#◟༺✧༻◞ lament of a fallen seraph ┊thread.┊

[twilightichor]

Pouring rain falls like a balm to soothe raging flames that will never die. Labored breaths return to normalcy as Twilight straightens himself to look over his head, his palm open to watch sapphire drops fall atop the onyx leather that covers his hand. ◜...◞ Astral gaze falls upon the snow-haired man thereafter, narrowing in quiescent acknowledgement. It's been a while since Dáinsleif had realized the nature of this man —or as he would rather say, superior being— ever since the beginning when they joined forces to purify the Weeping Willow in Fontaine. Now, after a voyage to Ochkanatlan and what Natlanese would say the end of the world where they were caught by an unpleasant surprise, it's all the more clearer. ◜You did what must be done.◞ Not necessarily to Natlan— but to him. The suffering soul caged within the abyssal shell that had fallen before them.

✧ @seraphicus liked for a mini-starter!

[reginrokkr]

In a protector's mind the suffering of another at the knowledge that they have power to guard them is significantly higher than whatever may come their way. They would sooner resort to performing undesirable acts to themselves if that would mean guaranteeing the protection of another. Dáinsleif knows this too well as a knight himself and, unbeknownst to Mydeimos, a former kingslayer when his judgement impulsed him to commit regicide for the safety of the kingdom, its people— and the entire world altogether.

It is precisely why he would never attempt to pull him away from the chosen path of this world's safety despite being a direct witness of the crowned prince's torment and endless strife's torture, finding that it would be insulting to do so as it would be if someone else were to even consider the same for him and the path he had chosen to make of Teyvat a better world in the name of humanity. Instead, he boldly claims the license to reprehend the chrysos heir for his reckless actions to his own security born from a trait both of them share for different reasons: immortality.

◜I know.◞ He acquiesces with a curt nod to match, of course he knows. Being immortal means that one can afford to act more irresponsibly with their own safety, alas— it is not without its inconvenient either. Just as mortals must beware of certain aspects to protect themselves, so remains true to those like both of them. There is more Dáinsleif could tell him about immortality as a result of his own centuries of experience on the matter, so much more. But he refrains from lecturing Mydeimos any further. This situation by itself must be uncomfortable enough given that it may compromise his pride, for being unable to do this on his own. And so he quietens down, starry gaze lowering to look at their connected hands before it closes as a means for concentration.

Wise choice, Mydeimos.

Sapphire flames emerge from his gloved hand and extend towards the chrysos heir, farther expanding to the rest of his body and spirit. Far from harboring a healing aspect far from inconsiderable, what he seeks is to cleanse away any remains of the black tide that dared make their way to his soul, leaving in its wake a peace and serenity even he can feel— it is just as he thought, just by spending too long in a place like this suffices to be affected to some extent, even if it may be risible enough to both not to notice at all. But pile it up with more events like these and an even more elongated time spent in places covered by calamitous evernight and it'll be a matter of time until it becomes perilous to oneself... and even more painful still in a protector's heart, to those whom they vow to protect.

The purification comes to an end and with it, Dáinsleif hand drops. ◜If you value that others may live another day in peace, then you ought to take care of yourself, too.◞ An understatement at this point, he's aware— but not without any less value. Foreseeing that he will not be able to join him nor the rest for as long as he would desire in their fight to protect humanity and this world, a new idea is born. With it, another purification flame materializes on the palm of his hand, soon to be encapsulated by a transparent, dark crystal which is then offered to the man in question. ◜Accept this. It's as much as I can do for you once distance separates us.◞

@guhamun continued from ✦

[arkt-nehrim-archive]

                         A Story in Spring : Renewal {1/3} 

"I have a proposition for you."

The walls of the fallen seraph's humble hut had so far been something of a passive comfort, yet Lithirill found no sense of ease.  Her host, and fellow Tel'lmaltath could certainly tell, eyeing her with some hint of concern, slowly rising to his full height, turning to face her once the fire had suitably caught. "Go on."

The encouraging mannerism was commonplace in their interactions thus far, but it didn't do much to make her desirous of speaking her mind, as images played in her head of all she had been plotting in secret, only thinking to bring the matter to him when she -knew- beyond a doubt she could -achieve- her goals. "It is a...personal matter, to you specifically.  I hesitate to even ask, truthfully." At that notion, her company raised  a sculpted brow. How he might've read her words differed from what she seemed to mean by her body language; a normally stood straight, confident woman now half hunched and barely maintaining eye contact.  He simply watched, resting a hand along his hip. It was the only prompt to continue she was going to get. "...Right.  -Arkt-.  I will speak plainly." even then she hesitated, a sigh accompanying an expression of complete honesty, "...I want to reconstruct your wings. I would see you fly again."  

