ikarosx

[ikarosx]

"I don't think Avalon can survive this without the help of dragons." It was a lot to put on one species, but it was also no surprise the state of Avalon as of late. One branch was hanging on by a thread, and it had been so long since one had fallen, no one alive could remember the chaos that ensued after a branch was cleaved from the Laurelin. But the Prince heard the words of Mythal in his head, his pleading to save his brother's beloved Owlbear, and the price paid for it.

Falon'Din was a shadow of what Solon described. Fill with dragons and spirits and Elvhen, of the drow who were cleaved from the Light, of the Blighted obelisk and its twin in the Underdark, so much cleaved and forgotten, path ways that were shattered, it felt overwhelming to promise Solon anything. Lusacan sat within Falon'Din's Hollow, his tomb and now his resurrection. "No one could ever kill the Old Gods. The Legion can trap them, but how do you kill them?" It was a thought he had that he spoke out loud, not expecting the dragon to have any sort of answer for him. Still, the conversation was borderline depressing, so much reminiscence and trauma that bonded the pair making the Prince feel less confidence and was sure his sex appeal was taking a massive hit.

Ikaros turned now, looking at Solon before he stood up. "Do you want to walk with me to Mythal's Glade?"

"There is much I could talk about, but have been restlessly refraining from doing so!" Considering the pink dragon had yapped the entirety of the flight here, Ikaros had a big storm comin', but Solon did love to hear himself talk. "If the all-mother has sought you out, spoken to you, I say it is clear the fate of dragons and the Elvhen are intertwined." A weak smile was produced; as excited as Fyren was to heal what was fractured within Falon'din's Hollow, within the Laurelin and Avalon as a whole, the pink dragon did not wish to get ahead of himself and promise things he could not deliver. When they'd ventured towards the fractured eluvian of his home, he had no clue what awaited them on the other side, but Solon had never imagined it would have been Lusacan feeding off of the blighted energy within, waning the power of the great tree and tainting it with his essence. Such fact changed everything, but it did not entirely extinguish Solon's hope, just... rearranged his priorities.

Ikaros had seen the broken and blighted bits of what his home had been transmogrified into, and Solon easily spoke of what it once was; beautiful and mystic, enchanted by the way it melded with their reverence and respect of the dead, "Falon'Din's branch was always dark, but there was this radiant fire which seemed to be the hearth which warmed it from within. With Falon'Din's support, his connection, this radiance was enough for us, but the Elvhen have always been there, Ikaros. Dragons, Elvhen, we cannot be without one another, it's simply what has been and what will be." Even if Lusacan and the other Old God's influence had ruptured such tether in this lifetime, Solon was convinced now, from Mythal's message to Ikaros, that such time would be upon them again very soon.

The restoration of his branch was precious to him, but for now such determination could simmer within as a guiding fire, awaiting quietly to lead him towards what was next for him. They had been unprepared when they had met Lusacan's blighted gaze last and Solon would not be so clumsy next time around. Ikaros was beholden to the truth and Solon tried to hide his own smile as the prince stated how he wished for the other not to go, "Then I will stay for I wish not to go as well." He was certain Talisa was ensuring Nylathria was settled in by this point and didn't wish to disturb the seer with his yapping just yet anyhow.

[ikarosx]

"Tame?" He laughed now, a sound that even surprised himself. Still, Ikaros found the solitude plus the addition of the dragon was more than doing wonders for his wounded soul. He knew dragons enjoyed being praised, or perhaps awed and flattered, and he could see it in the shine of Solon's dark eyes. Those dragons had come for the branch and for Titania, Ikaros knew he had little to do with it, but still – he was one of them who were desperate to fix what had been broken between their kinds. Dragons were once the Elvhen's closest friends and allies, and Ikaros didn't want to ruin the second chance they could possibly get. "Mythal spoke to me, once. When we went to Blackrock, in search of a cure. There are waters there, a pool deep within a temple." He turned to look at Solon now, "She spoke about how the time of the dragons is near. Whether or not that includes the Elvhen, well, I guess we'll have to wait and see." It could mean the massive dragon that awaited them behind the Eluvian in Mythal's Glade, a damning thing to even think about.

