tell the ones you love, you love them

do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,

Does she like it? It was hard to say. It was like a cross of Helovia and the Rift, as if the Voice had filtered her memories and decided it suited her. Which… It had, to an extent. It takes her a moment to respond, carefully following him as she considers her words. “After you died in Helovia, I got armor like this.” She says softly. “It ran down my spine and I could activate it to cover me.” There’s another moment of pause as she tries to decide whether to explain what had happened to it when she’d gone to the Rift.

And at the end of her thoughts, she decides she might as well tell him. “It was enchanted, and when we were sent to the Rift it altered it. It was embedded into my spine at that point and any time I activated it, it punctured my skin.” She frowns with this, the memory of the pain and blood that coursed through her, as if each time she used it, it ripped and tore skin anew in the way it pierced its way out. “This is much better than that, though.” She finally decides. There isn’t any pain, and while it was still attached to her spine, it didn’t tear through her. It simply covered her.

More gentle, more caring it almost seemed like.

But she doesn’t dare to air those thoughts either.

So she instead focuses on the training grounds, a nod granted to the mention of it taking a hard hit last Deepfrost – remembering the siege that had occurred. “I think it’s wonderful.” She murmurs, breaking away from him to step into it further, palming the throwing knives as she peers at the targets, before pulling one of the knives out and throwing it with a surprising amount of speed – so much more than she expects that the blade’s accuracy is awful and it goes plinking against the back wall. “Oh shit.” She barks a laugh, embarrassed, stepping forth to pick up the throwing knife.

the world fears you

KIADA

i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty

After you died shouldn’t have been a phrase they were bound to use on a regular basis; but there it was, poised and aloft, searing over the bits and pieces of their fractured, splintered lives. He’d long since been accustomed to it, to those memories webbed and implemented over his mind, in various, random intervals, in between sets of dreams, in the running course of nightmares. So he listened instead of chafing, of stifling down other ruminations, of armor that ran down spines once before, that altered, embedded, cut, slash, and tore. The Rift’s adjustments sounded like every bit of a curse, the very reputation that world seemed to spit out, and so he sighed.

He couldn’t do anything about that either; long since gone, disappeared, bones and ashes in a void that no longer existed.

“Good,” the General could finally answer. It was good that this was better. Whatever this was.

The Sword made no mention of the armor he’d once created for her, made to shift in each and every one of hers. Because those were gone too, and he didn’t know what to make of it. The training grounds was a safer topic, a well tread pathway they could both mutually understand without emotions getting in the way, without conflicted efforts hastening, stabbing, puncturing.

Maybe the contorted ramparts before them were wonderful; his gaze traced back over their broad strokes, their capabilities – but didn’t miss the slash of steel. The knife darted forward, towards the targets, a piece of lithe, lissome adornments completely lacking in any accuracy – and cutting into the wall. He arched a brow, leaning against the front portion of the exterior, well out of harm’s way, snorting back a rough hint of amusement. “Is that new as well?” The quick, abrupt measures? Something else forged alongside the Voice’s prowess?

or your stubbornness?

DEIMOS

do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,

It was good. The fact that she had some ability to try and protect herself from the get go was good. Yet she chooses the safer topic by means of peering at the targets, taking out a throwing knife and palming it as she considers, and failing spectacularly as she throws it and watches it miss. Oh, she notices the way he snorts as well, that amusement well seen in the glance she gives back to the Sword as she goes to pick up her discarded throwing knife.

“It’s dark out, right?” She pauses, considering as she turns the blade over and over in her hand as she steps back toward the center to try again. “I think I remember hearing something about the Ascended being faster when it’s night out… That has to be it.” Because it’s nothing seen when she runs a scan, no added ability like her armor or her speed.

And so she faces the targets again, taking a moment to still herself as she goes to toss the throwing knife again. This one has a bit better accuracy, albeit not much. It still misses the target but at least it’s somewhat close to it. Better than nothing, she supposes as she lowers her head a bit with the barest hints of frustration lacing through her system. "Got any tips?" She asks as she retrieves her knife again.

the world fears you

KIADA

i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty

More Ascended capabilities came to light; swiftness, quickness, in the murky doldrums of nocturnal throngs. Their hours, he supposed, out of the sun, and into the fray. It made sense in accordance with their experiences throughout LongNight; the endless evening spelling out haggard, eldritch abominations into the glimpses of mankind, and feasting upon what they could. His jaw refused to clench at the information, shoving it aside for semblances that would work for her now. Instead, it was quiet, silent contemplation, a rendering of observations as his stare went to the glint of the knife, the way she threw, the swiftness overtaking, overriding, natural inclinations she likely once harbored and harpooned.

“Aim with your eyes.” He stood off to the side, out of range from her potential swing, volley, and eradication of either the wall or the target. “Too many try with just their hand. But the knives will follow your gaze.” This was comfortable now. This was what he understood. This he could always harken back to.

