trigger warnings: gore, technically. it's going to get weird.
part 2 of the first prompt, envoy.
Apathy and hatred—Solkansa's two constant companions during her trials on the First. As good as a companion the Exarch had tried to be, the void that fills her is malms wide and deeper still. Since Zenos' neck was severed to the bone, so too was her joy—how else was she to feel, having had the other half of her soul ripped from her? To meet someone—the first person ever—to see her for who she is, what she is, and then choose the edge of a blade instead of a life of revelry. A rare and searing pain.
And to then be stuck with people who hate you to save a world you do not care for. Little wonder that she is pained.
Even now, as she offers to ferry the Scions' souls back from the First—not by choice—she moves as if within a thick fog. When Krile asks her how they are faring, once she's returned to the Rising Stones, Solkansa considers not even deigning to respond.
She doesn't get the chance.
Before she would have been able to open her mouth, a panicked Miqo'te woman bursts through the doors carrying an ornate box under her arm.
"Package delivery." She holds it at arm's length, breathing heavily though a scarf pulled tight in an effort to create a makeshift mask. It's a pretty, handcrafted thing, with obsidian and gold, but she carries it like a cursed object. When, after a few moments, no one moves to retrieve it, she says in a small voice, "please take it."
Tataru and Krile exchange a glance. "May I ask who sent it?" says Tataru.
The Miqo'te shakes her head vigorously. "I don't know. I don't know. It's just—it's for the Scions. Please—please let me get rid of it."
"Well," says Tataru, her voice dripping with hesitance. "All right."
A waterfall of thanks pours out of the Miqo'te's mouth as she approaches to take it, but before it can exchange hands, Tataru recoils.
"Ugh!" She slaps both hands over her nose. "What is that smell?"
"I know, that's why I—," The Miqo'te seems to swallow a retch. "Don't make me say it, please. Don't...,"
Solkansa sighs a leaden sigh. It seems even the trivial task of accepting a package must be dropped onto her overburdened shoulders. Silently, she walks forward and snatches the box out of the Miqo'te's hands, who stammers thanks and runs back out the door.
The odious stench hits her nose, and she recognizes it immediately. Rotting flesh. Her eye narrows. A threat? She checks the note and inhales sharply at its three words.
'To my friend.'
Could it be...?
With trembling fingers, she opens it. A single, decaying finger sits daintily atop a folded letter, from which the reek stems. A perfect piece of putrid flesh—she smiles at the thought of Zenos butchering a body. She picks it up as it were a precious gem. Dare she let herself believe it is actually from him, and not an imitator...?
Quickly, she sets it down to read the letter beneath.
My dearest friend,
It is my greatest joy to send notice of my return to my own flesh. Loathe have I been to keep you waiting—I assure you each moment is as torturous for you as it is for me. In an effort to show the depths of my gratitude for your patience, I have enclosed a gift that I hope is as precious as I believe it is: my father's left index finger, butchered by my own hand. You were right when you told me patricide is among the greatest thrills.
My deepest apologies for my absence in the delivery; much work must be done in preparation for next we meet.
Your dearest enemy,
Zenos yae Galvus
Solkansa's blood sings. She feels lighter than she ever has; a warmth surges through every limb, pours out each pore. She's never smiled so hard her face hurts, and yet she finds herself doing it now. Fury, her eyes even sting with joyful tears.
"Solkansa," hazards Krile from behind her. "What is it?"
She turns, and her expression must be truly horrifying, for both of them seem taken aback. With her golden eye shining and a grin no one else has ever seen, she says, "He's alive. Zenos is alive."
