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@virtuouslife
— ‧₊✦⋆ Kallen Kaslana of HoYoVerse's Honkai Impact 3rd, as written by X for Gnostic Hymns. // Gif Source.
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threads: 13/13. drafts/queue: 1/0. inbox: tba (ic), 2 (meta). last updated: january 11, 2026.
hi friends! this is a very delayed post but just formally indicating that my blogs are all on hiatus until may at the earliest.
hello! i'm back from my vacation overseas, but i got super sick immediately after getting home! this has sort of thrown a wrench in my original plans to catch up on threads after coming back, but i will hopefully be resuming writing soon across my gh blogs as i recover. thanks for everyone's patience! as mentioned before, unless otherwise indicated, i'll be keeping my threads across the board.
blog(s) update.
i'll be keeping all three of my blogs around for anyone staying active in our community. i will still reply to all of my drafts and i intend to continue all of my threads, as long as my thread partners don't indicate otherwise. i am also open to new plots and threads as long as there's interest.
historically, my reply speed has been on the slow side and without activity checks, i don't know how that'll go. but i am hoping to continue my new year's streak (and resolution) to keep up the pace with regards to turnaround time. one small caveat is that i'll be going on vacation for two weeks after what is shaping up to be a really hectic week one of february at work, so this month will be spottier than i'd like.
please feel free to im me or add me on discord (i'm happy to give out my username via ims) to keep in touch!
hey all, with gnostic hymn's announced closure, i wanted to say a few words on here (though much of what i want to say has already been said, far more eloquently, on the dash and in the server by others). i've really, really enjoyed my time here as part of this community. i've been immensely inspired, felt challenged to grow as a writer and as a collaborative writer, and ultimately, i like to think that i have grown here, by sharing this space with everyone, both as a writer and as a person, too.
this time last year, i had practically given up on being able to maintain a dedicated space for art and creativity in my life. by chance, i came across gnostic hymn's advertisements and joined the server on a whim. being here and seeing how passionate everyone was and getting to participate in spiral abyss and lore (did i bring my personal laptop to work and commit time theft? yes.) made me realize not only was it possible to carve space out for dedicated creativity, it was something i had to do. to be sure, there were a few rough months for me where i couldn't quite be present the way i wanted to be, but i'm really glad that i kept trying.
thank you all to my thread partners for your creativity, your kindness, your time, and your patience. thank you to our mods, current and former: alina, mik, milky, neffi, and blake, for creating such a wonderful space. it has been a blast writing kallen and dr. mei and jingliu here.
see you in the stars!
₊‧ 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇,
𝗌𝖺𝗋𝖺 & 𝗄𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 ✦ 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇: 𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.
Sunlight skims across the restless waves, turning deep blue into blinding white. Though the ship sways as ships are wont to do atop churning waters, the sailors are at ease. They work, sometimes chattering and laughing, sometimes touching each other's shoulders as they move in languid, precise motions. Beneath their voices, irregular footsteps creak on the sturdy, aged wood. Rhythmically, the water splashes against the swaying ship.
Quietly, Kallen emerges from below the deck, her face still slightly pale. The nausea she felt at the voyage's beginning has since receded and become far more manageable, but the physical weakness in her body still lingers there, fueling her accumulating sense of embarrassment. Foolishness. She was too arrogant and overestimated herself. Why join the voyage if she will get seasick? Surely, this is what the others are thinking. At least, the silver lining is that she has gradually adjusted.
Caught in the mire of her self-reproach, Kallen fails to notice one crucial thing. None of the sailors have glanced her way; she is invisible to them, a stranger who lies outside their immediate concerns. In a sense, they, too, are invisible strangers to her.
By the ship’s railing, away from the busy camaraderie of the sailors, Kallen spots a familiar figure. “Lord Kujou, hello!” She approaches with soft footsteps, her voice suspended half-way between comfort and self-doubt. They had seen each other in passing at the start of the journey. Had they spoken? More than a few words of greeting? She wonders if the other woman has heard of her seasickness, and prays inwardly for the answer to be no.
Kallen turns toward the shimmering waves, the shifting horizon lined with the now-distant promise of solid ground. Amidst the lingering nausea and the building shame, there is within her a certain feeling of awe. Admiration, for the terrible beauty of nature — its indifferent violence. She has felt this feeling before, marching toward Shenzhou underneath Schicksal’s banner, watching the sun rise and fall through colossal mountains …
The water’s reflected sun sparkles, punishing those who gaze upon it. Kallen squints, blinking, and looks away. A dark spot floats in her vision; she glances toward @immovablewill, again.
A strange intuition seizes her, that she should not comment on the dominating beauty of their surroundings. That she should not, because by doing so, she might dispel something. So instead, after an awkward silence in which she inwardly tosses out thought after thought, she says, “ … I’ve never seen a whale before. Have you?”
⋆✦₊‧ — A LONG LIST OF REGRETS.
Wriothesley & Kallen. — Commission : Harmony.
A soft click echoes off the walls as Wriothesley unhooks the lamp to inspect it. The pneumousia core is probably spent - the explanation is already halfway to his lips when he recalls the harried way Kallen had spoken earlier, like a mother who's only interest was in finding her lost duckling, but it's the wet shimmer up ahead that ultimately stops him from saying anything at all. The sputtering lamp goes forgotten in his hand, his attention caught instead on their only way forward.
Cheng Jun has been silent this whole time, perhaps willfully, perhaps not, but as Wriothesley steps ahead of Kallen to shine what little lamplight they have left on the sludge coating the walls, it becomes apparent that there had been no other way for Cheng Jun to have gone. No little tunnels in the ceiling, no caves split from the main path, only a stretch oil-slicked by whatever it is that drips from the ceiling. The air is thin here in a way Wriothesley has never felt before, needling at the back of his mind like a high-pitched drone from a machine he can't see.
