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sergiusreports · 8 months

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Spinning Wheels

Maybe Arym should've expected his body would eventually fight back after all the months of abuse he's put it through. Even after waking, he spends more time unconscious than he means to; even once he's disconnected from the system Florus had him rigged up to, he finds it hard to stay awake. He's tired, and there's no imminent crisis to keep him going. Turns out the Final Days weren't so final, Alvarium is picking up the pieces, N, Telos and Twelves are gone, Volare's on the ground.

Volare.

It's the first place Arym visits when he's well enough to walk out the door (not that he's been given a clean bill of health). He digs an old rebreather out of his gear, but even it's not enough to compensate for his shit lung functionality if he pushes himself, and he's wheezing into it by the time he reaches the fallen ship.

Arym leaves his locator ping on, so if Sergius doesn't see him leave the bunker, he'd certainly see him making his way through, and out, of Alvarium towards the proverbial whalefall that Volare had become. The town has already started peeling back materials from the hull to use in repairing everything that had been damaged in the "war", and Arym stands with one foot on one of the makeshift entry ramps that would lead up into the massive ship's exposed innards.

He shoves his good arm deep into the pockets of his coat, the other sleeve flapping in the chill breeze, wheezing into the mask over his mouth and nose. He stares into the darkness like it could swallow him, wondering what he's doing here. Shit, he thinks.

Sergius’ job was, essentially, done here. Heartwood’s people had left long before. He had remained behind only to ensure Florus did what was needed to bring Arym back. All the while, he had purposefully made his presence a silent, ever-present menace to remind the architectus of just how much he would love a reason to shove the man’s head through a wall, whether or not it meant he would have to deal with Kazushige.

It still seemed like a fucking mistake to leave him alive. Or, as alive as Sergius and any of the ANY creations could be considered to be. For better or worse, Telos had made Florus one of them now. There was a dark corner of Sergius that found a dark poetic justice in that. It still didn’t mean this version of Florus couldn’t or wouldn’t go on as before, creating life only to enslave it and abandon it at his whim and Sergius’ threat assessment continued to nag at him with constant alerts to neutralize the problem in the most efficient manner. A problem which, again, could be handled by handily putting the man’s head through a wall.

While backburning the constant alerts and making preparations to head out of a place in which he hoped to never set boots on the ground again, a new ping caught his attention. Arym had wandered outside the bounds of Alvarium. Because of course he did. He clearly had some sort of allergic reaction to staying put long enough to regain full function. And he hadn’t just left Alvarium’s bounds. He had strayed back to the Volare.

Why?

Sergius could only guess but he plotted out that maybe it had something to do with some sort of damned emotion regarding what had occurred on the downed airship. Which was, in Sergius’ estimation, useless after the point.

Where any Spoken would have sighed or rolled their eyes, Sergius merely stopped what he was doing and diverted to the bones of the grounded ship. He comes across the viera staring silently into the black vastness of the hold, sending his drone to zip ahead and alert Arym to his presence.

Sergius flagged Arym’s foot on the twisted ramp, like he was in the process of motion but had froze.

“I’d say you’re out too far for someone in your condition but we both know that’d be pointless.” Sergius observed as he drew up alongside Arym. “There’s not much left in there that hasn’t been picked over and salvaged.”

Arym feels Sergius's approach well before he sees him coming, well before his drone announces his arrival, even; he's not really certain if it was something to do with the internal damage, the time he'd spent on Volare, Telos puppeting him, or the fact Sergius had sat there with their feed open for so long (maybe a combination of everything), but he feels the shift in signal frequency becoming clearer as he closes the distance. He wouldn't know how to describe the increased sensitivity, so he doesn't bother trying.

"Not entirely pointless," Arym says, wry amusement quirking the corners of his lips, though it doesn't linger for long, "I might listen eventually." Doubtful, but it's not a complete dismissal, even as his gaze returns to the fallen ship.

"Yeah, I figured. Surprised to see how quick it's come apart, before I remembered I've been out for a while." He hasn't taken his foot off the ramp, leaning his weight into it like he's still thinking about going up.

Arym's jaw works absently for a moment.

"What happened?" He finally asks. "What..." He fumbles for more, struggling to grapple with the pieces he's missing. His hand comes out of his pocket and rakes through his hair, long and ragged.

