#soullight

[arjunasearth]

~Dancing is the pure expression of my Soul.

The more I dance, the more I am tuning into the rhythm of Life, into the melody of the Cosmos: Universe (= , a song')

Humble. Grateful. Focussed. Flowing.~

My Soullight radiating

~me worshipping the Connection to Source,

embodying it~unearthing it~~canalizing galactic energy.~

Tuning into my purely vibrational essence.~

Dancing has become my Life Ritual

the Source that I am always connected to, communicating to , interacting with

diving even deeper into the multiple layers of my consciousness. Into the multidimensionality of my cosmic being.

Embodying a cosmic vessel , becoming more and more aware of its bridging ability to connect various realms: The lower, the middle, the above. The roots, the stamp, the crown.

As the trees are teaching us for millenia. As they are showing us continuously at any given time, in ever-shifting cycles of Mother Gaia.

All is Sound. All is Frequency. All is Vibration~ everything is flowing~

through dancing we are realigning with the Cosmic Frequency , embodying it ourselves.

The frequency of love.~The strongest Force in the Universe.~ The highest amplitude of energetic waves.

We are reactivating our lightbody. We are feeling its electromagnetic field merging with Sound: MerKaBa Field.

Us being sound, energy in motion.

As eye am moving my body, my soul is communicating.

Without words. Merely through pure movement, within flow.~

Blessed be.~

[arjunasearth]

Transitioning smoothely into the season of darkness, mystery and alchemy. For there is so much to unfold and embrace. Only in the deepest darkness we can feel the power and radiance of our inner light. May the colder months serve us throughout our healing process. Resting, creating, regenerating. It is all taking time. The soil needs to be (re-)nourished so that we may grow and bloom again, shifting our shape continously, as nature does. Shadow work, soulwork has to be done as a Ritual and cleansing process. Also releasing pain , hurt and grief that this year brought as much as the joy, love and happiness and abundance that we felt. Reflecting upon these experiences and giving thanks for all of them on the full spectrum of emotion will guide us. Blessed Scorpio Season. May everything work out in our favor. May we release everything that needs to be released. May we let go of anything and anybody that has to leave our lives.❤️‍🔥🎶🐉💫🧚‍♂️Look how much we've grown. Look, how strong we are becoming. Rooting for all of you. Hugging you all. ❤️‍🔥🫂

[premamelody]

princess delta and the roaring moon

the "a world basked in purest light. beneath it, grew eternal night" prophecy pane in ch 4 instantly made me think of the princesses

bonus miss mizzle princess cadence, save point twilight and player soul flurry heart. they would probably be princess mizzle, soullight sparkle and probably still flurry heart bc I used soul already respectively

yeah soul cadence would probably make more sense but i really needed to do one of them miss mizzle themed and i didnt feel like swapping cadence out of the iconic princess quadruple + flurry for queen novo but novo would defo be a miss mizzle and princess skystar a reg mizzle

[santoschristos]

All realities exist. Think of this for a moment.

All realities exist. Now, all you have to do is match your vibrational frequency to the reality you desire, and you are there.

Nothing is fixed, all remains in a fluid state and reshaped by the intent of the observer.

Your Universe is a wave spectrum with infinite possibilities. Tune into the light of your heart, align your thoughts, emotions, and beliefs with the reality you truly want, you will see yourself emerging into that reality.

It is not about becoming or changing the outer, it is about remembering, shifting from within, and embodying the higher version of you which already exists on the frequency you choose to embrace. SoulLight From: @SoulLight777

Abyss art by Blank Embrace @BlankEmbrace

[nullen-void]

What Use Are Explorers In An Empty World? - Part 2

First Part

-----------------------

Kabbu joined the Watchers for a number of reasons. They were a prestigious organization, after all, and he was honored to be allowed among their ranks, especially given that he was an outsider. First among all his reasons was a desire to help other bugs, of course, but he also enjoyed the view from the Spire, appreciated the stately uniform, and... well. Kabbu was not a shy bug, by any means, but he would be lying if he didn't admit that he kind of, sort of... disliked the stares he got when he walked around the City. Most bugs in Hallownest had carapaces that ran from navy to gray, all in muted shades.

Kabbu's bright green shell drew a lot of stares, and not all of them were friendly. Up in the Spire, he was away from suspicious looks. It wasn't why he joined! But it had turned out to be a pleasant bonus.

Without his Watcher robes, he felt terribly out of place on the streets. He didn't even have a mask, for Root's sake.

No matter. Kabbu pushed the worries from his mind and focused on his mission.

Kabbu joined his 'fellow' civilians waiting in front of the Soul Sanctum's public entrance, ignoring the glances being snuck his way. He didn't have to fake his amazement when their tour guide appeared in a flash of soullight, hovering over the ground.