There weren't many things reality could offer him that still surprised, but that had done it, the gentle carefulness in her tone most of all. It wasn't just an offer, but a plea. Arkt's gaze fell to his floorboards, called back to the moment she had seen the tattered remnants, and the conversation that followed where he learned much and more about the individual he chose to champion. Her perseverance in the face of impossible odds had ensured his second chance at freedom from past mistakes, yet here she was still giving. It was not debt fueling her either, but desire, leading him to a thought forgotten sensation; confoundment.

Lithirill only fidgeted in the quiet, narrowing her eyes in passive calculation, half braced for some kind of impact. It took him some several moments to recover, clearing his throat. The ever-present ache at his back he'd still struggled with flared up. Even to this day, the injury pained him, centuries "dead" had been his only reprieve.

"You are firmly familiar with the reasons I lost them in the first place..." he began, watching his company instinctively tense, ready for rejection; instead he would give her a question, "Knowing that, I must ask -why-? To what end would you go to such efforts?" Asked with genuine curiosity, over any manner of accusation; he suspected her of nothing.

Lithirill nodded, crossing her arms and easing her weight onto one leg. "History was one among a few reasons I have debated asking. As for why, well. I feel there are certain wrongs afflicted to those I’ve come to care for, and it is within my power to unravel those wrongs.”

Arkt watched her carefully crafted mask slipping, the woman ever at odds with herself. He wondered if there would ever be a time where she did not engage in the practice, and simply felt at home in his company.

"As you did with Arantheal?"  he questioned, curious to see if he could keep her at that boundary.

Lithirill puzzled over the question for a moment, pondering if it was harmless comparison or an accusation. Foolish to think it the latter, knowing Arkt had no history of resisting her intent.

"...Yes. As I did -for- Narathzul." She corrected, offering a sideways nod and a shrug, "Know I don't need an answer -today-. I only wanted you to know that the idea lingered in mind long enough to...plan for.”

Ultimately, Arkt was touched. Shock still kept a whirlwind of emotions at bay at the mere hint of taking to the skies again, permitting the warmth of the smile behind his veil to only grow as he watched her. She was not having so easy a time, clearly having wrestled with herself on the matter for awhile.

"Is this what has kept you from your usual visits of late?" he wondered, gesturing with a hand in a motion pushing down from his midsection;  'Relax.' he said silently.

Her eyes followed his hand, flicking up to his face like the lash of a serpent's tongue before she took in a breath and let it out, chuckling to herself.  

"In part. Alongside the politicking and the visits somewhere warmer. Thoughts?"

He sighed through his nose as he partly answered with the considering tilt of his head and a prolonged shutting of his eyes, continuing to chew on the notion.

"Too many to rightly voice in a manner composed or remotely understandable. Would you mind returning to Castle Darlan for the moment? I'll have an answer for you come the evening."

"Of course.~"

The professional manner in which she pulled herself together and turned from him showed a wall climbing between them that he had no patience for, the old seraph chuckling when she moved to open the door.

"Lithirill."  

She twitched, shoulders bunching as her fingers fumbled at the doorknob, before she straightened again and smiled a familiar, shy curve over her shoulder. Her eyes lit up a touch when she saw he’d pulled down his veil.

"Yes?"  

"...Thank you."  he spoke, genuine appreciation clear in his expression.

A hint of color, and the wall scattered; his only goal in the moment. She departed with an amused, "See you soon.", quickly on her way.

                                                   ~~~ As promised, Arkt had arrived that evening, uncharacteristically anxious, but Lithirill could hardly blame him. She could not imagine the weight of what her offer truly meant to him.

In times long gone, the loss of his wings, however deeply traumatic, had served a purpose; symbols had power, as much in their creation as their destruction and his fall signaled the end of an era where the Lightborn could rule without fear of repercussion. Yet now that all his battles were over, and this new life lay before him...

It was not long before the old seraph was waxing poetic, teetering back and forth in his words, as was his way. He all but danced between every sentence- whilst Lithirill only offered more wine when his glass neared empty. She refused to rush him in coming to a decision, simply enjoying his company, equal parts devilishly curious and genuinely empathetic.

Such camaraderie came to it's end at the dawn of the following day, Arkt admitting in the quiet of the morning fog that he accepted her offer; even with her many warnings of risk and pain, he had seen firsthand what she was capable of; he knew he was in good hands, even if a fair few of her achievements were with his shadowed aid.

Two weeks had passed since he agreed to her offer, wasting no time in getting started. The first bout had been the hardest thus far- having not yet known just how -much- it took to render a seraph numb, and having the unfortunate task of plucking the feathers he still had. A meticulous, painful, unexpectedly bloody process...but it was safer to start with a clean slate than try to rebuild all that was under them when half the limb had been shorn down to bare bone.

Trippling the dosages from there made things much easier, at least for Arkt. His struggle was not with pain in the familiar sense now, it came instead from a nameless sensation;  the agonizingly slow return of what should never be, able to sense every -tiny- thread of what was lost reconnect. It was as torturous as it was euphoric, and it could only be overcome by sheer force of will.

