Aamu
Is she calling him a blessing in disguise? Perhaps; the idea amuses him enough, and he'll take whatever he can to not stare the abyss in the face. He thinks he will not like what he sees there.
He might not seem like he is listening—looking down at the dragon, still offering his ministrations to the spots she seem to enjoy the most—but suddenly his head snaps up, blue gaze locking intently on Wessex. "She was imprisoned?" he whispers on a white breath. Shocked. It seems so impossible. How could anything, or anyone, contain such energy? Such power and potential?
Aamu mulls over what he's been told, ignoring her question for the moment. He has questions of his own. "How, and when, was she freed? Why the Grounds? Was she there?" And just what type of barrier was it, anyway?
"I remember a lot, but I'm not sure how useful it is," he goes on in that quiet, careful way of his. "I remember the Voice and her advancements, before the Ascension began." He doesn't remember what she had looked like back then (or had had the memory overwritten), or if they had been friends. Maybe it is just his fondness for her, and the fact he has spent at least two decades linked with her. "I remember some of the problems we ran into, the brewing dissent, how we came to call ourselves Ascended, the Voice equal to the Gods: a new one, even. I think there might've been more, but none compared to her."
He shakes his head. "The dissent spread, solidified into The Order, and took proud, haughty Stormbreak in its grip. The war, when it broke out, was going poorly for The Order and the Gods. I don't remember why it started, but there we were, fighting to have the Voice recognized as one of them, and to keep The Order from massacring us. That's.. that's the last I remember, until she dug me up on some forsaken mountainside."
He might not seem like he is listening—looking down at the dragon, still offering his ministrations to the spots she seem to enjoy the most—but suddenly his head snaps up, blue gaze locking intently on Wessex. "She was imprisoned?" he whispers on a white breath. Shocked. It seems so impossible. How could anything, or anyone, contain such energy? Such power and potential?
Aamu mulls over what he's been told, ignoring her question for the moment. He has questions of his own. "How, and when, was she freed? Why the Grounds? Was she there?" And just what type of barrier was it, anyway?
"I remember a lot, but I'm not sure how useful it is," he goes on in that quiet, careful way of his. "I remember the Voice and her advancements, before the Ascension began." He doesn't remember what she had looked like back then (or had had the memory overwritten), or if they had been friends. Maybe it is just his fondness for her, and the fact he has spent at least two decades linked with her. "I remember some of the problems we ran into, the brewing dissent, how we came to call ourselves Ascended, the Voice equal to the Gods: a new one, even. I think there might've been more, but none compared to her."
He shakes his head. "The dissent spread, solidified into The Order, and took proud, haughty Stormbreak in its grip. The war, when it broke out, was going poorly for The Order and the Gods. I don't remember why it started, but there we were, fighting to have the Voice recognized as one of them, and to keep The Order from massacring us. That's.. that's the last I remember, until she dug me up on some forsaken mountainside."
You are the night-time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
You are the morning when it's clear
