who we are and all that we're trying to be
A return to sanity also meant a return to anguish. The Sword had thought about tucking himself away for an eternity; permitting himself to gradually fade into nothing, the way Helovia had pierced and slid him apart until he was perished and gone. He had no explanation for why he’d ended up wandering into Halo’s depths, and he sincerely doubted they appreciated a weakened monolith around, or another figure to have to watch over. The mountains called in acts of delirium wasn’t an adequate response, even if it had been the thing that tugged and pulled, cajoled and enticed, until he’d been a fallen piece of the backdrop, waiting to no longer exist.
So he wasn’t surprised by the summons as he meandered and lingered (and had no explanation for that either – other than he had nothing to return to; a scrape of spirits dwindled and gone and so were the rest of the figments he’d loved and cherished). Though he’d loathe to admit it, a portion of apprehension had curled and lodged its way down his backbone as he walked towards the Warden’s office, expecting Morgan to ask him to leave. Expecting to be vanquished again. Expecting that his time in any area was up.
Zuriel followed, snorting behind him, and though his full strength had yet to return, he still maneuvered under his own power, enough to walk, to enough to knock, summon a straightness to his spine, rigid once more. “Warden,” he began, and then poked his head through the doorway, waiting to be scolded. “You wanted to see me?”
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
