Click here for a list of weather descriptions, seasonal festivals, and a real time:site time conversion.
Character of the Season
Frail in body but dangerously quick of mind, Nikandr is the sort of character who proves that curiosity can be just as perilous as any weapon. A necromancer, inventor, and problem-solver with more ambition than self-preservation, Niki approaches the world like a puzzle box begging to be opened, even when what’s inside has teeth. Blunt, dry-witted, fiercely independent, and carrying a history best left partially buried, he has a knack for making even failure feel fascinating. Whether he’s raising the dead, moving across Caido to King's End, or experiencing a hangover for the first time, Nikandr brings a wonderfully strange spark to Caido, and we can’t wait to see what trouble his brilliant mind wanders into next.
Congratulations, Niki!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
OG Skinning provided by Kaons, with functionality and many custom plugins made by Neowulf!
Zavien’s letter, and the broadcast, had left her in an uneasy, sleepless, and unsettled platitude for days on end. Lena wasn’t one to let her disquiet perturb or disturb her occupation though, and so she spent much of the hours tending to anything and everything within the Celestine, letting the role supersede any other entangling motions war across her mind. Gardens were given care. Animals were mended, fed, watered, medicated; round and round she went with an endless preamble on her mind to cease the rest of the nervous indulgences threatening to cloud her horizons. Zavien would come back, as he’d said, and all would be well.
But Sol’s antics persisted, a little better in some hours, and returning home left her with more questions than answers. There too, she worked; a tireless machine of solitude and perseverance down to her bones. Sometimes she baked. Sometimes she cleaned. Sometimes she maneuvered and stretched and did it all again until the routine wore right at her edges, meandering across Plazas and shopping and trying to pretend normalcy echoed at her fringes. But patience was a virtue and she knew of those too. She could breathe and she could walk and run and force pretenses across every smile.
The morning beckoned, and she flocked about in her own yard; enjoying the winter sun and watching as both snowball and dragon basked in it – perhaps the latter as best he could, still without his bonded. Pulling and tugging at unrelenting weeds gave her some satisfaction, forming a neat pile by her favorite bench, while starting the inevitable wait once more.
Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.
The trip was long and harrowing, full of brutal Deepfrost winds that made his side ache and too much time with his own thoughts. Although overjoyed to be heading home, he couldn't seem to calm his nerves. The words continued to fail him, and sleep still illuded him, making his heart race with anticipation. There was so much explaining to do, so many decisions to be made, so much still to process. Zavien wasn't sure he was strong enough to face it all, but he owed it to Lena to at least try. But how would she respond to the news? He already felt so much shame and guilt. Would she blame him further? Would she hate him for not saying something sooner? For not being more careful? All the catastrophic possibilities swirled in his mind, making his heart numb and cold with dread.
Wearing one of the thick coats Deimos had left him, the Dragoon made his way through the empty streets. No purple shadows (that he could see) lingered in between buildings, perhaps unable to compete with the darkness under his eyes. He pulled the jacket close, hoping the Family might not notice or care that he had been resurrected, yet not wanting to be too cautious. When his dreams weren't plagued by death's void and roaring yetis ripping through his body, he feared for his friends and what may happen to Stormbreak next. Would they all be infected? Would the Family decide they'd need to finish the job the yeti started? Or make an example of someone close to him? Like they'd done to Flora?
His feet began to move quickly, as if tied to his racing thoughts and heartbeat. If he'd had more strength, he might have sprinted through the streets just to get there a moment sooner, but his feet felt heavy, laden with exhaustion and the weight of recent events. Even his breath puffed before his eyes, showing the effort it took just to traverse the city. When he finally spotted Lena's house through the crisp morning air, Zavien stopped suddenly, half from fatigue and half from the pivotal moment before him. He could have stood there for hours, trying to muster the brave face that he knew like a second skin. It felt buried deep in his chest, stuck against the acceptance he hadn't quite breeched, slowly growing stale until he brushed aside the dust with care, letting it slide back into place with surprising effort.
