(SE) you got a question or two

// we stood, steady as the stars in the woods, so happy-hearted
and the warmth rang true inside these bones, as the old pine fell we sang //

It’s the start of a new adventure for them. They’d received the approval from their father and they’d spent the next few weeks gathering the things they needed. And now? Now they’ve ventured out, searching for the unknown, a sketchbook in the bag that sling along their back. They’d managed to make it out this far during the moonlight, they’d managed to get out this far through the darkness that was their safety net.

And when they reach the meadow? Well, it’s stunning in its moonlit hues of color, something that would make them breathless if they ever needed to breathe. As it stood now, however, they stand in the middle of it, looking around in their surprise and excitement, before they immediately plop down into the grasses and pull out that sketchbook.

They flip the pages to land on the next blank one, pulling out their little charcoal pencil, and begin to sketch the expanse of beauty – for future inspiration? Perhaps. But everything here was so alive, so beautiful, that they can’t not take the time to commit it to their memory.

(Open for anyone! <3)

Azrael

Aamu

Where better to see the moon and stars than a meadow? And for once, Aamu seems more interested in the sky than the ground, not quite seeing the beautiful spring flowers he so loves the smell of but rather walking with his head tilted back, blue eyes hungrily drinking in the stars. It's not something he's quite aware of doing, it's just—it's kept happening since the incident in the Boondocks.

(Which, honestly, it hasn't been long enough that he's realized what's going on.)

He's more concerned with the darkened tint to his vision, the way the nights seem darker, the days murkier, how he squints ever so slightly into shadows he normally would have no trouble seeing into. Out here, he can pretend it's not happening, that he's just anxious about nothing. The moon is fine. The stars are fine. The night is bright.

So he walks through the flowers, an eerie ghost taking in the moon with hungry, eager eyes, until he stumbles upon the little artist. (How literally? Well, I don't know. He's not watching where he's going.)

// we stood, steady as the stars in the woods, so happy-hearted
and the warmth rang true inside these bones, as the old pine fell we sang //

They’re taken aback by the beauty of the meadow in the moonlight, settled there in the middle of the grasses and flowers, some of them closed up with the absence of the sun, though they don’t know that’s why. They begin to work in their sketchbook, detailing out the large expanse, the flowers up close, some thoughts and tidbits as to what they think this place was for in years past. They move onto a new page, sketching out another specific flower when something bumps into them and their charcoal goes screaming across the page.

A yelp of surprise leaves them, whirling around to spy none other than a familiar face whom had run into them, likely having not seen them from where they’d simply sat among the grasses. “Aamu?!” They chime, barking out a laugh of disbelief, letting their wide eyes in fear start to relax as they try to calm down the signals in their mind of danger.

Aamu wasn’t dangerous. Aamu is a friend, after all. But they are surprised to have found him here of all places. “Are you okay? I wasn’t expecting to see anyone out here.” They admit, wrinkling their nose a bit as they think on that idea as well. No, they certainly didn’t think they’d greet another person. Perhaps a small critter or two, perhaps some moths floating through the air.

A surprise is a surprise, however, and they’re still pleased to have company.

Azrael

Aamu

He's meandering along, minding his own light-worshiping business like a moon-drunk moth. Azrael's just another flower in the meadow, except they yelp (flowers shouldn't do that), and Aamu definitely feels the shape of the young demigod bumping into his knees.

It's concerning. Confusing.

(Actually, fuck that and let's be honest for a moment. Aamu's still fresh out of a war, he's even fresher out of a genocide, and stumbling over something living he overlooked in the dark is terrifying, to put it bluntly. It also explains why, for a brief moment as he's bounced back, he's crouched, poised to strike, one hand raised, silver moonlight painting him in stark, grim contrast.)

But then he's just Aamu again, quickly straightening up and taking his raised hand to tangle it in the top of his moon-washed braid, all silver and blue and soft. "Didn't see you there, Az," he responds with a chuckle that's still a tad too nervous, hoping to avoid being called out on his violent instincts. The last thing he wants is for the obviously startled child to suspect Aamu would be capable of hurting them.

"I'm fine," he tries to assure the young demi, taking a few steps closer while glancing up at the sky again. All those pretty lights... "I like coming out to King's End." He forces his eyes down, to the sketchpad held in the teenager's hand. "Sorry for, err... nearly stepping on you. You were drawing?"

