Seiji has been absent a long time.
Not — absent. He has been here. His body has been here. In the settlement, in Kiada's house, watching Auni pace the rooms and keeping the fire stoked until Longheat reached its slender fingers into every hour. After that, throwing open the windows. Stroking the tiny luxere's soft face, and promising its mistress would return. He had suspected he was telling lies, then. He had not known what to do about it.
Things are happening. Seiji cannot begin to say they are good or bad. He knows only he has not been a part of them. He has been — elsewhere. Lost somewhere between the world he left and this one. Between Longnight and the present. A part of him feels somehow as if the sun never rose. Or as if he is still underground, listening to the tear-stained voice of that monster, wondering.
It is wonder at last which brings him to the Guildhall. He should have come before, he thinks. He needs to see someone, anyone. To talk and to laugh and to find himself in the flesh and blood of his living body. He needs answers, too. So he stalks through the Atheneum on light feet, each stride all but soundless, and today he is alone. Auni remains in the house, as always. Waiting, as always. Perhaps when Seiji returns, Kiada will be there as well, and all will be well, and he will not do battle with this lump of doubt, like poison, lingering in his belly.
He hopes for this.
But as he pushes open the door to the Guildhall, he does not feel much hope. Only a resigned sort of emptiness. He hopes he will find the fire burning inside. Will find Jigano, or perhaps Amalia, in one of the chairs. He hopes they will recognize him and spring up. He hopes it will be joy greeting him, and not anger. "Hello?" he calls, tentative. If no one answers, he will turn back and go up the stairs and find something else to do. Somewhere to bury his troubles, perhaps. Though Seiji has never done such a thing before. He harbors an almost compulsive need to grapple immediately with what ails him. To grab his demons by the throat and examine them at length while they lay prone.
Someone must be home.
Not — absent. He has been here. His body has been here. In the settlement, in Kiada's house, watching Auni pace the rooms and keeping the fire stoked until Longheat reached its slender fingers into every hour. After that, throwing open the windows. Stroking the tiny luxere's soft face, and promising its mistress would return. He had suspected he was telling lies, then. He had not known what to do about it.
Things are happening. Seiji cannot begin to say they are good or bad. He knows only he has not been a part of them. He has been — elsewhere. Lost somewhere between the world he left and this one. Between Longnight and the present. A part of him feels somehow as if the sun never rose. Or as if he is still underground, listening to the tear-stained voice of that monster, wondering.
It is wonder at last which brings him to the Guildhall. He should have come before, he thinks. He needs to see someone, anyone. To talk and to laugh and to find himself in the flesh and blood of his living body. He needs answers, too. So he stalks through the Atheneum on light feet, each stride all but soundless, and today he is alone. Auni remains in the house, as always. Waiting, as always. Perhaps when Seiji returns, Kiada will be there as well, and all will be well, and he will not do battle with this lump of doubt, like poison, lingering in his belly.
He hopes for this.
But as he pushes open the door to the Guildhall, he does not feel much hope. Only a resigned sort of emptiness. He hopes he will find the fire burning inside. Will find Jigano, or perhaps Amalia, in one of the chairs. He hopes they will recognize him and spring up. He hopes it will be joy greeting him, and not anger. "Hello?" he calls, tentative. If no one answers, he will turn back and go up the stairs and find something else to do. Somewhere to bury his troubles, perhaps. Though Seiji has never done such a thing before. He harbors an almost compulsive need to grapple immediately with what ails him. To grab his demons by the throat and examine them at length while they lay prone.
Someone must be home.
