everything i knew is turning into ruins in your shadow
The marketplace glows like a living ember beneath the endless dark of LongNight. Torchlight flickers in coral sconces, casting the stalls and their wares in shifting hues of gold and copper, the warm glow licking against silk and spice, wood and glass. The sea breeze is gentler than usual, carrying the scent of salt and the faint sweetness of fruit past the low murmur of bartering voices.
Remi moves through the narrow paths between the vendors with an absent sort of ease, his fingertips ghosting over woven baskets, polished trinkets, and delicate carvings without much thought. The weight of Deepfrost lingers even here in Torchline, but it’s softer—just enough to cool the air without stealing its warmth entirely. He should have chosen a gift before LongNight had set in, before the world had gone dark and left everything drenched in torchlight, making colours lie.
The silk between his fingers is impossibly smooth, one roll dyed a deep blue, the other a rich green—at least, that’s what Remi assumes. Here, under the torches, everything is cast in copper, the undertones blurred and softened. He huffs a quiet sigh, turning the fabric in his hands, trying and failing to imagine how it would look beneath the sun.
"Hey, sorry—what do you think?" The Bastion's voice is warm, tinged with an easy sort of politeness as he glances toward the nearest shopper—a young woman browsing a stall beside him. "Blue or green? Or does it all look orange to you, too?" He tilts his head slightly, sea-glass eyes flicking toward hers as he offers her a boyish smile.
The torchlight catches in his curls, highlighting the few strands by his temples which have started to go grey. He doesn’t expect much—just a passing thought, a second opinion from someone not burdened by knowing Mateo quite as well as he does. Maybe it’ll make the decision easier. Or maybe he’ll still end up leaving with both.
Remi moves through the narrow paths between the vendors with an absent sort of ease, his fingertips ghosting over woven baskets, polished trinkets, and delicate carvings without much thought. The weight of Deepfrost lingers even here in Torchline, but it’s softer—just enough to cool the air without stealing its warmth entirely. He should have chosen a gift before LongNight had set in, before the world had gone dark and left everything drenched in torchlight, making colours lie.
The silk between his fingers is impossibly smooth, one roll dyed a deep blue, the other a rich green—at least, that’s what Remi assumes. Here, under the torches, everything is cast in copper, the undertones blurred and softened. He huffs a quiet sigh, turning the fabric in his hands, trying and failing to imagine how it would look beneath the sun.
"Hey, sorry—what do you think?" The Bastion's voice is warm, tinged with an easy sort of politeness as he glances toward the nearest shopper—a young woman browsing a stall beside him. "Blue or green? Or does it all look orange to you, too?" He tilts his head slightly, sea-glass eyes flicking toward hers as he offers her a boyish smile.
The torchlight catches in his curls, highlighting the few strands by his temples which have started to go grey. He doesn’t expect much—just a passing thought, a second opinion from someone not burdened by knowing Mateo quite as well as he does. Maybe it’ll make the decision easier. Or maybe he’ll still end up leaving with both.
THE ALCHEMIST
i thought that i'd be ready
but falling isn't steady once you let go
but falling isn't steady once you let go
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
