when you're feeling lost

This is the long forgotten light at the end of the world

It felt like an age ago, that she had been running the rooftops of Haulani at night. That time, the sky had lit up with consuming flames, and she had returned home in tears, with burned hands and a broken heart.

While her objective for clambering across the city without actually setting foot on the roads was the same, much was different now. The sun was up, for one. Her dragon had grown, so much so that he didn't fit on her shoulder anymore. He was a shadow in the sky right now, coasting on cool sea breezes without a care in the world. There had been odd tensions streaming through the bond ever since the Greatwood, but today it was a distant thing. Umbra cared nothing for her climbing or the kind of people that might see her, and she had no reason to pick at his occasional excursions off towards the sea, for birds or fish or other morsels. They were at peace - no matter that it was tentative, and likely temporary.

As for Seren, she couldn't quite get her heart behind the tasks she set herself. Not even halfway through her route, she had already begun to cheat. The freerunning became more of an obstacle course, where gravity pulses allowed her to leap from rooftop to water cistern, drifting absent minded over streets where not a soul had a thought to look up and wonder what the heck she was doing up there.

She couldn't have answered them even if she wanted to. Eventually, she came to a stop on a particularly tall jumble of buildings. Warehouses, probably, and apartments; clothes lines and rooftop gardens sprawled beneath her in a myriad of colors. People were going to and fro, talking and shouting, utterly absorbed into their own lives.

Seren felt oddly detached from it all.

Seren

HARPER

It's a delightful irony that Seren is running atop rooftops today, when it is part of Harper's daily training regiment. Admittedly it's also a way to forget all that has changed. Coming to Caido, being told he would never reunite with his loved ones even in death, losing all sense of purpose with no job to be had and an entirely new set of enemies to consider. Being a vigilante had been much more dangerous in many ways; nearly every night had been devoted to some terror or another, magical or human, and his life had been on the line each evening he'd donned his suit. Now, his days were numbered by peace and boredom. He felt lost.

But this at least would always bring him back. Nimble and flexible beyond what most people could achieve, an indistinguishable mix between an acrobatic upbringing and darker, more unsavory tactics beaten into him. The people of Torchline have grown so used to his cavorting over awnings and dancing atop beams that they hardly glance his way these days, accustomed to his changing routes.

He is just building up a sweat (difficult, with his level of training) when he spots someone else flying over alleyways and running along rooftops. Harper lights up with delight, immediately changing his route to freerun across the stucco tops of buildings and domiciles alike, hoping to catch the fleet-footed stranger. Only the chase is but a mere moment, the figure going still and pensive atop a seemingly random perch. Though he has no gravity-magic to aid him, Harper swings up to the roof within moments, and is both concerned and delighted when he recognizes Seren's side-profile. "Seren? Are you okay?" Foregoing any nostalgic joy he'd felt at being joined on the rooftops and the loneliness he'd temporarily forgotten because of it, focusing only on the troubled line between her dark brows.

if brokenness is a form of art
I must be a poster child prodigy

This is the long forgotten light at the end of the world

Unaware that she had been tailed, so absorbed in her own thoughts that the arrival of a familiar figure didn't register until he spoke up, Seren's expression brightened into a smile that was automatic and not entirely heartfelt. Too bright, stiff around the edges - though when she registered who it was, at least her eyes regained some of their focus.
"Harper! Hello. Yes, I'm fine. Just... thinking about some things."

Turning away from the expansive view, she shoved her hands into the pockets of oversized Dragoon uniform trousers. Comfortable, durable, while a little too warm for Torchline, she had compensated for the heat by rolling up the sleeves beyond the elbows and tied the shirt tails up around a waist that proved to be both slender and softly muscled. Freckled and sun-kissed, with her hair tumbling freely over the shoulders she could have been any Torcher girl. Should have been, in some other reality.

"This is an odd place to run into someone I know," she commented, the light grin turning slightly more playful. "Do you come up here often?"

Seren

HARPER

Consternation flees from her features as she turns, and Harper's smile is warm and inviting, happy to see that his presence alone can bolster her spirits somewhat. Not that Seren seems the type to want to wallow of course, though he idly notes the strain around the edges of her beautiful smile. It's a type of training he can't avoid, though he wishes to. There are things he would like to be able to ignore about the people around him. His empathy is a burden and a boon all in one, and he can't always stop himself from caring.

This is one such time, and he moves closer until they are shoulder to shoulder, taking in her odd choice of dress and carefully averting his eyes from the curve of her stomach to look instead into her eyes. "Do you want to share, or would you prefer to be distracted?" Leaving the choice in her hands, aware that sometimes you simply weren't ready to talk about the things that bothered you.

