CHULANE
Funerals.
He hadn't wanted to believe it, to think that such plans and measures would be necessary. They had been safe in Halo, disaster striking before the Longnight had set in, their accommodations in the Academy providing them with a refuge, a bubble in which to hide from the cold. No monsters came out there, and he was grateful for it, after seeing what damage they wrought on the world here, after hearing of more stories from the locals of deaths, of horrors clawing at doors and windows, of families thinking they heard loved ones and opening the door to their death instead.
He had no choice but to believe it now.
He'd comforted Kia in as much as he could when they had gotten back to private quarters, but he knew there would be more to unravel, to speak about and divulge, to feel and endure. They were too similar, too used to tucking away their emotions, especially the hard ones, the sorrowful ones, the ones that made one vulnerable, and he recognised it in her as much as he did himself. Still, such a habit had its place - they were needed here, Kia more than he, he for her, and her family, as they would hopefully come to know him better, to rely on him and trust him as Kia did.
So he attended the funeral with her, holding her hand when she needed him, letting her lean against him in an embrace, a silent pillar of support in these sad and grief-stricken times. He breathed as they entered the Sanctuary, his mind appreciating its beauty on some unconscious level, his focus otherwise occupied with Kia, and Deimos, and any others he might recognise, or who might recognise him. Again, he breathed, giving a gentle squeeze of his hand to Kia before their touch was broken when she approached the man, Bastien. Chulane did not follow her, did not make to give his words to the man - he would've heard enough of them from everyone else, and Chulane was relatively unknown here, his words meaning little and less to the masses of people.
He instead made for where Deimos sat, at the back, a silent nod given to the man as he too folded himself onto the pew, to await the proceedings.
He hadn't wanted to believe it, to think that such plans and measures would be necessary. They had been safe in Halo, disaster striking before the Longnight had set in, their accommodations in the Academy providing them with a refuge, a bubble in which to hide from the cold. No monsters came out there, and he was grateful for it, after seeing what damage they wrought on the world here, after hearing of more stories from the locals of deaths, of horrors clawing at doors and windows, of families thinking they heard loved ones and opening the door to their death instead.
He had no choice but to believe it now.
He'd comforted Kia in as much as he could when they had gotten back to private quarters, but he knew there would be more to unravel, to speak about and divulge, to feel and endure. They were too similar, too used to tucking away their emotions, especially the hard ones, the sorrowful ones, the ones that made one vulnerable, and he recognised it in her as much as he did himself. Still, such a habit had its place - they were needed here, Kia more than he, he for her, and her family, as they would hopefully come to know him better, to rely on him and trust him as Kia did.
So he attended the funeral with her, holding her hand when she needed him, letting her lean against him in an embrace, a silent pillar of support in these sad and grief-stricken times. He breathed as they entered the Sanctuary, his mind appreciating its beauty on some unconscious level, his focus otherwise occupied with Kia, and Deimos, and any others he might recognise, or who might recognise him. Again, he breathed, giving a gentle squeeze of his hand to Kia before their touch was broken when she approached the man, Bastien. Chulane did not follow her, did not make to give his words to the man - he would've heard enough of them from everyone else, and Chulane was relatively unknown here, his words meaning little and less to the masses of people.
He instead made for where Deimos sat, at the back, a silent nod given to the man as he too folded himself onto the pew, to await the proceedings.
Freedom is secured not by the fulfilling of one's desires
but by the removal of desire
but by the removal of desire