The beast then took one from his belt, always, eternally equipped for whatever occasion, coming to march closer to another target, where she too could watch, and try to reapply. The Sword wouldn’t have her Ascended speed, but he held his own practiced, experienced dexterity. The dagger, much like blades, much like incantations, was familiar in his calloused palm, and he surmised the earlier contemplations with the depth, the range, the scope of his glance. Then the serrated edges seethed through the air, landing squarely in the target’s painted-on brow.

or your stubbornness?

DEIMOS

do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,

”Aim with your eyes.” And she nods, swallowing down the information as she peers at the target (it’s mostly a glare at this point), moving to take the blade back and slip back toward her throwing space. She weighs it in her palm, iceberg eyes flickering toward Deimos as he appears beside her, to offer a visual for how to throw the knife (when had she become so poor at it?), and listens as the blade pierces the target’s brow.

“Like flying.” She comments to his prior mantra. Aim with your eyes. Just as she did when she flew. So she takes a breath she doesn’t need, steadying herself more mentally than anything else, and stares at the same target he’d chosen and lobbed a blade to its eye. She focuses on where she wants to hit, aiming for mass more than anything, and lets the blade fly with a bit more practiced movements. And she watches as the blade spirals through the air, plunking into the target’s abdomen. “Oh much better.” She hums, clasping her hands together in delight.

the world fears you

KIADA

i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty

Like flying; swallowing down a piece of rubble, of ruin, slashing and cutting somewhere down his throat. So his eyes watched as the knife did just that – singing and singeing its way through the air, rapidly conforming to her alterations. It made its mark, a puncturing, piercing filament; in reality, it would’ve been a slow, dastardly laceration, the kind that gradually, steadily, drained someone of their life. He ignored the flurry of thoughts revolving thereafter, the zeal, the fervency, the ardor of bloodshed hailed downward, wondering at how many prices they’d already paid, and how many more were to come. So instead, the Sword smiled, the light grin reappearing in the juncture and corner of his mouth, for her. For the actions managed to manifest. “Much.”

Then he maneuvered away, towards the wintry expanse, where the world was wide open, not beneath the canopy of the training arena. They’d left portions of it exposed for dominion, for elemental consideration – any soldier worth their weight wouldn’t be caught dead complaining of the cold here. So they utilized it, packed it down so that some portions resembled a great wide rampart, with little notches for hands, for feet, for limbs to clutch and hold as they climbed. Just another way to chisel the semblance of mountains, of fortitude, of perseverance, of might in the mayhem. The other proportions, rising overhead, curved alongside; a hill to run up and then down once they reached the top of the fortification itself. “Try the wall,” he called from his proportions at its fringes, so even his monolithic figure was diminished beneath its wake. A challenge, certainly, a recollection of worlds used to be like before everything fell apart.

or your stubbornness?

DEIMOS

do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,

She glances back at him, a bit of pride crossing her face, a laugh of happiness that something had gone right. And then, his praise only adds to it, a wider flash of a grin – forgetting all about her anxieties and worries that had spread along her very bones in favor for familiarity, for fun. And this was working to distract her entirely. So she slips over and collects the knife from the dummy, grabs his own as well to hand back before they’re drifting further in.

The openness of it is nice, she decides, though she makes a point to avoid it during the day. However, in the blanket of night, all of it and the snow was a welcome reprieve – especially seeing as she couldn’t feel the bite of winter anymore. A small blessing, she supposes, perhaps accepting it much like how she’d had her fire magic when she’d lived along the Basin’s snowy cliffs.

Her gaze drifts toward the wall, with the notches settled within, brows pinching together ever so slightly as she tries to figure it out. And he tells her to try the wall, and so try she does. She stretches out her hands and her arms, not like she needs to but out of habit, and steps toward it – placing her fingers in the start of a notch, looking up for the next space and trying to determine where to put her feet. And she begins to climb.

the world fears you

KIADA

i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty

Knives back, settled back along his belt of weaponry, he tilted his head at the sound of her laughter. At things missed and regaled once, at layers and lacquers of bittersweet chimes echoing and bounding. Gone, but never forgotten, because he seemed damned and doomed to remember the sight and sounds of his ghosts for eternities, for lives, until they pressed into the back of his mind, and there was no escape. Nothing until he let them go – and he’d been ready, he’d tried, to place her away, back into the nefarious chambers of his heart, where everything had been iced over and frozen. Where it’d been warped and ravaged, savaged, mislaid, unsettled, forgotten. Only to have her renewed, come again.

He snorted at her joy, the wry grin still there, embellished, not tarnished, not wasted, not melancholic. It’d been burdened by too many things, weighed down in the heavy reaches of grief and anguish, of what it meant to simply not matter. So maybe the monolith was fortunate to be permitted, to be allowed, to love and cherish the people he’d lost. Maybe he was lucky to have had them at all.

