AEDION
you cried wolf, so i came running.
am I the wolf or the savior?
He listens to her voice, and finds it soothing despite the rough functions he feels within. And his steel colored eyes meet hers as she looks to each and every one of them. Something makes him feel chosen, blessed, better than the others, but he keeps it to himself. He nods in response, waiting for another command, another set of instruction, suddenly surprised at finding himself craving direction. In the Rift, he had the direction of justice for those that had killed his family. Here, he has nothing. Nothing yet.
Aedion watches her holographic hand as it shoots the electricity toward them, pining each one of them in the forehead. It’s a good feeling, he finds, a slight itch but a cooling sensation that he sighs in relief. All too soon, it’s over, and he opens his eyes to see her begin to vanish – crack and fizzle – until she is no more. And he turns, then, to hear Wessex speak, uncertain if he’d seen her here before him and regretting not saying hello ahead of time.
But he listens to her words, too, because she’s far more knowledgeable and he appreciates what she’s helped him with. He hasn’t heard of the battle at the Spire, of the demon falling, but he’s curious over it all and finds some comfort in knowing that they have been chosen to enter. A crooked smile lingers on his face, his fanged grin gleaming in the moonless night. But it fades quickly as one of them, a red head speaks of looking in the Atheneum – yet another place he’s never heard of or seen.
He hardly has time to notice one of the others leaving before another speaks. And he nods in agreement to the sentiment, of setting the Voice free. And when Wessex speaks again, he lets his gaze land on her and gave her a wolfish grin. “Count me in.” He offers, and dips his head as if to make sure of it.
Aedion watches her holographic hand as it shoots the electricity toward them, pining each one of them in the forehead. It’s a good feeling, he finds, a slight itch but a cooling sensation that he sighs in relief. All too soon, it’s over, and he opens his eyes to see her begin to vanish – crack and fizzle – until she is no more. And he turns, then, to hear Wessex speak, uncertain if he’d seen her here before him and regretting not saying hello ahead of time.
But he listens to her words, too, because she’s far more knowledgeable and he appreciates what she’s helped him with. He hasn’t heard of the battle at the Spire, of the demon falling, but he’s curious over it all and finds some comfort in knowing that they have been chosen to enter. A crooked smile lingers on his face, his fanged grin gleaming in the moonless night. But it fades quickly as one of them, a red head speaks of looking in the Atheneum – yet another place he’s never heard of or seen.
He hardly has time to notice one of the others leaving before another speaks. And he nods in agreement to the sentiment, of setting the Voice free. And when Wessex speaks again, he lets his gaze land on her and gave her a wolfish grin. “Count me in.” He offers, and dips his head as if to make sure of it.
is my smile to sharp, or just my teeth?
come a little closer.