The smile fell for a moment when he spotted a golden figure diving towards him. Upon Zavien's approach, Sol had become fidgety, looking into the distance as he let out small whines and high-pitched grumbles. His tail twitched, wings fluttering as he prepared to take flight. The bond felt raw, like fresh skin over a burn that pulled and itched with hypersensitivity. Zavien could also feel it faintly through his emotions, but to Sol it was like a lifeline, a golden cord that had been momentarily severed, ending everything he'd ever known in an instant. To sense his companion within range again was enough to send him into a small frenzy of energy. He took flight without notice, speeding through the air as fast as his little wings would take him. And by the time he was in the Dragoon's tight embrace, the practiced smile had been carefully stitched back into place.
Zavien held the small dragon, taking deep breaths against the constricting feeling of his physical and emotional pain. His voice was soft as he whispered, "I missed you, too." Sol let out what may have been a whimper, pressing his head into Zavien's hair to take in the scent, the snorfles of air bringing out a real smile for a second. "I know. I'm so sorry you had to go through that." His words nearly caught in his throat, but he pushed it aside to rub a soothing hand over the golden scales. There was still more to do. "Let's go see Lena." Understanding rang through his head as Sol seemed to realize the gravity of the situation. Although reluctant, he crawled out of Zavien's arms to walk at his side, his tail and wing tip brushing against his leg with the protective proximity, eyes glued to his companion like he'd never look away again.
Rolling his shoulder to ease out the strain against his sealed wound, he bit the inside of his lip to keep the smile in place. Despite the shadows of his eyes, the strange assortment of clothes, and the unkept appearance of his hair and beard, he hoped he wasn't too grueling of a sight. He didn't know that his smile was strained, or that his green eyes held a depth that hadn't been there before. Or that, even with effort, he still hadn't been able to say the truth aloud.
Yet when he saw Lena tending to her garden, he forgot all of it, his mind going blank. He waited, taking her in like a ray of sunshine floating in on a summer breeze. For a moment, he only thought of her and how much he wanted to hold her in his arms, to hear her musical laugh, to smell the dirt and lavender in her hair. It was like a need to breathe, stealing his every thought. Zavien couldn't describe the feeling as he finally made his way forward in a haze, trying to find the word that might encompass it all. The only one that made it past his lips was both a prayer and a plea, "Lena."
She stood amidst the sun, gazing upon the work done and to be completed eventually, wiping lightly at her brow, setting gloves aside on the bench. The semblances kept her busy – all the blossoms and herbs, all the riches underneath and upon the soil; enough to wade away far more detrimental thoughts. Her fingers went to her nape, swaying her head back and forth to cease any impending knots and gnarls in muscles, before sighing, and maneuvering back towards the gate –
And probably would’ve kept going, had Zavien not appeared.
The Caretaker halted for one moment – eyes widening as she took him in. The lines of exhaustion, fatigue, depletion seemed pressing, overbearing; like an entirely different person than when he’d left. Her hands went for her staff that wasn’t there, and then her feet were taking the few strides over regardless, fingers lightly grasping at his jacket – careful not to pull, not to plea, not to grab and tear and wrench anything else apart. He was whole and tangible and there in front of her; but something was off – and she half-wondered if the injuries had been far more detrimental. Worry drew across her features, before swallowing down an entire litany of questions, and instead of giving those voice or increased apprehension, she settled for a breath, the glimmer of her smile, the quiet expanse of her careful words, trying desperately not to peek under the layers and drive away the small victories. “Welcome home,” she murmured first, beginning to unlatch the gate, leading him through the fence line. “Come in – can I get you something?”
Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.
He could see the concern spread across her face like a dark cloud over the sky, making it even harder to keep the smile across his lips. Zavien felt the way his muscles tried to fight the movement, to release the inner emotions as Lena clutched against his chest. He didn't hesitate to pull her closer into his arms, the latent strength a vice around her, clinging to the reality of the moment. Not only was he alive, he was home. "Glad to be back." And that was the easiest truth he'd said in a long time. It may come with a list of caveats and uncertainties, but he was genuinely happy to be back in Stormbreak, reunited with those he cared about. If he could just shut out the world for a minute... maybe it could be like it was before. His eyes fluttered closed to do just that, soaking in the relief like a wave of healing warmth on his soul.
But he would find no reprieve in the dark.