// we stood, steady as the stars in the woods, so happy-hearted
and the warmth rang true inside these bones, as the old pine fell we sang //

Luckily for Aamu, Azrael doesn’t understand. They don’t understand the position that Aamu takes – ready for battle, ready for fight – but they do find it a beautiful portrait, something that they think their father would like to paint if ever given the chance. The grace of war, or something similar… But they’ve gotten off track.

Their smile grows wider as Aamu’s stance softens, as the Ascended’s hand runs through his pale moonlit hair. Azrael practically beams. “I was sitting.” They announce as if it hadn’t been obvious, though there’s no malice in their words. Just… Facts. They had been sitting, it’s no surprise nor blame on their end for Aamu to have not seen them.

Aamu drifts closer and the young demigod tilts their head at the information given. “Oh, this is Kings End?” They ask, their head tilting this way and that as they look around the meadow again, before peering back up at the Ascended. “It’s okay, really! And yes… I told papa I would document my travel. It keeps him from worrying.” Or so they hope, but they lift their little sketch to show Aamu regardless. It’s still a draft, but the meadow is laid out with the hints of moths dancing in the sky, the pale moon behind the treeline, the grasses that reach up like fingers aiming to brush the starry sky.

"Do you know more about this place?" More than just the name?

Azrael

Aamu

He wonders how Azrael came into this world: they seem too good, too pure. He worries (wonders?) time will stain them, darken them, weigh them down with grief and despair and hopelessness. Already they'd lost a parent, been forced to endure the reincarnation of her voice.

No child should be tormented with hearing their parent's voice luring them to death, having to say no—

Yet here they are, smiling, a ray of sunshine to rival even the moon's radiance and allure. Aamu nods to confirm what he said previously, happily distracted by the sketch. "No parent ever truly ceases to worry," he mumbles, perhaps a bit too distracted—it's a strange moment, an open doorway to his past, but one he (for once) doesn't notice. "This is a lovely sketch." —of a lovely place.

"Yeah," he says after a moment, straightening up and linking his fine hands behind his back. He squares his shoulders for a moment. "King's End is largely a graveyard. You know all these gently rolling hills and the mounds? They're the barrows of kings, or gods, of old, each set with an iron door to their grave. Those who try to open them are either never seen again, or suffer a terrible accident. And somewhere in between all of them is The Last Step—a fabled staircase that leads heavenwards. It's notoriously difficult to find, and notoriously diffuclt to find your way back from. Upon its last step wishes can be granted, gods can be slain, and kings can be born—or so they say." He's tempted by the idea of trying to get a herald up there and seeing if they can, indeed, die there. "This, this is Meadowreach. A lovely place."

Of course there's even more to King's End. Aamu turns his head towards Azrael with a wry smile. "Then there's the KingMaker..."

// we stood, steady as the stars in the woods, so happy-hearted
and the warmth rang true inside these bones, as the old pine fell we sang //

“He took it better than I thought he would.” They admit, flashing an almost awkward smile to Aamu. But the Ascended compliments their work and it replaces their bashfulness with a content smile, happy that someone else liked their work as much as they did. But Azrael asks of King’s End, if the Ascended knows more about it, and their captivated by the story that Aamu weaves – their gaze unblinking, their body unmoving (it helped being made rather than turned, given the fact they never knew what it was like to breathe or blink aside from what was trained), and perhaps it was a little off putting, but around Aamu they think that he might understand.

They’re captivated entirely, though, and their head pulls away from Aamu to look at the meadows and the hills that they’d passed on their way here, their jaw almost dropping in surprise at the story behind it. “Wow.” They say in a near whisper, before their head tilts slightly. “If… If it’s true and they do grant wishes… Do you think they would answer us?” They ask at first, before they’re scrambling for an explanation. “Do you think they’d grant the wish to stop the war before it begins?” It’s a quieter suggestion, one that draws their dark brows together as if perhaps they shouldn’t have asked it.

And so, they begin to fiddle with the spiral in their sketchbook, if only to do something with their hands as their gaze drops back to it and they consider what to add next. “What’s the Kingmaker?” They ask as they pick up the charcoal again and scribble down ‘Meadowreach’ over the top left corner of the sketch as if to describe the space they’d been in. And when they’d finished that, a slightly more somber gaze lifts to meet Aamu’s pale figure.

Azrael

Aamu

Well—considering Azrael is out here at all, Aamu is inclined to agree Bastien had taken it better than expected. It must be hard to have a child, lose its mother, and then the child ages much too quickly and is suddenly nearly an adult just after a week of being unconscious and in grave danger. Aamu's not sure he himself would've been able to let them go off on their own so soon, and Bastien's certainly seemed the very protective sort so far. (Not that Aamu's calling him careless or such now; it's just surprising.)