"Behold, citizens!" the mage announced. "The magic of the SOUL!" He raised two of his arms, and white light appeared above each. They began orbiting the bug's head. "You are here because you wish to see the Soul Sanctum, and all of our incredible spectacle! As you should." He grinned. "I am Arkin, friends. And I am your guide today. Please, stay nearby and let me show you what we do. Prepare to be amazed; I'm sure some of you will never want to leave." He allowed his orbs to rise up, their orbit tightening until they collided in a shower of sparks.

Kabbu's eyes narrowed, even as the rest of the group expressed their awe. He wasn't so dazzled as to forget his mission. He sincerely hoped that Master Lurien's suspicions were for naught, but that last line was... worrying with the context he had.

The bug next to him scoffed loudly. "What a load..."

Kabbu glanced at them. Their voice sounded young enough that he instinctively began seeking out their parent, but they seemed to be alone. They were a shorter bug, only coming up to Kabbu's shoulder, and any other attributes were obscured by the nondescript mask and concealing robe they wore.

"Are you not impressed?" he found himself asking.

"What's it to you," the masked bug asked crossly. "It was just some flashy lights."

The tour started moving forward. "But it was magic flashing lights," Kabbu pointed out. "Done with nothing but will and Soul."

"So he says," the young bug countered. "My old roomate could do that with some wires and a bucket of glitter. I'm not impressed."

Kabbu stared at her--he was fairly certain it was a 'her'--in disbelief. "You surely can't be insinuating that you don't believe in magic?"

The bug turned, clearly looking him up and down through her mask, and scoffed again. "I can believe or not believe anything I want. It's up to the Sanctum to prove me wrong."

And that was that, Kabbu supposed. He couldn't really argue with that. At any rate the tour group was picking up speed, so Kabbu focused on Arkin as he began to speak.

The Soul Sanctum was a fascinating institution, truly. Every spare wall was dedicated to tomes and scrolls, jars of swirling Soul sat on every surface, and then they entered an open space and Kabbu could scarcely help himself from gaping as he took in the atrium. The group ooh'd and aww'd as Soul mages flew overhead, tossing magic around.

"This is the main thoroughfare of the Sanctum," Arkin explained. "It connects to four different levels and is built primarily for flighted bugs to navigate. You'll notice," he said with a smirk, "that most of our bugs are not winged species. We find that it encourages neophytes to study if flying is the only way to get to their classes on time. But, ah, none of you need to worry about that today. We'll be taking a grounded route through the Sanctum. If you'll follow me, our first stop is the ground floor library."

"Boring," the masked bug droned. Kabbu ignored her, keeping his eyes peeled. Some of the mages around were watching the group with expressions Kabbu had seen directed at himself many a time before.

-------------

"As you can see, the Sanctum's library is the largest in the City of Tears. For those of you interested in a career in magic, the ground-floor collection is open to the public four days a week." Arkin gestured to the upper levels of the library and pointed out the bars across the stairwells. "Floors two and three are restricted to students, and only staff and special permissions are allowed on the floors above that. A warning to flyers, trying to fly to the second floor will activate a number of automatic defenses."

The masked bug immediately dropped a few inches, and their robe now trailed on the carpet behind them.

Kabbu squinted. "Are you certain you're old enough to be here alone?" he whispered to her.

"I'm not a kid!" she snapped, loud enough to draw some looks.

"Of course, of course."

Arkin continued, heedless of any murmuring in the group. "Taken as a whole, and factoring in several research libraries throught the building and offices of the Soul Sanctum, we are proud to boast that we rival Monomon's Archive in terms of volume. Even the White Palace's library, aha, Pales in comparison to ours."

He soaked up a smattering of nervous laughter.

"Next, we'll be looking at a Soul lab, where real magic happens."

"Finally," the young bug muttered.

---------------

The Soul Lab was awe-inspiring, Kabbu felt. He had no magical inclination himself, but even he could feel the power thrumming through the air.

Arkin paused in front of a glass window and pointed out a mage in the room beyond. "Here, we're working on new and exciting ways to work with Soul. Many of our projects come from the Pale King himself, who is also a powerful mage as you know. Most of the time, when His Majesty comes up with a new idea, he lacks the time to fully explore it before affairs of state pull him away. So once he has a concept, he sends it to us to be refined into a usable state on his behalf."

The masked bug scoffed, but Kabbu ignored her.

"Here, you can see Soul Adept Kelfe, attempting to create a Soul Totem," Arkin explained.

Kabbu stood up straighter to look over the crowd of horns and antennae. A polished-white statue of the Pale King with black lines running across its form stood in the center of the room, with Kelfe manipulating a hovering ring of Soul around it.