A shuttering sigh left him, threatening to unravel his perfect facade in a single breath. Keeping his composure without worrying Lena was proving harder than he had originally thought it would be. Zavien looked away as he reluctantly released her, torn between trying to keep his mask carefully in place and falling into the urge to spill his guts on her walkway. "No. I - I - " He couldn't seem to breathe at the right times, unsure if the whirling of his head was a result or the cause. Regardless, he kept trying until the words fell on an exhale. "I have a lot to tell you." The nerves ran rampant through his body, his hand shaking slightly as he held it against Lena's back to follow her inside. He hoped she couldn't feel the tremor of anxiety or see the way his smile seemed to stutter with each breath. His eyes were too unfocused to truly land on anything, alternating between the house and the path, but he would make it safely to the living room without incident, even if he felt like too much and not enough time had passed. Dread pooled in his stomach at the news he had to share and what it may mean for the stability of his life.
An echoing clang sounds nearby, as if armor or metal wings collided with stone. When you rush to see what happened, the walkway is deserted. A lone scrap of fabric drifts across the path. No breeze seems to move it, yet it flutters away before you can grasp it. This does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention.
Something was off; she could see it in his face. The pragmatic and practical side wondered, pondered, if it had been simply his injuries (but even then – where he’d been gone for days, hadn’t they been mended and tended to in Halo?), or an extension of whatever he’d seen across the Tundra. Not once did they veer towards a notion far more detrimental, and though the broadcast had her weary and nervous, Zavien was right there, in front of her, real and whole and –
They made their way into the house and she didn’t stop for water or food, too puzzled and perplexed with his reactions and platitude. “Okay,” she accepted, biting down on semblances of confusion and trying to grant him the time, the moments, to say whatever had darkened his mind. They’d been in rough motions before – the whole of Stormbreak was one, and then the disaster of the Feverlands another…so while she wracked her brain on possibilities, of forging along and trying to find the less bitter path, they settled upon the couch – until there was the echoing throng nearby too, and she practically jumped out of her skin.
“Gods, sorry. Mittens, can you go check?” And the abominable snowball was off with a grumble and a grunt, floating down the hall towards the sound. Eventually, she turned her head back towards Zavien, reeling in another breath, steeling herself for the weight of the unknown. “What happened?”
Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.
The couch had barely felt his weight when Zavien jolted up like he'd been struck by lightning, spine straightening and heart racing against the fear that pounded in his head. Had the Family come to finish the job? Or maybe it was the sign for the dream to end? Would the darkness claim him again, ripping away the delicate second chance it'd tempted him with? His eyes scanned frantically for the source of the crash, hoping and praying that he was wrong. Sol bristled with alarm, following Mittens to ensure that there was no danger to be found for his still-fragile companion while Zavien clutched for Lena's hand, holding his breath like it may somehow stop what was coming.
It wasn't until Sol returned to stand guard at his side that the Dragoon let out his breath, releasing the death-grip he'd had on her hand. "Sorry." The apology was for more than just the tight grasp, the heavy softness proof of that as he finally sat at the edge of the couch. He didn't want to burden her with his worries and the fleeting echo of a smile returned to forcibly push away some of the weight.
Leaning forward, he clasped his hands tightly together, propping his elbows on his knees to support the way his back hunched with an invisible load. His thumb kneaded into his palm as he took a deep, steadying breath to find his center. It didn't right the world, but Zavien was able to focus enough to begin. "We weren't prepared - " He shook his head in correction, "I wasn't prepared for the battle we faced in the Tundra..." Stealing a glance to his right, he found comfort in Lena's face before he continued, "It was brutally cold, and the Void yeti that appeared to face us was formidable, larger than any beast I've ever seen."
It's claws alone were large enough to kill a man in one strike...