"I don't think I even need to ask if you want to keep going," he sighs, his back to Kallen still. There's something wrong with his lamp, that's for certain, and it's not the pneumousia. But if they're quick about it, then maybe they can find Cheng Jun - or the miners supposedly in this cave - and make it out before it dies completely.
"Cover your mouth and nose with something, if you've got it," he advises, and removes the heavy coat from his shoulders to bury his own face in its double-padded lining. Then he starts cautiously ahead, hugging the side of the wall farthest from the slow but steady drip. The tar clings to his boots with each labored step, but the surface softens quickly back into shimmering smoothness, as if he'd never crossed through it. Up ahead, the lamplight finally dances over rocky ground, but it begins to flicker suddenly, rapidly, as if alerting them both to the sludge on the ceiling. Wriothesley spins around. The mass of it above them groans, sloughs off from the rest, and falls.
With her hand still wrangling a piece of cloth torn from her garments, Kallen looks up. In the same instant, Fate punctures the diaphanous threshold between just in time and too late.
She isn't sure if she yells something. She isn't sure if Wriothesley manages to avoid it. The lamplight cuts out and drowns them in darkness.
・・・
Dense in the stale air, dust mixing with sweat — the scent of exhaustion lines the arms and backs of men whose faces, streaked with mud, shine as they pass by the intervals of dim, swaying light. A chorus of pickaxes striking the earth, the rock, the ores. A chaos.
“Hey, Old Cheng! Headin' out early?” Someone's shouting voice — rough, but familiar, warm — weaves through the thrum of the mines that nearly anonymizes it. His name flits across your mind like a black magpie. “Yeah, my son's first birthday is in a few days,” you answer loudly, filled with a sense of pride and joy, and for a moment, the always-present soreness in your arms seems to fade. Another voice rises above the noise, teasing, “No wonder he's smilin' so wide, huh?” and lilting laughter, including your own, answers. Casual, friendly ribbing, in place of exchanging goodbyes — after all, it won't be long before you're back.
The underground mines are vast, but you've long memorized the varying paths to the surface. At the path's end, crossing from the natural dark into the refreshing sunlight, you head to the Miners' Quarters to gather your things, eager for the short journey home ahead ...
・・・
“Cheng Jun!” Crying out, Kallen jolts upright. No sight of my son, she briefly thinks in an inner voice that is not hers. Then, a self-correction without acknowledging the error: No sight of the boy. Before she can question it, a lacerating ache enters her head like a dull knife. Forced to remember herself, she winces, and the uncanny vividness of the dream (or was it a vision?) begins to fade.
She gasps. The sludge — what happened? She looks over herself — prone on the coarse ground, rock and dirt — and though she can still feel a residual stickiness, there is nothing on her clothes, nothing on her skin. Slowly, she begins to look around, beyond herself. The oozing sludge has seemingly encircled her, yet appears held back, as if by some force or barrier, humming — alive and eager for the chance to breach it. Only then does she notice — a barely-present golden sheen in the air. A trace of shimmer. Reaching towards it, her fingers meet air and pass through it. Mystified, she can only manage to ask in a mumbling voice, “ ... What?”
But the trance, thwarted, does not hold for long. The nascent, nagging sense that she has forgotten something abruptly erupts as horrified realization: “ — Mr. Wriothesley?!” Her frantic eyes search the dimly lit surroundings again, gaze limited by the once-again encroaching darkness. Can he hear me? Where is he?
Resting forgotten in her pocket, the glowing star of cor lapis begins to fade.
⋆✦₊‧ — THE MISUSES OF FIRE.
Sara & Kallen. — Revelation 2025 : Park, Mess Hall.
A soft laugh escaped Sara at the unmistakable sound of Kallen’s stomach. A warm, genuine sound, surprising even herself, at how free and light it felt. “It looks like the curry is already doing its job, calling to us,” she hummed, eyes crinkling at the corners before she turned to wipe her hands on a cloth.
At Kallen’s question about the roux, Sara’s expression turned thoughtfully instructive. She gestured with the block’s wrapper. “This? This is what we call a curry roux. As much as I would like to claim that I made this beforehand, these blocks are often readily available in stores. They are a must-have when you’re out camping like this. If we have more time after this tour, perhaps I can teach you how to make one from scratch.”
Her expression softened then. Distant, if not just a tad bit melancholic. She hadn’t had much opportunity to make curry or set out for camping trips herself. Rather, perhaps it had been exactly because she hadn’t—because she could never find the people to join her and share the meal with—that she’d been so eager to take it with her. So eager to sign up for the tour, under the pretense that it was to continue her hunt for Largeankle.
“The scent tells you more than the clock.” Leaning in to check the pot as well, she nodded approvingly. “When it thickens, and it smells as if everything has combined into this deep aroma, you will know it is almost done.” Now they would only need a few more finishing touches. Salt and pepper to taste if needed, as she’d brought a much milder roux, and then they should begin setting the tables up.
She searched through the drawers for the spices, holding the cheap, plastic shaker out to Kallen. “Here you go, chef. Normally, there is no need for this, but give the curry a taste first, and if you think it needs more flavour, sprinkle some of this in.”
Kallen nods, listening to each word Sara shares with almost-reverent attention, and wonders what it might be like — to make the curry roux blocks herself with Sara's guidance. Maybe there will be a fancy, futuristic stove like this one, a pot like this one ... This little fantasy of hers is brief, though, as she has no idea what ingredients would be required and no clue how to get them to all come together. She shifts to the side as Sara leans in to make more space for her companion, and watches Sara's reaction carefully. Fond, and certainly proud of herself, Kallen notices the approving nod. But her burst of confidence mellows out after a few moments.