Ikaros rubbed a hand over his grin to try and hide it, but he couldn't – not at the idea that Gwaern had caused Solon just as much as anxiety as he did Ikaros. "Abelas and Vallas are the only two who make him behave. Otherwise, he spends his time stalking Saleba in the bushes." His gaze dropped to his hands that rested in his lap now, "I don't want you to leave," only honesty could leave his mouth, and he was unable to stop himself. "But I wouldn't force you to stay."

"I find this to be rather tame of me, so if you are to brood around me you should get used to the fact I can be far, far, far more optimistic than currently!" Solon became rather theatrical then for he had a feeling, much like Talisa, that Ikaros would feel rather unenthused as Solon did this which would bring the dragon a strange sense of delight. He'd always been rather zany, had been fond of telling the best jokes, and was often impossible to dilute this nature from him. In typical dragon fashion, too, finding out that he was vexing to another seemed to only, somehow, further inflate his innate arrogance and pride.

"I don't know, Ikaros, many dragons had come to your aid when you'd fallen into the eluvian of my branch." They likely had their own pursuit not relative to Prince Ikaros but the dragon did not mind inflating the ego of another, especially that of the prince. "Gwaern had delighted in tormenting many within Haven," said as an aside for he hadn't been sure, through his yappenings on the way here, if he'd told the prince of Gwaern's antics beside a random comment wedged into his ramblings throughout. Solon grinned wildly as Ikaros stated this of his character, though it was splintered with a forlorn sense. He'd not been himself when trapped with Aetheron; spiteful and almost malicious, he'd tried to be the voice in Talisa's ear to watch the magocratic empire crumble. Vaeros had beaten him to the punch, however, granted them freedom and Solon would offer his aid to the prismatic eternally for this as gratitude. "Is that your way of trying to rid yourself of me? I do have dozens more stories I could find that would keep you sated and even silence this brooding you say you're condemned with."

[ikarosx]

He had fourteen hundred years, give or take, unless the blight caught up to him as it had Yavanna. His grandmother hadn't been old, nearing sixteen hundred, and still – it hadn't been enough. Never enough time, and Ikaros simply wished to walk into the Eluvian and bring her back so she could get the burial she deserved. As it was, dragons lived for ages – if not in Ikaros' time, then perhaps it would be in Fyren's. "Are you always this annoyingly optimistic?" There was a lilt to Ikaros' voice, humor finally settling back into his voice. He didn't think he'd have a chance so soon, but there was more than enough sarcasm to go around between himself and the pink dragon.

"A great friend of many dragons? I think I've only counted a couple, and Gwaern has to love me, I've raised him." Ikaros huffed out a laugh, bringing his hand up to rub at his stubbled jaw. This would be easier if he didn't have such a strange feeling in his chest. "Solon," he echoed, like the name was right – and it was fitting. Still, the other had trusted him with this, a name that felt like it should be treasured and not contained. Aetheron had tried, and in Ikaros' mind, they'd failed to stop the shine of the pink dragon. While Falon'Din's Hollow remained closed off for now, perhaps there'd be a way once more. "They could never erase you, Solon. I fear you'd talk so much, they'd never get the chance to forget," he smiled a bit more now, though his mismatched eyes held sincerity – he knew what he was entrusted with. "I release you from my brooding, by the way. I swear I'm not always this miserable of company."

Solon found great comfort when Ikaros recited these words, a smile growing on his expression, nodding solemnly. "Each leaf which falls from the great tree does not have to mean the end, plenty hope still lingers, and so long as I stand, there is protection offered to Avalon and each branch within it." Solon did not promise this lightly, and he meant it beyond any political measure of a prince talking with a dragon; simply, he was talking to Ikaros with no titles attached to the elvhen's name. "There will be a day where we no longer will have to rebuild and my only hope is that it is well within your reach," he could not promise that Ikaros would see it in his lifetime, but even Solon had to hope that the next hundred years would be enough to vanquish what had crept forth and tainted the great tree.