"It's part of my daily training routine," he admits sheepishly, hand brushing curls back out of his face and following the motion to shyly rub the nape of his neck. "I was a vigilante back home. Patrolling the streets at night, fighting crime, all that fun stuff. It's a good way to stay in shape, but it reminds me of home, and a little of my childhood too." It's a vulnerable admission, but Harper has never been the type to conceal his heart. His darker past, yes, but everything else was openly transparent and freely given.

if brokenness is a form of art
I must be a poster child prodigy

This is the long forgotten light at the end of the world

Seren had to wonder whether she was that transparent, or if Harper was better at reading people than she knew. Perhaps it was a touch of the intuition she possessed herself, that whispered of unhappiness or shifting moods. The offer to talk was tempting; she offered a half shrug, the smile faltering.
"I've been told that I overshare," she murmured evasively. "Apparently I'm not careful enough with my secrets... so I'm not sure if I should tell you." She wanted to, that much was apparent, but just as clearly she was trying very hard to be cautious.

The concept of a vigilante was new to her, but the things Harper listed sounded fun enough. "An acrobat, and a vigilante," she mused, remembering what he'd said about growing up. "You make it sound as though remembering isn't just a good thing...?" A gust of wind ruffled her dark curls and blew locks into her eyes. Seren raked it back with a hand, trying in vain to make it stick behind an ear. A mirroring of Harper's own gesture, subconscious and hardly noticed.

Seren

HARPER

She falters, and Harper's smile turns understanding. Seren has very little by way of poker face, and he finds he doesn't want her to ever form one. She is easy to read, and her emotions are like watercolors on glass, beautiful even in their sadness. That she is learning to close herself off by increments is no bad thing, but he hates it all the same. "Secrets are important, and keeping them can in turn keep you safe," he agrees, hand trailing from his nape to hook on one of his belt loops. "But there's a fine line between sharing secrets and sharing how you feel. Too many people hide and bottle up their emotions, but all it does is fester. We are made to feel all that the Gods have given us - why hide what's natural?" Shrugging, suddenly self-conscious, Harper gratefully clings to the topic he'd given her as a distraction.

His own hair has grown woefully long, and the elastic tying it into a half-bun in the back is sacrificed readily to hand off towards Seren in silent offering. The wind was always so much worse on the rooftops. "It's bittersweet," he admits quietly. "I've suffered a lot in my life. At times all that kept me going was knowing I would meet my loved ones when my time came. But then I was brought here, and that was stolen from me." But still he smiles, because he must. Because that's who he is. "So I get to relive my memories this way. Helps keep me fit, too." He flexes his arms dramatically, laughter subdued but ever-genuine.

if brokenness is a form of art
I must be a poster child prodigy

This is the long forgotten light at the end of the world

What he said both confirmed and expanded upon what Sah had said. What her father had asked of her. It was good, in confirming that it wasn't simply spouted nonsense or overprotectiveness - but Seren didn't much like hearing it anyway.

Mulling silently over the implications, she blinked in surprise when the hair tie was offered. She thought to decline it - but thought better of it, and accepted the elastic. Tying her hair back into a loose bun was swift and efficient, motions repeated a thousand times over; she listened while moving her hands, and had to smile at the quiet optimism he displayed at the end. Or was it simply habit, like her smiles? "It must be lonely," she murmured softly. Compassionate of his melancholy even in the midst of her own crisis; it was so much easier to concern herself with his troubles than look at her own for too long.

But his confessions all but demanded some sort of response from her, so Seren obliged.

"I have been entrusted with a lot of secrets, lately," she offered after some thought. If she couldn't talk about them, then maybe she could do as he suggested - share what she felt about it. "Big and heavy secrets, that I asked to hear while claming that it wouldn't bother me at all. But... they do. And I'm being warned against trusting people, and answering questions, and I just...!" She had to break off and breathe, to combat the tension that wanted to build up. It would bring tears if she let it, and crying wouldn't solve anything. "Nothing is simple anymore. I just want to enjoy my life, but it's hard when so many of my friends are in pain. And there is nothing I can do about it."

Seren wished that she could do as Harper, and turn her rant into a joke at the end. But her chest was aching too much. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. Maybe break something - the colors of the world beneath were grating on her eyes.

Seren

HARPER

He watches her pull her hair up into a bun for lack of anything else to do, firmly rooted to the stucco below but feeling unmoored in the face of her emotions. They are too similar, and he can tell, which means they are dancing empathetic circles around each other, wanting to heal their counterpart while wincing away from touches to their own tender wounds. "It is," he says softly, the wind alone ensuring she hears it, lest it otherwise die the moment it leaves his lips. Gazing out over the sunlit peaks of the buildings around them, he sighs. "But I can choose to remain where I am, sad and lost, or I can keep moving. Keep trying. All other choices aside, it always comes down to that." Shrugging, he scratches idly at his palm, calloused and scarred, and flicks a bit of pebble from its indent where he'd climbed up to join her. Harper's eyes find hers from the corner of his own, giving a small smile. "So I choose to move."

