kunokye

[kunokye]

🍋 #Yunhois3gram

[kunokye]

Yunho in Xiumin's Ramyeon Store Shirt & Sweater combo giving peak Golden Retriever vibes

+ Bonus: You can see the tail wagging

[kunokye]

He didn't talk about her much. There wasn't usually anyone around who cared or knew enough to ask. But he couldn't help but think of her when he talked to Freydis. The blonde hair, the sword and shield, the unyielding empathy, and the gaze that was soft yet steeled at the same time. It was unsettling yet familiar, painful yet comforting.

Would she find it strange? To know she reminded him of someone he used to love? But right now, it felt like there were few limits on what not to say. This could be the very last conversation they ever had together. "I, uh, used to be married, not too long ago. Darkspawn." He shrugged, with a sad smile. Just the one, infamous word was clue enough as to what happened to his marriage. He assumed nearly everyone in the room had been wronged by the blight in one way or another. "Her name was Clove. She would've liked you, I think. Though I can't imagine who wouldn't."

“I understand their instincts,” Freydis commented quietly. “I’m having a hard time sitting here idle. My every instinct is telling me to try to fight, to try to wrench this thing from my neck, figure out a weak point. But part of me doesn’t think it will be this simple.” She looked at him, a rueful and grave expression on her face. “This won’t be the first time the Kossith have done such a thing–they’ll know how their captives react, have planned for it.” She lifted a hand and rubbed her face, her stress evident. “But waiting too long to take action has risks, too.” It was impossible to know how valuable their time was, and how it ought to be spent if there was any hope to be had. 

“I think you’re right,” Freydis said quietly, trying to tune out the sounds of suffering for the time being. She looked at him when he asked the question. Freydis shook her head at him, he had not said as much. “No, you haven’t. But I’m not sure that surprises me,” she said. “The first time you and I met, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” It was as much an observation as it was an invitation for Kuno to speak further if he wished.

[kunokye]

Yunho ✧ Xiumin's Ramyeon Store EP 02

[kunokye]

[kunokye]

이제 곧, 또다시☀️

#Yunhois3gram

[kunokye]

[kunokye]

with: @raventeresi where: the dreadnaught when: during da jailbreak!!!! notes: I can never resist the urge to yap with these two; you don't have to match!

Somehow, against all odds, he'd done it. Kuno was no longer a wretch, no longer a pet, he was free. There was something greater at work, and that something greater had chosen him, among others, to be worthy of liberation. Maybe it was his own strength that allowed him to break out of his sul'dam control, but undeniably, Raven had been his catalyst., his saving grace. He owed it to her, and to himself, to break her free.

So, he'd set about navigating the ship, scanning halls lined with prisoners and cages even though his eyes couldn't stand the sight. He freed others along the way, amassing a small following that granted them the force of sheer numbers against any challenging Kossith. The vengeance and wrath of half a dozen, unarmed prisoners was subsequently unleashed on anyone who got in their path. Kuno had never been one for unnecessary violence, but even he couldn't deny the satisfaction that was sul'dam blood coating his hands.

Until finally, Raven's sul'dam laid at Kuno's feet, croaking and sputtering, his own horn lodged into his chest and piercing his heart. One final stomp to the skull and the life left him for good, the control he had over Raven and the others suddenly shattered. Raven's collar broke off and clattered to the floor, and Kuno hurried to unlock her cell using the sul'dam's key.

He knelt down in front of her, resisting the urge to wrap her in his arms when they clearly had more important things to do. "Hey, Rae." he said gently, at least pausing to brush a mess of hair out her face. It almost felt silly to greet her in such a way, but he was just glad he could have her real name on his lips once again. Finally, he stood and offered his hand, to help her rise.

"Told you we were getting out of here, didn't I?" he cracked a half smile, a small light in the darkness. What was left unspoken were the torturous memories of losing his own name, his own self, his own hope at breaking free. They could only focus on the future, now.

[kunokye]

“There is no truth in reflection - only memory folded into shape.”

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. 