Zavien ignored the thought, trying to separate himself from the memory if only to get through telling it. "Melita, Alys, and Sohalia had also come, but it was clear from the start that we were outmatched." Another deep breath and he switched to kneading his other palm. Keep it short and simple like a report. "Alys kept it distracted with illusions while Mel shot arrows from behind her invisibility cloak. I called on Safrin, who helped weaken the yeti more. It seemed like we might suddenly have a chance... until Soh was hit." The blood splattering across purple snow flashed before his eyes and he clenched his teeth, his jaw flexing at the movement. "I told her to run. She couldn't survive another moment without medical care, and the yeti wasn't going to give us one. To help her escape, and keep it from targeting Alys, I - I rushed in to attack..." Each word took more effort, more air. He tried to push them out, squeezing his hands harder like the physical strength might translate. "That's when - " But it wasn't enough. The words felt weak and insufficient. His tongue felt thick and his throat tight, fighting against the admission. The smile had since failed him, but now his voice did the same, abandoning him to the truth.
Zavien pulled off the jacket and lifted up the edge of his shirt, exposing his right flank to Lena as he disguised a small wince. His own eyes turned away, already knowing what she'd see, and not sure he wanted to see her reaction to it. The torn flesh stitched together through magic and healing had become a mess of pulling and puckering skin, still a shiny pink with new growth. It started just under his arm before twisting down to mid-abdomen, the gnarled scar that would always represent his stupidity and subsequent death. He waited to hear her reaction, to know if she understood without him needing to say the words aloud:
His own panicked state, something she’d never truly seen, had her eyes widening and heart pounding; rabbit-like in her chest, rapid and fleeting, nearly exhausting with the weight of it. Mittens and Sol’s return with nothing more than casual shrugs and the unknown weren’t exactly what she had in mind, but she breathed deeply, tenderly wrapping her fingers around his to assuage and alleviate whatever more had burdened – unaware that there was far more to come.
And then she was quiet again, settled into the boundaries, listening, absorbing, the harrowing tale. What should’ve been triumph and victory sounded as though it’d bellowed and billowed out into disastrous misfortunes, comprised and composed in impulsive, rash decisions, and her eyes flickered downward, staring at the rug as she tried to form and imagine the rush of onslaughts.
Sohalia hit. Escaping. Stopping portions from hitting Alys. Him rushing into attack and distract – ever the heroic plunge with little thought to his own state –
She could make sense of that. That’s how he’d been so injured, caught up in Halo for days while he mended. What she didn’t, couldn’t, have envisioned were the portions and pieces of scars shown, and her mender gaze went over them sharply, rapidly, fingers and eyes following the lines of puckered skin with a touch that would’ve been nothing more than air. “What-,” she uttered at first, because she couldn’t see how deeply the wounds had gone, but she'd known enough from so many others, how it had torn and bled and –
He wouldn’t have survived something like that.
She caught a sharp inhale through her lungs and willed herself to not panic, but her digits were already shaking and he was real and whole in front of her, so…the confusion tumbled out of her instead, wrecked across her features with the bewilderment and trepidation. ”But you’re here…how?”
Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.
Zavien didn't want to see Lena's reaction, to hear what words she might say. If she were anyone else, he would have dismissed everything with a joke, disguising the hurt and pain behind a facade to reassure them. But she weakened his willpower, making the mask feel like a lie poisoning his heart. He didn't want to hide anything from her, but he didn't know if he was strong enough to show her everything. How could he taint her gentle, comforting personality with all of this darkness? He didn't want her to know the fear coursing through his body, or the guilt eating away at his heart. How he'd accepted the death with a content smile only to be brought back to relive the memory over and over. How everything felt different now - real. Or that he felt like a failure. How could he tell her that?
The trailing of her fingers barely registered in his mind, but the skin shivered from frayed, oversensitive nerves, spreading uncomfortable tingles across his side. Although he didn't flinch, his jaw tightened, waiting for her to finish her assessment of the damage. She seemed to comprehend his meaning, rightfully confused by the conflicting evidence before her. Zavien let his shirt fall as he steeled himself for the second half of the tale. He leaned forward again, the hand that he ran through his hair catching in his rough grasp, further disheveling the blonde strands. "Sunjata... he - he had a feather." It sounded stupid to say aloud, like a child stumbling through why them liking the color green had anything to do with why they were covered in dirt. His head shook, still somewhat baffled by the specifics of his revival. "Something called a 'revivify feather,' I think." Perhaps she had heard of it, confirming what he still had yet to say aloud, but he bit his lip sharply before clarifying, "It - it brought me back." The words strained out through the tightening of his throat, emotion constricting the airway in a way that he'd rarely experienced. He couldn't find the strength to smile again as a deep breath pushed back the swell of anxiety that had built up the last few days. Gods, had it only been a few days?