Tonight would be no different. Lithirill had learned his tells after a few sessions. When in the throes of her spell work, she could spare little attention for observance, but awareness returned as she dialed back, murmuring gentle nothings mostly for her own comfort; though it signaled to Arkt he could stop taking such measured breaths.

The touch of the Sea crept away like the retreating tide, Arkt opening hazy eyes, idly stretching his fingers.  He knew well enough not to move until his companion told him to do so, watching her over his shoulder. There was a slight notion of fear that kept him from immediately looking upon his wings, naked and ghastly as they were. He only had eyes for Lithirill's face, noting the knitted brow and how she clicked her tongue when observing progress, pondering how to proceed.

"I'd hoped to have had bone completely covered by now..." she lamented, drawing again the magicked circles that held his wings in subtle regeneration between sessions, "I've underestimated how deeply the burns go. I should’ve-”

"You need not fret, Lithirill."  Arkt spoke up, a look of assurance crossing fair features, "This shall take as long as it will take, and you have plenty to grapple with without adding the unnecessary elements of haste and worry.~"

"...Perhaps. Still, I don't savor putting you through further pain I could have avoided." she spoke idly, glad he could not feel it as she undid the slings above, gently moving the humble beginnings to rest on cushions whilst she worked tension from developing musculature.

"We went into this knowing it would be difficult. We will endure." he replied, his tone as much an attempt to comfort as it was a statement of fact; she was far too deep in it now to safely -stop-.  "Which for you to manage, requires heady use of those flasks behind you, as I recall."

It was a gentle, but earnest jab to not neglect her own health whilst taking care of him. She might have been Tel'lmaltath, but healing at -this- level for such prolonged bouts tested the limits of even legendary resolves, and Arkt did not fancy the idea of a Shadow God turned Oorbaya.

Satisfied with her ministrations, she sighed and nodded, letting her hand trail down his back as she turned and gingerly stepped away to pluck a flask of Ambrosia from a stockpile. The edges of a smirk tugged at his lips as she made a show of drinking half the vial like it didn't taste awful, raising both brows at him in a silent 'satisfied?'.

"...-Thank- you." he muttered, humming a chuckle, "Do not lose sight of your own well being in concern for me. I must stress, we have nothing but time."

Lithirill tilted her head at him as her eyelids drooped, well accustomed now to the odd heated popping in her ears as the Ambrosia did its work, blanketing the red pressure in her head and quieting the skittering under her skin.

"-Now- whose fretting?" she teased, setting down the flask so she could help him to stand, not letting his wings droop as she supported them from the base, "I don't intend to go hurrying into the arms of the Blue Death, I promise. Come now.~"

Twas a short jaunt to the spare bedroom within her personal quarters, Arkt leading the way and Lithirill matching his steps. The seraph counted his blessings that his pride could not be so easily wounded as she settled his wings into yet another set of slings, these ones arranged to allow them to safely hang whilst he rested. He knew -she- worried about such mental troubles, but he was far too old and that much more taken by fascination in all she insisted upon doing for him to care for foolish things like shame.

"Tell me something, Lithirill." he said, eyes on her as she arranged the vials that would help him sleep, and come the morn, ease his pain,  "What do you suppose I'm meant to do in return for all of this?"  

The question was laced with an undertone of playfulness that reminded her of when the seraph had taken an almost catty tone in Arktwend, all but making -gossip- of the infatuation between those who'd brought Narathzul into the world. She could only raise a brow at him in plain curiosity, willfully stepping into whatever trap this might have been.

"That is hardly a matter to burden the likely recipient, don't you think?  Or am I -supposed- to be reading between some manner of line here?" The teasingly scrutinizing gaze she leveled upon him was nothing to the coy look he gave her beneath the messy strands of his hair, the two locked in a quiet contest before she relented; as she always did where he was concerned. "...ponder and plot all you like, my friend. But hold to that patience you've assured me with. I would say it is early yet to be planning anything more than recovery."  she offered.

Arkt sighed through his nose at that, uncapping the cork to her sleeping drought and drinking it down with a quick chaser of water. Her answer was as good as any. Ponder and plot indeed then.

"Fair enough. Rest well, when you find it."  he bid gently, offering only a smile. For a would be God according to most's definition, who had seen millennia pass and returned even from -death-, he seemed to be handling the life of a crippled patient quite well.

Lithirill could only take that profound patience and trust in her ability to heart; ensure no matter her doubts that she'd finish the job.

She returned the evening farewell and meandered to her own bed, falling upon it like a stone. All too swiftly would the sun rise, and the pair would be again until their great task of renewal was complete.   Lithirill could only hope she'd be done by Spring.

                                                   ~Fin~

[twilightichor]

Not long ago, Dáinsleif has learned that those who experience abyssal poisoning may have symptoms akin to being immersed in a dream. Dreams should be as natural as breathing to human beings, yet the primary reason why they're considered a symptom is because the people who live in Khaenri'ah had lost that ability for unknown reasons, thus earning the kingdom's location the descriptor as a «dreamless land». That would be a good explanation why the noctilucent knight is in a state he can only describe as dreaming, if it weren't because he hasn't partaken in any actions that would lead him to said poisoning.

