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+---- Thread: perchance to dream (/showthread.php?tid=12538)
perchance to dream - Safrin - 02-20-2026
Whatever Zavien had been dreaming fractures without warning. Sound dulls first. Colour drains next. The edges of his dream begin to soften, then unravel entirely, as though someone has drawn careful fingers through wet paint. The ground beneath him loses its certainty. The sky deepens; darkening not into absence, but into depth.
Stars begin to surface, but not scattered, gathered.
Midnight clouds stretch wide and endless, their undersides lit with a slow pulse of silver and violet. Constellations spiral into view, wheeling in deliberate arcs across a sky too vast to belong to any mortal horizon. At the center of it all, she stands, already there, the axis around which the heavens seem to turn. Her dark hair drifts as though suspended in water, constellations threading through its length. Starlight clings to her skin, catching at collarbone and wrist, pooling at her feet like liquid moonlight.
One slender hand lifts—not commandingly, but invitingly—and the galaxies behind her tilt ever so slightly toward her gesture. [say]"Come,"[/say] she says softly.
RE: perchance to dream - Zavien - 02-20-2026
His dreams these days are often filled with a quiet emptiness as he strolls through the vacant city of Stormbreak. Windows are dark and void of life, yet from the corner of his eye, Zavien can barely make out the flicker of memories. Smiles, laughter, screams, bodies. Each fractured recollection vanishes before he can latch onto it, the windows remaining dark and still around every corner.
There's an aimlessness as he wanders, nothing holding him back or guiding him forward beyond the movement of his feet that never seem to touch the cobblestones. The vacant street gives new meaning to 'memory lane,' a disconnected observation of it all that he strolls through.
Suddenly, the street beneath his feet turns to darkness, the vision of empty streets fading at the edges until they fall away like grains of sand into the vast black ocean. What remains smears into nothingness, something he's become familiar with, but this time feels different. The darkness doesn't settle around him, but expand with a vastness that he can't comprehend. It draws him from the stupor of his dream, a softer focus forming as he takes in the stars that appear and coalesce into a presence he knows.
He's never dreamed of Safrin, at least not in the kind of way that suggested imagination on his part, so when she reaches out a star-studded hand, he blinks a moment in surprise. Yet, even in a dream, Zavien doesn't leave a goddess waiting, the galaxies rippling with subtle encouragement. Nodding his head, he steps forward to follow her towards whatever end she beckons.
RE: perchance to dream - Safrin - 02-20-2026
When Zavien steps forward, the galaxies shift to accommodate him, constellations parting like courtiers before a king, though it is she who remains the axis. As he nears, her extended hand does not waver, and her fingers are warm when they fold around his. Not heat as mortals know it, but something steadier; life-light, starfire tempered into gentleness. She draws him easily to her side, positioning him not beneath her, but beside her, as though this meeting is intentional rather than merely indulgent.
A smile curves her lips—coy, luminous, aware of the effect it has—there is approval in it, and something like mischief. [say]"I have something for you,"[/say] she murmurs. With her free hand, she reaches into the empty dark beside them. There is no pocket, no seam in reality, and yet her fingers slip into unseen depth as though parting silk. When she withdraws them, she carries a pitcher wrought of pale metal that gleams like captured dawn. Within it, a golden liquid swirls.
It is thick—not quite honey, not quite light—fizzing softly as though stars are dissolving inside it. Sparkles rise lazily to the surface, bursting without sound. The air around it smells faintly of warmth after winter, of breath returning to lungs long held. Her gaze lifts back to Zavien, steady and expectant. [say]"May I see your sword?"[/say]
RE: perchance to dream - Zavien - 02-20-2026
The press of her hand in his is familiar, as solid and warm and real as when he kneels before her at a shrine. His eyes slip from her face to where their skin touches, realization forming more fully in the sensations that run up his arm. Shock and awe brush along his thoughts, his disembodied whisper echoing between them while his sleep-addled brain attempts to catch up. [say]"You're actually here, aren't you? Why - ?"[/say] But the smile on her face silences him, dumbfounding him with its radiance.
Swallowing down the urge to babble or simply gawk at how Safrin is here in his dream, Zavien does his best to focus on her actions rather than the intimacy of the moment - of having her in his dream. So his eyes follow dutifully to where she guides them, to the curtain of reality she seems to part with the brush of her delicate fingers, to where a pitcher appears to have captured sunlight. It glows and ripples with the qualities of something alive, radiating the scent of morning dawn and effervescent warmth.
Captivated by the substance and still lacking in speech, Zavien struggles to find his voice. [say]"I don't have - "[/say] He hadn't been walking the street armed, and yet, when he looks down, his sword hilt sits in its usual spot on his hip, shimmering gently in the clouds and starlight. The mysteries of the world never fail to surprise him, but he no longer stands stunned when they occur. Pulling the sword from its sheath, he presents it to Safrin, the Starblade shining with the power she bestowed upon it, as bright as the day she'd blessed it.
He waits patiently, too worried that asking questions might break the spell, barely willing to breathe as he holds hands with a goddess in the depths of his slumber and waits to see what she intends.