Thickens ... ? What does that mean? Blinking down at the contents in the pot, she wonders why thickened is the adjective of choice, here, and squints ever so slightly at it. It does look thickened, in a way ... maybe? The soft rattling of the plastic shaker draws Kallen's gaze away from the pot again, toward Sara's extended hand. And the playful title, chef — Of course, there's the joking intonation to Sara's voice — serves to rejuvenate Kallen's sense of pride. She takes the shaker with unearned confidence into one hand, the other still holding onto the spoon used to stir the simmering curry. Give the curry a taste, first ...
“Okay, let me try a taste, then.” Delicately, Kallen lifts the spoon. The curry glistens, impeccable in her eyes. Blowing gently at it, she pauses. It would be improper to lick the utensil directly. So instead, after some evaluation, she extends the shaker towards Sara. “Would you mind holding this for a moment?” Forgetting to wait for a proper response, she simply gives the shaker to Sara. Now, with a hand freed up, Kallen traces her little finger gently across the curved surface of the spoon. The taste of it is — surprising, unlike anything she remembers trying, and comforting. Better than it smells, somehow, which she hadn't thought was possible until now.
“That's — unbelievably delicious,” Kallen beams, offering Sara the spoon as she takes the plastic shaker back. “Here, you should try some, too! I'm not sure what it's supposed to taste like, after all ... ”
⋆✦₊‧ — KINDNESS AHEAD OF RIGID TRUTH.
Dr. Ratio & Kallen. — Commission : Harmony.
With how late into the afternoon it was, it was leaning towards her being lost or a part of staffing somehow. With her outfit he would assume the former as even a green intern still has to wear the robes of their department even while about. He looks at her again—with the lens of her being a tourist and not knowing at least who was a part of the hired help that had been on their asses the last few hours—and places his knuckle under his chin in thought. From how she paws at her device, or where she thinks it should be, he can already access that she was in quite the rush even beyond her words.
"It's a quarter before noon, the event has been underway for not too long now. If there was anything you needed to do beforehand, it's best to tell someone in advance you'll be busy." If he gives her any benefit of the doubt it shows in his tone, it was not as rude as it could have been with the situation he had just left. "But, if you're one of the missing assistants, I am an assistant who also is a part of the re-homing efforts. I just... came from there."
He can feel his jaw tightening at the memory of incompetence and mishandling just before he started his walk down the long corridors, his alabaster head in place to minimize all except what he needs to know or feel. It worked, it never doesn't do it's job perfectly, and so he didn't see the miffed Cat Cake until it plopped itself between them and into the young ladies vicinity. If he remembers correctly by pattern and features, this one was the one the other helper had mishandled, unharmed but obviously in a slightly sour mood.
He can hear the question before she even cuts herself off. "Professor Ratio. Moniker notwithstanding, I'll be the equivalent of your co-worker today, so it's no issue to me if you come along. The staff could use the extra hands."
The rumbling of the crowd is far off from where they stood in the cold, metallic hallway and with the hum of the spaceship on top with all the factors it takes into shelter life, he almost turns back on the filtration system after realizing the Catcake fell under it. Either way he still knew the way back as it was from once he came—nevermind he knows the underbelly and halls far too well for some staff's liking. With a wave of his hand, he turns back slowly and keeps a steady pace back to the event. And back to the mishaps.
"And miss, I didn't catch your name either." He gives into small talk just this once, especially as the Catcake from earlier is much more settled. "You seem to have an affinity for animals."
“Ah ... ” Kallen wilts a little more with each word the alabaster-headed man has to offer. Embarrassment piling atop embarrassment. First, the time he gives — so much later than her appointed hour. Then, his admonishment, which only emphasizes the egregiousness of her tardiness. His identification as a fellow assistant, one who has just left her current destination, and his implication that there are multiple missing, only make her feel worse. When Kallen thinks this must be the lowest she can get, flailing helplessly and terribly late in front of a fellow assistant, he properly introduces himself — as a professor. So, it isn't by coincidence that he reminds her of those strict tutors in her youth. Before Kallen can needlessly apologize for getting lost and failing to show up on time as a co-worker, though, the professor turns around and begins to walk off.
Right. He's showing the way, since she had asked. Briefly, she wonders why he left in the first place — but asking about that seems unnecessary, given his decision to return. So, she shuffles after him, carrying the satisfied cat cake in her arms. “It's nice to meet you, Professor Ratio. I'm Kallen,” she answers plainly, without a title to prefix her name. (Though she could come up with something, if she wanted to.) As she walks behind him, she glances down at the creature she's holding, hearing it purr and chirp contentedly. “Hmm, I guess so. I do like animals. It's nice, taking care of them.”
She thinks of the stray animals in Kolosten's streets. The horses of Shicksal's cavalry. The farm animals in Yae Village. She tries to think of something else. “Anyway, I hope things were manageable, despite my absence. I would've sent a message, or something, had I realized how late I was ... ” Ahead of her and the professor, a gradual bend in the hallway — so gradual that they are already in the midst of it. As the walls curve to the right, muffled sounds of conversation begin to float closer and closer. Ah! So she wasn't so far off, after all.
“Thank you for the guidance! I can't believe I managed to get so lost by mys — ... ” Kallen trails off. “Huh?”
A man dressed like a scientist jolts up from a state of dejection into one of frenetic desperation. Completely ignoring Kallen, he scurries up to Professor Ratio, who might recognize him as the lackluster researcher who had treated the cat cake in Kallen's arms so poorly. In response, the once-happy cat cake suddenly hisses, its little body tensing up in its pastry-like shell. Startled, Kallen takes a step back — but the scientist doesn't even notice.