He wanted to tell her how he couldn't sleep without seeing how the darkness resembled the void of death. That he worried he may not be strong enough to stand against the Family, or the fact that he was more willing to embrace death again than face the risk of losing her. How he was only able to smile in the end because of her, and everyone he cared about. His second chance at life reminded him of all the things he had yet to say or do while cruelly highlighting his powerlessness.
But he didn't say that. He wouldn't burden her with that knowledge right now. Maybe one day, when the wounds weren't so fresh.
For now, Zavien glanced at Lena before looking away again, trying to recompose himself to continue. The shaky breath he stole slid the pained smile back in place now that the topic had moved past his own struggles. "The others... succeeded without me in the end. Soh was injured and Sascha was killed, but Alys and Mel made it out..." He didn't know what else to say, staring at the kneading of his hands. They were starting to hurt, but it was something to do, a way to feel what little strength and control he had.
Would he have said anything he was thinking, Lena would have plenty of words to assuage the self-inflicted torment. She understood survival; from the depths of those who hadn’t, to those mended, tucked away, and permitted to heal under their own fruition and timeline. Fear wasn’t a darkness – there were plenty of things to be afraid of, especially in Caido, where every day something might be swarming and looming from the region that was once their own shelter. It was how they managed it. What they decided to do. How they overcame.
And he’d done just that – though by means she’d never heard of.
She tucked her fingers away, tightly held against her palms, realizing she might have been simply enhancing the pain. Feathers capable of reviving, of bringing someone back from Mort’s Realm…and she tucked that information away for another day, nodding her head and striving to comprehend anything beyond the here and now. Another few stifled and stilted breaths came through, vague notions of inquiries spiraling against her mind, never to be said aloud. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered instead, uncertain of how else to express her regret for his experience, for the horrific images likely painted through his mind, for something he’d always carry with him. Her eyes went downcast, to the couch cushions, to the floor, hiding the emotional landscape behind her eyes as they threatened to unleash one more burden of salt and sorrow. He didn’t need that either.
The Caretaker listened as best she could to the notions of a Pyrrhic victory – to poor Sohalia, likely wounded and grieving so many chances and opportunities, always yearning to be mighty and strong and wanting to take back her stolen crown, to Alys and her lost companion, to –
She sucked in a breath, funneled it down into her lungs and willed her hands to stop shaking. “Okay. But you’re alive and - ,” that matters she said to herself, stumbling through the semblances and synapses, one by one. “I – what do we do now?”
Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.
Her apology rattled against his brain, sounding all wrong. He shook his head emphatically, the pain and regret written all over his face as he looked to Lena. "No. I'm sorry." For being a fool, for worrying her, for leaving to begin with. Swallowing down the onslaught of words, he took a shaky breath. "I almost - " 'died'. But that wasn't right, because he had died. He'd failed her in the worst way possible. He'd almost ruined everything. An anguished scrunch of his face could be glimpsed before he dropped his head, too ashamed to meet her eyes.
As for what came next... "I - I don't know." It was so weak, just another reason he hadn't been ready. Zavien clasped his hands behind his head, trying to contain the negativity clanging loudly in his head through pure strength. "I'm not strong enough. Stormbreak is falling farther into darkness, and I can't even fight a single monster without - " 'dying'. His throat caught, his calm composure starting to crack with the weight of his emotion. Sol let out a soft wine, pushing closer into his side for comfort. It took everything in him not to break down as he finally said, "I - Lena - I think I have to leave." Deimos's words rang in his head, the need to get better, to get stronger; and he couldn't do that if he was constantly looking over his shoulder, uncertain whether the Family would come for him.
Turning to face her more fully, he gently reached for her hands if she'd let him. He didn't know how she'd take his request, and his eyes still brimmed with the pain of the decision, but he pulled enough strength to say the words. "I know it's not fair for me to ask you to come with me. The Celestine is here. Your friends and family are here. The Dragoons are here. Your life is here." His was too. Everything he'd ever loved or dreamed of was here in Stormbreak, making it all the more difficult, yet he knew it was the best thing for him right now. Taking another shaky breath, Zavien's throat tightened again, making his words come out strained and broken. "I just - I need to leave, but I can't go without you." His green eyes glittered with the unspoken depth of his feelings for her, and what he was asking.