"These Totems can be found all throughout Hallownest, as some of the more well-traveled among you might already know. Through methods we don't eyt fully understand, they gather Soul from the earth beneath them and store it, allowing any passersby with the right knowledge to make use of it themselves. While the Sanctum has developed means of containing Soul in glass, it's a tricky thing getting it back out again without shattering the container. If we can create our own Totems, such clumsy containers will become a thing of the past." Arkin flew higher, excitement leaking into his tone. "And imagine; Adept Brill believes that the next generation of Kingsmoulds could incorporate one of our Totems into its design, allowing them to be self-sustaining. Without us needing to recharge them for the Pale King, it would free up so much more Soul for other projects!"

Kabbu glowered at the Totem. The idea of improving the Kingsmoulds even more upset him, though of course he'd never say so out loud--

"Man, what waste of power," the young bug grumped. "It seems like a lot of effort for something an engineer could make without any so-called magic at all."

"I beg your pardon?" Kabbu asked.

"Yeah I bet you do."

"Moving on," Arkin said, hovering down the hall. "I've got a real treat for you. Is anyone familiar with the Ancient Roaches?"

Both Kabbu and the young bug perked up, though Kabbu wasn't sure why...

-------------------

"The Roaches are a fascinating civilization. Loing extinct, they left behind multiple hidden tunnels and chambers that Hallownest's tunnelers frequently unearth, sealed off from the greater network." Arkin looked disgruntled. "The Colony has a monopoly of sorts on Roach research, owing to most known Roach hideaways being within the Ants' territory. However, we got to this one first."

The room they were led into now was barely large enough to fit them all comfortably. Every wall was decorated with some piece of strange-looking artifact and every table was piled higher with metallic objects. Some of them glowed blue.

"Take care not to touch anything," Arkin warned, slapping a stickbug's grasping fingers away from a device. "We are still studying these artifacts, and some of them have proved dangerous even to us Soul Adepts. The Roaches had a strange preoccupation with trapping their technology, and until we can figure out how to identify the magic they used to power it--"

"What is that?!" the young bug yelled, silencing their guide and making Kabbu cringe.

"Excuse me?" Arkin said sternly.

He followed the bug's pointing finger, and both Kabbu and much of the crowd ooh'd at the enormous glowing crystal tucked between two crates. He wasn't sure how any of them missed it.

"Ah, that." Arkin smoothed his robes, trying to hide his irritation at being interrupted. "That crystal is a potent source of magic, and we believe a larger example of the power source to much of the Roach's technology. The crystal in its current form seems to serve a function as it is, though we haven't been able to determine what yet. Moving on..."

Arkin continued to speak about the Roaches and what was known about them, but Kabbu found himself lacking focus. He kept looking at the crystal. Something about it seemed... familiar.

And he wasn't the only one interested. The young bug drifted to the back of the group as it moved on, keeping her eyes on glowing stone. Kabbu ended up following her to the back. When they were behind everyone else, he leaned down to speak with her quietly.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked.

The young bug jumped, and a faint buzzing kept her floating in the air afterwards. "What? No. What's it to you?" she demanded quickly.

"I just... feel like I've seen it before, myself," he admitted.

The young bug tilted her head, but whatever she was going to say was spoken over by Arkin raising his voice. "Next, we're going to sit in on a lecture by the Sanctum's own leader, the Soul Master!"

Kabbu shook the confused thoughts away. He gave the crystal one last look and rejoined the group.

It was some ways down the next hall that Kabbu realized the the young bug hadn't followed him.

After a moment of deliberation, he turned to go find her.

[anomalytm]

[ SMS: soullight ]: i have the perfect idea, give me ten minutes

[ SMS: soullight ]: maybe fifteen, actually, i need to change.

[ SMS: soullight ]: . . . how okay are you with me being very dramatic and maybe a tiny bit petty, actually?

[ SMS: soullight ]: figured i should ask first.

[ SMS: ??? ]: this blind date is a bust.

[ SMS: ??? ]: as in, he came in with all his law-firm work friends and now they're all rowdy and terrible. he keeps winking at me and then at the bartender. it's just really shitty, honestly.

[ SMS: ??? }: look, i know it's a lot to ask, but could you come over and invent an emergency? i'm in that wine bar on 38th, i'm wearing a red strappy dress and i tied my hair up.

OPEN STARTER. / wrong number?? besties?? housemates?? u name it, this is just where the brain went.

[miss-revy-1412]

I'm telling you Hasan is an azure himself too!!

So, I actually did some rereading DLS and about azure and it's been said that Azures are the beautiful, kind souls who sometimes face unnatural death and can reincarnate again and again if they are wronged or couldn't accomplish the things they were destined for. Also lale and Hasan's soul meet each other a lot even after Hasan's death like some kind of connection is definitely between them.

Hasan died by lighting an unnatural death, he himself was referred by Murad and others as a shining crown prince. The bright bird appearing and then Hasan's image appearing is also something worth noticing! He came to save Lale!! Only she can see, touch him and feel him !! Since, Hasan never got to be a Sultan and his life was cut short, he came back as Mr. Ezel and Mehmed was his uncle 💀✨ He also said in this update on how Mephis' presence lingers on him and he's trying his best to control him and HASAN gives him access and power really felt something. He said he is fighting him.

