snow on the ground

Isla take your medicine "Here we are." They have come through the portal at the Spire and entered the Hollowed Grounds; a place that Isla simultaneously knows well and not at all, any longer. But still, she leads the man who has led them all thus far, the collar turned high on the coat she's wearing, her hands buried in her pockets. They leave prints in the freshly fallen snow - anyone looking might not even tell, at first, that they are Ascended who walk here. "Are you planning to stay here...?" The question comes out quietly, hiding the abundance of curiosity that bubbles within her. It would be rude to bombard him, she knows, and yet... well. What does one say to the man who has corralled Ascended souls back from death, bringing them back into the world? "Thank you, by the way. I don't believe I said that before."

You are the night-time fear

He is still unsure of what is going on. Memory and sleep are fickle things; you close your eyes and embrace oblivion, and no matter how many hours (days, weeks, months, years) pass the next thing you know is merely opening them again. The space in between holds nothing, or fleeting dreams, yet he is left with the distinct notion that much time has passed. For one, his body, while technically fine, feels disused, somehow, like a tool put away greasy and forgotten until it has rusted.

And for another, he doesn't recognize anyone.

There's no sign of war.

He has not said much about it, or himself, or anything—he stood like a wary father watching his flock spill into a world that embraced them, watched them be snatched up by the living in warm embraces. Disbelief turned to shock and love. They scattered among the lanterns and their loved ones, and Aamu remained adrift in the sea of strangers. For a moment he had thought—

Oheň—

Yet every memory has been displaced within his mind. Even now, he cannot remember how it came to be that this woman is leading him out of Halo, but he is glad to be going. Though his face is impassive his mind is in turmoil. He wants escape; she offers it.

His hands are thrust into tattered pockets, the wind picking at his long hair. He thinks about re-braiding it, but something holds him back—like there is something he needs to remember, and acknowledge, first. So he lets it be, lets it flit about his face, and hums in slight agreement at her declaration.

He twists as they walk from the tower's moon-shadow, peering up at its distant peak.

He has no recollection of it.

Disturbed, he hurries to catch up with Isla, breathing little white puffs. "I do not know yet," he merely responds, a strange (and slightly archaic) lilt to his voice. It seems too mellow for his hard eyes.

He still barely remembers who he is. How could he possibly know what he plans on doing? But he supposes it's as good a place as any.

"You are welcome," he hums, glancing up at her. She had been dead; he knows this much. So: "What is death like?" he asks, unashamed.

You are the morning when it's clear

AAMU

Isla take your medicine She glances over her shoulder as he hurries to catch up, having been walking on autopilot towards familiar places, towards the Temple and everything that it holds for Isla. "Well, if you do decide to settle here, there are probably more than enough people willing to give you a place to stay. I used to run a clinic in the Temple - it's just up here." She nods towards the road ahead. What is death like, though? Most might cringe or shy away from such a question; Isla merely considers it with the same amount of logic as anything else he might ask her. "It's quiet," she says honestly. "Quiet and peaceful. I quite enjoyed it, honestly." Flashing a fanged grin his way, she turns a corner so they can go towards the Temple proper now. "Surely you know, though? Weren't you...?" Dead?

You are the night-time fear

What looms in the dark is not what he remembers: it is a broken, scattered shadow of his memory, ruins clouding the horizon where it should've stood proud and tall (or at the very least, whole and functional). He blinks. Is he malfunctioning? But as he swings his head from side to side they stay the same, tumbled down and disused.

What has happened here?

He doesn't bring it up, just follows along. "Do they take strays in the Temple itself?" he asks, mild humor in his voice, a smiling tilt to his mouth.

For a stray is what he is. He does not need four walls to contain him (though he will, when the darkness comes to stay), or a roof over his head, nor food, nor water, but he admits that having a place to call home is .. convenient. He will need a place to sort out his thoughts, and his life.

She tells him of death, tells him it is quiet, peaceful, enjoyable, and if he ever doubted, he knows now that he never died. There is no doubt in what she tells him; she merely searched for words. She felt something, remembers something, even if it isn't more than a feeling.

Between Point A and Point B his timeline is blank.

He wonders if he should regret leading her back to life, but assumes it was a choice she made. Then who is he to judge?

"No," he says after a moment, when it is clear she will not say it out loud. It feels complicated, and a delicate frown lines his forehead. "I was merely... turned off."