< ...gonna take a look around. > Arym doesn't wait for a response as he starts climbing up the ramp, heading for the darkness. He figures Sergius will be with him whether he follows him in physically or not, so he just goes.

He pulls up the map Telos had uploaded into him when he'd first arrived and absently adds an overlay to detail the damage, what the salvage had stripped away. Nightvision kicks in, but his hand goes out to trail his fingertips over the wall as they go. He clearly has a destination in mind, one that involves climbing to the upper decks.

Sergius doesn’t say anything but he falls in half a step behind Arym as the viera moves into the gaping maw of the Volare. Anything that could move on the ship had been dealt with but there was a non-zero chance it still had a few surprises left aboard.

Like Arym, Sergius’ visual feeds shifted automatically to night vision as they left daylight behind them. Nothing was coming up on his scans but as a precaution he sent several of his drones down the corridor ahead of them.

In the silence that followed, he wasn’t sure Arym’s question wasn’t just rhetorical. Interpreting the emotional subtext in the speech and expressions of Spoken was completely different from interpreting it in lines written in the books he read. He could trust the books were trying to communicate with the reader. As far as Sergius could tell, real Spoken usually didn't know what the hell they were doing. Despite his hybrid status, Arym’s intentions were often no easier to interpret than any of the rest of them on a good day.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sergius queried as they moved along. Arym clearly had a destination in mind.

In the dark, Volare's passages are far more twisting, more labyrinthine than Arym remembers, though the internal maps he uses to lead them tell him nothing has changed. He's seized with an anger he knows is irrational, a spark that makes him kick a chunk of debris from their path more vehemently than he needed to.

Arym is used to Volare's halls being empty, silent. When Telos had brought him here, he'd been the only one given leave to wander the ship, and wander he had--except it hadn't been empty, or silent. The rush and roar of its engines in flight, power humming through every ilm, the buzz of drones and constant construction--always building, never finished. A veritable Sisyphus. Telos had left Alvarium and it's yoke only to build something else.

Volare had been filled with Telos's loneliness, too. Filled to bursting with it. Arym was never quite taken in with the lies he'd been fed, but through everything that is what kept him here.

Now, though, Volare was just a tomb. Silent and empty as a grave, though Arym knows it'd been rotting long before this. He'd chosen to look away.

"It's not what I remember," he says eventually, climbing a flight of stairs that leads to midships, "it's what I... what I missed. Threw me in stasis, when I came back from the lodge. Had some things to say to him he didn't like hearing."

Arym stops at the top of the stairs to catch his breath, a hand on his chest while his damaged lungs try to catch up, while his damaged heart grinds away with ever second beat. He leans back on a wall, picks Sergius's face out through the greenish gloom of his night vision.

"Something malfunctioned. Rema and I got free, but by that point, it had already started. I don't know what changed. Why Telos..." He gestures ambiguously with his good arm.

"Wasn't the plan," he scoffs quietly, "until it was, I guess." The spark of anger he'd felt earlier gives way to the real feeling eating away at him; grief. More grief. He's relieved that N had pulled Telos free of the mire he'd been stuck in (and there's something Arym recognizes in Telos, half-swallowed by that dark and still lashing out. Arym was never going to be the one to save him, but if no one else was there, he would've gone with him), but his feeling are never cut and dry.

After the lodge. Sergius didn’t need to check the timestamps on his logs to know that would have been about the time he and Arym had the swift exchange over the revelation of what Telos was doing to husks of people. Three guesses as to what Arym and Telos had argued over.

“He threw you in stasis because he didn’t like what you said.” Sergius echoed, the monotony of his voice giving little to no indication of the anger cascading through his systems all over again. “And your first thought when you were freed was to try and confront him again. To what? Save him?”

He had stopped, waiting as Arym pulled air into lungs that functioned at the bare minimum of the definition, his sensitive audio channels picking up the grind and churn of a heart that didn’t seem outfitted for the task. And he wanted to kill Telos for an entirely new reason than the one that brought him to the Volare the first time. But that ship had sailed. Or rather, nosedived into the ground. Telos was free and clear, off doing who-the-fuck-cared with his bff’s.

In the shrouded stillness, Sergius was feeling the need to vent off these emotions that had nowhere to go, that never had anywhere to go except for that one time he caved and Rhua took them from him.

