CHULANE
why do things happen with no reason or rhyme?
why does it feel like we're running out of time?
why does it feel like we're running out of time?
Something was wrong. Everything about the situation was wrong, and he couldn't deny it any longer. Deimos entered; he didn't smile, didn't soften, didn't share anything but stoic seriousness. He felt his resolve tighten in response, felt himself let go of the niceties, the desire to allay the tension that had suddenly bloomed. There was no ignoring whatever it was Deimos had to bring, no denying him - clearly it was something that had to be said, had to be conveyed, and it was important, critical in fact, or else Chulane knew the man wouldn't have come, wouldn't have intruded, carrying the world on his shoulders bearing news that Chulane was not ready for.
How could he ever be ready for the blow that was to come?
The gentle touch of Zuriel's muzzle to his hand grounded him, as he realised just how far his mind had already taken the demeanour Deimos presented. Then, at the monolith of a man's next words, he felt his heart thundering louder in his chest, the pulse ringing in his ears. Felt the anxiety rise with the wave of tension, the warning given having a near instant reaction on him. The smile was gone, forgotten amongst a frown, a sense of desperation almost overwhelming him.
"Kiada?" He didn't sit - he couldn't, not when there couldn't be any other reason for the man's attendance here today, bearing bad news. He stepped closer to the Sword instead, ready to metaphorically bear his chest and take the blow full on, or so he thought. Was she hurt, disabled? Was she injured on her endeavour, with the magical healing available in this land unable to mend her completely?
"What is it? Where is she?" Why was he here, bringing bad news - what was the news? How bad was bad? He glanced to the door in a helpless moment, as if expecting to see her come in the Sword's wake, clinging to the hopeless hope that this was just a joke, crude and cruel and not very funny in the moment.
He couldn't, wouldn't entertain the truth until it was spoken by the other man. He had to cling to his hope, to his anchor, to the thought of her coming home to him--
--until it was proven without a doubt that that would never happen again.
How could he ever be ready for the blow that was to come?
The gentle touch of Zuriel's muzzle to his hand grounded him, as he realised just how far his mind had already taken the demeanour Deimos presented. Then, at the monolith of a man's next words, he felt his heart thundering louder in his chest, the pulse ringing in his ears. Felt the anxiety rise with the wave of tension, the warning given having a near instant reaction on him. The smile was gone, forgotten amongst a frown, a sense of desperation almost overwhelming him.
"Kiada?" He didn't sit - he couldn't, not when there couldn't be any other reason for the man's attendance here today, bearing bad news. He stepped closer to the Sword instead, ready to metaphorically bear his chest and take the blow full on, or so he thought. Was she hurt, disabled? Was she injured on her endeavour, with the magical healing available in this land unable to mend her completely?
"What is it? Where is she?" Why was he here, bringing bad news - what was the news? How bad was bad? He glanced to the door in a helpless moment, as if expecting to see her come in the Sword's wake, clinging to the hopeless hope that this was just a joke, crude and cruel and not very funny in the moment.
He couldn't, wouldn't entertain the truth until it was spoken by the other man. He had to cling to his hope, to his anchor, to the thought of her coming home to him--
--until it was proven without a doubt that that would never happen again.
how do we keep going, through the dark?
why are we here at all, lost in the dark?
why are we here at all, lost in the dark?