You are the morning when it's clear

AAMU

Isla take your medicine "I don't know if they do now, but they used to when I first lived in the Hollowed Grounds," Isla says with a gentle smile. "I hope they still do. My medical clinic used to be there, and I would stay there more often than not." Those feel like old days now, when she would treat people within the Temple; when the Rathskeller made its home beneath the flagstones. And before them the old building looms, all of a sudden - not that Isla recognises it very much. It has been destroyed and rebuilt since she laid eyes on it last. Gazing back to Aamu, the medic pauses before the heavy doors, offering him a smile which says she wants to understand what it means, to be switched off, but she can't quite imagine it. "What was it like?" she asks softly. "And how did you... how did the Voice turn you back on?"

You are the night-time fear

"Perhaps I will take my chances, then," he muses, seizing on to the questions bubbling on his tongue. "Are you planning on reopening the clinic?" There's more he wants to ask—where she's from, but considering he expects an answer like Halo or Torchline he considers it of lesser interest than the clinic.

Like the self-proclaimed stray he is he follows her to the doors. He lingers in the snowfall, vaguely disturbed by how it's all wrong and unrecognizable; so he is glad for her smile, for her curiosity, even though he doubts he'll have much to offer her.

"The nothingness of sleep," he says, licking his lips and letting his frown deepen. "I don't quite remember the details of when or where I turned off, but it was very much like sleep. You know how you don't know you fell asleep until you wake up again? Like that."

He steps up to the door with her. "She is the Voice, that's how," he says wryly, before giving the only answer he has. "I came to to her beckoning me and replenishing my fluids. I'm afraid I don't know much more than that," and his soft smile is apologetic.

You are the morning when it's clear

AAMU

Isla take your medicine Isla nods, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she pushes open the heavy Temple doors. "Yes, I'm hoping to reopen it if I can. For Ascended as well as others." It only made sense, given that the majority of the residents of the Hollowed Grounds are Ascended, these days. As good as they were at monitoring themselves, one could never be too careful, right? Standing aside that Aamu might step into the Temple as well, Isla is surprised at how familiar it smells, even if her senses are somewhat dampened. "You are welcome to stay at the clinic until you figure out what you are going to do. Once it's open again, of course," she tells him, turning to gaze around. "This place was destroyed by a man I once knew quite well," she says slowly. "...But he helped to rebuild it. He did quite a good job." Her feet are already leading her towards where the clinic used to be, and she glances over her shoulder as Aamu explains. A frown furrows Isla's brow which gives away how interested she is. "I remember it," she says of sleep. "That sounds fascinating. I hope that you don't switch off again for a while."

You are the night-time fear

He wonders what one Ascended can do for another—he knows what the Voice can do for them, but can any one of the others learn her skills? Can they learn to create implants themselves? Brew their fluids? He muses over it as he slips in through the heavy doors behind her, peering around with unmasked curiosity. He thinks this building, or some previous iteration of it, stood even in his lifetime, but he can't say if he were ever in it before.

"Thank you," he says to her offer, letting his gaze roam. "I might take you up on that. And, of course, if you'll need some help to get it open again, I'd be glad to lend a hand." He doesn't know what it might entail, but helping her pick up the pieces of her lost life feels like the least he can do after leading her from death.

He's afraid of barraging her with too many questions, but he can't help himself as they drift through the Temple. "What happened?" and his voice, his eyes, his face, are those of one who does not mind the time it takes to listen to the full story.

As for himself... He supposes that from where she's standing it would be fascinating, but it was not the word he would use. Disorienting, more like it. Jarring. Terrifying. "You and me both," he responds gently, "Though I have no idea why it happened in the first place."

You are the morning when it's clear

AAMU

Isla take your medicine "Thank you - I am never one to turn down help, especially when I don't know what kind of state we're going to find things in." Isla smiles over her shoulder to him. In truth she doesn't know, either, what could be done for Ascended when it comes to medicine; they are already very adept at monitoring themselves. But until she tries, she doesn't know, and even without that addition to the clinic, there are still non-Ascended in the Hollowed Grounds (at least for the time being). They walk, weaving though the Temple, through corridors and doorways that are both familiar and different to Isla. "It was at Fiat Lux, almost two years ago now. His daughter was killed, and he believed his husband was lost also. He blamed the gods, and took it out on them here." It doesn't occur to her to mention that 'he' is a demigod - it isn't really something she thinks about in the large scale of things. They arrive before the large double doors to what used to be her medical clinic, Isla pursing her lips as she gathers the courage to open them. "Perhaps I could take a look at you once this place is up and running?" Her suggestion is half joking, but she'll of course do what she can if he needs it. "Either that, or I'm sure the Voice will know. A visit to a shrine would likely answer your questions."

