ikaris turns, calmly but with a glint of dry amusement in his voice. “You mortals die, Y/N. That’s their legacy. You… are something else. Half-lost starfire and fever dreams. You burn too brightly.”
“And you don’t burn at all. That’s your problem. All your power and not a single ember of risk. Of want. To forever be hidden within the shadows of shame.”
The Eternal's eyes narrow, his voice soft and calm. “Want leads to ruin. What mortals believe in. Eternals have evolved past trivial fears such as these.”
“And denial leads to loneliness.” Y/N's voice echoed throughout the cathedral, leaving it hollow and empty.
“Do not mistake proximity for affection.” Ikaris said. “We Eternals do not define our actions on our emotions.”
“And you mistake fear for wisdom.” Their eyes meet, neither willing to look away, neither willing to take the final step. There’s a beat where the world seems to hold its breath. “This… is not meant to be.” Ikaris said. His mission was to preserve life and help mortals come into their own, but not to let man's facade of happiness and love weave its ways into their programming.
“Then let it stay unspoken. But don’t lie to yourself about what you feel. You're not as hollow as you pretend to be. No man, nor star-traveler, can pretend to deny the comfort of love. Tis a sad existence thou has chosen, Ikaris.” Y/N walks away, crimson energy trailing like falling embers. Ikaris remains, staring at where he stood.