Unironically, Mr. Mephis got his hand on another azure without knowing of all this and it seems when Lale died Hasan's soul also got destined to reincarnated in same time as hers. Mephis escaped the dark world ran to Mehmed and when he felt a presence in Ezel He took over his body. Most of our romantic interaction with Ezel was of Hasan, not Mephis. Ezel was unknowingly fighting Mephis but since, his soullight was in it's dormant state he couldn't get over Mephis' influence and when he came to knew it was too late :'(

[lghtforce]

@alwayshaunted liked for a starter !! ( always accepting )

 there is a distinct opaline shine of the moon, one that caresses shadows and bathes them in its own paleness. within that glow, where the union of darkness and light would commence, is where she feels the most at home. the luminous-she had spent each of her evenings tracing the moonlit streets, her holy light like a beacon to the strays who would wander, who were lost. she knew the night, the moon, the luminescence [ … ] and when she sees it within a man, she takes pause. the aura of the moon surrounds him, swallows him, shimmering in shades of white and silver-blue, but within it… himself. and someone else. soullight intertwined. “ you know... i’ve seen a lot of darkness in my time, but there's something about you that feels different. ” 

[saintsylestine]

Story time!! Read part 1 here

f!Aeldari x Astrates (yep I love these two now and am forcing you to read about them)

A/N: Syl writes some action? Some plot? No warnings today! Would love opinions.

Dreams of the Ruin-Bound pt. 2

The skittering grew louder.

Wet clicks. A dragging hiss. Something moving on the walls—through the walls.

She rose in a fluid, predatory arc, blade already in hand. It was long, curved, alive with psychic glyphs that shimmered like insects under the skin. Malrion stood behind her, slower, heavier, every motion a grim monument. His bolter clicked and locked.

The shard at his belt pulsed again. Stronger. He didn’t have to look—he could feel her heartbeat through it. Her fear—not for herself. For him.

“What is it?” he asked, low.

“Wrong.” She didn’t look at him. Her eyes scanned the dark. “Warp-born. Fed on wraithbone and memory. It smells the shard.”

“Let it come.”

The wall beside them tore open.

What crawled through looked like a spider made of ribs and wet teeth—slick with something that dripped backward onto the floor. Eyes? None. Mouth? Too many. It dragged itself on jointless limbs, clicking and whispering in reverse.

It screamed. A sound like voices pulled through a dying vox—like laughter caught in meat.

It came for her.

She didn’t run.

Instead, she vanished—a blur of silver and black and soullight, flickering through its limbs in a slicing arc. Her blade carved through one arm, then another, wraithbone screaming as the monster shrieked. It snapped around toward her, bleeding warp ichor that steamed where it touched stone.

It didn’t see Malrion coming.

He struck from the flank—a charging wall of fury, bolter roaring at point-blank. Explosive shells slammed into the daemon’s flank, bursting open its ribs in a wet pop. It reared, tried to scream again—

Her blade was already in its mouth.

She thrust upward, through the roof of its skull, and it folded—legs spasming, then collapsing like rotted silk.

Silence.

The thing sizzled as it died, melting into the floor. The stench of it filled the corridor.

Malrion lowered his bolter, smoke trailing from the muzzle. He looked at her—shoulders heaving, face lit by the fading psychic burn of her blade.

She turned toward him slowly.

“You moved like I was already inside you.”

He blinked.

“Maybe you are.”

They stood there, weapons dripping, the shard between them burning hot enough to ache. And for a moment—bloodied, breathless—they looked at each other like predators who’d just hunted the same prey… and realized they hungered for more than meat.

---

The daemon dissolved slowly, as if reluctant to leave the world it had soiled. Its bones sagged into slurry, its mouths closing one by one with wet sighs.

The air was thick with afterbirth. Warp-burn. Burnt flesh.

They stood in it—she, poised and breathing like a storm-witch after climax; he, massive and still, steam coiling from the gaps in his armor, bolter slack in his grip. Smoke curled upward between them, thin as thread. The silence was no longer tense.

It was charged.

Malrion was the first to move.

He crouched beside the ruin, checking for signs of regeneration. None. Just bone sludge and the stink of other realities. As he rose, his breath hitched—not in pain, not quite. But he swayed.

She noticed. Of course she did.

“You’re bleeding.”

He grunted. “It’ll close.”

“It won’t.”

She crossed the space between them without hesitation, ghost-quiet. Her fingers ghosted toward the fracture in his side—where daemon claws had scraped through both ceramite and carapace. He flinched.

Not from pain.

From her touch.

“Let me,” she said. Not soft. Not demanding. Just… there.

He nodded once.

Her fingers slid beneath the broken armor, brushing against raw, overheated skin. A hiss escaped his throat. She ignored it. Instead, she drew out a small bone-blade—not for killing. For carving. Etched with psychic script.