Above you, caught in a shaft of moonlight fractured through rusted latticework, a butterfly drifts downward. Its wings shimmer with the iridescence of oil on glass, reflecting not the world around it, but visions of what has been taken - flashes of blood-soaked snow, a mentor’s retreating silhouette, the bone-hollow quiet of survival. The creature’s wings are asymmetrical: one wide and jagged like a shard of obsidian, the other gossamer-thin, veined in glinting mercury that trembles with each beat. Along its body, twin ribbons spiral in opposing directions - like mirrored thoughts that refuse to align - then it changes.

In the space between moments, the butterfly folds in upon itself, collapsing into a twisting rune of impossible geometry. A hollow ring, bent like cracked glass, floats in the center: a fractured torus formed of mirror-fragments that show only a reflection of what is missing. Around it swirl bent characters - runes of identity stolen, rewritten, and returned out of sequence. Your Great Rune pulses once in soft, argent light, then sinks into your sternum like a sigh.

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.

[kunokye]

Kuno watched patiently as Raven laced her fingers with his, surprised but pleasantly so. He waited a moment to see if the paralysis would set in, then another, more curious than scared. If she'd really wanted to hurt him, or rob him again, she would have done so already. Yet, if anything, she'd done the opposite, continuing to move closer and closer.

"Well, let's test it." Kuno didn't want to move too much, lest he risk disturbing the head so calmly resting on his shoulder. He settled for tilting his own head sideways, so it settled on top Raven's, her soft hair like a welcoming pillow for his cheek. "Seems I can, though I don't quite think I want to. At least for a little while."

They fell into a peaceful silence, with no need for words when the night sky grew so captivating. For once in a long time, he felt content, the liquor making his eyelids heavy and warm. There was no training to think about, no one yelling at him - he was simply enjoying the sunset with a pretty girl. Kuno sighed, quietly. "I'm happy you tried to rob me, by the way."

END.

Rosy pinks and oranges colored the skies, the sun was a golden blaze in the sky as the stars began to slowly emerge, a crescent moon in the sky to keep the celestial bodies company and she felt no urge to move from her seat, not wanting the day to end and she didn't take the little moments for granted, she couldn't afford to contemplate on why her heart skipped a beat whenever he was near or why her eyes linger on his lips, averting eye contact whenever he looked her way, feeling more criminal than when she had actual stolen items in her hands.

"No hiding now." a grin paints her lips and her nerves surge as there is much that she would prefer to keep locked up, the runes glow and the flutter of nerves that she feels, she believes is from herself amplified and the liquor does begin to take it's toll as the stars take over the sky, it's why she allows herself to drift her head slowly to his shoulder, curling up on the lounge chairs far from the Progress Day revelry.

"I've rarely touched someone and not wanted to paralysis them." Her moments of intimacy were few and far between, she was too busy trying to stay alive and trying to ensure that she would live to see another day, she hadn't had much practice in reaching out for matters of affection and desire.

His palm faces upwards as they compare the matching tattoo's on their inner arms and so she takes advantage and tangles their fingers together, starting with her fingers upon his palm and spreading outward. "Can you still move?" She arched an eyebrow, a small fear tangled in the pit of her stomach that she was condemned to always be on her own, a black widow that spread venom wherever she went.

[kunokye]

Why him? It was a question he'd been replaying in his mind, over and over, on various levels. Why had he been taken in the first place? Why did Raksha like picking on him so fucking much? Why was he one of the few who'd broken free?

Well, he knew how it'd happened - somehow it'd been related to the strange vision, and the literal altering of his soul. It was still scarred, in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever recover from, but he was himself again. Kuno also wasn't sure how he was going to explain this twisted story to people later, but in order to even have a chance at doing that, he had to get out of here. He was fueled by a need for vengeance, and a dash of good-spirited confusion.

He was out of breath and unarmed, having resorted to running circles around the other Kossith in his attempt to find Raven. Turning a corner, he was met with the sight of a stranger, sinking his dagger into a Kossith's neck - much too kind a death for the horned monster. "Finally, yes. Kuno. Nice to meet you." Kuno bowed slightly in greeting, unsure of how to greet the man. He'd never made a new acquaintance during a prison break, before.