He stares back at Arym, seeing the viera clearly despite the lack of light, the apertures of his synthetic eyes blown wide to compensate for the dark. He took two steps closer to the man struggling to breathe. “You’re not going to find answers here, Arym. Nothing satisfactory to explain all his shit away. So why are we here?” He ground out.

To what? Save him? Arym's expression twists, denial on his lips. Intentional or not, Sergius's words worm their way under his skin like barbs, prying up the fractured pieces of his emotional defenses (defenses he hasn't had nearly enough time to repair and replace). His hand tightens, clawing into his shirt for a lack of anything else to hold onto.

"No, I--" He looks up at Sergius. The greenish grey tint to everything makes his neutral expression somehow even more severe, like Arym can see the way he's seething beneath the veneer of stillness that his artificial body lends him. Arym gropes blindly for an explanation that would satisfy, but he doesn't have one. He doesn't even have one that satisfies himself. His breath hitches, anger of his own seething to the surface.

"You think I didn't want to just--leave? Me and Rema, we found his fucking--collection of blasphemies, in the hold. The kid, Alerio? One of Rema’s soldiers that turned on the mountain. We had to put him down when he broke containment, and then--" Arym takes a step back, turning slightly aside. He leans his armless shoulder up against the wall, peering down at the metallic flooring without really seeing what he's looking at. He's turned reluctantly inward, dredging up the things that are almost too raw for him to examine. It’s like raking himself over hot coals.

“...but we couldn’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t know N and Twelves were coming for him, I didn’t know everyone was…” He sighs, ragged and uneven, and turns to take a step up into the next stairwell.

“Everything he did to me, and I still couldn’t leave him.” Arym scoffs, but fuck it needles him in ways he doesn’t want to admit.

“He didn’t have any compunctions about fucking off, though. So I just--I’m here to make sure he’s actually gone.” He trudges up a few more steps, then glances back at Sergius, his lenses flickering wildly. His heart grinds faster in his chest, fear metallic at the back of his throat. He needs to know.

Sergius stands there like a pillar. Pointless without structure. Nothing Arym said touches the uncomfortable anger dragging down his systems like an unwanted virus. He hates it. All of it. Every single stupid, useless emotion he somehow became saddled with. Somewhere in the chaos he picks up on the sense he’s supposed to feel bad about the blasphemies Arym and August found. For this kid, Alerio. And he doesn't. Arym is giving him too much credit, expecting him to be able to….what? Empathize? Or is it sympathize? He can’t keep them straight. The point is, he doesn't. He was never designed to and asking him to subscribe such concepts to some faceless entity called ‘Alerio’ when his systems are already dealing with their own problems is asking too much.

Yeah, he’s aware of how that would sound if verbalized. Which is why he doesn't. And why the next thing out of his mouth is so laughably inadequate.

“Fine.” How absolutely, idiotically reductive. Nothing was fine. None of this shit was fine.

“You didn’t see them transform on account of the fucking hole Telos torn into you.” The ever present control on the unit’s vocal channels slipped, the words coming out louder, harsher. Angry.

It’s displaced and Sergius knows it. He seems to take a moment, reeling back control. It is a momentary lapse and in the next, he’s once again the stolid, reliable presence he always is.

“It would be strange for N not to pick up every sliver of Telos’ consciousness, leaving nothing behind. But fine. Let’s go see if the deranged bot left any breadcrumbs behind.”

Where Arym had turned his back on Sergius to take another step up the stairs, he hesitates. He looks back, first over his shoulder and then he turns more completely, scrutinizing the way Sergius's voice comes out nearly a frustrated growl (by his standards, anyway), then nothing. Restrained monotone. It sets Arym's teeth on edge, and for a moment he falters; he's not exactly a precision instrument where it comes to getting people to talk about their feelings. He's more like a hammer. it doesn't help that Sergius is a closed book 99% of the time, either. < ...what are you thinking? > Arym tries anyway.