And to have some again.

She took his challenge and he followed beneath the canopy of the evening – the stars reaching overhead, gazing at them instinctively, inherently, before remembering, and then casting his gaze elsewhere. While she stretched, he rolled up his sleeves, hands going toward the chalk they’d used for a better grasp – arching his brow, staring at the wall’s denizens. He’d already completed its cycle several times over, enjoyed the practice and prestige, the use of muscles throughout his back, arms, the way it orchestrated other mannerisms besides the steadiness of a familiar blade.

So, to instigate, to agitate, to rankle in those mirror images of amusement and irritation, the beast followed, tracing over foundations he knew well – calloused palms reaching, pulling, feet sliding into their practiced derision, until he was side by side by the Harpy; snickering, smirking.

or your stubbornness?

DEIMOS

do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,

She climbs, and at first it seems to go well – the mix of speed and the power beneath her hands able to lift her up, to pull and push her higher and higher. And for a moment she feels almost as free as she once had while flying, with the wind beneath her proverbial wings. She pauses, not out of breath but out of curiosity, because Deimos has left the corner of her vision. And so she leans back, looking for him when he pops up beside her – a bit of surprise crosses her face before it’s masked with a smirk. “Show off.” She murmurs, before she’s pushing herself again, a bit faster this time.

A bit more recklessly too.

Because her hand slips right when her foot misses the cut out to try and catch herself, slipping off the ice and the snow, unable to hang onto her own weight. And down the Harpy goes, again, a brief moment where she tries to reach out for those wings that had once been within her only to find them gone, and she feels trapped for a moment, trapped like she had when her wings had failed her, burned and pained.

Only there’s no pain this time – just the what feels like quite a slow motion descent until her back hits the floor with an ‘oof’ and a quiet panic as she realizes when she opens her eyes that she’s still alive, and that there’s absolutely zero pain from hitting the icy ground. Just… An internal shift, a warring within her that has her surprised and relieved, but ultimately shocked.

the world fears you

KIADA

i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty

Audacity and boldness only entangled themselves in and amongst his ichor when pressed; juvenile tendencies, the infantile marks chiseled beneath a man who’d long since lost the presence of boyhood. Those moments were gone in the first swing of a blade, in the first beats of war drums, in the first slash of blood and bone. But every now and again they flickered, they basked, they drifted, when in the comfort and sanctity of those he cherished. Not so many walls. Not so many guards. Not so many ramparts. Not so many fortifications, locked away in his perilous hells.

So he laughed at her murmur, at the speed in which they assailed, triumphant push and pulls while they traversed upwards together, and the portions of strength rippled through him. Power here, in the deliberate movements, in the ease of unburdening motions –

And then that was gone too.

The Sword could see the Harpy beginning to fall, and no matter how fast, how quickly, his hand reached out, she’d already breezed by him. He didn’t watch her cascade or land or slam into the ground, couldn’t, wouldn’t, already too busy enacting action, coming down himself on eagle clarity and heightened descent. He likely landed seconds after her, from bird to human in one devastating moment, the practiced derision of chaos and bedlam surging around him ensuring the panic didn’t rise through his throat, lungs, and ribs.

He crouched down beside her, one hand hovering over her form, as if to ensure she didn’t try to rise. It hadn’t been lava or fire this time, but cold, hard stone, and the semblances of whatever wounds could be manifested there hadn’t gone out of his head. The fall wasn’t far, wasn’t life-threatening, but there were so many other nuances, and circumstances, too many echoes and haunting fixtures clawing at his memories –

The trepidation curled in there now, settled against the beat of his heart as it thrummed and pounded in wild crescendos – his eyes widening, glancing over, deep rumble in his vocals striving not to echo the dread coiling into his veins. Maybe it was for the best that she couldn’t feel his emotions right now. “Hey,” as if to bring her, to bring himself, out of the mess they’d made. “Anything damaged?” And Deimos didn’t have to call for Zuriel, no need, no warning required; she must’ve felt the agony striking against him and maneuvered her way through the halls – there an instant later, lingering above both of them.

or your stubbornness?

DEIMOS

do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,

There’s a moment of panic. There’s a moment of relief.

There’s a moment of where she’s not exactly sure where she is until she opens her eyes – squinting, half expecting there to be nothing and pleasantly surprised when she spies Deimos peering down at her. The question, the words reach her and she’s silent for a time, unsure how long as she peers past him up the wall to see where she’d fallen from. And there’s a few ways she could react to this, that fluttering panic in her gut – one of the only things she can feel anymore even if she couldn’t feel the impact of her body hitting the ground.