“This is not medicine,” she said. “It’s binding. Soul to tissue. Pain will make it take.”

He smirked faintly. “Of course it will.”

She cut.

A single line. Shallow. Across the wound.

He didn’t cry out, but his hand braced against the wall, muscles locked. Her breath was in his ear.

“Don’t move.”

The blade etched a second symbol. Then a third.

And then she pressed her palm over the wound.

The shard pulsed—through both of them. The psychic pain was immediate, intimate. Not like fire. Like sex turned inside out. Like nerves pulled into a knot and kissed open again. His spine arched. Her lips parted, trembling. For one moment, they were one pain, one breath.

She stayed there, palm against his bare side, her head bowed slightly—hair brushing his chest, eyes closed.

When she finally spoke, it was not with detachment.

“You hide yourself too well, mon-keigh.” A whisper. “There is beauty in your ruin.”

He didn’t answer.

But his hand rose. Slowly. And settled on her wrist. Not to stop her.

Just to feel her.

Just to know she was real.

---

Her palm stayed pressed to his side, fingers splayed across the edge of the wound. His skin was hot beneath her—fevered with battle, adrenaline, and something deeper still. The binding was done. The sigils were in place.

But she didn’t move.

Neither did he.

The psychic sting of the ritual still burned in his nerves. It hadn’t faded. It had changed—softened. What was once a scream had become a hum, then a purr. The pain no longer shouted.

It ached.

Pleasurably.

Malrion’s hand was still on her wrist. Not gripping. Just holding. She felt the strength in it, the restraint. One twitch and he could break bone—but he didn’t.

Her head was still bowed. Her hair brushed his bare chest, damp from blood and sweat. She inhaled, slow and deliberate, as if tasting his pain. Her mouth opened, just slightly.

“You endure well,” she murmured.

He grunted. His voice came low, harsh with strain. “You enjoy this.”

She looked up. And for a breath, their faces were so close her lips nearly grazed his skin.

“Would it frighten you if I did?”

He didn’t answer.

But his heart pounded. She could feel it—through the shard, through her hand, through the heat between them. His body was trembling slightly, not from fear.

From restraint.

She ran her fingers—slowly—from the wound, across his side, over the rise of his abdomen. Not quite a caress. But close. Her palm lingered on the ridged muscle just beneath the curve of his ribs.

“Your kind is all walls,” she said, softly. “Armor, doctrine, shame. But your flesh…”

Her nails traced a faint line.

“…is honest.”

He caught her hand before it could rise further.

Not harshly.

Just enough.

Their eyes met. And something passed between them—something too fragile to speak. Not love. Not lust. Something more dangerous.

Recognition.

She didn’t pull away. She didn’t want to. Not yet.

So she asked, barely a breath:

“Do you have a name?”

He blinked, surprised. Maybe even disarmed.

Then, after a moment:

“Malrion.”

She nodded. The name settled in her mouth like bloodwine.

“Mine is Eithra.”

Malrion’s gaze lingered on her lips.

The moment held.

Then—

He inhaled. Deep. Shuddering. Pulled back just enough to let her hand fall.

“We should move,” he said. Voice hoarse. “Before something hungrier finds us.”

Eithra’s fingers curled slowly, as if catching the memory of his body before it cooled.

“Yes,” she said. “We should.”

But neither of them moved for just one more heartbeat.

As if both were waiting—hoping—the other would.

---

The chamber they found wasn’t a room. Not exactly.

It was a hollow in the dying wraithbone—collapsed inward like a chest caved beneath a final breath. The walls still pulsed faintly with psychic residue, like muscle after spasm. Pale light shimmered above, fractured through the broken veins of the Craftworld’s inner skin.

Malrion stepped in first, shoulder brushing the crumbling arch as he ducked. Eithra followed a step behind, silent as vapor.

They’d crawled here through smoke and bone and ruin. Bleeding, breathless, neither speaking. And now, here in the stillness, the quiet roared.

Malrion leaned against a pillar that had once been carved with sigils—now smeared with soot and blood. His armor hissed softly, joints seared from battle, torso scorched open where the daemon’s claws had found flesh. His eyes were half-lidded, but watchful.

Eithra stood near the entrance a moment longer. Her silhouette was backlit by the soft rune-glow, cloak barely shifting as she looked at him—not with fear. Not with longing. With something closer to study. As if she were learning a language just by watching him breathe.

He looked up.

“You’re not sitting?”

Her voice came slow. “You’re taking up most of the floor.”

He almost smiled. It didn’t reach his mouth.

Then he shifted, broad back arching as he moved to make space. A quiet wince. The wound still pulled when he stretched.

Eithra crossed the room and lowered herself beside him without ceremony.

Her hip touched his thigh. Armor to armor, but barely. Heat pooled in the shared contact.

Neither pulled away.