In an even closer event than learning about poison-induced dreams, Twilight Sword reminisces one of his brother's ceaseless rambles about Irminsul, about how that tree may be an emanation of an even bigger tree somewhere in the universe just like there are multiple emanations of the Axis Mundi scattered across Teyvat. Given that the conversation strayed into topics that only those who Dáinsleif would consider to be abyss lunatics, he never paid too much attention to that, nor he necessarily believes that statement to be true to his current state of affairs. If anything, because it doesn't matter in the face of the predicament he's facing.

He doesn't know for how long he's treaded this new city, so unlike what he's heard of other nations, so distant from what could anyone imagine civilizations to grow into by the time humanity reaches such level of advancement. His concern, none other than the suggestion he was made just a few days ago: a chance for receiving the power of the abyss within him. And an even more worrisome premise is that Vedrfolnir himself was the one to ask.

If it is true that he bears a connection to Irminsul as his brother had claimed, perhaps this dream could be an answer from the almighty tree to help him come to a decision. Somewhere far away where the weight of his decision-making won't affect his daily life, somewhere inconsequential to what he does. Not that Dáinsleif has any interest in doing anything— actually, he couldn't even said he had walked down the streets long enough to acquaint himself with this city. Only enough until it's reached his ears the location of a confessional. The notion of attending one heavily foreign to a non-believer like him, if his understanding of the workings of one is correct according to what he had heard from others who came to Khaenri'ah after losing their faith in their god.

But perhaps... it is worth it a shot.

Reason why he's currently waiting on line, hesitant and nervous all the same to such extent that he kept offering his turn to another when he was close enough to be the next to confess. Dáinsleif could procrastinate as much his turn until he was the last and final individual of the day to step forward, his mind too far adrift thinking about his brother and all the signs under the crimson moon he could find that indicated a certain obsession with the abyss to notice.

@halothes ✧

[twilightichor]

Dáinsleif has never been one to let his knights do everything on their own, from doing simple tasks of guardianship within the kingdom's borders and recurrent training all of them are expected to perform in a regular basis down to being on the frontlines against the forces of the Abyss. As the captain of the Black Serpent Knights, he's expected to take more administrative duties personal affairs when someone from high social spheres require his presence in certain events as the maximum exponent within the royal guards.

Everyone agrees on the fact that he does more than he's expected, and he takes these susurrations with pride. For in his mind, nothing is too little or too much in the face of the undying struggle Khaenri'ah is bound to face against the Abyss.

Its increase of activity sufficed to make Twilight Sword suspicious that something is amiss, their efforts to keep it at bay from the populace nigh existent when so many outbreaks have been occurring in a brief time. Thunders roar in the distance to demand everyone's attention like a king marching in the middle of his people would, what would be otherwise harmless zephyrs now howling winds bringing the pestilence and illness of the Abyss. And an even more intimate sentience of his own warns him of a disturbance within the Ley Lines that permeate even these parts of this world in all their mercy.

Reason why he has made it a personal mission to oversee his knights' training for the past weeks in person, causing an uprise in their motivation to come more often than it's demanded of them in order to keep their position. The strict requirements are far from an unfair method to weed out from their numbers with unreachable expectations despite what some of them may believe. In reality, and the main reason why Dáinsleif is there is for the sole motif of perceiving those who aren't cut out from being on the frontlines against the Abyss as a result of any indisposition they may have as a result of its heightened influence.

Surely, Khaenri'ah counts with advanced medicine to palliate most of the signs and symptoms may bring as a means to combat the impeding corruption that people may experience if not treated properly or due to extended periods of time within abyssal clutches. But even so... as of lately, the lunarescent knight had felt a feeling of unrest hard to shake off that makes him doubt how genuine is the will to hold themselves far from the chaotic influence and not do the exact opposite.

◜I believe that many of you have been wondering why I'm spending more time overseeing your training regime than what's believed to be necessary.◞ As he wouldn't have it any other way, the necessity to be sincere with his knights has come. Strong arms cross over his chest as glacial sapphires look at each of them with an air of solemnity, the corners of his eyes soften minutely. ◜It is a reality that the Abyss has become more vicious lately, and with there has been a rise of illnesses that we cannot afford to ignore. For that reason, I took it a personal mission to study all your medical condition and how you fare under harsher extremes. Those who cannot be up to the challenge will no longer fight on the frontlines.◞ For everyone knows that the Abyss forgives no one.

