He didn't know what had been taken and what had been left to the alchemist, and he had learned a hard lesson about not arguing with a goddess in their last encounter. He bowed his head to her declaration, wondering if Remi was truly alright--
But there was no time to dwell on the Governor as Safrin played with his words as he so often did to others. Singing Ludo's praises to her ears would not change her mind, and he was grateful for the knowledge she had shared with Amalia and he in that long-ago spring night, so he kept his head lowered and accepted that his own experiences with the raggedy god were different than hers.
Her laughter wasn't the chiming bells of starlight he'd heard in Amalia's company, but neither was it cold or cruel, and Jigano lifted his eyes once more, fear abating a little as she was willing to speak to him at greater length. Her words struck chords in him, painful and deep, as she confirmed that Remi's place at Ludo's side was dearer than his own; that Delphia was not the charlatan he had assumed her reputation to be. He flinched, drawing in a sharp breath as she picked apart his own doubts and petty jealousies as she had once picked apart his soul. "You're... right," he admitted, the words reluctantly dredged from an aching chest and tightened throat. "I'm not needed, like others are. Not... worthy. I have not forgotten your lessons, lady Safrin." Not the arrogance she had stripped from him three seasons past. "But I was never promised that I would be. I took all that on myself, willingly. My own choice, to walk a path I was warned would be hard and lonely." And though his breath still trembled his gaze when he looked at her was clear.
Her frown sent a flutter of renewed fear down his spine, but he held himself still as she spoke, listening to the words that questioned at an uncomfortable truth. "The souls I gathered last LongNight didn't take me for granted," he said simply. "Nor the ones Amalia and I gathered the year before." A steadying breath, and he spread his hands to encompass the beauty of the Shrine around them, filled with blossoming life. "You will always have followers, Safrin. You're beautiful and filled with light, and I've seen the kindness and affection you show those who walk your path. You are an easy goddess to love, and you give people hope. There are many reasons for people to pledge themselves to you... many more than most will ever find for a god associated with death and loss." He hesitated a breath, his expression pleading for understanding. "I came upon Ludo first, yes, and things might have been very different if I had met you instead, but I cannot change the past. It may not need me when it has others who are stronger or better-suited to it, but even if I can only help a few souls each year, it is still a task I'm grateful for. When I needed purpose and something to live for in this new world, Ludo helped me find it. I am in its debt for that, but I regret deeply that it's put me at odds with you."
A thought sparked in his mind, a stray impertinence to ask for something he had no right to, but he held tightly to the little light of hope, waiting first to see if he had already said too much.
But there was no time to dwell on the Governor as Safrin played with his words as he so often did to others. Singing Ludo's praises to her ears would not change her mind, and he was grateful for the knowledge she had shared with Amalia and he in that long-ago spring night, so he kept his head lowered and accepted that his own experiences with the raggedy god were different than hers.
Her laughter wasn't the chiming bells of starlight he'd heard in Amalia's company, but neither was it cold or cruel, and Jigano lifted his eyes once more, fear abating a little as she was willing to speak to him at greater length. Her words struck chords in him, painful and deep, as she confirmed that Remi's place at Ludo's side was dearer than his own; that Delphia was not the charlatan he had assumed her reputation to be. He flinched, drawing in a sharp breath as she picked apart his own doubts and petty jealousies as she had once picked apart his soul. "You're... right," he admitted, the words reluctantly dredged from an aching chest and tightened throat. "I'm not needed, like others are. Not... worthy. I have not forgotten your lessons, lady Safrin." Not the arrogance she had stripped from him three seasons past. "But I was never promised that I would be. I took all that on myself, willingly. My own choice, to walk a path I was warned would be hard and lonely." And though his breath still trembled his gaze when he looked at her was clear.
Her frown sent a flutter of renewed fear down his spine, but he held himself still as she spoke, listening to the words that questioned at an uncomfortable truth. "The souls I gathered last LongNight didn't take me for granted," he said simply. "Nor the ones Amalia and I gathered the year before." A steadying breath, and he spread his hands to encompass the beauty of the Shrine around them, filled with blossoming life. "You will always have followers, Safrin. You're beautiful and filled with light, and I've seen the kindness and affection you show those who walk your path. You are an easy goddess to love, and you give people hope. There are many reasons for people to pledge themselves to you... many more than most will ever find for a god associated with death and loss." He hesitated a breath, his expression pleading for understanding. "I came upon Ludo first, yes, and things might have been very different if I had met you instead, but I cannot change the past. It may not need me when it has others who are stronger or better-suited to it, but even if I can only help a few souls each year, it is still a task I'm grateful for. When I needed purpose and something to live for in this new world, Ludo helped me find it. I am in its debt for that, but I regret deeply that it's put me at odds with you."
A thought sparked in his mind, a stray impertinence to ask for something he had no right to, but he held tightly to the little light of hope, waiting first to see if he had already said too much.
