thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

Even if Amras said that, there was a certain uncertainty in Saint Trina's mind that would not let her rest. The encounter with her follower had awakened a long dormant feeling of panic, accustomed to disappearing into the dream palace when something caused her insecurity.

However, the dream palace had closed, its gates rejecting anyone who wished to enter it; and although Amras took care of her follower, there were so many other dangers in the Lands Between that sometimes the deity only wished to take care of them herself. Except that if she did... her enemies would end up in a very deep sleep from which they would never awaken. And Saint Trina was incapable of allowing herself to do that.

"...Allow me. It will only hurt for a moment."

That was all the deity said, her hands carefully pulling apart Amras' clothes to reach the bandage covering the wound.

She knew the weapon, and she knew the poison. She could feel it on the tip of her tongue.

The wound would not close. The poison would prevent it, keeping the wound open, a weak point for the one who had received it. Little by little, the poison would begin to run through Amras' body completely until numbing his senses and finally make him collapse. So Saint Trina didn't wait any longer, pulling the bandage aside to attach her lips to the wound and suck.

The boy's skin was warm under her mouth, and the wound oozed blood and poison. Her hands gripped his arms to keep him from moving.

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

Saint Trina's hand slowly relaxed, letting go of the pillow so she could entwine her fingers with Amras'.

Amras smelled of comfort and security. The figure that had haunted her for so long no longer existed, reached by someone who sought to protect her from those hands. The hands that would not have stopped until they could touch her. For a few moments, the deity took only a shaky breath, filling her lungs with air even if she had to endure the scent of blood.

She was safe. Amras had helped them stay safe. Even when they were both asleep and Saint Trina didn't notice the presence outside, the boy did, and it hadn't taken him long to make it disappear for both their sakes.

"...I am sorry."

The deity's words were only a hidden whisper, fearful that she had caused Amras to have to deal with the blood of someone he did not know on his hands. However, judging by the bandage under the boy's clothew, his follower had been the first to attack. Amras only found a way to defend himself.

Saint Trina pulled him towards the bed, hugging his body as if nothing else existed in the world. She needed that source of contact that calmed her and made her see that everything was okay.

"...He hurt you. I am sorry."

Amras was not to hurt himself to protect her. The very thought made Saint Trina's body tremble.

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

Something in the movement of the wind had awakened her.

Saint Trina's eyes threatened to close again at any moment, her eyelids too heavy to continue awake. However, every time she tried to go back to sleep, a rustling in the land they were on and the tinkling of the lilies born around the settlement they were in would once again cause her to lift her head from the pillow, visualizing the starry sky in her mind's eye.

It was still night.

The stillness of the Lands Between when darkness reigned had always been something that made them want to hide, such a human desire for a deity.

Animals retreated to their burrows quickly, leaving behind only their tracks in the earth, and even beings that did not do good decided to remain still in the presence of the moon in the sky. Night, ironically, could be the quietest time of the day... especially when she was standing next to Amras.

Saint Trina moved her hand slowly, feeling the place beside her, but Amras' presence had disappeared from her side. Immediately and fearing the worst, she opened her eyes wide and made the effort to try to listen around her for any movement that would give away the boy's presence nearby.

And she heard it.

A voice she knew all too well. The blood rushing to the floor. a snapping sound that caused the deity to flinch, before she clasped her hands on the pillow in an attempt to find comfort in the scent Amras had left behind. Saint Trina's body continued to tremble for a few moments until she heard Amras' return.

And, though she tried to pretend to fall asleep by closing her eyes tightly, she was unable to do so.

Saint Trina thought of the stars, of the soft light her lilies emitted and how Amras had said her singing was beautiful. She thought of anything but the scent of someone else's blood on the boy's body.

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

Saint Trina closed her eyes, but no matter how much she wanted to make Miquella's terrified face disappear from her mind, she did not succeed. The memory was permanently embedded in her being, not by herself, but by the piece of soul they both shared. Miquella's memories were intermingled with hers, and there were times when the deity was unable to tell when they were her memories and when they were Miquella's.

Miquella, at some point, would also see Amras through her eyes.

"I... do not have the full picture of what he was planning to do," Saint Trina said, her voice sounding unsure and uneasy despite the exhaustion that threatened to make her collapse from one second to the next. "But that... that was not him planning. It was like watching someone else. Miquella would have sacrificed everyone, including himself, just to bring a new age."

It was not the first time Miquella had harmed himself to achieve his goals.

"...He cannot reach godhood. Not like that. There has to be another way to break the curse."

Except that Miquella seemed to have exhausted all his options.

Saint Trina let out a soft sigh before shifting closer to Amras, needing the comfort his presence provided. Maybe she looked too needy, but...

Amras was so different from what they already knew.

"I am sorry. I do not intend to make you feel responsible for us. We are our own person and we need to... to find answers by ourselves, rather than finding answers in others that may not have them."

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

"It just..."

Saint Trina focused on Amras' chin, purposely avoiding looking directly at him.