Ikaros promised similarly in return, even going so far as to seal such promise with a lingering touch, something which surprised Solon considering Ikaros' ability. The gravity of the situation was shown in such vulnerability and Solon appreciated such candor more than ever before. "The fact you are a great friend of many dragons is already a good start," as a dragon, Solon couldn't help but make it about himself, but he quieted his innate pride as he offered his own further shred of vulnerability. "Fyren, the elvhen warrior, this identity - he's so young, built off of this form I was forced into. The name was meant to erase me, much like the Kossith tried to erase you. But I've been rather tired of hiding, a mere decade has been enough of this. If we are to be in pursuit of the same missive, you should see to it that you address me correctly. Solon - that is my true name."

[ikarosx]

Ikaros didn't think that this was the worst anyone had ever suffered in their life. His time with the Kossith had fractured his mind, pieced together until he found himself again, in a dream state that he still didn't understand, and perhaps never would. The Elvhen crossed his arms over his chest, listening now to Fyren. The dragon had been through more than the Prince could imagine, made to suffer by being severed from his own time, his own home, and still – Ikaros felt like he didn't know the half of it. He'd give the other the space and time to speak about it if he ever wanted, a place reserved for a quiet understanding as the ever brooding Prince was known for.

"As long as the Laurelin stands...." he echoed something Abelas said often, "then there's hope." It was hard for him to believe it, but the sincerity of the pink dragon beside him seemed to ease the tension from his shoulders, "I can never promise safety in Avalon. Maybe once I could have." But the darkness crept from the Eluvian, a reminder of what they'd faced within, "But I would see that nothing and no one seeks to do to you and the others what has been done before." There was Gwaern to think of, of the other dragons that had been welcomed into Avalon, and the one who found him washed ashore, "I swear it, Fyren." He didn't normally reach out, someone who could activate his ability by touch alone, but he wished for it to be conveyed. Emotions swirled in Ikaros' chest, so many colors and visions, and the idea that he could hopefully build himself back up into someone that was worthy of the belief given to him.

Solon stilled at that, three solemn words, which encapsulated the weight of everything Ikaros had witnessed and further endured. He did not think that Ikaros choosing to reside in Avalon for some time was the cowards way; community was important and so often Solon vied for more dragons to be discovered, for his community to grown as it had once been. The elvhen were an extension of a more harmonious past, but it was not truly the same and Solon was grateful to know that Ikaros had many throughout Avalon who would support him through each cruel sliver of darkness that tried to entrap the prince.

"If you can believe it, I quite admire the sound of your voice as well," a touch of humor though drenched in truth, for in this polymorph even Solon could not lie. It was as much gratitude as Solon could express without it feeling so heavy; to know that Ikaros trusted the pink dragon with these tenebrous secrets, was something Solon couldn't wholly express, but the pink dragon did his best.

When Ikaros gave him the floor to speak, of course Solon took the opportunity in stride, though his own smile was edged with a splinter of sadness, "I long ago made an oath to follow Light, long before the meaning of such principles became twisted. If I fall to despair, it only lets this wickedness triumph; the world cant be preserved if we let our own courage within die." The pink dragon paused; so much of this oath was indelibly tied to Falon'din, the spirits of the Fade, those who had indeed become corrupted simply because they let despair triumph. "The world is so different from when I first greeted it, darkness more rampant than ever. I did not choose this path because it was easy, I chose it because I can't let this hatred and this fury win. Those who hurt me, who hurt the other dragons, and corrupted this life, my story is not yet finished with them." A silent promise but one that would follow something emulative of justice rather than pure destruction that was hellbent on pain.

[ikarosx]

Ikaros couldn't speak on how often he needed to be alone. How difficult it was to be weighed with what he'd seen, what he could possibly see, and how he'd just been measuring the amount he could take with the insurance that he could also suppress his ability. Even still, he was gentle and sparing with how much he'd put his hand on Solon. On the dragon's back, he'd sat up straight, his hands curved into fists as they'd rested on his thighs, sometimes slipping to feel the smoothness of the pink dragon's scales, other times worried he'd been too greedy and a vision of the dragon's future would haunt him.