Unable to hear her answer yet, he glanced down at their hands, fumbling on. "I realized when I - " His mouth opened as if he might say the word this time, but it constricted against his chest, forcing him to exhale before rephrasing. " - when I came back, that I care too much about you to let go." To give in to death and its infinite finality. To let her go.
His voice lowered, heavy with emotion as he said her name, "Lena..." Zavien turned his head up to meet her eyes again, fear and compassion and every ounce of sincerity in his body swam in the depth of his gaze. Despite every warning bell that said she may not feel the same, he stepped off the ledge. "I love you." It felt unfair to say after recent events, but he couldn't keep the words hidden any longer. His heart hurt more than anything he'd ever experience (death included). When people talked about love, they spoke of softness and floating disembodiment that gave life a rosy hue. Why didn't they talk about the gut-wrenching hold Lena had placed on his soul? How he was excruciatingly aware of her every movement and emotion? How he longed for the pain of it all because he knew what it meant? That he was alive, and in love with the perfect woman? And if she didn't feel the same....? Zavien tried not to think about it as he searched her beautiful brown eyes for an answer.
Amidst the doldrums echoing through the Caretaker’s head, the leaving part had never once entered her mind. She recoiled back, dashing away a few tears, glancing at him with a host of confusion mottled across her flushed cheeks and damp eyes. “L-leave?” Maybe it was insane, to believe themselves so thoroughly necessary to Stormbreak, to the rebellion slinking through, to the sedition now starved and ignited simultaneously; threads so knotted and gnarled she wouldn’t know how to untangle them nowadays. The pragmatic side of her yearned to bubble over the emotional, toiling aspects, and she didn’t flinch again, finding strength in herself as she wound her fingers together, hands in her lap; just as she’d done with Harper all those seasons ago. “But – after everything we’ve worked for and tried -,” she swallowed sentiments down, then leaned further into the fold. “I abandoned her council and she didn’t come after me. Look what happened with Koa, and Soh, and they haven’t come after them again. If they think you’re dead - ,” then maybe he could hide or pretend nothing ever happened. Wool over their eyes. His name hadn’t been on the broadcast.
The cold reality that he’d simply been the one labeled dead hammered against her chest. “Let’s talk to Koa before we decide anything -,” pulling at whatever strings she could to not have her foundation destroyed from underneath her. She’d already had these moments that time before – wondering if she’d need to abandon the Celestine, everything she’d ever yearned, craved, and strived for – maybe it had been foolish then and it was stupefying now, but to hear Zavien willing to do so barbed at her throat and her senses, so much that she barely heard the rest of the words. Rooted in her stubbornness and heartache, wrenched apart until the phrases echoed and bounded and he was staring straight at her – “What?”
The shame and deliberation stung at her, because she didn’t know what to say. Were they both in better temperaments or moods or not spiraling at the seams, the moments would’ve been far more tender – now it was just raw and gaping at her. “I -,” haven’t known you that long and how could you possibly clawed at her ribcage, because she knew he was certain and true but gods between he’d told her died and now this, she’d had only the expanse of minutes and instances. Swallowing down another tremor and losing sight of her reasoning, she choked down another breath. “Can – can I have a moment?”
Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.
It broke his heart to see the tears running down her face, to know that he was the cause of them. Who was he to ask this of her? Zavien wanted to wipe the tears and pain from her eyes, only containing his actions so she'd have the space to process. Maybe he didn't deserve to comfort her. Maybe he should have stayed away.
Ever the strategic soldier, he pushed away the doubts and biases, focusing on the facts. "It wouldn't be permanent, just until I can regain my strength, so we can safely plan without having to look over our shoulders." He'd had plenty of time to think about the decision on the trip back to Stormbreak, and he tried to explain himself despite every instinct that told him to stay. Chest tightening, he continued hurriedly, pleading, "Lena, they're getting more desperate. They're infecting more people and lashing out." He pulled his reddening hands apart to press the palms against his dark-rimmed eyes. "Soh was severely injured. I'm not sure when, or even if, her plans will take place. Can you say with certainty that we'll be safe here?" That she'll be safe here? The pain and fear were raw as he lowered his hands to look into Lena's eyes again, willing her to understand that he hadn't come to the decision easily, that he wished with everything that it wasn't necessary.