It was another thing they had in common. More like two bludgeoning instruments blundering around something at once so chaotic and subtle as emotions. Which is why most of the time Sergius liked to take the route of pretending they weren’t there. Shunted off to the side like an annoying systems message that wouldn’t go away. But Arym’s question sits there in his feed and he’s compelled to answer. //The most immediate is that I have zero space to give to feeling…sympathy for his shit. You do. I don’t get it. But I’m not leaving you here alone either.//

Arym leans a shoulder against the wall again, perched unevenly between two stairs, hand tucked into his pocket where it fishes around for nothing; the pocket's empty. < Sympathy. Yeah. Not exactly what I'm feeling at this second, either. > He stalls, fidgets. < That why you're pissed? Rather he hadn't just gotten to fuck off after everything he did? >

Arym's mind skips over Florus like it's gliding over a frozen pond, the real depths too deep for him to dive into without drowning. It's like that with Telos, too. Big and complicated, squashed down into the tiniest pieces he can handle in chunks at a time; let Florus repair you despite everything else because you have to live; make sure there's nothing left of Telos so you can shunt aside the irrational feeling of him still slithering through your systems like a virus.

Arym Ord swallows, shying away from his own internal reminders to focus on Sergius, instead.

Sergius stops over Arym’s shoulder, tracking the way the viera weaves into the wall. He doesn’t intervene but hangs there, ready if he needs to. Pissed doesn’t come close to the powerless sense of failure and the resulting anger but it’s in the ballpark. Way out in left field. But there. //Should I be happy he got to fuck off?// Sergius replies in the form of a question. //Should I excuse all of it? This?// He waves his hand over Arym and the way he can barely make it up a flight of stairs. //Because what? He had a shit creator?// There’s a brief pause ladened with irony. //It is what it is. Failure. And yeah, let’s go with ‘pissed’.//

Failure. Arym's mind sticks on that out of everything Sergius says, starting to pick his way up the stairs again, trying to sort out how he feels about being at leas tone of the reasons Sergius is upset. Arym spends most of his time being outraged on behalf of others, or others being outraged over his choices; he's not used to someone feeling that way on his behalf.

Arym Ord | Fuck, navigating this place was easier when the elevators worked. < So what's your win-state look like, if this is failure? >

//It doesn’t matter.// Sergius states. Or rather, hedges, unwilling to discuss something that would never come to pass. //Shit could be worse, I suppose. People died. The people I was responsible for didn’t.// The cold calculation was both a reminder of what he was while also serving as the bare minimum of what a machine designed for what he was designed for could count as not a total scenario failure. It fell far below any acceptable passing measure.

Atreus Sergius | Arym’s steps are slow but Sergius adjusts his gate to them all while staring straight ahead. He’d suggest they stop and rest but even Sergius could calculate how well a statement like that would go over with Arym. //You can’t tell me you’re happy with this outcome. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.//

Arym huffs into his rebreather, leading them up from the bowels of the hold, past the mid-ships, into the upper levels. He's headed for Navigation, somewhere he'd never set foot in; Telos had locked him out of it, just like he'd locked him out of everything in R&D. < Kinda sounds like it matters, if you're still spinning your wheels in the mud about it. > Arym's not going to begrudge him his callous parametres though; Spoken are like that, too.

Save the people you care about, and everyone else can get fucked. Minimize losses where you can, defend the greater good or the majority, or whatever helps them sleep at night. Arym swings wildly from one direction to the other, trying to have the best of both worlds. It didn't work out great for him. < I'm-- > Arym falters, starts looking up and down the hallway for something he can use as a crowbar to pry open the doors ahead; there's less salvaging taken from up here, but more damage from N's overgrown heartblooms. < I don't know. Maybe I am happy he gets a second chance. And maybe I'm--fucking terrified of being his mammet again. >

As they leave parts of the ship Sergius has a map for, his drones streak ahead into the dark, mapping the twists and corridors ahead. Arym’s turn of phrase causes a dark sort of humor to thrum through the feed. //Maybe we haven’t met. Spinning my wheels inefficiently over having an emotion is what I do.// He watches the viera’s head turn from side to side. //What do you need?//

Happy and terrified. How a person could be both was beyond Sergius’ ability to process. //Happy and terrified. One sounds like an overlay to disguise the other. If we had neutralized Telos you wouldn’t need to feel he’d be able to enter your systems again. That’s why I hate the failure.// He pauses, making a connection he probably should have made long before now. But putting himself in another’s shoes is not at all a concept he came with out of the box. //That's what brought you here. Fear. You’re afraid there’s a fragment of him left?//

< Something to get this door open-- > There's no access panels on this side, at least, because Telos was practically part of the ship--he wouldn't have needed them. Arym's lips twitch upwards, though. < Welcome to the club. That's like, ninety percent of what Spoken do--spin their wheels over an emotion. I'd offer you a refund and a chance to get off the ride, but I think it's too late. > Arym's a good example of that, considering where they are and what they're doing. His ears twitch backwards as Sergius says it outright and he fidgets. < Yeah. No, I mean, sure, I wouldn't have to be afraid, and I probably wouldn't have had this hole gouged out of my chest, but I-- >

//Lucky me.// Sergius deadpans as he analyzes the door. //What’s beyond the door? Does it have to stay intact?// He waits as Arym falters and hesitates over his words. He’s been there enough times.