Even as a long-time Ascended he finds Azrael's supernatural stillness a bit disconcerting. He doesn't mind, takes it as a sign of rapt interest in what he knows of King's End, but it's .. a little uncanny. It's strange, how even after two decades he takes comfort in the rise and fall of a chest, the blink of an eye, every little movement of their living, warm bodies (or the memory thereof).

Consciously he decides to be flattered instead of unnerved.

The question the young Ascended asks, though... Aamu bites his lower lip thoughtfully, before peering towards the horizon in the general direction of the stairs. He still can't find them reliably, just knows the ish of where they are. "I don't know," he finally says. "I don't know which powers answer at the top of the stairs, or how difficult it is to reach. I think—it could be worth looking into, but we'd have to be very, very careful what we'd ask for."

It's certainly a much milder approach than just axing, say, Safrin.

In comparison, the KingMaker feels like a much safer subject. "They say it was once a companion of Caido itself," Aamu begins. He wonders how much of this that is remembered in the rest of the world. "A majestic chimera with three heads. I've heard differing accounts of the heads, but the most prevalent story is that it has the heads of an elephant, a bear, and a swan." He pauses with a slight frown. "I'm unsure of the body, actually. But, something happened, and it went mad. Some say King's End was made to be its refuge, and that it is very much still here, among the barrows and hills, and still mad. So if you come across any mysterious tracks here... go the other way."

// we stood, steady as the stars in the woods, so happy-hearted
and the warmth rang true inside these bones, as the old pine fell we sang //

Their question is meant to be a nice thought, one that was full of their innocence and their hope, as if it made it that much easier to abide by. But when it came down to whether or not it would work, they leave that up for Aamu to respond with – figuring he might have a better idea about it than they could muster. Aamu, after all, was experienced in the world in ways that Azrael is not.

And so they look up to Aamu in some ways,  trying to figure out just how one might live long enough to see wars and worlds change.

Unfortunately, they do deflate a fraction with the idea that nobody knew what sat atop it. But the prospect of being careful what they asked for has them nodding, thinking, drawing up short. They still didn’t understand why the Old Gods disliked the Ascended – having not quite understood too much of what was leading up to this war. The only exposure they had was the fight versus the LongNight monsters and what Juniper had recalled about the attack on the Mathair.

Their lips quirk though, pushing past the sorrowful thoughts, in order to focus on the Kingmaker as Aamu explains it – their head tilting thoughtfully as they paint the picture of what it looks like within their mind. “Like… Caido, the god of gods?” They ask, ensuring that Aamu is speaking of the deity and not the world itself.

But they perk up immediately at the idea that it was still here, their brown and sapphire gaze widening as awe takes over their face. “Wow.” They say in a soft, gentle gasp. “Do you think it’s still here?” They ask quietly, before their gaze is scanning around the meadow, before their brows furrow and their gaze lands back on Aamu. “Are we in… Danger?” This prospect intrigued them and didn’t deflate them in the slightest as their gaze remains locked on Aamu.

Azrael

Aamu

Gods and deities—anything holding power of the world, really—are fickle things and best treated with caution. There are some you should not bargain with, for they might interpret it as they see fit. We want this war to never be could easily become divine justification for simply eradicating the Ascended. No Ascended, no war, and without knowing just who, or what, answers at the top of the stairs Aamu doesn't dare gamble with his entire race.

Fortunately, Azrael seems quite understanding of this fact, as they don't argue with Aamu's urge for caution.

"Caido, the God of Gods," he confirms with a slight smile. The one God Aamu's unsure of where they stand on the Ascended matter, only because they seem to have fucked off a long time ago and stopped giving a shit about what happens down here.

Another smile tugs on his lips at Azrael's interest. They are so quiet, so soft and gentle, yet seem so enraptured and not at all bothered by the idea of being in danger. He cannot decide if it is the foolishness of youth, or simply because they are a creature quite divine. "I wouldn't say we're in any more danger than usual," he says, honest enough. "You just shouldn't go looking for it, or digging around, or trying to open the Barrows. Then you might be in danger from it." He figures that answers the other question well enough, too.

