”It… was the same when I saw him last,” Jigano admitted reluctantly, his anger at the Voice threatening to rekindle his rage. ”I wish I knew whether it was of his own volition, or if she has done something to him, meddled in his head… He didn’t used to be like this. He didn’t used to trust her, or like her much at all.” Though the change could hardly be said to have occurred overnight. The erosion had been slow, gradual, as Jigano looked back along the lines that led to their current situation. How much of it was the meddling of memories, and how much a lonely young man reaching out desperately for love from any source that would give it to him? He looked up in time to catch Amalia’s shrug, and a part of him winced at the fractures that ran between his friends, not just himself but other weaknesses that had arisen as they all grew tense and frayed by the world’s trials.
He had seen the explosion himself, standing on the hill above the battle with the rest of them, though off to the side a ways from the main crowd as he and Rory had held on to each other and watched Ronin die. For once he had said nothing, contributed nothing except to the man he had been falling in love with, and so he could not blame Amalia for forgetting his presence there. Usually he made things far worse with his sly meddling and inability to keep his mouth shut when he should.
”I can still walk in sunlight,” he reassured her, but found a wan smile to back it up. ”I will try not to get myself lit on fire, though.” The Spark Bird feather had been turned into something far safer for him to carry, though possibly more dangerous for him to wield, given his penchant for seeking out trouble when it didn’t come find him fast enough. He did wince, however, at the thought that his blood might carry something of the Ascended in it. ”I would rather not share relations with that goddess though, if I am given any choice in the matter. Though I’m sure Ronin and Safrin feel even more strongly than I do about that.”
Her question left him smiling wryly, a hint of his old wit and humor laying like a shadow over the weariness that bowed his shoulders. ”Ah, but that is easier to narrow down. A place no light can ever reach, and if they are truly Ascended souls that have lost their way even to their own goddess… why, where do we know the Ascended have been? Two places spring to mind: the Underground, where we have yet to fully explore… and the Spire.” Which few entered willingly, and fewer left unscarred.
He tilted his head back, his smile turning sad and fading away at the pain and guilt in her voice – and the guilt in his own expression as the baker favored her burned arm. ”I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said again, more softly. ”I…” He could not say it, not with how fragile the scabs still were between them, ready to crack and bleed again if he pushed too hard. He had relied on her, fallen apart on her, too many times. He could not ask her to keep supporting him, not when it was his responsibility as her brother to support her. ”I will do what I can,” he said instead, gently. ”If we can just find a way to slow it down, at least, that will give us time to find a more permanent solution.”
He had seen the explosion himself, standing on the hill above the battle with the rest of them, though off to the side a ways from the main crowd as he and Rory had held on to each other and watched Ronin die. For once he had said nothing, contributed nothing except to the man he had been falling in love with, and so he could not blame Amalia for forgetting his presence there. Usually he made things far worse with his sly meddling and inability to keep his mouth shut when he should.
”I can still walk in sunlight,” he reassured her, but found a wan smile to back it up. ”I will try not to get myself lit on fire, though.” The Spark Bird feather had been turned into something far safer for him to carry, though possibly more dangerous for him to wield, given his penchant for seeking out trouble when it didn’t come find him fast enough. He did wince, however, at the thought that his blood might carry something of the Ascended in it. ”I would rather not share relations with that goddess though, if I am given any choice in the matter. Though I’m sure Ronin and Safrin feel even more strongly than I do about that.”
Her question left him smiling wryly, a hint of his old wit and humor laying like a shadow over the weariness that bowed his shoulders. ”Ah, but that is easier to narrow down. A place no light can ever reach, and if they are truly Ascended souls that have lost their way even to their own goddess… why, where do we know the Ascended have been? Two places spring to mind: the Underground, where we have yet to fully explore… and the Spire.” Which few entered willingly, and fewer left unscarred.
He tilted his head back, his smile turning sad and fading away at the pain and guilt in her voice – and the guilt in his own expression as the baker favored her burned arm. ”I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said again, more softly. ”I…” He could not say it, not with how fragile the scabs still were between them, ready to crack and bleed again if he pushed too hard. He had relied on her, fallen apart on her, too many times. He could not ask her to keep supporting him, not when it was his responsibility as her brother to support her. ”I will do what I can,” he said instead, gently. ”If we can just find a way to slow it down, at least, that will give us time to find a more permanent solution.”