"Um, do you think you can do that-" he gestured to the dead Kossith, slowly leaking blood all over the floor, "-a few more times? Very soon? There are a couple on my tail. If they've weapons, I can grab one and help you." He just couldn't take them entirely on his own, at least not without a bow.

open starter location: dreadnought notes: uwu first 3 pls

It's like the first breath of spring, following from branch to branch within Avalon. Mythal's Glade and the first frost, or the garden in Arvandoril and the roses that would bloom. Or the apple tree where his grandmother's pegasus would sit, a stark shadow in the bright light.

Perhaps that was the best example for the Prince, as he stood against a wall. His eyes were covered, but his mind was finally awake. Had been for hours as he waited for his chance. The a'dam sits heavy on his chest, heavy only from the lack of awareness that he'd been forced away from for weeks. The visions sit with him, they will never leave. A mind is a powerful thing when returned, and Ikaros hears the name they'd associated with the oracle. Some broken word, seer-unmade, but he was more than just his visions. He was the heir of Avalon, and the a'dam would do nothing, now.

Weightless, he never needed his sight to see. Moving in the shadows was his specialty, and without his daggers, he would improvise. The large Kossith in front of him was not silent as he moved, and Ikaros moved in a swift movement, his eyes free and his hand upon the dagger in the creature's belt. In fluid grace, the dagger met the hollow of the Kossith's throat, between the gap in the armor as the horned creature went down.

Ikaros stood, bloodied dagger in hand, the a'dam sparking lifeless upon his chest. Another figure had come, but the light step of a rahaat told him all he needed to know. "Do you know your name?" Ikaros turned, the dagger in his hand as he considered the soul in front of him. Death would be a kindness, but he would give them a chance. They had a rebellion to begin.

[kunokye]

230617 ©️ 990323_kr

[kunokye]

A trembling beneath your skin awakens you in the dark of the night, though when you open your eyes you do not see the interior of the Kossith ship. You pause, for a moment, and try to consider how much time has passed? Days? Weeks? They say you lasted longer than most, but broke, you did.

Instead of the brig, you see a sky without stars churning above you like a wounded beast; threads of molten gold tear across it, tangled and sickened. Your body feels heavier, rougher, and when you move you hear the faintest crackle of stone upon stone.

You’re reminded of an old story, of a man whose family’s destiny was doomed and written across the stars. So afraid of the future was he that he aimed to steal the night sky itself: different peoples speak of different Gods in the tale - Nótt, Nyx, Nox, Varda - but the root was always the same: someone wished to change a fate written in the stars, and so enlisted the aid of something older.

When you stir, a butterfly perches itself on your chest, resting against the collar of your a’dam. Its wings, inscribed with tiny runes, pulse faintly, as though breathing with you. Somehow, without knowing how, you see it: this frail and fractured creature is the shape of your soul.

Its wings beat once, twice - and the boat of the vessel blooms outward into a ruined landscape: thrones of thorns, rivers of ash, statues weeping molten tears.

Ahead of you, a path splits three ways, each swallowed by a mist that whispers your broken names.

“Memory”

The mist thickens around you and in the distance you hear the faint clinking of chains -  no, a lullaby made from them, sung in a child’s voice. At your feet grow the remains of a dead orchard and each tree is hung with mirrors instead of fruit; the glass is black and cracked and you can see twisted versions of yourself staring back at you from their surfaces.

At the center of the orchard is a single gnarled tree with a mirror untouched by this rot. If you approach the blackened mirrors you’ll see every failure and every moment of helplessness screaming back at you as your guilt consumes you. If you smash the mirrors, a golden ichor will spill from their cracks, staining your hands and feet. If you climb the central tree to reach for the untouched mirror, there will be a moment when you see yourself as you were: whole, but when you look again, your reflection bows its head in chains. 

What would you like to do?

His moments spent awake and asleep have all blurred together to become one, horrid nightmare. He can’t escape the torture whether his eyes were open or shut. Surely, this was some kind of new test, a way for Raksha to further test his loyalty. Of one thing though, he is certain - even in his wildest dreams, he could have never conceived such a world.

