LOREN
Although Loren hated to see Remi in pain (yes, this was an ironic echo of their earlier conversation), the summoner knew that sometimes it was necessary. More than the alchemist did. And as a healer, he knew that sometimes cures hurt before they got better. And best of all, the Launceleyn, despite his fragile looking exterior and his complete inability to deal with relationships, had never backed down from a fight he had convinced himself he could win.
He'd battle this for the both of them if he had to.
So as the other man’s wings curled around Loren’s legs, and the alchemists fists came to rest on the summoner’s thighs, Loren did not relent. He made soothing noises, trying to calm the other man's increasingly frantic movement, but even then the summoner was sinking deeper into his magic, deeper than he’d ever been before, to the very core of his soul.
Surprisingly, it was full of light.
Light that came gladly and willingly at his call, that he gathered into his mind before shoving it into his connection to Remi, pushed it through, forced it to fight against whatever resistance might be thrown against it; Loren pitted his will against that of the stubborn wound, and he would keep his spell going until he passed out or died. The sky blue glow of his magic intensified until it was nearly blinding, but the Launceleyn refused to avert his gaze from the alchemist. He needed a win, and he'd make one no matter what the cost.
He'd battle this for the both of them if he had to.
So as the other man’s wings curled around Loren’s legs, and the alchemists fists came to rest on the summoner’s thighs, Loren did not relent. He made soothing noises, trying to calm the other man's increasingly frantic movement, but even then the summoner was sinking deeper into his magic, deeper than he’d ever been before, to the very core of his soul.
Surprisingly, it was full of light.
Light that came gladly and willingly at his call, that he gathered into his mind before shoving it into his connection to Remi, pushed it through, forced it to fight against whatever resistance might be thrown against it; Loren pitted his will against that of the stubborn wound, and he would keep his spell going until he passed out or died. The sky blue glow of his magic intensified until it was nearly blinding, but the Launceleyn refused to avert his gaze from the alchemist. He needed a win, and he'd make one no matter what the cost.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