Her blunt use of the word made him flinch imperceptibly as he looked around at the empty room, wondering if they were being watched during their vulnerable moment. Call him paranoid, but things hadn't felt safe in so long, and his eyes had been opened to the consequences. It made his teeth clench, nerves eating at what little calm he'd been able to grasp. "Even if they believe that, they have eyes everywhere - they probably already know I'm back. My name might not have been on the last broadcast, but who's to say it won't be on the next?" They had become bolder than he even knew, but everyone could feel the tensions rising in Caido, the scales tipping ever so slightly.
Meanwhile, his own life was falling apart at the seams. Zavien could feel Lena slipping through his fingers, pulling away with his words, throwing his world into a tailspin. His head shook faster, breath speeding through his racing heart as he begged. "Please, please, don't answer now. I know it's soon. I know I'm saying all this at the worst possible time." His words came quickly, spurned by fear for what her answer might be. Zavien had always been one to feel emotions in full force, to know what he wanted in life; but others didn't have that same luxury or death-induced clarity. The fact that he'd ever thought Lena might be ready to hear it aloud was a mistake that may cost him dearly, and he tried his best not to think of what that cost may be. She was still here, in front of him. That's what mattered right now. His voice softened as he looked down at her trembling hands, the butterflies in his chest having turned to tightening vines that threatened to crush him. "I just - I couldn't go another moment without telling you how I feel." It was such a selfish, awful thing to admit. He was the one causing her pain, yet he couldn't stop thinking of that darkness and all he'd regretted.
'Some of my final thoughts were of you...' The words rang through his head, but he refused to burden her further.
Glancing up at her stricken face, Zavien rambled on, "I don't expect you to feel the same. We haven't been dating that long, and gods know this isn't my most attractive moment." If the atmosphere wasn't so heavy, he might have let the self-deprecating laugh escape, but only a strained smile managed to form on his lips. It died immediately as his eyes misted over, breaths struggling to gather in his lungs. "I just - I want you to know - in case - " In case she decided she can't handle his fresh trauma, or the risk associated with it. In case he died again before getting the chance to tell her the truth. The thoughts sent a throng of panic through him, rattling him enough to strip him of breath entirely as he cradled his throbbing head in his hands. Through pure willpower, he inhaled, sucking together the pieces that attempted to shatter around him.
She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking, despite the amount of breaths she kept pulling into her lungs, the foundational efforts to abstain from the rising panic in her throat. “I can’t just throw everything away -,” the Celestine, the Dragoons, her home, her life, even if it was for short bouts of time. What if they became more than that? What if they just fled, tails between their legs, and never returned? What if everything just continued to fall apart because they couldn’t find the ground to stand upon? “Gods, we can’t say we’ll be safe anywhere,” not with all the information, all the notions, gathered. Sohalia’s plans alone were dashed and gone, likely, and all the little hopes that might have clawed in there fell apart at the seams so quickly it was as if there’d been no talons at all.
She curled in around herself, eyes downward, trying to find a balance in the room. She didn’t have the answers. She couldn’t even breathe properly. The air squeezed in her chest and hurt with the rabbit beating of her heart, merciless in its panic. She could feel herself rising from the couch and backing away, slowly, to the kitchen, trying to find a glass and the faucet for some water; listening but nothing really sinking in. What should’ve been something happy and resplendent was quickly churning into overwhelming, choking holds, and she found herself leaning against the counter, still heard but still small. Dizzy, swallowing down the liquid while trying to find stability. “I don’t know what to do.” She needed more than snippets, more than instances, more than news clattering about her head that hurt and maimed. “But I don’t think we should be deciding anything right now.” Not in their current states. She didn’t know how to handle his trauma when she was barely processing the news of it. It wasn't ignoring everything he was sharing, but compartmentalizing; taken when she could hold it far more dearly.
