who we are and all that we're trying to be
He listened to her words, to the way Ronin’s alterations and rejuvenation might have pulsed and weighed down their thoughts: he hadn’t considered it, truly. Just that she had essences of life, things they’d scraped against and lost time and time again. He nodded, a comprehension, an modicum of understanding, not pretending to know, to apprehend everything she amounted to, or what any deity or herald corresponded amongst.
The ring itself though, seemingly unchanged, hardly altered, save for the starlight contorted amongst its sanction, would be capable of ceasing it – once a year. A gift, a consecration, an anointed moment, so the Shield wouldn’t succumb so readily again (perhaps; depending on how much she strived, how far she continually stretched her compassion, her efforts). It was a monumental effort and blessing, and hopefully it wouldn’t have to be entirely savored. “Thank you,” was all he could come up with again, and again, and again for the moment. Because he was grateful and beholden. “Better to stop them,” he echoed instead, a nod of his head. For all he’d ever tried – for all it hadn’t mattered. Maybe this would.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