He hadn't intended for his own relatively vague answer to prompt her to share her own woes, but once she begins they seem to crest and fall like waves. Harper was never much one for overthinking, for doubt and hemming and hawing. He sees her, hurting and confused, and does what he does best. Harper wraps her inside his arms, turning so that she can hide her face against his neck, and squeezes firmly enough to root her back into her body. For a moment he simply rocks her there, wanting her to know he was not simply jumping to shallow answers, sitting with her in the mire of her pain to let her know she wasn't alone. Only then does he speak.

"Silly girl, you're doing exactly what it is you need to be." A scarred hand tucks a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. "You are healing them by listening. By sharing. It feels better to say it, doesn't it? That you're overwhelmed, that you're hurting?" Because it's not arrogance that lets him know how it helps, it's firsthand experience. Like draining a cyst, releasing all the rot and pressure from inside so that things could begin to heal.

if brokenness is a form of art
I must be a poster child prodigy

This is the long forgotten light at the end of the world

She made a vague attempt at resisting the embrace at first. Unaccustomed to such intimacy from strangers - from men in particular - and reluctant to accept that he apparently saw something that needed comforting. That was supposed to be her job. But Harper was warm and his arms wouldn't let go, so with a sigh she relented and allowed herself to be held. Her own hands didn't quite know where to go, and settled timidly against his back, light, light and afraid to touch.

It wasn't fair that all it took were a few kind words to make her defenses crumble. They hadn't been tall, and she was not one to bottle up her emotions or wallow - as Harper so rightly had guessed - but it still vexed the starchild when tears began to burn in her eyes. Silly, was she?

Well, he wasn't wrong.

"Mhm," she agreed, words something clumsy and unformed on a swollen tongue. "But... if they find out I'm not strong like I say, they won't tell me any more. And then I'll be left out..." Cut off, left to wonder and guess and tiptoe around unspoken secrets. How was she supposed to understand everything that transpired - burning buildings, dead animals, children and fear and lost titles - if she couldn't bring the ones in the know to talk. Seren had to be strong. Stronger than this, at any rate - she didn't know anything yet.

Seren

HARPER

It's clear she isn't used to such affection, but it's never too late to learn. He doesn't mind her awkwardness, her doubt. Instead he continues to gently sway them, allowing her words to come freely and at the pace she prefers. There is no rush, no demands on his part. Only a chance to listen in return. To reverse the roles and give her the release she needs.

"Nobody is strong forever," he points out gently. "When I told you I was lonely, did you think for a moment that I couldn't carry the weight of your feelings?" He gently squeezes her shoulder with the hand that lays across her back, careful not to cross any physical boundaries when hugging is already something new for her. "We are stronger in numbers. We are not meant to be alone, or to carry burdens by ourselves. You took the weight from them - and now I'll take it from you. And we carry on that way, giving and taking in turn, so that the weight never becomes too much for one person." Harper wants to see her face in this moment, but he thinks that perhaps she needs the moment to hide away, to conceal herself. So there he remains, in some facsimile of a slowdance with her on the rooftop, hoping she believes him. "You didn't think less of them for breaking down. Why judge yourself? And why would they judge you?"

if brokenness is a form of art
I must be a poster child prodigy

This is the long forgotten light at the end of the world

Blinking against the burning in her eyes, she swayed along with Harper's movements. It was soothing. Like bobbing in the surf of the sea. He smelled nice; of fresh sweat and clean clothes, ocean and salt and soap. It should be strange, being so close to someone she hardly knew, but despite herself Seren found that she was relaxing. Exhaling a deep sigh, she shook her head. No, she didn't think him weak. Or them - the others whose confessions she had taken.

But there was a difference, and a reason behind her strictness against herself. Had she already told him...? Was this the kind of secret that she ought to keep under lock and key..?

She didn't have the resilience needed to figure that out right now.

"They will judge," she mumbled against his shoulder. "I am Safrin's daughter. Ronin's daughter. Even if people don't mean to, they are all going to look at me and expect something. And I want to live up to... all of it. Make my parents proud. I... can't afford to be anything less than excellent." Whether on a battlefield, in the grand halls of collegiums and archives or deep in the Wilds conversing with some tribal folk, Seren was a demigod. It couldn't mean nothing.

Seren

HARPER

He can feel the threads in her breaking one by one, a needlepoint undone by careless fingers plucking too hard on tender strings. She resists it, will or perhaps pride giving her the strength to fight, but Harper knows it's a battle already lost. Like the tide it will come, and it will sweep her under as it is meant to do. And here he will be, her buoy and lighthouse, to guide her back when the current is done with her.