His arms fall by his sides as he walks to one side, stellar gaze fixed on the unknown beyond the smoke of darkness. ◜Know that this is no punishment nor your title as Black Serpent Knights will be lost. It's merely for the sake of not risking the safety of those of you who needn't struggle more than the others, no matter your origins. In our endless fight against the Abyss, victory belongs to both the weak and the strong.◞ And it's precisely because they are the strongest within the army that they have to defend the weak, even if they're currently standing against them. Ultimately, Dáinsleif lifts his closed hand to the spot over his heart, the Black Serpent Knight salute. ◜May glory be with us.◞

The other knights' reciprocated salute marks the conclusion of the Twilight Sword's speech, punctuated by his leave from everyone else's spotlight. Nevertheless, he lingers in the usual spot from where he oversees his men's training until the end of today's course to be at the service of anyone who desires to ask him any questions or may need help.

@guhamun ✧

[twilightichor]

Interaction call. I don't think if I ever posted one of these for Dain specifically, but seeing it on the dash recently made me want to venture to post one myself and add it to the navigation post after that. So! Please, like this post if:

✧ You don't mind being approached at random times, even after long periods of time "absence" since the last time we discussed things with new ideas.

✦ You aren't opposed to random starters or to continue meme exchanges.

In case of multi-muses, I kindly ask that you specify the muse you're inclined to do this for a faster process and more to the point ♥︎

[reginrokkr]

Mydeimos may have claimed in the past that he thinks too highly of him for saying that his actions are befitting those of a noble king. But unbeknownst to him, his inner conflict born from uncertainty of whom is the best match to hold the Coreflame of Strife in combination with his deep concern for Phainon reaffirm his belief. Dáinsleif heaves a sigh through parted lips before he lowers himself to sit down, anticipating that this conversation will be lengthy. Understandingly so, given the implications of the man who gets to harbor the domain over strife in this world and far more beyond that is not uttered.

It is not hard to realize how hard this must be to him, being the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos— a land that had worshipped the Titan he took down with his own hands for several years. As well as it isn't any harder to make the educated guess that his people would wish that he takes their Titan's place, so that he becomes their object of worship instead. So that he is the one to lead them back to their homeland, albeit destroyed beyond repair in the face of the merciless Black Tide.

To let Phainon risk his safety knowing he isn't the optimal choice to take on this trial or be the one who claims the authority of strife and become what his people expect of him? Is there truly no other choice for him to take, one where he makes the call of what is best for the tranquility of his heart while doing what he desires the most?

◜There was a man who carried the dreams and wishes of the people he's sworn to protect before the kingdom he served as a knight fell to the claws of the Abyss. Those who the divine had command over were punished for their betrayal, and thus they were stripped of every ounce of humanity they had. Others, decided to embrace the very enemy that the kingdom fought hard for millennia to protect itself from.◞ Were he to reminisce the story he had told him about Khaenri'ah, it would be no struggle to figure out that this is merely a continuation of what he already knows. One that is none the less happier than the former. ◜Expecting that he would follow the same path as his older brother who had disappeared, those people asked of him to join them in their revolt against the divine— against everything they hold authority over for even following them blindly. After losing everything, it would be the easiest solution for him. That way, even if they no longer had somewhere to call homeland, he would continue his duty of protection.◞

◜Do you know what that man chose to do?◞ Silence ensues thereafter, an exercise of patience to allow the chrysos heir to follow the story pace and draw his own conjecture. Only after waiting long enough for him to answer does Dáinsleif continue. ◜He refused. In his mind, embracing the Abyss equaled embracing the main cause that brought ruination to their homeland. Their concept of vengeance would be none other than plunging the entire world to the same fate as that glorious kingdom, to let millions of innocents who have no reason to know or have the same mindset rot for all they care. So understanding that the cycle of destruction and unfairness would only propagate if he contributed to their plans, that man, out of a sense of responsibility to protect the people from his own and guilt for being unable to defend his homeland, decided to oppose his compatriots. It became a path riddled with naught but solitude and sorrow, yet the choice he made was out of the conviction of his heart and his own perception of what is right to do.◞

Glacial sapphires seek to make contact with the prince's aureate ones, a tell-tale sign that the story he wished to rely on him has concluded. ◜I see through your predicament, through the guilt of sending a man willing to do everything in his power to contribute to the salvation of this dying world knowing that he will fail. Before you lay two crystal clear options: doing the right thing towards this world and the peers that fight alongside you or fulfilling the expectations of the people you lead out of a sense of responsibility as their prince. But let me tell you something: even if that man chose a solitary path that he does not relish, subjecting himself to countless situations that are undesirable to him, that's the choice he made because it is what he wished to do beyond all moral obligations and self-imposed duties that no one demanded of him.◞

◜Whichever choice you make, do it on your own terms, Mydeimos. Your heart is not less valuable than the rest.◞

YES, PHAINON WAS THE kind of individual who would give up everything for the sake of the world’s continued survival. There was no doubt in that. He worked tirelessly for the cause, always the first to volunteer when given the chance to do so. Such dedication was to be admired, and it was, and yet…it took so much more than that when Strife was involved. That god was one of war; one of blood and sacrifice. They struck fear into others, a calamity descended upon the world to many. Yet strife was a necessary thing that many did not understand. No… the Titan’s coreflame was not one that Mydei believed Phainon should have (he was a Deliverer), but he would never tell him otherwise – never put further doubt into a mind he knew harbored it in droves. Only the test put before him by that towering god, along with its completion, would prove anything. However, that did not mean that the Crown Prince was not concerned all the same. Disappearing into his thoughts as he was wont to do, Mydei had nearly missed the question that he had been asked by his present company.