It feels incredibly jarring and overstimulating, for a human with little knowledge of the occult and arcane, but he has no choice but to persist. The mists beckon him with a name he hardly recognizes, one that sounds foreign to his ears and feels even more outlandish on his tongue as he echoes it. “Kuno...?” He’s not sure who that is, anymore, but he wants to learn. He wants to remember.

His feet, bruised and battered, carry him down the left path first, the mist growing denser with every step. There’s a boy singing, and he swears it sounds a bit like his younger self. But that can’t be possible, he thinks, for he was nothing before he was Rahaat. Despite the singing, the voice walking a thin line between comforting and eerie, he continues traveling until he arrives at an orchard. It’s wilted and grey, with mirrors that are twisted and broken, dangling and mirroring his insides better than an actual reflection ever could.

He catches a glimpse of himself in one of the cracked shards of darkened glass, only to see a him that’s covered in blood, murderous looking. That can’t be right, either, for whose blood could he possibly spill while working the fields? He would never dare lay a hand on his sul’dam, not anymore – he’d tried at first, and ended up with them broken. He shudders and his fingers twitch at the thought.

He doesn’t want to look anymore, and so he turns away, now faced with a grand, sprawling tree and a singular mirror that is crystalline and clear. It could give him a more accurate reflection, he thinks, so he starts towards it with determined steps. Calloused hands grip the rough trunk of bark as he climbs, his gaze upwards towards the starless sky. Then he pauses. If he was nothing, how could he have a reflection? What would he see, if he were to look in that mirror?

Raksha wouldn’t even want him to check, to be so vain. He grimaces and resumes his climbing until he’s face-to-face with the glass, but it shatters before he can really look into it. He pulls his fist away as he’s splattered with blood and a strange, golden ichor. It mixes with the crimson red as it coats his hand and trickles down his arms and legs, creating a winding, liquid maze of hellish orange.

“Desire”

You find yourself at the edge of a river of molten gold, sluggish and steaming. Bones of unmade creatures jut from the shores like unwanted protrusions. On the far side, you see a ruined temple - within it, a faceless figure waits, holding out something you might still ache for: a memory of freedom, sharp as a blade.

But the river groans and will not let you cross untouched. If you wade through the molten gold, every step will scorch you down to the marrow, but you will reach the far shore. If you turn away from the river, you’ll renounce the memory of freedom offered to you, choosing survival over yearning. If you attempt to build a bridge using bones and debris, you delay and labor - and the faceless figure will fade before you reach them. 

What would you like to do?

He hops down from the tree and sets about the next path, hoping Raksha would be proud of his choice. Soon, he meets a river, flowing and golden not unlike the ichor coating his limbs. This gold seems hotter, deadlier – just looking at it made his stomach churn. He steps over bones and carcasses as he toes the shore, wondering if the steaming pool of liquid metal had made them so. But there is something else he sees, across the way, a ruined temple and a faceless figure pointing in his direction. Its skin is stretched, distorted so heavily there is nothing but emptiness and scar tissue where it’s face should lie. Ominous, but tempting him closer with a question disguising the promise of a memory. When was the last time he’d felt free?

The memory glimmers in the hand of the faceless figure, twinkling and enticing but out of reach until he crosses the river. In the orb, he spies himself, and another person – a dark haired woman. It looks vaguely like Iskaveth, whom he only knew from the times she’d paralyzed him into submission in front of his sul’dam. They’re sitting, watching the sunset and laughing. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to laugh anymore. Still, the sound of her laughter carries on the wind, across the river and to his ears, where it greets him like a breath of fresh air.

He blinks, and suddenly any pain or apprehension he felt in that moment is gone. It’s replaced by a feeling of yearning and longing; one he remembers feeling only days before when a pair of lips had met his. Other memories trickle into his mind as he remembers the woman fully. Raksha had burned away so many thoughts, his joys, his hopes and dreams, until his mind was a lifeless void. But after everything, they could never make him forget her. The sky of his dreamscape had been notably empty, devoid of light, with no stars to guide his way. But slowly, familiar balls of fire and gas began to twinkle in the night, one-by-one, forming the shape of a constellation: Corvus  – The Raven.