She could cry, but she doesn’t. Instead, the Harpy begins to laugh, something wild and surprised, shock coursing through her system. A hand raises for a moment before falling to the ground again, clutching at the cold snow beneath her palm that doesn’t quite melt in her touch anymore. “I’m okay.” She manages through the fit, unsure why she’s laughing, unsure if she can actually stop. She supposes death has shifted how she reacts to things as well – the panic within her appearing not in tears or rage as it once had, but something else entirely.

Or perhaps she’s simply lost her mind.

the world fears you

KIADA

i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty

The Sword waited – a breath held, stifled, controlled in the midst of his lungs – because he couldn’t quite take any more agonizing news. The rebuilding, the restructuring, the healing, still stood on shaky ground; a fracture, a fissure, could take and whittle him apart again. It’d be so easy. Whatever the monolith expected to follow, it hadn’t been laughter, and his eyes widened once more as she broke apart into giggles. He leaned back along his crouch, sighing, shaking his head, hoping she didn’t notice the trembling in his hands. She wouldn’t be able to feel the aspects of apprehension, the repose of relief, the flickers of frustration, the echoes of exhaustion. And he’d mask it all over again, tuck it away, away, away, extending that heavy breath back into the evening, where it billowed and curled, pooled and sank.

“Okay,” he reverberated and echoed, extending a hand that didn’t shake, a quiet, derisive control compelling over his sanction. His face might have disclosed his agony anyway; the aftermath of so many other lethal days and wounds. Of how many others he’d faced, of how many times he’d drifted to the sides of those who wouldn’t get back up again.

Then it was gone. Like it never happened. He didn’t laugh.

Zuriel pulled on his furs and he ignored it, calming his thunderous heart, the aching, pounding rhythm in his chest that said far more of the beast and his burdens. Once he’d attempted to pull Kiada to her feet, he backed away, towards the wall again, but back to the sloping sides. “We can walk up instead.” Then he persisted in its steep incline, waging his strength and rancor into the packed snow, treading after a multitude of other footprints, warring away the emotions threatening to burrow and bury again.

or your stubbornness?

DEIMOS

do not fear the dark, wolf cub, for when the sun leaves the world,

In all honesty, she hadn’t expected to laugh either. A reflex that had been tucked away, breaking through the rest of everything she could do. It brought back memories, so fresh and yet so far, with nothing else to do other than laugh and smile, to let the relief of living and the audacity of her fears attempting to come to the surface be a boon against her overreaction. Eventually, the laughter subsides and she breathes a bit easier now – even if she doesn’t require it.

Habits die hard, after all.

His hand is offered to help her up from the cold, hard ground – and she takes it, latching her fingers into his hand, making no comment or note if she feels them tremble. She runs a few scans in the process, ensuring that she hasn’t actually broken anything. Everything comes up clear, however, and she releases Deimos as he mentions they can walk up it instead. It was probably better that way, anyway, and so she smooths out her shirt and jacket, runs a hand through wild dark hair to tame it down and trudges up the hill beside him, unsure what to expect but not wanting to air what had just occurred for fear she might dredge up memories neither of them wished to experience again.

"What's past this?" She asks instead, after a few moments of silence, letting her curiosity get the best of her.

the world fears you

KIADA

i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty

Hidden; memories and tragedies and circumstances he’d overwise not yearn to visit ever again. They often managed to wind their way back around in his nightmares, where there were fleeting trials and tribulations burned against his mind, echoing for eternities, brandished in the same torment, the same torture, as before. Perhaps it was wise then for neither of them to say anything at all. No damage done. No outpouring of demolition and disaster. No lives spun into other voids. Just the vestiges of it, scattered across the pair.

Zuriel stayed down below the wall, and he could feel her eyes on him, following upwards – saying multitudes without breathing into life at all. He cast his gaze upon the unicorn briefly, and then permitted Kiada’s voice to be a distraction. The Sword didn’t glance at her, couldn’t, until he’d regained some composure, steeled and forged and fortified away, and only a deep rumble of his vocals concocted, unfurled, unraveled. Too taut, too unreachable now, striving to survive in the gathered trauma. “You will see.” Barely a smirk etched its way into the corner of his mouth, and then he straightened, rampaging, a savage pace set by long limbs, up the steeper slope.

Until they came to the top, where the height of the snowy embankment prevailed slightly over the barracks, and the world opened up. To rooftops of local houses and market squares, kiosks long since closed for the evening, for the festival of lights, and the shimmer of those same embers down below. The sprawl of the icy Palace loomed, jutting out against the horizon, the council halls tucked quietly beside. The Citadel walls remained a fortress of its own, quiet and dark. And then there was the horizon itself – cloudless and starlit, opening up over a canvas of ivory. He stood, tall and monolithic on top of its modest summit, and for a moment they could pretend the Basin was before them, that the view was from turrets of old, and that the sky would miraculously burst into hues of blue and violet.

or your stubbornness?

DEIMOS