“Dr. Ratio,” the man begins, clearly on the verge of blubbering. By the look of the red splotches on his face, it seems like he had just finished blubbering not so long ago. “Dr. Ratio, I'm sorry, please — give me another chance.” Unspoken, of course, is the plea: don't ruin my life, my career, oh Aeons!
Kallen blinks, glancing between the despondent, groveling man and the alabaster-headed professor. Doctor, too. That's intimidating ...
The poor cat cake hisses again. She shifts her attention toward it instead, and carefully pats the top of its shell again in a futile effort to soothe it. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to help.
our dynasty, here in the dark
Why was he here...
Although Kevin had not been questioned, as such, during the previous life, during his tenure as the strongest that Fire Moth had to offer for a world that needed something indominatable and unchanging, there was a part of him that was used to it nonetheless. From Su, from Raiden Mei, and deeper in the recesses of the human heart that had been buried in the ice, himself.
He narrowed his eyes at the girl, unwilling to answer truthfully for all that he did not precisely know, but more than that, for how unimportant it was that he was here.
Deliverance need not have a reason, and although there were things that drew him closer into the heart of this star system, into the darkness of this planet that brimmed with the light of something that was out of place - it was not the same as a lone girl wandering out in the open, surrounded by destruction.
He turned, the weight of his coat stirring the stone dust at his feet, and made to move away from her.
"My purpose is separate from theirs. Find a group to join, and lead them away." The chill began to gather again, branching out in delicate veins through the stonework and bringing the gentle scurrying of insects to a halt.
“Hey, wait — ” Without much thought, Kallen calls out after the familiar stranger as he turns away. There's a nagging feeling inside her, an insistence to trace the distorted mirror of their resemblance. To understand the solemnity of his words. Though the chill that emanates from him is difficult to bear, she braces herself and begins to follow him. A few jogging steps, kicking up the forlorn dust coating the earth and the lifeless ruins around them. Cautiously, still, she keeps her distance.
“Where are you going? You know it gets dangerous the further out you go ... ” As she echoes the words of caution she had heard from the Okheman guards at the eternal holy city's outskirts, Kallen intuits — these are words that the stranger won't heed, just as she hadn't. She continues, belatedly answering the man's initial question as a meager peace offering. “I'm not in a rush to get home. The expedition I traveled with is staying in the city. I'm not of much use there.”
Not that she is of much use here, either — aimless and alone in the ruinous dark. But that's the point of escapism, isn't it? To leave behind, however briefly, however meaninglessly, the measures of worth that dominate your reality?
It's clear as day to Kallen — that his reasons for being here have nothing to do with such weakness. In his face, she sees her reflection warp further, and for a moment, the vast gulf between them is the truest thing there is. A distant feeling of vertigo ...
The creeping chill makes her wonder — is he, inexplicable as he is to her, among those unknowns that lie in wait in the dark?
“Are you looking for something? Let me come with you.” She takes a step forward. Then, a promise she has no guarantee she can keep: “I won't slow you down.”
⋆✦₊‧ — PATTERN RECOGNITION.
Jiaoqiu & Kallen. — Commission : Abundance.
miss kallen, then. she continues with a few thoughts before he thinks to repeat her name back to her as he normally would --- maybe he's distracted, however, by an unsettling feeling as he realizes that neither of them know the name of the man they're looking for in the deep, dark reaches of this space station. "unfortunately, I did not catch his name from the staff, either." and he didn't ask because it would mean drawing attention to the fact that a medical department's patient was interested in heading deeper into the space station than he probably should. "still, yes, I think working together to try and find this man would be quite suitable. even if it's dark, I do have decent hearing, haha." even if the dark would barely make a difference for him.
he follows as she heads back over to the box she tripped over; something about the sound it had made when she stumbled into it didn't sound quite right, like it was made of a material other than cardboard. once there, jiaoqiu bends down to try and touch it --- it feels slightly odd, almost fibrous, and he jumps slightly at the sudden sneeze next to him from the young woman he'd stumbled into. "a torch... no. but it did just occur to me that we could use my jade abacus device to light things up in here just a little more, and maybe we can find a brighter light with its help." he reaches into his pocket to fetch the alliance's version of a smartphone, then pulls the dimly lit screen close to his limited field of vision to try and find the application that would switch on a flashlight next to the camera at the front.
once lit, his own vision notes a brighter area of fog where the device's flashlight points; the shape illuminated by it seems strange, especially if it's supposedly some sort of box. jiaoqiu's free hand shifts a little further to reach into the cavity of the object, and brushes against the bottom inside of it, grazing and transferring a strangely flakey residue to his fingertips. once he pulls his hand back, jiaoqiu looks at it as close as he can by the light the jade abacus provides. brows furrow --- too organic. "miss kallen... are we sure this is a box?"
Watching Jiaoqiu study his own fingertips after touching the box, Kallen suddenly feels that earlier sense of unease return. The slight glow of the “jade abacus” scatters brightly, then weakly onto the floor. Alongside it, the shadow of Jiaoqiu's hand stretches into the box, as if warping into some strange, uncanny shape. Yet, despite Jiaoqiu's uncertainty inciting Kallen's self-doubt — upon closer examination, it remains unequivocally a box. Confused, she crouches down again and leans a little closer. She reaches her hand into it like he did, and feels nothing of note within. Just the rough touch of coarse wood, the texture she expects to feel from a box like this one. “ ... What do you mean?” Is Jiaoqiu seeing something she isn't? Or does the word box have some specific meaning that she's unaware of? “It's a box. What else could it be ... ?”