Arym suddenly swings a frustrated kick at the door. < Sure as hells doesn't need to stay intact. The door, anyway. Nav station should be behind it. > He avoids finishing his earlier sentence, until it overflows anyway. < I want him to live with what he did. >

//Then stand back.// Sergius gives Arym enough time to move away from the door before he levels a hand in its direction. A blast of ceruleum colored energy pulses out from the weapon in his arm followed by two others in quick succession. The noise is almost a cacophony in the deathly silence of the ship. With any luck, Sergius may have forced a way in where there was none before. //I wanted to be sure he couldn't hurt anyone again.//

Arym clears what he thinks is the blast radius and still ends up surprised by the flash of heat, narrowly avoiding jumping out of his skin thanks to the noise. He'd gotten too used to the silence--but in the wake of Sergius's blasts, the sliding doors stand split apart, misshapen and sizzling with molten heat--though it's swiftly cooling, given the chill of Garlemald even in here.

Arym Ord glances at the newly made ingress, then over at Sergius. < Yeah, that works. > The room is dark within, and Arym inhales. < ...and so did I. Wanted it to be his choice. Believed he'd make that choice right up until he-- > Arym raises a hand to gesture at his chest. < And now I don't know. >

There’s a high-pitch whine emitting from Sergius’ arm as he lowers it. The sound of tech that had ramped up one second and powered down the next. He steps over the remains of the door and enters ahead of Arym. Protocols die hard. //I get it. Now he’s out there like a loose thread. Lot of fucking loose threads around.//

Like the rest of the ship, the navigation deck is cold and silent as the grave, and while Arym lets Sergius go in first, he's close on his heels. < Yeah. Would've been nice to see everything wrapped up in a neat little bow, but it's been a clusterfuck from day one. > His gaze drops to Sergius's arm while it powers down--a little curious, a little concerned. < You good? Don't think I've seen you pull that out, before. >

The drones do their usual circuit, mapping out the pitch black room. //I don’t usually have to. There’s no point in exerting more force than needed and unless shit really hits the fan it’s not worth the questions it raises.// He navigates around the collection of terminals and stations, the various equipment left to degrade. //I did use it in the Tower on a lower setting. To break the locks on some cages. Victoria was the only one who noticed though she let it go.//

Sergius stops and turns his head to Arym’s silhouette. //For what it’s worth I’m not picking up Telos’ signature here. Not that the assessment is foolproof. As we know.// Telos had a way of shaking even Sergius’ sensors.

Massive blacked-out screens the size of windows that would've displayed the skies around the Volare for malms wrap around the front curve of the navigation centre, display hooks cropping out of the center control panels stretched across a massive desk and embedded computers stand in the centre of the room.

Arym's behind Sergius, tugging connectors out of the back of his neck with full intention of jacking himself into one of the terminals. < Makes sense. > That felt like an age ago, now. < ... > Arym turns a stray thought over in his mind, wondering what Sergius prefers--mingling here in Alvarium where at least a few knew his real nature, or passing as Spoken where he'd come from. Where, presumably, he'd be going back to.

< Yeah. I--I mean. I don't think there's anything left. > But thinking and knowing were two different things. He needed to know, so he could start dismissing the way his mind kept second-guessing the shadow of Telos's presence in everything he did.

Sergius turns to face Arym and is on him in an eye-blinking short amount of time. He makes a grab for the hand currently full of connectors. //You’re joking. I said I didn’t read his signal. That doesn’t mean it’s not here.// He fires sharply across the feed. As if he needed the reminder that Arym seemed to be packing a death wish.