     ❝That is correct. Someone else would have to bear the Coreflame of Strife.❞ And, unfortunately, there were no others that could save for him. For if Phainon failed, he would be the next candidate – the preferred one. He was not worried about whether he was worthy of that weight. Such had never once crossed his mind whenever he thought of Strife. What worried him, was whether he should accept it at all. His people needed him. Each day he knew they struggled in Okhema, all of them ostracized and viewed with distrust or disdain. It was all justified considering their bloody history had claimed city states, wiping many from the face of Amphoreus over the passing of years. It was just…was that bloody path one that they needed to continue walking? Was becoming king the best for his people? Becoming Strife, the god they had worshipped for hundreds of years?

     Mydei wished he had answers…

     Lips quirked slightly with amusement upon the other’s latter response, a small huff slipping past his lips as arms uncrossed from his chest. ❝Am I that obvious?❞ There was a jest there, slight as it was. ❝You are not wrong. I want Phainon to succeed. The thing that worries me, is that he is not sure he can. There are many doubts that float about his head – many that he thinks no one is aware are there. He hides it behind a smile, but if you pay attention to him, you can see the cracks there. When you confront Nikador, he will not suffer the meek. If you stumble in front of him, if you hesitate, he will come at you relentlessly to either break you, or see you rise. I worry…that Phainon may end up being the former…❞ This was not due to lack of belief. He hoped that Dáinsleif understood that. It was because he knew Phainon that he said this.

[twilightichor]

Suspicion runs rampant at its highest within Twilight Sword's mind since the arrival of an outworlder that people wasted no time to revere as the kingdom's princess when, in reality, royalty has fallen with King Irmin as the last king. It was sufficiently bad when awareness that he was rocking the foundations of this world with his deeds made itself manifest, and ultimately it fell into Dáinsleif's hands to do something to remedy it when the other five carriers of Khaenri'ah's hope didn't lift a finger for the cause. Let alone when the primary reason of crowning that girl that came like a fallen star as a princess out of a sick belief that she embodies the abyss.

Reason why Dáinsleif has always made everything in his power to stay away from her, for he's never wanted to partake in anything remotely dangerous that is interwoven with the Abyss— as many seem to have forgotten, it's their enemy that has been breathing at their neck and lurking at their doorstep since the very foundation of Khaenri'ah. So in view of the reasoning of the nobility turning her into the kingdom's princess, it is the easiest to believe that she would agree with their ways.

Or perhaps that is his own prejudice speaking and the reality is different.

His maneuvers could bring him so far until he was appointed as her personal guard —mainly for events, thankfully— by the regent. Such as tonight's, in which he was pushed to start as early as he was told by visiting the residence she inhabits to guide her towards the royal palace, where the event is bound to take place. And so he dips his head, his hand balled in a weak fist over the spot of his heart as per the Black Serpent Knight chosen salute to show respect —perhaps he could've shown more than that, he has seen many kneel before her presence—. ◜Regent Alberich has appointed me as your personal guard effective immediately. So from now on, I may protect you as the Twilight Sword.◞

@lunaetis ✧

[reginrokkr]

As a kingdom that converges with other civilizations, it isn't unknown that Khaenri'ah has a plethora of festivities local and imported from the homelands of those whom have come here. Nevertheless, there is one that is most anticipated than the rest by everyone, native to this country or otherwise and connected with two special weeks that graces this dark nation with their purity and light: the inteyvats in bloom. Dáinsleif's gloved hand rises slightly to cup gently one of the motes of light that emerge from the flowers as they open they petals one by one, as if to greet the only ocean that they know, the starry sky. ◜Did you know? Inteyvats are said to be a symbol for a wanderer far from home, signifying the tenderness of the homeland.◞ The corners of his lips lift in a gentle smile as sapphire irises seek cyan ones. ◜It makes even more sense when we come back home after a significant struggle on the frontlines, only to be greeted with this magnificent sight. Wouldn't you agree?◞

✦ @guhamun liked for a soft starter!

[reginrokkr]

◜I completely ignored that your birthday is a national holiday in Fontaine.◞ Glacial sapphires are mesmerized by the decorations all over the capital city in her name, regardless that it is known that she isn't the ruling Archon any longer— that she never was. Even so, the love that the people of Fontaine continue to profess for her by perpetuating this holiday after such event is sufficiently telling, one that genuinely warms Dáinsleif's heart as he reflects back on the quincentennial struggle she had to endure leading to the enactment of the prophecy. ◜It is a very good sign that it continues to be held even after what happened. Your past deeds and you yourself have been etched into everyone's hearts.◞

✦ @immobiliter liked for a soft starter!