Abruptly, Kallen sneezes again, trying to be quieter this time, but the itch that initiated it remains in the back of her nose. Sheepish, half-embarrassed, she mutters an excuse me, then, “Since it's been abandoned down here, it's probably not that important, right?” Unnoticed, her sense of unease has disappeared again. With a newfound insouciance, she straightens and, squinting, stares down the dimly-lit hallway. There, she thinks she sees — artificial light, flickering, from behind a bend, a corner. Tantalizing, promising. A strong conviction seizes her, an unearned belief: the missing janitor is that way, where the lights are still working properly. Just as she's about to verbalize the thought, or perhaps — to reexamine why she feels so certain about it, she thinks she hears something like ... fluttering?
She glances toward Jiaoqiu, mildly bewildered. “Did you hear that?” No, not fluttering. It must've been footsteps, or something falling over, or —
Briefly, a shadow at the end of the hallway comes into view — thin and tenuous. A silhouette, ill-defined. Then, it blurs and disappears to the sound of fluttering footsteps once more. “Hey!” Kallen calls out to them, and bolts forward several strides into the flickering dark, “Excuse me!”
She turns the corner without thinking, and — heedlessly leaves Jiaoqiu behind. At least, her voice isn't far away. “Wait up!”
𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗚𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡⠀──⠀⋆˙⛃
#GHRevelation2025⠀∶⠀research
A PLACE THAT NO LONGER EXISTS. ♤ at least not in any meaningful way. "just a little planet called sigonia-iv, in the middle of nowhere," he replies casually whether or not she was telling the truth about her own origins — there was a subtle twitch to her mannerisms that suggested she was either nervous or there was something more to be desired about her answer. "my guess is that you probably haven't heard of it."
it's said with a self-effacing kind of leisure rather than any comment on her knowledge or lack thereof ; sigonia——a cracked desert landmass with so little to offer the rest of the world that it didn't even have a unique name of its own in the tongue of interstellar commerce. it was barely worth mentioning. "but i also haven't heard of where you're from either, so that would make the both of us."
kolosten. he makes a mental note of it nevertheless, just one of the new curiosities this trip had brought. not that there weren't more undercover actors scattered across even just the known universe that could pull off a project like this without any of them knowing, but any information that could bring in actors as big as the stonehearts, galaxy rangers, and emanators was worth looking deeper into.
"is there anyone else you recognize here, miss kallen?" he continues without leaving her much room for response otherwise ; as she takes on a more active role in checking the rest of the current row, aventurine moves on to the next to cover more ground, staying close enough to hear and be heard without having to raise his voice. "boothill aside, there should be at least one more familiar face here. a certain eminent professor. . . " he'd never bothered to wonder what the doctor might look like when he was asleep, but now that the opportunity presented itself, he'd be lying if he said there wasn't some natural curiosity.
but a shock of multicolored hair greets him beneath the next sheet instead, atop a face distinctly inhuman. no idea where that's from. . . the urge to snap a picture rears its head nevertheless, and he might've given into it if not for a witness who he has a distinct sense might have something to protest about it.
Sigonia-IV. Of course, Kallen hasn't heard of it. Even the name is baffling, and makes her feel, all the more acutely, small. She struggles to imagine what it might be like, what it might mean, for there to be four Earths, at least. To know there are at least three others. But Aventurine moves on rather effortlessly, so she makes an effort to shake off this feeling. He changes the topic, which helps, and subconsciously, she begins to move a little faster. Lifting another sheet to another stranger's face, Kallen lowers the sheet halfheartedly and continues on. Briefly, she wonders who Aventurine might be talking about — eminent professor...? — but surely, there are countless professors across the expanse of space. What are the odds that she would know this one? So, she doesn't ask, humming instead in acknowledgment — thinking, perhaps, in response to the question he posed instead.
“There should be ... um,” she hesitates. Out of everyone she encountered within the nightmare of Empyrea, only Otto is someone that she knew from before. From this frame of reference, only Otto is someone that she knows, for certain, is real. Then — he should be here. But both Boothill and Su are here, too, and that's two of her companions from the guided tour. Who's to say the others there aren't here, too? “There should be at least one person. A friend. But we haven't found him, yet. And maybe — well, Boothill was in my guided tour, as was Su, so ... ” Briefly, she tosses a glance across the expanse of the sterile room, just to see what the others who are awake are doing. But, for some reason, she thinks better of it, and turns her attention back to the next examination bed. “Maybe the others from my group are here, too. But I don't know if they're real, or just — what did you say they're called again, in video games?”
Kallen tilts her head slightly, trying to remember the strange phrase he had used. Empty... empty — what was it? Was it even “empty something” at all, or did she mishear him? She must've misheard him.
“ ... Never mind. What I mean is — it could be one more person, or it could be several more ... I hope it's the latter.” A realization, a theory, a wish clicks into place. She looks toward Aventurine, “Is it possible that everyone who went on a guided tour is real?”
DIVINA COMMEDIA
Destruction Commission┆Empyrea┆Kallen Kaslana & Otto Apocalypse
He was not here for them, per se, but seeing familiar faces make it out did leave him with an organized list from memory who were filing themselves orderly among the conglomerate men. Some people raised his concern, with interest and even a passing reminder of things left undone in the annuls of time, but he can attest that it will be an issue for another day. The ashes of a lost civilization and the tides carrying seaweed like claws of flat, tragic streaks upon the beach truly do leave a bleak impression—alive, barely, like a trauma patient's mangled body upon life support. He can remember the cries of people and roars of deprivation, of fire that each fought for the remaining air around them in a previous life, and the shrieking hiss of medical-grade oxygen being popped open for masks truly... homely. The horrible scenery to another, like a blanket to guise himself comfortably while he does as he pleases. His efforts long ago would have been done by now and set up, but that was not here and not now.