"They did, Fyren," he said quietly, like he didn't wish to admit this to anyone else. He gathered himself and explained it all to the other beside him – every moment, the way he'd been blindfolded, the push of every vision taking over his mind and sense of self until he'd forgotten everything except what he was forced to know. It was not done for pity – the prince would hate that, but for a quiet understanding.

"I don't think I should leave Avalon for long," he murmured after his story had settled, but a tired smile finally pushed onto his features, "Thank you – for listening to me." In five centuries, he didn't think he'd been in a position like this before. Lusacan so close to their doorstep, and Aetheron outside of it, he didn't wish to press – however, he knew that Fyren would understand, far more than anyone else. "How do you do it, then? See the good in this world? When the past tried to take it all from you?"

Ikaros had been on the fortunate side of this friendship until now - he'd never had the opportunity to hear the pink dragons many jokes! A disservice, but one Solon had made up for on the journey back to Avalon. This time, through the recovery of the prince, there was no Old God to sprout conflict and chaos, no intemperate eluvian that pressured them to make haste. Pockets of forests and Lysaran civilizations beneath them, Solon's wings were this massive fixture behind them. As Avalon greeted them, Ikaros was practically swept up in various reunions, all adamant to see the future Avalonian king.

Solon was to make his way back to the Silverlands, check if Talisa had made her way back from Haven, when Ikaros met up with him once more, even going as far to seclude an area for them to simply be. Maybe some small part of Solon had figured Ikaros would be bombarded with further royal duties, vie to see friends who had anxiously awaited his return, and a small part of the dragon, arrogance only lightly tempered when next to the prince, felt surprise that Ikaros had asked him to stay.

Silence had shrouded them in this little pocket of Avalon, a shocking thing considering how much Solon had yapped Ikaros' ear off on the journey; but even now, the pink dragon could see the exhaustion which lined handsome features and even he could practice restraint.

"Your sense of self is strong, Ikaros, even the Kossith cannot erase who you are." A testament of Ikaros' resolve, a trait that proved how worthy he was to bear the title of prince, even if it was something weary to continuously uphold. He did not envy Ikaros nor did he pity him, but what he felt bordered a line of reverence. "You may take mind not to walk this path alone so often, though?" A mild suggestion, offered with a faint smile. So many would come to fight for Ikaros if only the prince did not figure he had to venture by himself to handle things. "We cannot do all the good the world needs of us, but it certainly needs all the good we have to offer." Everything Ikaros could attempt or provide for Avalon - and Taravell as a whole -would always be enough, even if the prince currently did not feel such way.

[ikarosx]

Ikaros held onto Abelas, the steady body and presence of his chaotic brother something that nearly filled the cavernous hole in the prince's chest. How often had he'd forgotten, how little he could remember, but he never truly let go of the feeling. He breathed in the scent of the woods, of the trees and the fey, it always clung to his brother like a second skin, no longer pushed away from his heart by the ring that was now gone from his hand.

"I missed you," he said after a moment, words quiet enough between them as he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd never be able to walk such a path laid out before him without Abelas. The path that he'd been forced upon as of late didn't bring him hope, knowing his brother was struggling with the weight of what had been on his hand. He pulled away after a moment, taking Abelas' wrist in his hand as he looked at the space the ring had taken up, "How? Are you well?"

Abelas was running before his erratic mind could catch up to him - hat flying off in the distance as Violet was jolted awake from beneath it and made to hang on for dear life. Tearing through the crowd of stinky people, he threw his body around his brother. He'd been prepared to go to the ends of the earth to find him, whatever it took - but Ikaros came back of his own accord.

"It's gone," Abelas said as he held up his hand, "brother-" a pair of earthy eyes, so damp that Abelas might drown, found his brother's. "lets go home." Elris would be waiting, the entirety of Avalon would, in fact, be waiting and the work was not yet finished - but they had time enough to celebrate.