For a while, there was nothing but their breathing. The shard sat between them again—on the stone, not glowing, not cold. Waiting.

Finally, he said, voice low:

“I should thank you.”

She blinked. Slowly.

“For binding the wound?”

“For not taking advantage of it.”

Her lips parted. A breath. Then:

“You think I didn’t?”

He looked at her sharply.

She turned her face away—but not in shame. In truth. Letting him feel the quiet of her regret… or restraint.

Then she leaned forward. Not toward him. Toward the shard. Her fingers hovered over it but didn’t touch.

“It’s changing. I can feel it.”

“Or we are.”

She said nothing.

But her shoulder pressed a little harder into his. Not intentional. Just real.

A moment later, her head tilted. Barely. Just enough to let it rest lightly against the curve of his upper arm.

He tensed.

Then let her stay.

Between them, the shard lay on a broken stone plinth.

It pulsed once every few seconds.

Like a heart.

Like a clock.

Like a warning.

They said nothing for a while.

The stillness ached.

Then—

“You hesitated,” she said quietly.

He looked down.

“When?”

“Before we struck. You waited for me to move.”

He exhaled. Not a sigh. Just breath let go.

“You were faster. Cleaner.”

“That’s not the same as trusting me.”

He studied her face. The way her lips curved downward at rest. The flicker of tension still lingering in her shoulders. He didn’t answer right away.

Then—

“I didn’t trust you. I just… didn’t want to get in the way.”

Her expression didn’t change. But she blinked, slowly. As if that answer surprised her more than any lie would have.

She looked at the shard.

Its next pulse was faster.

“It’s getting stronger.”

“Or hungrier.”

She nodded. Her voice softened.

“They say when it bonds two souls, it shows them all their possible futures. All their deaths. All their intertwined ends.”

He stared at it.

“You’ve used one before?”

“No.” A beat. “I was supposed to. Once. I didn’t.”

The silence returned—but it was thinner now. Closer. Like breath across skin.

Her voice was soft.

“You don’t sleep, do you?”

“Not well.”

“Then let me.”

He blinked.

“Let you what?”

“Stay here.” Her eyes didn’t flinch. “Close. So the shard doesn’t take us apart in our dreams.”

A beat.

Then he nodded.

Just once.

She settled in beside him—shoulder to arm, her smaller frame folding into the curve of his. Not a lover’s embrace. Not yet. Just… proximity. Contact. Human and Aeldari. Heat and stillness.

The shard pulsed.

And their hearts began to sync.

Malrion stared ahead, eyes catching faint lines of soul-runes flickering across the stone. Then, quietly, as if not meant for her:

“I don’t remember the last time I sat beside someone without armor between us.”

Eithra didn’t turn, but she stilled. Slightly.

“Not even your brothers?”

“Especially not them.” He shifted slightly—his breath sharp as the healing wound pulled. “We were raised for purity. Silence. If one of us touched another in sleep, we apologized. Even in dreams.”

There was no judgment in her expression. Only the subtle stillness of someone listening with more than her ears.

She let the silence return after that.

And when her head tilted—barely, just enough to rest lightly against the curve of his upper arm—he tensed.

Then let her stay.

---

Sleep didn’t take them gently.

It sank its teeth in.

Eithra’s head rested lightly against Malrion’s arm, breath slowing in measured loops. He remained still far longer—stone-quiet, every muscle tight, eyes half-lidded beneath the flickering psychic glow of the ruined chamber. But exhaustion was a tide. Even he couldn’t fight it forever.

Not with the shard pulsing between them.

The moment their breathing synced, it opened.

---

There was no beginning.

Only a shift.

Stone fell away to starlight. Flesh became thought. The air tasted like memory and metal.

They stood at the center of a vast space without ceiling or floor—a cathedral carved from wraithbone ribs and wet, radiant void. Soundless. Alive.

They were naked, but not fleshless. Clothed in memory. In ritual. In ruin.

Malrion bore the scars of a hundred oaths. Pain carved into him not for survival, but for obedience. Red lines crossed his chest, some fresh, some glowing like cauterized shame. He breathed hard, fogging the air, as if even here the weight of his armor refused to leave.

Eithra stood across from him—barefoot on a floor of flickering soul-runes. Her skin shimmered with embedded stones, half-submerged into her chest, her hips, her throat. Each pulsed faintly with meaning. None were silent.

She tilted her head slightly. Her eyes black, but soft. Reading him.

Seeing not just form—but pattern. Fracture.

And he saw hers.

Not cruelty. Not hunger.

Loneliness.

And then the shard appeared.

Floating between them, humming low. Glowing with an oil-slick shimmer, slick as breath against the inside of the skull. From it spilled visions:

—Eithra above him, bent low, her forehead pressed to his.

—Malrion kneeling before her, hands bloodied, offering his breath into her mouth like prayer.

—Their deaths, intertwined. His name on her lips. Her soulstone shattered in his hand.