He does not know if he can feel for these people like she could, but he does feel tugging upon his very few virtues as he had come here. Children, he could see children here, his teeth want to grind. He would not be opposed to lending his aid.
"I am really here, and I am no figment of another's whim or machinations. You need not worry. It seems our resort location and fellow people were not so lucky. The numbers I've seen do not bode well for explanation of their survivability. While my previous business has concluded, I could not leave without seeing this through." He takes her startled reaction as is and with no offense, especially as her darting about would lead to anyone being high-strung. His excuse for staying could easily be seen through because of how shallow it was, but he keeps the answers as such for her himself. "I can assist you with your endeavors now that I've been released from my own duties—and I know we are not as trusting as we once were—but it would be my pleasure to help anyway I can."
The Empyrea they had all been acquainted with was a fake haven for appearance’s sake. He could guess as much, and if he knew the few that came from the hills and had been found rather able-bodied in comparison, he knew something was amiss beyond the destruction. The guided tour had been something he had eyed greatly with skepticism upon first perusal of the pamphlet it had been a part of. Indeed, something was off and before him and the briefcase, still in his possession, had been able to leave—everything stopped. He had questions, and some only a guided tour member could know.
He's much more genuine the last time. "Of course, I have questions about everything that happened, if you'd indulge me. If you'll permit me to converse with you while I work, I can assure you will not be slowed down." He gestures to where she was heading before his interruption, before them and amongst the devastation of woes, asking her if he could attend with her.
"Ask and you shall receive anything, Kallen."
Ask and you shall receive anything. In disbelief, Kallen laughs uneasily. It sounds more like a cough, a wheeze, but she smooths her expression into a polite smile at the end of it, and says, “Thank you, Otto.” For what? For a grand and meaningless sentiment? She shakes her head, though. “There's nothing ... ” you can give me. In the midst of renewing her smile, she seems to grimace. She glances toward the misery surrounding them, a reminder to set aside her own. “I mean, there's nothing I'm in need of, right now. Other than another pair of hands, really. If you're willing to help, then ... ”
He isn't here for the same reasons she is. In his own words, they are not as trusting as they once were. But now that they have crossed paths once more, she should drag him along for the sake of something good. His previous business, his own duties — it does not matter what they were. It's none of her concern. Yet, is someone like him really the best candidate for selfless tasks like these? Would it be easier for him, for her, for the both of them — if she just let him ask his questions and sent him on his way?
“It's just that ... — well, all right. I'll answer your questions to the best of my abilities, but my work takes priority.” Kallen glances at him meaningfully, as if imploring — searching for some sign, some signal of earnestness. As he often is, now, Otto remains inscrutable. She resumes walking again, expecting him to follow. “A lot of people are still waiting on news of their missing loved ones,” she begins, explaining the obvious, unwilling to make explicit an underlying theory: that many of the missing, these so-called loved ones, might not be real. “My next task is to check on some who have chosen to stay on-planet, despite the risks ... Their camp is that way.” She outstretches an arm, pointing somewhere vaguely behind her. Left unspoken, though, is why these people aren't here, at the main camp, with all the fancy IPC equipment, utilities, amenities. Perhaps, they felt scorned, ridiculed, belittled. Perhaps, even Kallen's persistent reappearances, contrary to the IPC's best interests, are only more of the same.
“Before I, we go, we just need to pick up a few things. — Hi, Mister Spiers,” Kallen interrupts herself to greet the fellow volunteer manning one of many supply stations, and picks up the box of meager rations Spiers let thud onto the makeshift counter. She glances at the contents. There was more last time. Spiers cuts her off before she can say anything, “That's all we can spare, Kal. Really.” “But this isn't—” “None of that, come on. Look, I'm already giving you more than I should. If those people really need more, then they can come b— ... ”
Only now does Spiers notice the stranger standing behind the naively, annoyingly, stupidly kind woman. “Who's this?” He frowns, “Sir, can we help you—?”
snowhere
So much for keeping back the Fragmentum, right? Any losers kind volunteers who would like to stay in Belobog (assuming you aren’t #@$%ing sick of it by now) are free to do so. Continue the fight that you’ve been on for the last week or so! Do what your teammates couldn’t and destroy the Fragmentum once and for all! Ask Donnie why she looks so familiar! Do whatever ya want, just come back to Belobog one last time. Please! starter for @virtuouslife
In the wake of Fragmentum monsters, even the snow- torn from its place into rivets and scars, stained some by blood and others by dirt- echoes the violence that had been enacted upon it. But it does not mourn this fact, still clinging to the boots of volunteers cleaning the remnants of the disasters, hoping to claim a few lives of its own.
Could wounds compare to the cold that seeps through even the thickest of layers? Numbness grew to pain and back again, starting from the feet and moving upward towards its true prize- the heart. It did not matter how great a warrior stood upon the ice, only that they were warm, and that warmth was to be shared with the world, until it may as well not exist at all.
Su has no warmth to steal, so he is left unimpeded by the snow. That cannot be said the same of others, and as a breath- a promise of spring that is no closer than before- he would leave them to their fates. If anything was unpreventable here it was the slowly encroaching chill that only grew worse the longer one stayed. There is nothing he can do here, but guilt towards one soul bids him to stay.
"Kallen, get up." An intangible finger stops just above her eyes, as if pressing on her temple. And from there, an artificial warmth, keeping blood flowing. "You need to get somewhere safer."
Pure white all around you.