RE: perchance to dream - Safrin - 02-21-2026
Safrin’s laughter spills between them, warm and bright, the sound carrying like distant chimes struck by starlight. [say]"Oh, Zavien,"[/say] she says gently, her thumb brushing once against the inside of his wrist where their hands still meet. [say]"I can be here and have it be a dream. The two are not so incompatible as you imagine."[/say]
When he draws the blade, she inclines her head, pleased. The Starblade gleams in the celestial dark, already bearing the pulse she once wove into it. Safrin releases his hand only to lift the pitcher. The golden liquid inside thickens as she tilts it, stars within it swirling once before the first ribbon spills free.
It pours like honey made of dawn.
Where it touches the steel, the reaction is immediate; light blooms. Not harsh, not blinding, but radiant. Celestial brilliance unfurls along the length of the blade, interlacing with the starlit veins she gifted it before. The two lights do not compete; they braid together, sun and constellation woven into a single current that hums faintly in the dream’s stillness.
Safrin glances at him as she continues the pour, her smile softer now, touched with something like quiet pride. [asy]"Vi is pleased with you,"[/say] she says. [say]"You chose the safety of your people over the preservation of stone and memory. You did not gamble lives for pride. You did not let sentiment blind you to consequence."[/say] The final of the liquid slips from the pitcher. She rights it with a subtle motion, and the blade’s new radiance steadies, a living warmth beneath the constellations.
Stepping closer, she nods once toward the sword in his hands. [asy]"This is both gift and reminder,"[/say] she tells him. [say]"When the moment demanded it, you chose correctly. When hard choices come again—and they will—remember that."[/say] Her gaze lingers on him, assessing, approving. [say]"Steel guided by wisdom is far more dangerous than steel guided by glory."[/say]
Zavien has received:
Celestial Coating | A celestial coating on Starblade that adds mastered damage on the initial hit. Makes the blade glow with celestial light.
RE: perchance to dream - Zavien - 02-21-2026
The soothing brush of her thumb only solidifies his belief in the reality, any confusion or lingering doubt being swiped away in the gentlest motion of her finger. He does what he can to gather his faculties and nods his head, hoping he might save himself from looking like a further fool in front of the goddess. At least she hadn't found him in a more embarrassing dream.
His eyes fixate on the molten gold liquid - the light given tangible form - as Safrin pours it onto his blade. Light meets light in a melody of glorious beauty, the rising sun and the stars still twinkling above. They don't merge so much as intertwine, brightening each other without creating shadows or space for inadequacy. The only thing able to draw his gaze from the golden glimmer of celestial magic is the sound of Safrin's voice.
Zavien moves slowly, head rising through the fragile tension of his surprise. Vi is pleased with him? He'd hoped to see more of the god, to show his own devotion to life and its purpose; but when his prayers went unanswered or the god seemed far away, he'd assumed Vi wasn't watching. So, for Zavien to find out that the god of life hadn't just been watching him, but approved of his actions enough to send such a gift, reminds him of why it was all worth it. He doesn't need a god's approval to know that his people had been more important than his own desires or the wellbeing of rock and stone, and yet the dark sadness that had come with the decision seems to lift, the shadows vanquished by the light of the gift he holds. Because as much as he tells himself that, and lets other reassure him of the fact, having the god of life affirm his choice only proves to solidify it.
Pride swells in his chest. Not the kind that enlarges heads or dulls consciences, but the kind that strengthens limbs and spreads warmth though every vein. His voice is barely above a whisper as he looks between the glowing sword and the radiant goddess before him. [say]"Thank you - I - "[/say] Swallowing, he stops any attempts to minimizing what they've given him, refuses to disgrace the praise with dismissals or contradictions. Instead, he dips his head, low and reverent even in his dream. [say]"Thank you both."[/say] He knows he doesn't have to say more, knows that Safrin will remember every step where she'd helped him along the way, knows that Vi will recall the quest that had helped cure Stormbreak. Although it had all ended in ruin, he'd grown through it and allowed the people to find closure in the process - himself included. And even if the future was foggy and his path unclear, one thing he knew for certain with every beat of his heart.
[say]"I will make you both proud."[/say]
RE: perchance to dream - Safrin - 02-24-2026
Safrin’s smile widens at his words, bright and unguarded, her cheeks rounding with unmistakable delight. There is no false modesty in her pleasure; she accepts his gratitude the way stars accept the night before inclining her head once in acknowledgement.
The galaxies around them ripple, subtle waves passing through the midnight clouds as though stirred by her satisfaction. Constellations shimmer and realign in slow arcs, their light bending toward her like flowers tracking the sun. For a moment, she turns her gaze outward, surveying the vastness she has shaped here; indulgent, serene, entirely at ease within her dominion, then her eyes return to him. [say]"I know you will,"[/say] she says softly.
Her expression shifts, then, not colder, not distant, but knowing. [say]"I will be watching,"[/say] she adds, and the faintest wink punctuates the promise, playful and sovereign all at once as the starlight begins to thin. It isn't extinguished, its hold simply loosens as Safrin dissolves the way constellations fade at dawn, edges softening into silver mist before dispersing into the vast dark. The celestial hum quiets. The galaxies recede. The midnight clouds unspool into nothing.
And then the dream releases him.
—
Morning comes pale and real, and when Zavien wakes, the world will feel ordinary: breath, bed, the weight of waking thought settling back into place, until his eyes find the sword at his side.
It rests in its sheath as always, but along the edges of the scabbard, faint threads of celestial light linger, woven like living filaments through leather and steel.
Just as it had been in the dream.
~FIN