He jumps into the river. The molten gold instantly sears the flesh of his legs, eating away at his skin and muscles as he wades through. Raksha had been her own undoing, with her Little Wretch. All the twisted tortures and cruelties she’d put him through were all to make him a strong and obedient little servant. She’d taken away his name, his voice, his pride, and replaced it all with her own, twisted brand of resilience. It was thanks to her he was able to cross the river without a single scream, even as he inhales the scent of his own burning flesh. His legs, though raw and eroded to the bone, carry him to the other side.

He collapses at the feet of the faceless figure, no longer able to support his own weight but desperately needing to reach just a few feet upwards to claim his prize. The figure is cupping the memory in his palms but suddenly let’s go, the memory drifting downwards and landing upon Kuno’s chest, where it glows and warms him from within. He savors the feeling and holds on to it as he drags himself to down the final path.

“Surrender”

At last, you stand before a colossal statue - a being shaped like the Kossith, but crowned with broken wings. It holds two chains in its hands, extending them toward you. One chain is rusted and black, heavy with rot and the other gleams -  too bright, too sharp, as if it’s both newborn and cruel.

The chains rattle with promises: peace, obedience, belonging and behind you, the landscape burns. If you kneel and take the rusted chain, it will bind you softly, lovingly - sinking into your flesh. If you grasp the gleaming chain and pull, it’ll cut your hands to ribbons but shatter the chain completely. If you refuse both chains, the statue crumbles to ash - and you are left alone in a barren, empty world. 

What would you like to do?

By the time Kuno reaches the statue, the skin of his arms is scraped and bloodied from having dragged his weight so far. He looks up, craning his neck almost painfully so to take in the full height of the sculpture. It was a Kossith, but with wings – depicted as a savior of some kind. They believed they were saviors, at least. Kuno, however, was tired of being saved. He was tired of being the weak one, the emotional one, the useless human with nothing to offer.

He may have broken to the Kossith, and maybe he broke faster than others – that, he would never really know. But he would be one of the first to rebuild himself, even if the scars left behind meant he’d never be whole again. He’d dragged himself here, bones bared, covered in blood and molten gold and ichor and sweat. And it is with that grit he is able to raise a trembling hand, then a second, and grasp the crystalline chain. It’s pretty, he thinks, almost too pretty to break. Almost.

He tugs, and tugs, and tugs again, until the chain shatters in his grasp. The shards scatter, digging into his arms and his face, but he hardly flinched. That pain meant the chain was no more. The Kossith wouldn’t use that chain to enslave anyone, ever again. It was only one chain, one of many, but it was a start. A start to getting out. A start to being free. A start to being Kuno, once more.

[kunokye]

Kuno didn't know what it felt like to grieve until he'd lost his wife. To grieve meant spending his days in the present, and his nights in the past, tossing and turning to nightmares of losing the woman he loved. Sometimes he saw happier memories, played in dreams he often wished he couldn't wake up from. And with every passing week, thoughts of her grew more infrequent, guilt slowly and steadily taking over where grief had planted root.

In his moments of iniquity, he would ask himself, if this is what she would have wanted for him. Would she want him to move on? To be happy again? The answer would be yes, if his life were simple, but neither of them could have predicted he'd end up beaten, imprisoned, hopeless. He felt guilty, for not thinking about her as often, for thinking of others - like Raven - far too much. He felt guilty for losing his bow, the one tangible memory of her he had left, that he clung to like his life depended on it. The Kossith had made sure it was destroyed, yet even though it was very much gone now, he was still breathing. And yet, when Raven kissed him, all he felt was longing, passion, and maybe a tinge of sadness - but no guilt.

Clove would someone to fight for him, she would have wanted him to survive this. Raven wanted him to survive this, with or without her. Painful as it was, he returned her kiss without question, tilting his head to allow them to be as close as possible despite the bars between them. The hand that had wiped her tears moved to cup her cheek, and she left him breathless as she pulled away to rest her head against his. He could hardly imagine pulling even another inch away from her, to end this moment between them. To leave her behind entirely felt even more inconceivable, but he knew, deep down, he couldn't change her mind. For now, he just wanted to stop her tears, and if he was lucky, put a smile on her face one last time.