[reginrokkr]

Evernight veil gives raise to death and destruction, precipitating everything to an end born from repression and sorrow. To the one who used to live in a perpetual night for millennia, it is the cycle of day when all the magic happens as soon as everyone goes to slumber. When night is supposed to be the epitome of death and terrors whispered from the hollows of this world, life awakens in the form of spirits. Dáinsleif can hear their cries: ambitions unfulfilled, regrets of what ifs that now will never happen... but also arcane whispers of those who are privy to a universal truth to this world known by none other blurred by the boundaries imposed by some omniscient power.

Twilight Sword knows he made the right decision when he set foot on this world in search of answers about the Void that desolates his own homeworld, as well as an exercise to remind himself of what he is truly capable of and what he can offer to Teyvat to bring salvation to that dying star and freedom to its inhabitants from the merciless shackles of fate, fabricated by tyrannic gods. When auric flames were able to revert a poor woman's bastardization into a monster born from the Black Tide, he knew that this malady and the Abyss must be one and the same, fruit from the disease that is destruction. Of course, it would only be a matter of time when that woman and a group from the Twilight Courtyard departed that those same monsters would come to the very source of life.

May Cerces safeguard your thoughts, she said. And while Dáinsleif cannot consider himself a believer in gods in his own world or in another, he tucked the sentiment close to his heart in the raise of conflict of arms betwixt life and death.

Unlike his newly found companion to help to the cause that is the evacuation of any survivors that still linger on these ends of the Grove of Epiphany, Truthseeker is much more collected and silent, focused on the task at hand until there are no more enemies in sight for a moment's chat. Despite his priorities learned from olden days when he used to serve as a royal knight, his perception of Caelus' struggles and inner conflict every time he swung his amber lance towards these monsters is evident to his star-branded eyes.

Albescent lashes flutter close in answer to the silver-haired's question, beckoning focus to allow auric ether to spread on their vicinities in search of untainted souls— material or immaterial. The silence that permeates these parts a dead giveaway that there are hardly any other people left that they hadn't assisted before by attracting those monsters towards a more intriguing and more violence-inducing instincts to be born within as a means to redirect their attention elsewhere. ◜No souls of the living, at least.◞ Sapphire eyes open thereafter in time to witness the reveal of multiple White Dryads lingering close to them, as if emerging from their hiding after those monsters raided this zone at their highest.

Dáinsleif meets Caelus' gaze in earnest, turning on his heels to face him properly as aetherial flames cease to illuminate his body now that they are no longer needed. ◜It was when I healed that woman. I doubt that human life is of no interest to them, but their timing for their arrival when none other than us was left gave me a clue.◞ The prophet walks a few steps away to check for any coming monsters that may be under the great branch they're onto, thankfully there are none they must be concerned about for some brief chatter. ◜When there is a force that supposes a threat to them, they will naturally shift their priority to get rid of that first before taking care of anything else. On the other side, however...◞ A gloved hand reaches up to hold his chin in thought, astral pupils glued on the man before him. ◜I struggle to understand why they seek so desperately to attack you more than me.◞

In short, there is something within him he fails to conceptualize in a way that he understands, but that Caelus may understand even better than him.

Evernight was always a witness to many sorrows. The screams of those locked in despair, the fallen that are ripped asunder from malevolent blades or the crueler fangs of humanity. It was a bitter truth that layers the now fallen Grove of Epiphany. From the skies to the stonework, to those rapidly dwindling roots and the heart of Cerces that serve as a core, a bitter plague of death found itself adamantly seething through every nook and cranny due to the Black Tide.

For Caelus, it was an act that runs painstakingly familiar. If his 'Family' members known as the screaming, civilization hungry stars known as the Stellaron had anything to say about it. There wasn't a doubt in his mind held that his newest traveling companion picked up on his emotions. The Nameless knew he never did a good job in hiding external signs of emotion amidst the heat of the moment. Underneath one of the many archways that makes network to this now crumbling home of scholarly pursuits, a serrated blade of the tide found itself briskly dodged underneath.

"Oh no you don't, bastard!" As a firm clench settles upon the lance turned great sword, the toiling song of Preservation roared through his being. It burned hot, a protective, securing warmth that denied all chaos that wasn't allotted. With a firm push of a gloved hand upon its obsidian midsection, space itself almost seemed to crystallize into some sort of force field, abruptly bursting by Caelus's command, seamlessly tearing tides conquered minions into ribbons and splintered matter.

Clearing themselves paths was a good use of energy, but the question still lingered.

Were there any lost souls scraping tooth and nail within these ruins? A few entrances and walkways would welcome spilling more time to explore their depths, and the brief reprieve of silence invited conversation. Still, that malevolent, distorted presence of the Black Tide spilled all throughout these once holy grounds like bastardized ichor. The golden eyes of the Trailblazer sharpened due to that disturbing similarity.

