who we are and all that we're trying to be
No, Safrin wouldn’t be aware of how he’d become witness to those manipulated and used by the gods – memories of Gaucho, of investigating murders, of a beast strong and enduring ultimately controlled and influenced by Helovia’s Moon Goddess into massacring a series of individuals. How he cautiously walked the line for before and thereafter, Kiada’s stories of Kaos withstanding the test of time too. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Safrin was worth every ounce of devotion all the others granted and gave her. Perhaps he was vigilant and careful for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps he’d already dug himself in too deep, and didn’t see the fathoms below.
What would it even mean, really?
He agreed, another nod of his head, to the first of her speculations – recalling the way the Voice’s essence had slithered within the Temple the moment they’d attempted to recreate the shrine – notched and gnarling her way through, removing her an inconceivable notion.
The task set before him though, for the door (maybe the protection of this particular shrine, and others could come later), was difficult and monumental. Would there be such a willing Ascended? “Zuriel can heal them.” She’d done so before, when Rexanna had been impaled, keeping her together until the Voice could alter, repair, her back together. Or they could do it in sessions, so whomever volunteered didn’t succumb, didn’t wither and die. “I will,” an oath and conviction of his kind, and a nod of his head followed. “Thank you,” uttered on the wind, before he bowed his cranium in respect, drifting back out into the void to find an Ascended inclined to the latest attempts at protection.
{-FIN}
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