"Well, how can I possibly say 'no' when you've asked so nicely? Perhaps you should start every question with a kiss." Kuno said softly, and though he wore a small smile, it didn't quite reach his eyes. His tone was light, but the implication of his words felt unbearably heavy. He felt like he was being set up to grieve all over again. Yet, it was the same all those months ago, when he'd fired an arrow into Clove's chest despite the pain it brought him, and it was the same now. He'd always do right by those he loved, even if he didn't think they were right, even if it cost him his own happiness.

Raven had spent her life waiting for the return of familiar footsteps, each creak or wind through the grass could be her parents returning from their captive and yet they never came back. She would die on her feet before she ever bowed on her knees in front of such evil, and so she does not believe that tomorrow is promised. She had spent so long denying and avoiding any feelings that had blossomed for him, believing that she had the luxury of time. Fear of rejection and vulnerability fell away as his words met the stark walls of their prison cells, her eyelids press closer as he speaks of taking her a real date and she can't deny how much she wanted him any longer. Somehow he slipped past her defenses completely and they were robbed of any future that they could have built together.

With a tender touch, he catches the teardrop that falls down her cheek and despite the cruel scene, she has never been touched so gently and with such care. The movement almost causes a sob to rip from her throat but she swallows it instead, deciding in a flash that if this is going to be the last time that they see each other, for the horrors will come and they will be separated. She wants to feel the intensity of being with him, to let it in fully and to not die with wants unserved.

Death is around the corner and so there is nothing to fear, desperation of never seeing him again surges her forward and she steals a kiss, moving in closer, the bars present an awkward angle but she finds his lips and presses a lingering kiss tinged with the taste of salt water, putting everything she doesn't know how to say into the kiss, to every date they'll never have, to every moment of intimacy they'll never share and for every I love you never spoken.

Not wanting the moment to end, she curls her hand around his nape, nails raking through his hair at the base of his neck, leaning her forehead agaisnt his and carving out a moment for just the two of them in a place of such misery. Her voice is low and raspy, her throat feels raw from tears that wanted to fall and her heartbeat skipped a beat for the sweetness of his kiss. "Please, if you get a shot of getting out of this hell, you have to take it. No matter what."

[kunokye]

There was very little, he thought, that could make him smile here. Knowing he wasn't as useless as he thought, that his company wasn't as bad as his jokes - that was more than enough to bring an easy smile to his lips. Kuno wanted to savor the feeling, certain it would be fleeting and all the more rare the more time they spent amongst the Kossith. He hoped, no matter what happened, that he remembered how to smile. "This means a lot to me, too." He agreed, softly. "There are others who are jumping straight into action - planning, testing the limits of the collars. That's important, for sure, but this is a lot to process. I think we could all use a moment to just... breathe." Though it would be a lot nicer if they could breathe without metal collars wrapped around their necks.

To be foolish or to be brave - that was Kuno's own daily dilemma. Following his heart and protecting those he cared about without thought of consequence, well, typically that proved him to be both. "He's both. Being both is more painful, most of the time." he answered, and though he didn't know the random man writhing on the floor, he resonated with him, in a strange way. Kuno felt a mixture of awe and envy at how calm and calculating Freydis continued to behave, whether she was on a battlefield or in a cage. They were about the same age, he figured, yet she seemed wise beyond her years. "Have I ever told you... that you remind me of someone?"

“Some bad jokes are better than the good ones,” Freydis responded with a slight shrug, or at least she attempted to shrug under the rigid collar. They seemed such small and potentially flimsy things in any other context, and it vexed her to no end that the piece of metal might be a powerful enough tool that it would dictate the rest of her days. She looked at him and her head canted to the side very slightly as she observed him. “Your company and your conversation mean a lot right now, Kuno,” she told him quietly. “I have a bit of a reputation for never shutting my mouth. It’s nice just to have something other than silence and tears. Comforting.” 