At the center of a room (where are the walls?), a pristine casket sits in solitary solemnity. A lush bouquet of white lilies, enormously vibrant, rests on the sternly-closed lid. More of the same lilies surround the casket, covering the floor. Endless lilies in an endless room, pouring out their heart-felt condolences. The floral aroma intoxicates, sickens — cloying, almost pleading. But it is powerless against the stench of burnt meat, charred flesh, that emanates from the casket itself. Beside the casket, a small, white-haired girl is standing there with a lily in her hand. She isn't crying, but there are tear stains on her face. You watch her silently — and you can't quite figure out where it is that you've seen her, before.
The casket's lid creaks open. No one else is in this room. Where are the walls? Where are the other mourners? The girl remains still, blank, unaware that the casket has opened.
You step forward. No, rather — the casket has grown closer to you. As if compelled, your gaze falls toward where the corpse should be. In its place, of course, is you.
・・・
Kallen's eyes snap open. Pure white all around you. She gasps. Her eyelids flutter. Then, shocked by the cold and a mouthful of damp snow, she coughs, sputters, half-choking on air. Kallen, get up. You need to get somewhere safer. As she tries to push herself up, one hand slipping against the snow it simultaneously disturbs, the ache of her body rears its ugly head with sudden, all-consuming force. Grimacing, she groans in pain, in disorientation. It's so cold. Why is it so damn cold? Her thoughts, sluggish, feel far away. The dream that had gripped her so tightly just moments ago, now, is gone.
Instinctively, she shifts her legs. But it hurts to move. Kallen, get up. When she thinks this, it isn't her own voice. Then, whose? She looks up. The pitiless light of the pale, self-sufficient sun strikes clean through her. Rapidly, she blinks. The translucent figure above her shimmers. “ — Su?”
The name leaves her lips before it registers in her mind. Like gears clicking into place, she begins to make sense of the world once more. Snow, debris, shapes like buildings in the distance. Kolosten? But where are the trees? She shivers. “Where ... ” Of course, this isn't Kolosten, but Jarilo VI — Belobog. Its outskirts. Memories resurface. Slowly, all at once, incomprehensibly: the Fragmentum. Her fingers, her hands feel numb. Grimacing again, she adjusts her palms, pushing herself up to sit. As before, it hurts to move, but she grits her teeth and forces herself to bear with it. She knows she should get up. The snow, half-melted by the draining warmth of her body, half-frozen again by the chill, clings to her dangerously.
“Give ... give me a minute,” Kallen manages, breathing slowly. The cold air seems to scrape against her throat, her lungs. She coughs, sputters, again. She folds her knees in and sits on them, squinting to stare at where Su's face must be. The meager sun shines through him. It's hard not to sound strangely and inexplicably accusatory as she asks, “ — How did you find me?”
⋆✦₊‧ — A LONG LIST OF REGRETS.
Wriothesley & Kallen. — Commission : Harmony.
Well, he’s involved now, Wriothesley thinks, folding his arms to watch the young woman pry the old boards away from the mouth of the cave. Ordinarily he wouldn’t just stand there, but she’d started clawing at it so suddenly that he didn’t really have much choice. There’s a story here that he wasn’t seeing, some reason behind the boy’s petulant willfulness and Kallen’s nearly-desperate willingness to comply, and for a few moments he puzzles over what that could be with his chin between the crook of thumb and index knuckle. This didn’t really concern him, now did it? He could continue on his way home without risking life and limb chasing some boy through an abandoned mine shaft in search of his father, but then he’d have to live with the fact that he’d never know if these two ever made it out safely again.
He hasn’t made up his mind - hasn’t even come close, in fact - by the time he realizes that Kallen has already slipped inside. Exhaling through his nose, his arms drop to his hips and he considers, briefly, finding a guard or a few things to take with them inside this part of the mine that’s clearly been sealed up for a reason, but he knows he has no time to waste. The longer he spends deliberating and preparing for something he will never be fully prepared for, the higher the chance he will lose Kallen and Cheng Jun in the labyrinthine dark.
He was going to come to regret this, he knows, but he squeezes through the broken planks anyway. When was the last time he’d done something truly risky? Not since his younger years, he’s certain.
”Wait a minute!” he calls through the dark up ahead. Kallen hasn’t gone far, so he can make out her shape, the soft glow of white hair, in the light from the mouth of the cave. “I’ll come with you.”
She’d said she could take care of herself, and he doesn’t doubt her - not consciously, anyway - but maybe he’s always just seen himself as responsible for everyone else’s safety. A guardian of sorts from his earliest years. Catching up with her, he pulls a small mechanical box from his bag and sets it in his palm.
”Can't let you get too far without a little light,” he says and taps its top. It extends, revealing a glass tube that flashes on to throw a weak yellow glow over the jagged walls.
”The name’s Wriothesley, by the way.” It’s still an odd sensation, introducing himself where others don’t already know him as Your Grace. Hooking the little lamp to his belt, he throws a curious look at Kallen.
”The kid’s pretty determined to find his dad, huh?” A soft chuckle. “Any reason you couldn’t go through the front door? Pass a message on through a coworker?”
