REMI
the bastion
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
Remi glances sideways as Mort settles into the sand, and just like that, he feels it. There’s no conscious shift, no magical flare, just a slow and steady light blooming behind his ribs, as if his bones remember how to breathe properly only when the god is near. The kind of happiness Mort brings isn’t loud or overwhelming. It just is. Undeniable. Steady. Like gravity. Like love.
He smiles, slow and golden, and the sea-wind catches in his curls as he gazes out at the water again. "We’ve done so many things," he says softly. "Built a life. A family. Protected more people than I can count. Woken up next to each other on mornings when it felt impossible that either of us made it through."
He doesn’t look sad, even as the words turn heavier. Just quiet. Grounded. "But we’ve lost more than I ever imagined we would." Aoife. Seren. Rexanna. Vervain. Amalia. Wessex. Edrei. Seraphina. Vanya. The names breeze through his thoughts like offerings, reverent and light. "I can bring a few of them back each year, for an afternoon. But after ten years of living here—after everything we’ve fought for—it isn’t enough."
Turning toward Mort now, Remi’s gaze shines with something more than hope: devotion, trust, and a softness that only the god of death could draw from him. "I want to throw a party...Ronin does love having everyone around, filled with those we love." His voice thickens slightly, though the smile never leaves his face. "If I made space for them... if I left chairs open and poured drinks for their hands... would you open the gates, just for one night? Just a few hours? So Ronin and I could have them all together again—just once."
His cup sits, untouched and steaming, but Remi leans forward slightly as if caught in a prayer. "I want that joy for him. And selfishly—for me too."
He smiles, slow and golden, and the sea-wind catches in his curls as he gazes out at the water again. "We’ve done so many things," he says softly. "Built a life. A family. Protected more people than I can count. Woken up next to each other on mornings when it felt impossible that either of us made it through."
He doesn’t look sad, even as the words turn heavier. Just quiet. Grounded. "But we’ve lost more than I ever imagined we would." Aoife. Seren. Rexanna. Vervain. Amalia. Wessex. Edrei. Seraphina. Vanya. The names breeze through his thoughts like offerings, reverent and light. "I can bring a few of them back each year, for an afternoon. But after ten years of living here—after everything we’ve fought for—it isn’t enough."
Turning toward Mort now, Remi’s gaze shines with something more than hope: devotion, trust, and a softness that only the god of death could draw from him. "I want to throw a party...Ronin does love having everyone around, filled with those we love." His voice thickens slightly, though the smile never leaves his face. "If I made space for them... if I left chairs open and poured drinks for their hands... would you open the gates, just for one night? Just a few hours? So Ronin and I could have them all together again—just once."
His cup sits, untouched and steaming, but Remi leans forward slightly as if caught in a prayer. "I want that joy for him. And selfishly—for me too."
And what good are hearts
if you bury them all alone?
if you bury them all alone?
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.
