Zavien
The soothing brush of her thumb only solidifies his belief in the reality, any confusion or lingering doubt being swiped away in the gentlest motion of her finger. He does what he can to gather his faculties and nods his head, hoping he might save himself from looking like a further fool in front of the goddess. At least she hadn't found him in a more embarrassing dream.
His eyes fixate on the molten gold liquid - the light given tangible form - as Safrin pours it onto his blade. Light meets light in a melody of glorious beauty, the rising sun and the stars still twinkling above. They don't merge so much as intertwine, brightening each other without creating shadows or space for inadequacy. The only thing able to draw his gaze from the golden glimmer of celestial magic is the sound of Safrin's voice.
Zavien moves slowly, head rising through the fragile tension of his surprise. Vi is pleased with him? He'd hoped to see more of the god, to show his own devotion to life and its purpose; but when his prayers went unanswered or the god seemed far away, he'd assumed Vi wasn't watching. So, for Zavien to find out that the god of life hadn't just been watching him, but approved of his actions enough to send such a gift, reminds him of why it was all worth it. He doesn't need a god's approval to know that his people had been more important than his own desires or the wellbeing of rock and stone, and yet the dark sadness that had come with the decision seems to lift, the shadows vanquished by the light of the gift he holds. Because as much as he tells himself that, and lets other reassure him of the fact, having the god of life affirm his choice only proves to solidify it.
Pride swells in his chest. Not the kind that enlarges heads or dulls consciences, but the kind that strengthens limbs and spreads warmth though every vein. His voice is barely above a whisper as he looks between the glowing sword and the radiant goddess before him. "Thank you - I - " Swallowing, he stops any attempts to minimizing what they've given him, refuses to disgrace the praise with dismissals or contradictions. Instead, he dips his head, low and reverent even in his dream. "Thank you both." He knows he doesn't have to say more, knows that Safrin will remember every step where she'd helped him along the way, knows that Vi will recall the quest that had helped cure Stormbreak. Although it had all ended in ruin, he'd grown through it and allowed the people to find closure in the process - himself included. And even if the future was foggy and his path unclear, one thing he knew for certain with every beat of his heart.
"I will make you both proud."
His eyes fixate on the molten gold liquid - the light given tangible form - as Safrin pours it onto his blade. Light meets light in a melody of glorious beauty, the rising sun and the stars still twinkling above. They don't merge so much as intertwine, brightening each other without creating shadows or space for inadequacy. The only thing able to draw his gaze from the golden glimmer of celestial magic is the sound of Safrin's voice.
Zavien moves slowly, head rising through the fragile tension of his surprise. Vi is pleased with him? He'd hoped to see more of the god, to show his own devotion to life and its purpose; but when his prayers went unanswered or the god seemed far away, he'd assumed Vi wasn't watching. So, for Zavien to find out that the god of life hadn't just been watching him, but approved of his actions enough to send such a gift, reminds him of why it was all worth it. He doesn't need a god's approval to know that his people had been more important than his own desires or the wellbeing of rock and stone, and yet the dark sadness that had come with the decision seems to lift, the shadows vanquished by the light of the gift he holds. Because as much as he tells himself that, and lets other reassure him of the fact, having the god of life affirm his choice only proves to solidify it.
Pride swells in his chest. Not the kind that enlarges heads or dulls consciences, but the kind that strengthens limbs and spreads warmth though every vein. His voice is barely above a whisper as he looks between the glowing sword and the radiant goddess before him. "Thank you - I - " Swallowing, he stops any attempts to minimizing what they've given him, refuses to disgrace the praise with dismissals or contradictions. Instead, he dips his head, low and reverent even in his dream. "Thank you both." He knows he doesn't have to say more, knows that Safrin will remember every step where she'd helped him along the way, knows that Vi will recall the quest that had helped cure Stormbreak. Although it had all ended in ruin, he'd grown through it and allowed the people to find closure in the process - himself included. And even if the future was foggy and his path unclear, one thing he knew for certain with every beat of his heart.
"I will make you both proud."
It was impossible, of course.
But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming.
But when did that ever stop any dreamer from dreaming.
