i have died everyday waiting for you
A shadow flickered through Mort’s warm, golden presence—not darkness, but something softer, something like sorrow. He lifted a hand, splaying his fingers almost apologetically, as though he’d heard the words Ronin hadn’t spoken. "She was never meant for permanence here," he murmured, his voice gentle but steady. "Seren has spent as much time in the stars as she has on the sands. She was always caught between them, between Vi’s breath and the vastness beyond. And now, she is where she belongs."
His gaze lingered on Ronin for a moment longer, full of quiet understanding, before shifting to Remi. The Bastion’s raw, helpless expression carved something deep into the god’s features. This was not a moment he could ease; this was grief, twisting and relentless, edged now with fear.
"Alone," he admitted after a long breath, "I do not think you need to fear for your life. Not yet." It wasn’t reassurance, not really, because Mort never lied. His expression darkened, though the warmth in his gaze never wavered. "But in the presence of the Family?" He let the thought settle between them, weighty and unspoken. That will be far more dangerous.
Mort’s dimples didn’t appear this time. Instead, he simply studied them both—Ronin, whose conviction had already begun to shift into something colder, and Remi, whose grip said he might never let go, even if it killed him. "Things are not impossible," he murmured at last, the words thick with meaning, with warning, with the tender sorrow of a god who had seen too many loves tested beyond breaking. "But they are becoming very, very difficult."
His gaze lingered on Ronin for a moment longer, full of quiet understanding, before shifting to Remi. The Bastion’s raw, helpless expression carved something deep into the god’s features. This was not a moment he could ease; this was grief, twisting and relentless, edged now with fear.
"Alone," he admitted after a long breath, "I do not think you need to fear for your life. Not yet." It wasn’t reassurance, not really, because Mort never lied. His expression darkened, though the warmth in his gaze never wavered. "But in the presence of the Family?" He let the thought settle between them, weighty and unspoken. That will be far more dangerous.
Mort’s dimples didn’t appear this time. Instead, he simply studied them both—Ronin, whose conviction had already begun to shift into something colder, and Remi, whose grip said he might never let go, even if it killed him. "Things are not impossible," he murmured at last, the words thick with meaning, with warning, with the tender sorrow of a god who had seen too many loves tested beyond breaking. "But they are becoming very, very difficult."