Abelas threw his arms around Ikaros again, this time with a grip so tight he might just squeeze the life out of him.

[ikarosx]

Ikaros had listened to everything the dragon had said, every bit of information offered, every joke, every little hint about what Gwaern had been up to – it soothed the prince in a way that his manipulated soul needed. He drank it in, all of it, his hands steady on pink scales that were perhaps the biggest source of comfort the Elvhen needed. The return to Avalon had been loud – so much at once – it had been overwhelming. His rescuer, the dragon, hadn't been far off, and Ikaros found himself craving the steady presence. But as the world had quieted, after he'd done what he needed to – false smiles and the posture of a future king – he'd taken to the bench in the garden of Arvandoril that his grandmother had planted for her pegasus.

It was quiet, closed off on Ikaros' request, and saved for the dragon and prince who sat upon it now. Ikaros wasn't sure how long they sat, but Ikaros looked down at his hands, mismatched eyes fixed on the ground in front of him as he thought of all he saw. "There were moments I could remember. That I wasn't meant to be what they wanted me to. I saw so much, over and over again." Forced to speak it, say it so it could come to pass. Until he'd become himself again. "I'm not sure who or what answered, what broke me from it. Thank you for taking care of Gwaern. For talking with Saleba. I always have so much to lose, and so little power to protect it all."

Solon hadn't been sure that Ikaros had actually known that word - please - so they were a touch surprised, nodding solemnly after a moment. "As you wish," there was always time to talk about it, though Ikaros was not often known for much talking, and he'd let the Prince have his secrets, his traumas, to keep for himself; the dragon would not force him to talk of anything for he was certain it would not unlock even the mildest truth about the Kossith who were still such a mystery to the world. Fyren stepped several paces back, and where once the handsome elvhen was, there a pink dragon erupted in his place, grand wings and iridescent pink scales coming forth. Solon spoke, though the pink dragon loved to talk, he was with little words now - though Ikaros' ears may bleed on the journey to Avalon for there was no stopping the dragon from yapping once they took flight.

[ikarosx]

Mr. Carter y'all

[ikarosx]

"I thought dragons were fond of shiny things?"' Ikaros gave a small smile, one that finally reached his eyes. Looking at his arm, he shook his head, "It's fine. It didn't puncture anything," his voice was still quiet, rotted from the time on the ship. He gripped Fyren's forearm for stability, pulling himself up to stand with the dragon's help. "I can't wait. Not any longer. The Kossith are all dead, the ship exploded – if there are others, we have to help them. But I think most were able to protect themselves." He had to pull himself together, the idea of sitting around on the beach, with an attractive dragon, was doing little for his pride. "Please." Abelas needed him, Gwaern needed him, and Fyren – well, at least the other was here for him to lean against.

"And how many times am I to rescue this jewel of Avalon?" Not that Solon minded; ever since joining the Warrior's Guild a near decade ago, he'd gotten pretty adept at playing hero to many mortals, though the elvhen prince was much preferred. The pink dragon was, unfortunately, not a mind reader but the prince had trusted him with his adolescent dragon and so Solon felt it wise to update Ikaros there initially. "Gwaern is actually with Abelas now; he returned to Avalon not long after your capture and vowed to try and kill the Arishok himself." Solon couldn't say that meant Abelas was well, but he could revere the ferocity Ikaros' brother had suddenly taken on when it came to getting the prince back.

"When your wound stills, we'll go," he was used to the elvhen in this close proximity, but he appreciated it now more than before, the relief of knowing the prince was alive -and relatively- well. Solon sat back, though his one hand still placed pressure on the wound; it'd been silly of him to not have come prepared with a medicine kit, but he and Talisa had been scouting for days since news of the wreckage hit Haven.