// we stood, steady as the stars in the woods, so happy-hearted
and the warmth rang true inside these bones, as the old pine fell we sang //

So they were correct in their assumptions. Caido, the god of gods. And it’s with a hint of eagerness that they focus on the Ascended, listening to the story that’s aired, awe struck and inspired. They see the smile that tugs on Aamu’s face and it reflects a fraction on their own, lifting the corner of their lip with a small ghost of a smile. “Don’t go looking for it. Got it.” They say with a quiet laugh.

Their gaze leaves Aamu to look around the meadow again, pulling their sketch a little bit higher to continue working on it – even if they make a paraphrased note of Aamu’s story, if only so they might recollect it to tell Bastien later. “Do you want to sit with me?” They ask, drawing a broad stroke with their charcoal, filling in a shadow from a few of the wildflowers, before they let their gaze lift to Aamu. “And do you have any more stories?” They would love to hear all of them.

Aamu was a wonderful storyteller, Azrael decides. And they’d be content to spend the entire night here under the moonlight talking with him about life and everything else that went with it if Aamu wished to.

Azrael

Aamu

Sometimes the best way to get someone to do something is to tell them not to do it, but he doubts that's the case with Azrael. They seem a bit too reasonable (and leashed by their dear father, though Aamu thinks there's no resentment for this). "Good," he offers with a slight smile.

And besides, better that they know what is out here, without Aamu trying to make it seem more benign than it could be. Truth to be told the jury is still out on what kills anyone digging for dead gods, but to think it is the KingMaker is not unreasonable.

By way of answer he moves slightly, less to hover behind Azrael and to be more beside them. He gives the horizon one last look, as if looking for something, before elegantly folding himself down into the grasses and flowers. "Have you ever smelled them?" he asks quietly as he cups the flowers between his hands, trying to draw their scent deep into his body but catching only the faintest memory of them.

Trying to bury his disappointment he leans back slightly, one sharp tooth poking out to trap his lip as he thinks. "King's End is full of little mysteries. The Boondocks were once a road, but to where? It ends in the sea, lures wayward ships in and wrecks them on the reefs. Mourn, which is a bit north of here, is a place of remembrance—like a graveyard. There's lanterns, benches, paths, gardens... Always very well kept, but by who?" His smile is enigmatic as he cranes his neck to look at Azrael.

// we stood, steady as the stars in the woods, so happy-hearted
and the warmth rang true inside these bones, as the old pine fell we sang //

Confirmation hits them with Aamu’s ’good’ and it’s certainly a subject Azrael doesn’t plan on pushing any further than they have. So they settle back in the grasses, continuing their sketch, leaving little notes of the story that Aamu had said previously, before they flip to a new page and watch as Aamu reaches for the flowers, settling in beside them.

Their fingers are deft with the charcoal and they quickly sketch up the flower, the question hitting them and giving them pause – making an attempt to smell anything and finds next to nothing. “I haven’t.” They say, tapping the charcoal on their cheek and leaving a dark smudge behind. “I was Made by the Voice. I never really went a time with all the senses that I hear everyone talk about.” They flash Aamu an apologetic smile.

At least this way they didn’t get to know what they were missing, right?

But they pick up their sketch again, ready to write down more tidbits of the story, little sketches of what they imagine the spaces to look like to maybe come back and check them out to see if it’s something they got right once they stumbled upon it. “That sounds… Poetic.” They admit, flashing Aamu a wide fanged grin. “What about the maze?” They ask, leaning forward toward Aamu with excitement in their gaze. “What mystery sits in that one?”

Azrael

Aamu

He had always known Azrael was special (how else does an Ascended age?) but maybe not how special. And how at odds such divinity is with the charcoal smudge on their cheek. It makes him smile, fond and sad at the same time.

"I was going to suggest that you should borrow a shift from someone and see what it's like, but..." He shrugs slightly, unsure of how to phrase it. He turns his gaze to the flowers, pale fingers following the petals. "It's one of the few things I miss. And every time you're reminded of it... It almost seems cruel."

Better to talk about King's End, and all the myths surrounding it. "Ah, the maze. A beautiful garden, but equally treacherous. They say the Labyrinth in the Grounds was grown with plants taken from here." He picks a tulip and twirls it back and forth in his hand. "Should you find your way to the center you will find the Eye of Fire, a site sacred to the Acquired. It's this.. ever-burning fire. It is said that that is where they first came into their powers, and that any magic performed in its vicinity is greatly strengthened. It used to be a bit of a standing dare for them to jump across the flames, but.. not something I'd recommend an Ascended. We're a touch too flammable." Aamu's smile turns slightly crooked.