Her expression told him that she had imagined as much before, and suspected that as much might be true. And if it was, she knew punishment would come as swift as it did severe. But something had to be tried, and no individual effort was likely to thwart the plans of the Kossith. “I think all of us are running through a list of worst case scenarios,” Freydis said in a forgiving tone. “Any horror you think of, surely five others in the room have considered it as well.” Freydis looked off in the direction, the screams of agony now something she’d grown less impacted by, but not immune to. “I don’t know if he’s foolish or brave,” she responded. “I just wish he wasn’t in so much pain…”

[kunokye]

"That depends on your definition of know, I guess." Though he doubted Ingrid wanted to hear the intricacies of his social network. He counted quietly to himself using his fingers. There was Ingrid and Celaya, who he'd met questing underneath the city. Then there were Adrian, Alessia, and Ruya, who he knew from the Tower. Sakkara had officiated his wedding, which felt like forever ago. Freydis and Juneau he'd met in passing one way or another. And then there was Raven, though he didn't quite have words to describe what she was to him right now. "Nine. Including you. Though that's nine too many, if you ask me." He still hadn't decided if being surrounded by people he knew was a good or bad thing. "What about you?"

Ingrid had been so determined to show everyone that she became a queens guard in her own merit that her guard had slipped in Aventia, maybe it was because she had felt safe beside Celaya or was it pride? either way so hadn't done what she had set out to prove. But maybe serving her queen here was making sure everyone no matter where they came from wasn't killed. "I'm not sure everyone shares your understanding" she had heard some murmur act of violence when a opportunity show itself. "We are going to come up with a plan, we have to gather information as acting blindly would be a death sentence. So keep your ear and eyes open." Intel was going to be their key to success here. "How many people here do you know?"

[kunokye]

None of them had asked to be here, and it was one of the few - maybe the only thing they all had in common. Being human, it was hard for Kuno to remember he shared something with these people. In the beginning, he hoped it would be enough - for them to rally together in pursuit of escape. But quickly, the Kossith were already turning them against each other, wielding his friends as weapons and play things. Raven had frozen him still while he was tortured. Ruya had healed him afterwards. She was an Olympian - healer, a caretaker, brought to her knees and broken by the creative ways in which the Kossith used her to prolong the agony they inflicted.

He knew, deep down, they were being commanded, against their will. He'd experienced the agony that followed resistance firsthand. It wasn't something he wished against his greatest enemy, and certainly not upon his friends. But he couldn't deny - it hurt, having to look into their eyes as they spurred forth his reconditioning. At the same time, it was the thought of them that likely kept him from being fully subdued and transformed in the first place.

So when he noticed Ruya out of the corner of his eye, reaching for him through the bars, he hesitated. Slowly, his eyes scanned the pathway in front of their cells. There weren't any guards looking their way, but inevitably, there would be soon. Certain he wasn't being watched, for now, he turned his head, allowing himself to meet Ruya's gaze. He shuffled a bit closer, clearly scared to move with any certainty. The a'dam didn't stop him, so he moved closer again, until her hand was within reach. Trembling, he placed his palm in hers - the same one she'd healed earlier after Raksha had crushed one of his fingers. "They'll punish me for this." His voice was barely a whisper, only able to be heard if Ruya held her breath. He didn't dare try anything louder.

Rüya had noticed the young man long before the Kossith came—a sentinel leaning against the sun-bleached walls of the Tower, bow slung across his back like a second spine. She'd watched him fire arrows with unerring precision as chaos surged through Aventia’s streets, fighting without hesitation to protect the Olympians.

Now he was a cage away, a ghost of the warrior he'd been, rocking back and forth like the broken hand of a clock. When she whispered his name, it was meant as a comfort, but he flinched so sharply that it took her breath away.

Rüya pressed closer to the bars, pain flooding her. Her own sul’dam spoke of Raksha with the hushed awe reserved for saints and executioners. Every wretched day, they hauled her forward to piece together the wreckages she left behind. She was forced to ignore their begging hands, to seal their agony inside their ruined bodies, and to cheat Death of its mercy. Guilt was Yhane's weapon.

Silence stretched between, until a small movement caught her eye. Rethkaan, scrawled in the filth. Rüya bit down on her cheek, stifling the cry in her throat. She rested her forehead against the cold iron and, slowly, offered her hand between the bars, palm up, empty and trembling.

Forgive me. Thank you. I'm sorry. All of it, without words.