[ikarosx]

He held on to Tianyou for a moment, another smile gracing his exhausted features, "I would never leave you to deal with this life without me," a promise, one he'd whispered many times before, and that he'd fully believed. The prince leaned his weight onto Tianyou, if only because he was tired and couldn't be bothered to try and be as strong as he had to now that he was back in Avalon. Titania had held him for ages, her arms wrapped around him in an embrace that they didn't often share, and finally Ikaros felt like he could see the others that awaited him, his friend included. "Tell me what I missed. I haven't seen you in a while, so I want to hear it all."

closed starter for @ikarosx location: where's me dude note: uwu

It had felt like quite some time since he had seen Ikaros. To be honest, it seemed like his best friend was always missing in action. Definitely not of his own volition though. If Ikaros had been disappearing on purpose, then it wouldn't feel like someone was squeezing his heart in his chest every single time the prince was gone. To be honest, he wasn't even sure if the other was going to come back to him. First, he had thought he lost him in the eluvian. Then, he had thought he lost him with the Kossith. Every way he turned, it felt like they weren't supposed to be around each other. Or maybe the universe was just playing some sick joke on him. His father. Ikaros. Abelas after going through that damn eluvian. Riandur because...he was Riandur, legionnaire and attached to death like they were married. He didn't want to lose any of them. So, when he saw Ikaros, he couldn't do anything but wrap his arms around the other. His words came out whispered. "You can't keep doing this to me. I don't think my heart can take it." He was being dramatic, but it was the truth.

[ikarosx]

Of all the creatures to find him, perhaps it was best that it was a friend. The Elvhen wasn't one to lie around and wait to be rescued, but his energy had been spent on escaping, and now he was washed up on a shore with a familiar face. A handsome familiar face. This couldn't be worse for him, could it? He prayed to the gods to just let him die, but it appeared the gods ignored him or were busy because then Fyren was yapping along. In that damned voice of his. The Prince wasn't sure when his torture would end, but he drank the water and finally opened his mismatched gaze onto the dragon.

"I'm actually in great shape. Haven't you heard I'm the jewel of Avalon?" It was a joke, a great joke, but with that hint of truth that all Elvhen held onto. Still, he felt the warm hand on his face, and all he wanted was to return to Avalon, desperate for the familiarity of the Laurelin, and away from the hauntings of what the Kossith had done. His gaze flashed with worry for Gwaern, for the little dragon who'd probably been following Solon like a shadow. "Is he well? Abelas?" He reached out, putting his hand on the other's shoulder before he leaned his forehead against Fyren's, "Please. Can we go home."

Solon had been scouting for survivors alongside Talisa for hours; they'd taken to the sky the moment news of the wreckage had struck. Some had been lucky enough to drift towards Lysaran shores, others also possessed the ability to fly, but it was clear many would need assistance when it came to getting back to the proper source of land. There was also one in particular who hadn't shown up, one whose obsidian dragon was very keen on getting into trouble in his absence.

Spotting the prince, the pink dragon was relieved, landing on the shore before shifting to the elvhen form in the sake of it being easier to assess the other. "You're worse off than I thought you'd be," maybe a small part of Solon was teasing Ikaros and his ability of foresight, but nothing could have prepared those in the wreckage enough to avoid what they all had likely endured. "And you had promised Gwaern you'd be back soon - it seems even a noble elvhen prince can lie," Solon was rarely ever serious, though through his teasing, the dragon quietly assessed Ikaros, pulling out a ration of water and tipping it to Ikaros' lips.

Gentler now, he yapped along, applying pressure to the makeshift covering Ikaros had fastened to his arm, "Ikaros, wake." In Elvish this time, the pink dragon looked upon the other keenly, the hand which once tipped the canteen to Ikaros' lips, now cupping the side of Ikaros' face in his palm.

[ikarosx]

@abelasx Location: Outside Aventia

He'd been brought back towards Aventia, the dragon had known where his brother would be – and what had been spoken about to the queen. He knew the desperation well; would have done anything to find Abelas, ensure the other was okay. There had been so much missing time, with Abelas leaving the sanctuary, with the creatures missing the one that had been chosen to protect them.