AS SHE STARES INTO THE DARK, ONLY HALF-LISTENING TO THE MAN CALLING OUT FOR HER TO WAIT, A STRANGE FEELING TAKES HOLD OF HER. irritation, agitation — irrational, kallen briefly thinks, even as the feeling insists upon, then clarifies its own necessity. despite her squinting and the meager glow of wriothesley's peculiar contraption, the cavern's blackness remains unassailable. the yellow light draws attention to the shadows and deepens them. cautiously, she steps forward, this time with the expectation that wriothesley will follow. up ahead, cheng jun? echoes in the thin space ahead of them, carrying her voice away — now faint, now fainter. but miss kallen does not echo back.
instead, wriothesley's voice interferes: the beginnings of questions that scrape like rough sandpaper against the dull blade of irate feeling. why does any of that matter, right now, when a child has run off from them? not bothering to turn, not bothering to look at him, she strides faster into the narrow and still narrowing dark with renewed urgency, absurd senses of “earned” righteousness —
— and aggravation. the unearned impulse surges. “mr. wriothesley, — ” does it matter? with a jolt, the crude edge of kallen's tone comes to a grinding halt as she hears it shimmering in her own strained voice. uneasy, stilted, but not quite remorseful, she adjusts — restarts. “ ... the guards stationed there weren't interested in talking. we ran into you while looking for other guards who might listen ... ” she shakes her head, sighing, “you know the rest. he got upset and ran off ... ” pitching her voice louder, she tries calling out to the kid again. “cheng jun? can you hear me?”
cheng jun? cheng jun? can you hear me? — hear me? the echoes, again. she tries again — her voice echoes again. they are softer than before, as if muddled. then, as before, silence. the absence of any answer. asking no one in particular, kallen frets, “where could he have gone? ... is he hiding?”
kallen's footsteps begin to slow. the dim glow from wriothesley's lamp seems strangely dimmer than before. the radius of its light, smaller. the clarity of its outlines, less clear.
kallen's shadow, stretched in front of her, continues plunging into the dark. hesitating, she turns, “what's happening to the lamp?”
just out of reach, beyond them, where the jagged walls of the cavern should continue, a thin sheen gleams in its place. slick, tar-like, viscous. it drips, slowly. and on the singular path ahead, the uneven ground gradually gives way to the glistening tar — its nauseatingly smooth surface. undisturbed.
[CHECK]
A memory once, perhaps long ago when cobblestone was unironically advanced and a church had cursed her name he had done this many of times, but this time felt different. Once, he would have felt obsessive and perhaps pinched her cheek while she was still stinging from pain as his blood spiked in pressure, but now he finds himself gentler and more numb. Perhaps, he was just too tired, and the reminder of her was enough to tame the blistering queasiness.
"You're not hurt, are you?" He asks as he cups her cheeks to check her over, so different from how he'd expected this to go.
reasons to cup a face. no longer accepting. — check. after an unexpectedly violent situation, sender frantically rushes to check if the receiver is okay, cupping their face to look closer.
HIS HANDS ARE COLDER THAN SHE EXPECTS. against her skin, his touch is a shock. still, she stares straight through him, her mind racing, adrift elsewhere, caught, entangled in frenzy. the haze of memory is translucent, yet thick. impenetrable. then, her gaze flickers, refocusing. “ — no, no i'm all right. i'm not hurt.” kallen answers, as though catching up with herself, “are you?” she lifts her hands, afflicted with a stinging ache — perhaps to hold his wrists, his hands — then, thinking better of it, suddenly aborts the motion. phantom-like, she withdraws until she is just out of his reach. his cold fingertips trace invisible lines down her cheeks in place of unbidden tears, blearily-blinked away. as she examines him with concerned eyes, searching his face for something recognizable, anything, she realizes once more — with a start, with resignation, with perfect clarity — that not even a shadow of the friend she thought she once knew exists, anymore.
around them, the landscape is a blur equally indecipherable. equally solipsistic, kallen looks at him for a few moments longer, as if trying to exhume who she knows (and cannot deny) no longer remains. he seems fine, too. so she shifts her gaze elsewhere — above, beside, behind him. “we should, we have to … ” what to make of all this? this ringing silence, this spinning stillness. figures, silhouettes running — or is it smoke, billowing? she struggles to find the usual words. we should help, we have to help.
spiraling chaos. what had happened? where is the source of the danger? somewhere amidst it all, the crystalline cry of someone in desperate need. unthinking, she turns to hurry forth, pausing mid-stride to spare a glance, a second thought — toward otto apocalypse. “come on, otto! let's go — ”
𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 . . . ( 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 ) The Death card often represents endings, transformation, and rebirth. It brings themes of inevitable change and the shedding of the old to make way for the new. These are great ways for Mun's to explore the shadow work their muses may need to deal with loss. Here are scene prompts to capture that sense of profound change, whether it’s the end of an era, the loss of something or someone significant, or the dawning of a new phase in life. Learn more about death here. *Themes: Horror, Loss, rebirth, transformation, endings. → ∗ ⁽¹⁾ Find the collection of tarot-based scene starters here!
REVELATION: A storm rages as the sender uncovers a family secret. They turn to receiver for support.
BLOODLINE: In the receiver's house, the sender stands over a box of old photos and secrets.
DAWN: At the break of dawn, the receiver watches the sender as they struggle with the loss of a loved one.
SURRENDER: The sender holds the receiver’s hand as they walk through a graveyard.
AWAKENING: After a near-fatal accident, the sender awakens to the receiver by them.
BRAID: The sender braids the hair of the grieving receiver.
INESCAPEABLE: The sender looks at the receiver, a deep fear in their eyes, knowing that death is inevitable.
AFTERMATH: The receiver stands silently as the sender stares at the aftermath of a choice made, a life lost, and the painful consequences weighing heavily on them both.
REVENGE: The sender turns to the receiver, filled with bitter resolve as they prepare to avenge a death that's connected them both.
FORGIVENESS: In the stillness of the night, the sender kneels before the receiver, seeking forgiveness.
BENEATH: The sender pulls the receiver from the wreckage, their hands bloodied, both knowing there’s no way to survive this other than together.
+ DEATH: create your own prompt