Her words are muffled against his shoulder, but each word registers clear by virtue of her nearness, and though Harper hadn't expected this particular revelation it is easy enough to accept. It is an age old dilemma, one she is scarcely the first to face, even with her godhood. In fact it's almost painfully familiar to whispered worries Kova would speak to him in the night, holding hands like anchors in the ocean of bed sheets between them. It's this memory that lends him the strength to respond. "Ronin's achievements aside, you are half human. It is a part of you, one you cannot ignore in favor of what you think your godly part should strive for. There is a balance in you, one I'm sure your mother created intentionally so you may experience the best and worst of both sides." He hugs her closer, continuing to sway, the humid air around them brushing stray strands of hair against his cheek where it tilts against her head. "I don't judge you, even if you think I do. I think you, like any other person, are still figuring out who you are. If your mother wanted you to only heal and serve, why make you human at all?" Harper isn't sure if his words are even meaningful, but he believes in them, and in turn he hopes she hears his sincerity if nothing else. He's certainly no poet. "I'm sure your father shares his worries with his husband. Do you judge him for that?" Ronin was a demigod too after all, and therefore would have to be painted with the same brush the girl insisted on turning against herself.

if brokenness is a form of art
I must be a poster child prodigy

This is the long forgotten light at the end of the world

Harper neither faltered nor flinched away at the sudden revelation, and for that he received a sudden fierce hug of gratitude. Somehow he managed to say all the right things. Seren was proud of her parents, honored to be of their blood, willing and eager to live up to any and every expectation they had for her... but she also desperately wanted to be worthy of every blessing and benefit that came with being who she was. Undoubtedly privileged, with an easy childhood - quick though it had been - and lacking for nothing, she felt keenly theurge to give back to those less fortunate. Her noblesse oblige, demanding that great power entail great responsibility.  

But those expectations placed on herself by herself seemed somehow smaller and less daunting, when she was being squished against Harper. He clearly did the most of his daily jaunts across the roofs; his arms were quite strong.

"I don't think you're judging me," the girl sighed. "But you might be among the exceptions... which I appreciate, by the way." There was a flaw in Harper's logic, and she wanted to point out that the person Ronin leaned on was Remi - another demigod - but it was only petty details. She understood what he meant. "No, I don't judge him. I just..." Seren frowned softly at the city seen from the edge of his shoulder. "I suppose... I'm just confused. If I am supposed to be so careful, and keep my secrets close, how do I ever know who to really trust with these things? Who is going to be my Remi?"

A peculiar thing to say, and perhaps a tad hypocritical when she was already spilling her worries on Harper. But he was not going to be available for hugs and soul searching every time she needed it. Wasn't he waiting to return to.. Phoebe, was it?
The thought struck like lightning and highlighted the scene in stark contrast. Entangled on a roof above the city, swaying to and fro in what could have been a dance.

Seren tensed suddenly, and began to pull away. Confused, that lump tightening in her throat again. What was she doing?

Seren

HARPER

At last she returns his embrace, arms winding tight around him. Harper bears this too, keeping the gentle rocking motion that never even shuffles their feet across the tiles. As if to say this too I can take. "Am I the exception, or do you place such high expectations on yourself that you believe others feel the same when they look at you?" It's spoken like an idle musing, ensuring that she would not feel pressured to answer one way or the other. Open-ended, free of belittlement or chiding undertones. If others truly did see her that way, clearly she was spending time with the wrong sorts. He suspects that may be part of her confusion; that, and the inherent troublesomeness of determining the trustworthy from the deceitful.

"Hm, that's not an easy answer. Sometimes it's a feeling in your gut. Sometimes they prove it to you immediately - protecting you or others, breaking up fights, sharing with people worse off than them. Things that show their morals are good long before you ever introduce yourself." Or tell them of her bloodline, which he suspects is part of the greater problem. Greed would forever be a human trait, and indebting themselves to her would likely be their first effort. "Sometimes it just takes time. If they keep your own secrets. If they worry for you, or make time to reach out despite distance or busy life. Sometimes all you need to know that someone is trustworthy is to determine if they care for you; because then they will do what it takes to keep you safe in all ways." Emotionally, physically, mentally. It's the best answer he has, which is unfortunate considering that detailed as he'd made it, it's still quite open to interpretation and variant upon each person she would meet.

Harper has no insight to her thoughts, so when she pulls away he loosens his grasp but doesn't release her, frowning as he tries to parse the sudden tension in her body. "Hey, it's okay," he shushes automatically. "Everyone needs a shoulder and a hug sometimes. Just as you want to help when others feel this way, I want to do the same." Wondering (quite wrongly) if she was pulling away out of a misplaced idea that she was relying too heavily on him physically for comfort. But he leaves his grip loose, easy to break should she choose to.

if brokenness is a form of art
I must be a poster child prodigy