Still, he'd found his bracelet, the one Abelas had carved into so many centuries prior – and felt the pull. He'd gotten rid of the prisoners clothing for some half decent armor, but he'd never been so tired in all his five hundred and something years. He was desperate to be home, to be pulled back into Avalon, to greet his mother, and finally see his brother, who'd returned to Avalon for Ikaros.

"Ir abelas, lethallin," he breathed, knowing the moment Abelas had heard him, and bracing himself for the impact of the other's presence in his arms.

[ikarosx]

@fyrenxsolon Location: he went from a sad little piece of driftwood to a little island

Ikaros had reached for Dior, the blademaster had done what he could – the bother of them had – as the shock of the blast had sent them careening into the ocean. The prince had tried to shield him, but in the end, the waves and the chaos from the explosion had sent them apart.

Recovery was going to be something else entirely, the elvhen coughing up water as he dragged himself onto the sand. He'd get out eventually, but for now, he focused on the piece of wood embedded in his arm. He yanked it out after a moment, using a piece of fabric to staunch the bleeding. It hadn't taken long for him to let the sun sink into his skin and warm him, the lull of his lost energy begging him for sleep until he heard the beat of wings. It took more energy than he expected to open his eyes, a flash of pink scales something he assumed to be either a vision or his own exhaustion playing a trick on him.

[ikarosx]

Ikaros gave a small nod, but a thank you was never necessary. Between the Elvhen, these were small acts of love, of friendship, and would continue to remain as such. The Prince was silent as Dior began to conjure weapons of all kinds, those who were now broken free of their a'dam, picking up ones from the gladiator.

He brandished dual daggers, watching Dior do what all blades did – dance. The other Elvhen cut down the Kossith, pinning it to the wall as the ship rocked. They would have their revenge.

–––––––

The riots quelled, the prisoners freed, and the Kossith were still running the show. The self-destruct mechanism was being looked at, but the entire situation was reminiscent of another prison. Ikaros had been quiet, his sight returned to him in the way it was meant to be used, but his mind was still weary. All the things pulled from him, his memories so shattered he'd had to piece them together and only vaguely remember who he'd been. The metallic taste of blood one that he held on to.

The steady presence of Dior was one that he held onto, glancing over his shoulder as he looked at the other, "Have you had your fill, my friend?"

His breath caught in his throat. He swayed, overwhelmed—not from weakness, but from the magic in his blood returned to him. He laughed, a sound thick with emotion, sharp with the edges of tears that didn’t quite fall.

“Ma serannas,” he breathed, voice quiet as his forehead pressed to Ikaros’s, eyes shut. Thank you.

When the prince stepped away, Dior didn’t hesitate. Short swords. Falchions. A war fan, twin daggers as sharp as truth. Each one slid across the floor with precision, reaching the hands of the newly freed.

At Ikaros’s warning, Dior looked up toward the staircase. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t brace. “Let them come,” he said.

And then, without fanfare, he turned toward the broken collar on the floor, the hated a’dam that had tried to silence him. With a single breath, he reshaped it—his shatterstar metal twisting it into a single greatblade taller than he was, jagged and brilliant.

The Kossith rounded the corner just in time to see it leave Dior’s hand. One breath later, the creature was dead—pinned to the ship’s wall by a blade that still trembled with force.

Dior exhaled. “Can you see a way off this ship?”

[ikarosx]

“I have seen all endings. I walk backward through my own ruin.”

The last of the dream shatters like glass against the sea of stars, you awaken in the brig once more, the dream gone and the surface of the boat nothing but a distant memory. The hum of machinery, now quite familiar, hums around you. Your body feels foreign, as though borrowed and stitched back together after weeks of abuse. 

It’s faint, but clear enough as your eyes adjust in the dark. A butterfly beats its wings above you in a smooth, rhythmic pulse like the beating of a war drum muffled in velvet. One wing shines gold, bright as the Laurelin and you remember your brother’s voice once more: so long as one leaf remains, the Laurelin lives. The other wing is woven in both shadows and a faint, flickering flame. There are runes spiralling along its body, too small to make out, but they burn faintly gold and coal-black all at once. 