Turning towards Dainsleif, that tensed look eases up despite the healthy swirl of energy in his veins. "Are your senses picking up any poor bastards not twisted by this Tide? All mine are doing is locking onto the next enemy given how palpable that aura is in the air--"

In short? He'll have to depend on the specialties of another. "That path we've cleared up earlier should give the other a clear run through. Using ourselves as beacons for the main party of riff raff is a pretty smart move on your part. How long have you picked up the idea on their priorities?" Caelus thinks might be some central intel to run by Dan Heng later. If there's ways to manipulate their legions to more focused spots, especially into areas where the populace were a good ways away? A lot more of their explosive potency could be put to good use.

@reginrokkr

[reginrokkr]

◜You have changed.◞ Deep and serene voice punctuate twilight's awakening, oddly in a luxurious-looking room and not in the wilderness as it happened in the past when they had last taken matters into hands to restore the Weeping Willow's vitality. It is not only the appearance —now more refined and elegant, more neat and tidy—, but the different disposition he has: more modest, more like equals. If this is his residence, maybe living among humans is what ultimately changed him. Dáinsleif sits on the bed, a soft grunt of pain from the previous battle and the exertion on flesh and marrow escaping past roseate lips as he looks over the snow-haired man. ◜What sparked the change in you?◞

✦ @seraphicus liked for a soft starter!

[reginrokkr]

Tag dump repost #1

◟༺✦༻◞ when twilight mirrors the passages of time ┊queue.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ glimpses in the past of a shattered spirit ┊headcanon.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ events to be remembered in blue veins ┊addendum.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ silver twigs woven in a tapestry of memories ┊memorabilia.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ fragments of light from the roots of truth ┊reference.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ what use has the veil of falsehood? ┊ask.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ sapphire flames in their wake ┊ic.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ lament of a fallen seraph ┊thread.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ searching for a long lost fate ┊meme.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ what lays behind the mantle of faux stars ┊ooc.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ fear not the long night if malice is to fade ┊musings.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ ethereal moon dust sunken in ripples of light ┊reflection.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ moon on the sky as a trembling heart ┊aesthetic.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ requiem of the echoing depths ┊music.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ crystalline traces splattered with stardust ┊open.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ analysis within the ley lines ichor ┊study.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ chaos is hardly different to poison ┊dash comment.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ shall fair divination be imparted ┊dash game.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ trust not the gods; nor overthrow them ┊psa.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ connections of an ancient twilight sword ┊promotions.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ forgo that which is cursed by the gods ┊self promo.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ gifts to prevail into eternity ┊keepsake.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ echoes of a fallen star ┊drabble.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ nascent dreams of fading twilight ┊wishlist.┊

[twilightichor]

Tag dump repost #1

◟༺✧༻◞ memories are all but forgotten in the river of time ┊queue.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ glimpses in the past of a shattered spirit ┊headcanon.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ events to be remembered in blue veins ┊addendum.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ fragments of light from the roots of truth ┊reference.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ what use has the veil of falsehood? ┊ask.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ sapphire flames in their wake ┊ic.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ lament of a fallen seraph ┊thread.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ searching for a long lost fate ┊meme.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ what lays behind the mantle of faux stars ┊ooc.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ fear not the long night if malice is to fade ┊musings.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ ethereal moon dust sunken in ripples of light ┊reflection.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ moon on the sky as a trembling heart ┊aesthetic.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ requiem of the echoing depths ┊music.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ crystalline traces splattered with stardust ┊open.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ analysis within the ley lines ichor ┊study.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ chaos is hardly different to poison ┊dash comment.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ shall fair divination be imparted ┊dash game.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ trust not the gods; nor overthrow them ┊psa.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ connections of an ancient twilight sword ┊promotions.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ forgo that which is cursed by the gods ┊self promo.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ gifts to prevail into eternity ┊keepsake.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ echoes of a fallen star ┊drabble.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ nascent dreams of fading twilight ┊wishlist.┊

[twilightichor]

Ripples of light bloom in the wake of a single luminescent drop that falls in a pitch black realm of consciousness, a prelude to the sound of a voice that comes as a result of acute sentience which warned the fallen seraph of grievances woven with Ley Lines. ❝Humankind can be erratic sometimes.❞ This should be an understatement even to the newborn God of Wisdom despite how little time has passed since her birth, but a truth that must be told nonetheless.

It is hard to enable communication with a divinity despite all complicated sentiments that stem in his heart after what had transpired in Khaenri'ah— after everything he's learned. Alas, not long ago Dáinsleif had to come to a conclusion: he must know better than that. And so he does in trying to act as a guiding light to the purest branch of Irminsul. For it cannot be allowed that a deep connection to the Axis Mundi like this may be wayward from one's sorrows. ❝Observation is a good exercise to understand their heart better, but direct interaction may be more fruitful for you.❞

@maquiscursed ♥︎ed for a smol.

[twilightichor]

Should I use this as a banner thingy