REMI
the bastion
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
As Sohalia’s voice trembles into the golden light—fragile and full of all the things unsaid between worlds—Remi lets his gaze drift toward the threshold. Just briefly. Just long enough to feel the presence there begin to shift, to stir. Then, respectfully, he lowers his eyes and bows his head, offering them what privacy he can.
He doesn’t leave—can’t, not with the tether to Mort’s realm still held gently within his soul—but he becomes still and silent, a quiet anchor at the edge of something sacred. Letting the moment belong to her.
Oria, nestled in his curls, shifts faintly, the soft rustle of her leaves the only sound as Remi steadies the flow of magic within him. The golden light shimmers and pulses gently with life beyond death, and though he senses the veil beginning to thin—feels the approach of someone answering Sohalia’s call—Remi does not look up. Some moments aren’t meant to be witnessed. Only held.
He doesn’t leave—can’t, not with the tether to Mort’s realm still held gently within his soul—but he becomes still and silent, a quiet anchor at the edge of something sacred. Letting the moment belong to her.
Oria, nestled in his curls, shifts faintly, the soft rustle of her leaves the only sound as Remi steadies the flow of magic within him. The golden light shimmers and pulses gently with life beyond death, and though he senses the veil beginning to thin—feels the approach of someone answering Sohalia’s call—Remi does not look up. Some moments aren’t meant to be witnessed. Only held.
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.
