REMI
the bastion
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
Remi only nods at Damien’s remark about Halo, curls falling across his brow as his gaze drifts briefly toward the Pool. He’s never belonged to a place the way the woodcutter describes, but he’s heard the sentiment often enough to understand it in part.
The mention of Flora earns a lifted brow, a flicker of disagreement caught and swallowed before it can escape. Instead he chuckles at the idea of swooping in, shoulders rolling in a light shrug. "Well, being able to be channelled if either of them gets into trouble does make me feel better about letting them loose in the world." His grin is crooked, but it’s edged with truth; he did breathe easier knowing his reach could still find them, even from afar, if ever they needed him.
Damien’s next question stills him. His brows climb, then draw down again as he shakes his head. "No," he says at once, voice quiet but certain. A hand lifts, raking through his damp curls, and he exhales through his nose as his eyes turn to the still water. "It wasn’t something I chose."
He hesitates, piecing a long, knotted history into something brief. "One of my closest friends was murdered. I begged Ludo to bring her back. It agreed, but only if I promised to owe it a favour, no questions asked, one day." The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, more a bitter crease. "Naively, I agreed. And when the day came, the favour it asked was to become its demigod. It never truly gave me my friend back, and what it did give...it twisted."
Another shake of his head, tired this time, and his shoulders sink as if the weight of the trunks on the sand has settled somewhere else instead. "Only recently did I become Mort’s. Even Ludo had to admit what it was asking of me had become too much after so many years." The words leave him on a sigh, weariness woven through but softened by the fact that he’s still here to tell it.
He rubs the back of his neck, lips quirking wryly. "So—no. Chosen isn’t quite the word I’d use."
The mention of Flora earns a lifted brow, a flicker of disagreement caught and swallowed before it can escape. Instead he chuckles at the idea of swooping in, shoulders rolling in a light shrug. "Well, being able to be channelled if either of them gets into trouble does make me feel better about letting them loose in the world." His grin is crooked, but it’s edged with truth; he did breathe easier knowing his reach could still find them, even from afar, if ever they needed him.
Damien’s next question stills him. His brows climb, then draw down again as he shakes his head. "No," he says at once, voice quiet but certain. A hand lifts, raking through his damp curls, and he exhales through his nose as his eyes turn to the still water. "It wasn’t something I chose."
He hesitates, piecing a long, knotted history into something brief. "One of my closest friends was murdered. I begged Ludo to bring her back. It agreed, but only if I promised to owe it a favour, no questions asked, one day." The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, more a bitter crease. "Naively, I agreed. And when the day came, the favour it asked was to become its demigod. It never truly gave me my friend back, and what it did give...it twisted."
Another shake of his head, tired this time, and his shoulders sink as if the weight of the trunks on the sand has settled somewhere else instead. "Only recently did I become Mort’s. Even Ludo had to admit what it was asking of me had become too much after so many years." The words leave him on a sigh, weariness woven through but softened by the fact that he’s still here to tell it.
He rubs the back of his neck, lips quirking wryly. "So—no. Chosen isn’t quite the word I’d use."
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.