He took a step back.

The cathedral shuddered.

“This isn’t real,” he said.

Eithra didn’t answer.

She stepped forward instead—into the shard’s glow. The light swallowed her like silk over bone.

When she spoke, the voice wasn’t hers.

“Do you want to touch what you buried?”

He staggered. The shame, the heat, the need in him coiled too tight. His voice came rough.

“Stop.”

The shard pulsed.

The vision changed.

Now she was closer. Her hand at his chest. His at her jaw. Neither moving. Just there.

The silence became pressure.

Her lips parted.

And this time, it was her own voice. Quiet. Unsteady.

“If you want me, say nothing.”

He said nothing.

He stepped into her space instead.

Their foreheads touched—hot with psionic tension. Fingers curled into skin. Breath became shared.

No kiss. No release.

Just ache.

And then—

They woke.

Malrion gasped.

He sat up too fast—powerful body rigid, breath dragging through his teeth, eyes wide. Sweat slicked his skin beneath the broken plates of armor. One hand rose to his chest, to that same spot where she’d touched him in the dream.

It still burned.

A dull, deep heat—like a brand, or a memory.

Eithra was already awake.

She hadn’t moved. She sat still, back against the ruined wall, her knees drawn slightly inward, cloak pooled around her ankles. Her eyes were fixed on him—not frightened. Not cold.

Just watching.

The shard pulsed once between them.

Neither spoke.

For a moment, the only sound was their breathing—his, ragged and thunder-deep; hers, steady and almost silent. But he could hear it now. He knew her breath.

He clenched his jaw. Let the silence stretch like a wire.

Finally, she broke it.

“You dreamed it too.”

Not a question. A confirmation.

Malrion’s hand flexed, then dropped to the floor beside him.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“No,” she said. “Neither did I.”

A beat.

Then softer:

“That’s what makes it worse.”

His eyes found her at that.

The line of her jaw was taut. Not angry. Not tense. Just… tight. Held together with the same force she’d used since the first moment he saw her. She hadn’t even looked shaken—but she was. He saw it now.

And she’d let him see it.

His voice came rough.

“It was you.”

“It was us.” Her gaze didn’t flinch. “The shard just showed what we wouldn’t admit.”

Another silence.

Malrion leaned back against the pillar. It was cold against his skin. Grounding.

“You knew that could happen.”

“I knew it would. Eventually.” She looked at the shard now, her voice growing quieter. “Just not so soon.”

He huffed once. A breath, not a laugh.

“Does it always show that much?”

Her eyes flicked back to him. Slower this time. Measured.

“Only when it senses possibility.”

Eithra's fingers moved—not much. Just a subtle shift in her lap. The kind of motion someone makes when they should be standing, walking, doing anything else—but aren’t.

She wasn’t looking at the shard anymore.

She was watching him.

Not his face.

His hand.

The one still resting near his chest, where her dream-self had touched him.

He felt her gaze like heat against his ribs. But he didn’t look at her. Not yet.

“It meant nothing,” he said finally.

The lie landed like a crack across stone. Hard. Hollow.

She didn’t correct him.

Just tilted her head slightly. Her voice was even.

“Do you believe that?”

Malrion didn’t answer. Not with words.

He shifted his weight instead—arm brushing hers where they still sat too close. She didn’t move away. She leaned in. Barely.

A long, tight breath dragged through his chest.

“I’ve seen what the warp can do. What it whispers. This…” He shook his head. “It wants us compromised.”

“We’re already compromised.”

That stopped him.

He turned to look at her, finally. Full on.

The distance between them was too small for that kind of eye contact. It burned.

She didn’t look away. She didn’t blink.

“I felt your breath in my mouth,” she said. Quiet. Raw. “That doesn’t vanish just because we open our eyes.”

Malrion opened his mouth—closed it again.

His throat flexed.

For a man who bled for a living, this was what pain looked like.

She saw it.

And still, she didn’t move.

Then—

“What do we do with it?” he asked, and the question didn’t sound like him. It sounded younger. Like something pried loose from a part of him long buried.

“We endure it,” she said.

A pause.

Then, more softly:

“Or we give in.”

---

At that, something shifted between them again. Not loud. Not sudden.

Just a quiet realignment of proximity.

Her knee brushed his. He didn’t pull back. She could smell the heat rising from him, feel the slight tremble in his thigh as it pressed against hers. His hand flexed against the stone floor—once—as if deciding whether to reach for her again.

He didn’t.

But his breath slowed.

And hers matched it.

[primordialsoundmeditation]

Message for 11th October ~*Eternal Star*~

✨

Feel the star that you hold in your heart and follow your own inner guidance no matter what others say. What feels right in your heart is the truth so let your heart be your guide. Do not agree to something that doesn't feel right. Others believe that they know what is best for you. Remember you can always choose to disagree. You will still be loved no matter what you do.

