NOAH
Through the bond he felt the fracture-lines in her composure, the way her thoughts spiraled inward, cruel and familiar. He recognized it too well. The crack in her composure, as fragile as it was, wasn't lost on the Sentinel. His jaw feathered as her lips held back a laugh. He let her question sit between them, the rain-softened earth and the wreckage of the clearing bearing suddenly nothing in the wake of it.
Once, he might have answered because it was his duty. Because he had been Vi’s demigod, because care had been braided into obligation, into protection, into the quiet expectation that life was something you guarded on behalf of a god.
But Vi was gone. And the caring hadn’t left with him.
It was amazing that after all the loss, all the blood and broken prayers, what remained wasn’t emptiness, but conviction. Life mattered. Not in some abstract, divine sense. Not as a tally kept by higher powers. Living mattered. The choosing to stay, to feel, to hurt and still wake up the next morning and try again. He had learned that the hard way, through graves and goodbyes and the quiet ache of surviving when others hadn’t, and the soft and merciful gaze of his mercurial god as he released him from duty.
"Because you’re not expendable." he said simply, solid as permafrost. Noah shifted his weight slightly. Anchored. "I care because I need to." He needed to know she was okay, because his fire had nearly consumed her. It mattered, he cared, because even when he warned her and told her to stay high she was still in the line of danger.
That was his fault. The bond carried not guilt now, but resolve. A quiet, unyielding warmth. He breathed out.
Once, he might have answered because it was his duty. Because he had been Vi’s demigod, because care had been braided into obligation, into protection, into the quiet expectation that life was something you guarded on behalf of a god.
But Vi was gone. And the caring hadn’t left with him.
It was amazing that after all the loss, all the blood and broken prayers, what remained wasn’t emptiness, but conviction. Life mattered. Not in some abstract, divine sense. Not as a tally kept by higher powers. Living mattered. The choosing to stay, to feel, to hurt and still wake up the next morning and try again. He had learned that the hard way, through graves and goodbyes and the quiet ache of surviving when others hadn’t, and the soft and merciful gaze of his mercurial god as he released him from duty.
"Because you’re not expendable." he said simply, solid as permafrost. Noah shifted his weight slightly. Anchored. "I care because I need to." He needed to know she was okay, because his fire had nearly consumed her. It mattered, he cared, because even when he warned her and told her to stay high she was still in the line of danger.
That was his fault. The bond carried not guilt now, but resolve. A quiet, unyielding warmth. He breathed out.
I wait and tell myself "life ain't chess,"
But no one comes in and yes, you're alone
But no one comes in and yes, you're alone
