REMI
the alchemist
What good are hands
if there's nothing that they hold
if there's nothing that they hold
Remi’s expression softens at the answer, something warm and quietly unsurprised settling into his features as Liam speaks, as though the shape of that hope had already been written plainly enough in the colours of his thoughts. He inclines his head in a small, understanding nod, the faintest curve of a smile touching his mouth; not indulgent, nor pitying, but steady in the way of someone who has stood at the edge of similar questions and knows well how they can hollow a man out from the inside.
"I can only do it a few times each year," he says, his tone gentle but matter-of-fact, "but yes… I can bring someone back for a short while, if they are within Mort’s halls." There is no flourish to the admission, no sense of spectacle in it, only the quiet weight of responsibility carried without complaint. His gaze lingers on Liam a moment longer, the Bastion giving another small nod as if to say that the request itself is neither strange nor burdensome, merely human.
Drawing in a slow breath, Remi lets it settle deep into his chest before his eyes close, his posture easing into stillness as he turns inward. The world beyond the room does not disappear so much as dim, his awareness narrowing toward that familiar thread of power that binds him to the threshold between life and death. It is not a door in any physical sense, not something one might open with hands or keys, but rather a tension in the fabric of existence itself, a place where the boundary grows thin enough to touch.
He reaches for it carefully, as one might test the edge of a blade, and then—once found—he draws it closer, allowing his senses to stretch beyond the confines of the living world. The search is not long. It rarely is, when one knows what one is looking for, when a name carries with it the echo of a life once lived. A moment later—brief enough that it might feel almost insufficient for the weight of the question—his eyes open again.
There is no strain in him, no visible cost to the effort, but there is a subtle shift in his expression as he returns fully to the room, his head giving a small, decisive shake. "She is not in Mort’s halls," Remi says softly. "Wherever she is, she is alive."
"I can only do it a few times each year," he says, his tone gentle but matter-of-fact, "but yes… I can bring someone back for a short while, if they are within Mort’s halls." There is no flourish to the admission, no sense of spectacle in it, only the quiet weight of responsibility carried without complaint. His gaze lingers on Liam a moment longer, the Bastion giving another small nod as if to say that the request itself is neither strange nor burdensome, merely human.
Drawing in a slow breath, Remi lets it settle deep into his chest before his eyes close, his posture easing into stillness as he turns inward. The world beyond the room does not disappear so much as dim, his awareness narrowing toward that familiar thread of power that binds him to the threshold between life and death. It is not a door in any physical sense, not something one might open with hands or keys, but rather a tension in the fabric of existence itself, a place where the boundary grows thin enough to touch.
He reaches for it carefully, as one might test the edge of a blade, and then—once found—he draws it closer, allowing his senses to stretch beyond the confines of the living world. The search is not long. It rarely is, when one knows what one is looking for, when a name carries with it the echo of a life once lived. A moment later—brief enough that it might feel almost insufficient for the weight of the question—his eyes open again.
There is no strain in him, no visible cost to the effort, but there is a subtle shift in his expression as he returns fully to the room, his head giving a small, decisive shake. "She is not in Mort’s halls," Remi says softly. "Wherever she is, she is alive."
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.