You are the night-time fear

Having something, even something as vague as his offer to help, in his future feels oddly grounding. Perhaps it's the allure of purpose, justification, or maybe it's just a need to escape the hazy recollections of a life that seems lost. It's not that he doesn't want to remember, or not find out what has happened since he lost connection, just that the absolutes of it terrify him. How much time has passed? If it were only a handful of years, surely he would've recognized some faces.

And had the Order won completely, well—there would've been no Voice to bring him and the others back, and they would not have been welcomed.

So how long?

He pushes it aside, smiles back at her. Surely someone will have maintained a clinic? Then again, perhaps not; the state of the world seems an odd mishmash of peace and ruin.

The story of the Temple's destruction has his pale eyebrows rising. Blaming the Gods was no new thing—but so brazenly, so openly? "I can't decide if I find it bold or stupid," he says mildly in response, the sort of voice that says he is open to being corrected. He's not about to judge someone for heartache and desperation. "Did they listen to him?" Aamu thinks not. Listening isn't something he'd say the Gods he remembers did very well.

He stops with her before the doors of somewhere. His head tilts to the side and he gives a quiet snort, the closest he's come to a chuckle since awakening. "If you'd like," he offers. Truth to be told, he's not averse to the idea, especially not if it can help shed some light on it. Perhaps it's a defect in his wiring? "I think she might tell me things I do not want to know," he confesses wryly, slim fingers tapping lightly against the doorframe. "So I think I will take some time to find my bearings again before I go to see if she has time for me."

You are the morning when it's clear

AAMU

Isla take your medicine Peace and ruin - that sounds about right, yes. "I think a mixture of the two," she confesses when asked whether Ronin had been brave or stupid. "And they listened to him in some respects. He is Safrin's chosen, you see - she squirrelled him away somewhere he could do no harm." The explanation is probably more rich than anyhing else she could tell him - she had been more like herself back then, but in the years that followed her mind had admittedly degraded. Isla, on the contrary, does not expect the clinic to be functional any longer, and as she braces herself and finally pushes the doors open, she's proven unfortunately right. A thick layer of dust lays upon the air, and the beds have been left either unmade or stale, the curtains stiff, the cabinets empty and ransacked. Letting out a low whistle, Isla shakes her head and steps in further, leaving dusty prints on the stone. "Mm, perhaps it's best to get to grips with the world here before going to see her again," she agrees, smiling gently over her shoulder to him. "Luckily, I don't think you'll find yourself short of things to do. And like I said, if you need I will go with you."

You are the night-time fear

He appreciates her honesty: to admit to the flaws and lapses of judgment in your friends does not make you a bad one, but a better one. At least, that's what he thinks. How else can you help them grow? "Interesting," he murmurs. He thinks someone less favored would not have fared so well, had they done the same.

Some things just won't change. The fickle nature of Gods could very well be one of those things.

Aamu carefully peers around the door when she opens it, not sure if they've come to the end of their road yet. He follows her, careful, taking a couple of steps into the abandoned clinic. Even with his muted sense of smell he can sense the disuse, the stale dust, and he has no trouble seeing the disarray. "I'm sorry," he offers quietly. It feels wrong to see someone's pride and joy like this; desecrated, empty.

Yet despite the state of her clinic she finds it in her to smile at him, offer to go with him when the time is right. Aamu's lips curve into a gentle and genuine smile, and he touches a hand over his heart. "Thank you, I appreciate it." His gaze roams the room. The end of their shared road, indeed. He has nothing to offer her at the moment, lest she put a broom in his hands.

"I'll leave you to take stock of things, then," he says, perhaps a bit hesitantly, as if unsure if he's supposed to be dismissing himself yet. When she does not indicate that he should stay he nods at her and retreats, sneezing a couple of times on the way out, before disappearing into the night to think.

[ fin~ <3 ]

You are the morning when it's clear

AAMU