REMI
the bastion
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
Remi nods gently, sensing the swell of nerves in the silence between them and the way it ripples through the attuned bond. He doesn’t speak—doesn’t try to soothe or soften it. Some things aren’t meant to be made easier.
Instead, he lets his breath settle. His eyes slip shut, lashes brushing his cheeks, and inward he turns, to that sacred place within where Mort’s touch still lingers like a fingerprint on his soul. There, nestled in memory and magic, is the thread—golden and fragile, yet unbreakable. He tugs.
The air shifts.
Beside him, space folds. It’s not violent, not loud, but still the houseboat seems to hush around it. A doorway unfurls like petals parting in slow bloom, gold light spilling softly onto the floorboards. Beyond the threshold is a world not unlike this one, but touched with something deeper—more eternal. Towering trees stretch into a golden sky, their leaves catching light that doesn’t seem to come from any single sun. The air smells like wildflowers and warm earth, and from somewhere just out of sight, the soft murmur of voices carries on a summer breeze.
Opening his eyes, Remi breathes out once more and looks to Sohalia. There’s reverence in his gaze, and something quietly protective beneath it. "Go ahead," he says gently. "Call for him."
Instead, he lets his breath settle. His eyes slip shut, lashes brushing his cheeks, and inward he turns, to that sacred place within where Mort’s touch still lingers like a fingerprint on his soul. There, nestled in memory and magic, is the thread—golden and fragile, yet unbreakable. He tugs.
The air shifts.
Beside him, space folds. It’s not violent, not loud, but still the houseboat seems to hush around it. A doorway unfurls like petals parting in slow bloom, gold light spilling softly onto the floorboards. Beyond the threshold is a world not unlike this one, but touched with something deeper—more eternal. Towering trees stretch into a golden sky, their leaves catching light that doesn’t seem to come from any single sun. The air smells like wildflowers and warm earth, and from somewhere just out of sight, the soft murmur of voices carries on a summer breeze.
Opening his eyes, Remi breathes out once more and looks to Sohalia. There’s reverence in his gaze, and something quietly protective beneath it. "Go ahead," he says gently. "Call for him."
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.