Another flutter, then the butterfly seems to bend in the air, twisting upon itself as it transforms into a rune that takes shape in the length of three beats of the butterfly’s wings. The rune appears as a cracked ouroboros, coiled in a jagged spiral, its tail severed rather than swallowed. The serpent devours a shadow of itself, an echo caught in perpetual collapse while at the center floats a cracked hourglass, its sands suspended mid-spill, falling both up and down: lesser runes twist around the serpents body in ever-changing alignments, never repeating, never resolving. 

It lingers, then sinks into your chest as you come back into yourself. 

The a’dam is still present, a chain felt only in memory. But you feel the break - like waking from a lie whispered too many times. You are yourself again, but not unchanged; the a’dam no longer controls you, does not pain you, cannot affect you.

OOC Info:

The butterfly and subsequent rune represent the shape and appearance of your character’s soul, by altering it - even slightly - the a’dam’s control was broken. 

Do not post this prompt until 11am EST on Friday May 2nd. However, you’re welcome to post starters as a reaction to it now - feel free to attack the Kossith, break out your fellow rahaat, and start a riot. The control room, the engine room, and the boiler rooms are presently off-limits until after 11am EST on May 2nd. 

[ikarosx]

Ikaros gave her a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes like he wanted it to. He would stay strong for the Elvhen, but others wouldn't know who he was. And when the Kossith activated the bracer, when the suldam pulled on his ability, he wasn't sure how long he'd last. His hand took Nyla's, giving it a gentle squeeze before he released her. "Endure, Nyla." They were more spiritual than other Elvhen, ones connected to the mystic of Avalon than the physical abilities of others. "And when this is done, we're supposed to have a date."

Ikaros was going to be there king one day, he needed to make it to the other side of this so he could lead. “No… not yet.” But it was all a matter of time really. None of them would come out of here unscathed. “You need to come out on the other side of this, your our future so please keep you head down for that.” Nyla would try and help him where she could, if it came down to it she would go back to the wheel so he could be the kind he’s meant to be.

[ikarosx]

Dior's familiar features were both a relief and a sorrow. Sorrow that he had been caught up in this such as the prince had, but there would be time for apologies later. He had a duty to get the other Elvhen out – he would not falter now. "Later," he promised, moving forward now as he watched Dior reach out for the blade.

The a'dam around the other's neck fell alongside Ikaros', Dior's magic and will restored. "Telanadas, Dior." Nothing is inevitable. Ikaros put his hand on the other's neck, touching their foreheads for a brief moment in a small act of comfort. Releasing the other, he held the bloodied dagger in his hand, "We free as many as we can, and spare no mercy." Ikaros' tone was final, the prince held little regret in his mind. He knew Dior would feel the same.

"Bring your magic forth. You'll arm them." With one slam of the dagger, the lock broke on another cage, the person within standing as they were freed from their a'dam. "Watch the staircase. Another Kossith is on its way."

Dior limped into the corridor’s low light, one hand braced against the wall like it might steady the quake in his ribs. He moved like something once carved from marble and now cracked, but unbowed—blood drying along his temple, a fresh split blooming red at his brow. His breath hitched with every step, pain etched deep into his bones by Shaekir’s precision. They hadn’t killed him yet, of course. He was a trophy. Lysara’s most famous gladiator. One of Avalon's prodigal sons. Too valuable to break, so they bent him instead.

Then he saw it—the Kossith’s corpse sprawled in the corridor, and the figure above it. Elegant. Lethal. Familiar.

When the prince asked his question, Dior didn’t hesitate.

"Of course I do,” he said, voice hoarse but smug. “But I can whisper it in your ear if you want me to prove it.”

His eyes dropped to the dagger in Ikaros’s hand. Without asking, Dior reached for it, brushing two fingers along the blade. His breath caught—not from pain, but from absence.

It felt foreign.

Wrong.

Blades had never felt wrong in his hands.

“So,” he said, eyes meeting the heir prince, “what’s the plan, your royal highness?”