It's easy to make a grab for Arym's wrist--it's not like he's operating at full capacity, but he's also not inclined to fight Sergius, either. It doesn't mean he doesn't fire back just as sharply, though. < I know, but--what do you expect me to do, Sergius, sit here while you put yourself at risk? >

//Better than you, isn’t it?// Sergius retorts. //I have multiple failsafes.// But beneath that, beneath the hard logic of the fact that Sergius isn’t an open door like Arym, is a refusal to stand by useless. Again. Should the worst happen and something else is to befall the viera.

Arym stares hard at Sergius, and despite him being a featureless wall on the outside, Arym can feel that undercurrent coming through their feed, try as Sergius might to conceal it beneath his solid argument. Arym's ears fall slightly, and it's not the first time he finds himself wondering why. Why help him, all those months ago. Why trust him, why put himself at risk out in the wastes of Garlemald tracking him--nearly getting himself turned into a blasphemy in the process--why drag him back to Florus.

Arym's hand lets go of the connectors and they slowly spool back into his neck, the plate sliding shut with a quiet hiss with nothing to keep it open. < ...Be careful. >

Sergius lets go of Arym’s hand, his arm falling back to his side. The unspoken truth hanging in the air is on the fringe of Sergius’ sensors. An intangible thing that he can almost, but not quite, examine. //Agreed.// He tells Arym. A drone flies it’s way over through the dark and Sergius reaches under the bot’s chassis, drawing out a connector and hardwiring it into the blank terminal. From this buffer, Sergius slides from the peripheral unit into the bot and down to the ravaged Volare’s system. In the dark there’s only the slightest shift in the Four’s stance as Sergius splinters and expands his neural network. //Most of what was here has been damaged by that plant. There are some data banks.// He goes quiet in the ruined remains. Conflicted once again by a roil of emotions. When was that not the case lately?

A few more seconds pass as Sergius streams along the Volare’s pathways, most of which have been cut short or damaged beyond any passibility. //Old storage files. That’s it.//

Arym doesn't move away even as Sergius's consciousness spreads out from Four, to the drone, and into Volare. Arym shouldn't be able to follow that by sensation alone, but like the hiss of static that persists in a powered off screen, the hum of electricity in a streetlamp, or the way he'd felt Aislinn restore the pulse of life to Sergius on that table, Arym feels the way he expands--explicable or not. He turns to watch, glued to Four's side like a watchdog, tense and ready for anything.

His reports filter in and Arym feels the press of uncertainty at the back of his mind, but he cuts himself short of asking. If there's one thing he /is/ certain about, it's that Sergius wouldn't lie. < ...yeah, okay. That's. > It's probably good, but he can't bring himself to say it. Relief is already threatening to turn his knees into jelly. < ...let's get the fuck out of here. >

It takes Sergius only seconds to scan the data in the files left behind. Disgust filters along the feed like a plucked string. Whatever the data is, it has an effect on the Intelligence. //Do you want the files?// He asks

Arym tenses at the question. His knee-jerk answer is no, but he winches his eyes shut and wrinkles his nose. He's aware of some of the ugly truth of what Telos was getting up to, but not all of it. He needs to know. < ...Yeah. >

Sergius doesn’t question or judge. Not on this. He had always told Arym information was a weapon. He packs up the files and transfers them to the bot. From there he uploads them into the feed. Retreating back into Four his presence shrinks once more and he disconnects the drone from the terminal. //That shit’s done. You’re right. Let’s go.//

Arym takes the packet of information and shoves it deep into storage, to access when he thinks he can stomach it--which is not now, not yet. For now, he's quick to step through the misshapen portal, waiting for Sergius on the other side. From there, he leads them back out again--and only once they're under the open sky--heavy with dark clouds that herald even more snow--does Arym feel like he can let go of a breath he's been holding. One of them, anyway.

Arym Ord < ... > Gratitude feels inadequate, but it hums from his side of the feed regardless.

Sergius is a shadow at Arym’s heels as the viera moves as quickly as his hampered body will allow back through the ship’s corridors. Out from under the oppressive metal and circuitry, a scan tells Sergius that Arym appears to breathe easier. //He’s gone.// He replies in answer to the feel of gratitude coloring the feed. In the recesses of Sergius’ systems he ignores the fact that had he done his job right, there would be no question. This though, will have to suffice. Maybe one day it will. For now he waits for Arym’s breaths to even out before they make for Alvarium.

#ffxiv rp #balmung rp #atreus sergius #Arym Ord #The Tower #These two make my heart hurt

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