Trauma piled on trauma. Death piled on death. Jigano had failed to stop the collapse of the sanctuary and shrine in the Temple, and failed to save Ronin (or Remi, or Aoife, he later discovered) in the process. Many lay dead in the aftermath of the festival, and many more were healing wounds that would leave scars both physical and mental behind long after the bleeding had ceased.
He had made it home at last to fall into his mate’s arms, to clean up and eat something and collapse into dreamless unconsciousness for a few hours until daylight had called him back once more. Back to duty and memory, back to pain and stubbornness. He hardly knew where to begin picking up the pieces, but his feet had taken him back to the Sanctuary. He had shied away from the damaged Temple, veering into the Atheneum instead as he headed for the Guild. He had to record the events as best he had been able to gather recollections of them while they were still fresh, he knew, trying to shake off the feeling of numb despair that washed through him as he considered the rolls of the dead that would need to be compiled.
He would not have been surprised to see the Guild door open and Loren or even Sam within. He wasn’t surprised that it was closed, either, but what did give him pause was the young person standing before it, a stranger who seemed enamored with the design on the metal-encased door. He took a moment to process the tableaux, pushing through the haze of regret and loss that still clouded his thoughts. Someone needed the Loreseekers, and as their Provost he needed to be there for them. Shoving aside his grief and wrapping it up tightly, he straightened his shoulders and smoothed his expression to one of courtesy and welcome. ”Hello,” he called quietly as he completed his approach. ”How can the Loreseekers be of service?”
He had made it home at last to fall into his mate’s arms, to clean up and eat something and collapse into dreamless unconsciousness for a few hours until daylight had called him back once more. Back to duty and memory, back to pain and stubbornness. He hardly knew where to begin picking up the pieces, but his feet had taken him back to the Sanctuary. He had shied away from the damaged Temple, veering into the Atheneum instead as he headed for the Guild. He had to record the events as best he had been able to gather recollections of them while they were still fresh, he knew, trying to shake off the feeling of numb despair that washed through him as he considered the rolls of the dead that would need to be compiled.
He would not have been surprised to see the Guild door open and Loren or even Sam within. He wasn’t surprised that it was closed, either, but what did give him pause was the young person standing before it, a stranger who seemed enamored with the design on the metal-encased door. He took a moment to process the tableaux, pushing through the haze of regret and loss that still clouded his thoughts. Someone needed the Loreseekers, and as their Provost he needed to be there for them. Shoving aside his grief and wrapping it up tightly, he straightened his shoulders and smoothed his expression to one of courtesy and welcome. ”Hello,” he called quietly as he completed his approach. ”How can the Loreseekers be of service?”