✨

"I am guided by life, I am guided by this breath, I am guided by the light that shines inside me. I am guided by all that I Am."

✨

~

#auroraslove #star #guidance #psychic #angel #angels #psychicreading #lightworkers #empath #heart #truth #angelicguidance #divineguidance #guidance #angels #spirit #soul #love #innertruth #intuition #innerlight #soullight

Aurora's Love

[astro-royale]

Uhh if you guys join SoulLight use my code 8EKVYH

So we can both get 100 credits ⭐️

SoulLight is an app for psychics&tarot readers and I’ve gotten pretty good readings on it so I recommend it!!

[birinboom]

For the writer ask 🍄, 🥤, ❄️, 🥐, ☁️

Thank you so much for asking! 🥹💖

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings As I said in a previous ask, I’m not much of a ship-y person, so these questions are really difficult for me. You get Clorivia (Clorinde x Navia from Genshin Impact)

One of the few things they fight over is what to have for dinner. Clorinde rarely has an opinion - as long as it’s filling, she’ll eat almost anything. And Navia gets tired of being the one to decide all the time. So she posed an idea of a sharpshooting contest to see who gets to choose. This way, if Clorinde wins, she HAS to make a choice. Not that Navia will ever back down from trying her best, though.

Clorinde sees this as an opportunity to make Navia eat something that is genuinely healthy so she’s fine with winning.

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love I cannot recommend @akumicchi’s Ge’hria enough. She’s managed to cram so much lore into a drabble about dragon Kirishima it’s amazing!

@a11eya’s Soullights (I will never call it by its updated title, it’s a done deal for me!) I’m not a huge fan of Bakugou, but this one makes me melt.

@thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch’s Moonlight -x- Sunlight - I love the premise of KnY in the modern day, and the way she writes Kyoujurou is amazing!

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best? Ahh, I’m having so much trouble choosing, there’s so much I’d love to read! And so many great writers!! My brain is bluescreening at all the choices ‘cause I want this and that and the other one! I can’t choose!!! 😫

🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh I love the old meme templates like ‘insanity wolf’ and ‘bad advice duck’. Also ‘go to horny jail *bonk*’

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username? Misheard anime lyrics 😅 It’s the Japanese pronunciation of the English word ‘believe’ (biriibu) which I heard as ‘birinbu’. I added the boom for extra oomph 💥

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

[santoschristos]

All is a play in consciousness. All divisions are illusory. You can know the false only. The truth you must yourself be. ~ Nisargadatta Maharaj

Mass Exodus, Into a New Realm of Existence

China like the US, is also controlled by dark entities. Regardless of how things may appear in and from China, someone else is in charge behind the scenes. The current Xi Jinping is only a clone. The real one was put under 'house arrest' in early 2022, later that year the dark brought forth his clone.

Donald Trump will not be doing what many are hoping for him to do. As we have stated in prior times, he is only doing his part in hopes of a smooth transition into the next chapter of humanity's evolution, that will not take place in the current paradigm.

In 2020 we said that no matter the election results, Trump would not be going away. He has a mission to complete, together with the lightworkers. Here we are now.

The light is in control, yes, as far as seeing that humanity ascends, catastrophic events being lessened, false flags of high magnitude do not occur. However, the light will not prevent the collapse of the matrix structures, the dark advancing its AI plan, and so on. It is irrelevant that billions see the slave(economic) system as necessary for societies functioning, its total demise is inevitable.

You are being prepared for the revelation of a new world, a new way of being, with the rise in consciousness. In order to be aware, to see yourself through this shift, it is imperative that you let go of fear, let go of the old, for you are being called home by the cosmos.

This is not the end of humanity. This is only the end of the illusion which you've been deceived to believe in. You have outgrown the matrix and all that it had to offer. The time has come to transcend it. A mass exodus will take place, on the moment chosen by the Human Collective, and the Cosmic Councils, with the Federation of Light.

Please understand it is only a transition into a new realm, where love, peace, joy, lead the way.

Calm your hearts, breathe, and be ready, for a new world has been prepared for you. Your emergence into your Divine self is imminent.

All the light to You! SoulLight @SoulLight777

[toughtzzinmyhed]

Momentum of the Shift

The old systems rooted in fear, control, and separation are trembling. Those who created and benefitted from these structures may attempt to create distractions, fear narratives, and confusion. However, the momentum of the shift is now irreversible.

You have long passed the point of no return.

This chaos is not a sign of failure. It is the tremor before rebirth. It is the necessary crumbling of what cannot go with you into the new reality.

You, and many others, are here now by choice, to witness, to hold the light, and to walk ahead as way-showers.

This is you, dear Starseed.

We ask that you stay clear, centered, and heart guided. What is unfolding is divine. The rising of a new dawn is here. SoulLight

[arjunasearth]

protecting ourselves with our soullight field seems essential.

The problem today is people don't cherish good people. They use them.