"It is strange. To not feel the bond to the dream palace," she tried to explain, though she doubted her words made much sense. Amras was listening to her, however, and that was enough to make her feel ready to speak. "And... there is another land, far away from here. It was unreachable for a long, long time."

The deity buried their face in the pillow, gently, finding Amras' scent concentrated on it. The boy always slept there, right where they were, and they knew his scent would cling to their skin quickly. Saint Trina would begin to smell like Amras, a mark that while not permanent, helped her feel safe.

"It is called the Lands of Shadow..." Before Amras could retract his hand, she took it between hers, squeezing it gently. "And there is a place in the Lands of Shadow, a place that should be completely sealed but is not. The Gates of Divinity. It is at the top of a tower, in a region called Enir-Ilim. It is a wicked thing. A wicked thing that can whisper sweet things to you, to sacrifice all of yourself to reach godhood."

A shudder ran through the deity completely, from top to bottom.

She did not like to talk about it, but it was necessary. Because Amras had to know.

"Miquella managed to reach an entrance to the Lands of Shadow... but everything got complicated, afterwards. Maybe it is for the best, after all."

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

Saint Trina was exhausted.

Maybe she wouldn't say it out loud. She never would. The deities did not feel exhaustion, their energy flowing like a torrent of water in a river that kept changing day after day. However, she felt a kind of fatigue in her soul that she had never experienced before, something that clouded her mind and forced her to ground herself as best she could.

It was because of Miquella. Saint Trina did not need to be naive to understand that the fatigue did not come from herself, but from the nausea of Miquella himself, who was desperately seeking to disappear from the world for a few moments. She understood him, though he wasn't going to get it. The dream palace had dug its claws into Miquella's soft flesh, anchoring him to the world of dreams without the possibility of returning without a body. At least, for now.

She understood him.

She didn't want to think about how it felt to be trapped in a place that sought to punish you, to shed your skin for how it had been mistreated in the real world.

Sometimes, Saint Trina wished to find Miquella's body and give him a proper burial. Anything to give him just a little peace.

...But they could not.

Perhaps with Amras the deity might find some solace, an ephemeral moment in which to rest.

"Yes. Yes, please." Saint Trina took a step forward, approaching the bed. Their hand went to Amras' hair to gently arrange it. "I..."

She looked down.

"I feel like something is fading. Out there. And I do not know what."

Finally, the deity entered the bed, right next to Amras. The boy emanated a warmth that helped keep them comfortable.

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

So many people had lost their way in trying to reach the goal.

It was strange to think that it would have been the same fate for Lord Miquella, had his vow with Radahn continued without someone interrupting. The gates of the Lands of Shadow would open, letting Amras enter certain death, and Saint Trina...

Saint Trina had little idea what would have happened to her by interfering with Lord Miquella's plans.

The Lands Between had been too long stuck in a loop that did not end, a loop in which beings could not find the eternal rest that souls sometimes needed. It was a madness that gradually took over their mind, to go on without feeling like it, to feel Death escaping from their fingertips without being able to do anything to prevent it. Many times, the concoction of her lilies had been used to put crying babies to sleep and help the sick, but other times, when Saint Trina tried not to look, the concoction was used to escape from the world.

It was not the goal. The heart of the deity suffered.

Perhaps the promise of a new era ruled by Amras was the only option they had to bring everything back to what it was before.

"Use as many as you need," Saint Trina replied, a small smile appearing on her face. It was tired, somewhat sad, but it was genuine. "When you ascend to the throne, I hope I can stand beside you and call you Elden Lord."

But that was a long time away.

The deity let out a small sigh.

"...You should rest. The dream palace is not accessible right now, and it won't be for a long time. Maybe a dreamless sleep will help you think better."

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

Would she?

Saint Trina carefully observed and studied the boy who so clung to her words, but whose affection was not shown in the form of adoration. Amras truly considered her a friend, someone to confide in in a place as hostile as the Lands Between. And even if the deity couldn't quite express what the boy meant to her, at that moment, she wanted to make the effort to calm him down.

Saint Trina's hand rested on Amras' cheek, and she caressed it with the same love a lover might have for their other half. The boy's eyes sparkled. She looked into them and saw a stable future that would be slow in coming, but it would come.

"Your time will be the Age of Men."

The deity continued her caresses on Amras' cheek, softly, their faces being barely inches apart.

"Men are unpredictable. It will be hard. People will oppose your authority, but you can prosper if you do not get rid of the compassion and the love that makes you human." They gave him a soft smile. "And I will be there to see it, as long as you allow me to be by your side."

An Age of Men.

The thought was so strange. One that was led by someone who was not born a god, someone who knew what it was like to starve and cry. An age led by demigods was always doomed to failure, but Amras could change everything.

"Death is the only thing that can truly purify the Lands Between. It's time for it to come back. Every human being needs to rest."

Even Amras.

Amras, at some point, would die.

Saint Trina maybe too. When everyone would forget about her for a second time, when there would be no more prayers to answer, then she would die, become one with the air, with nature.

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

"Amras..."

Saint Trina's face darkened.

The boy blamed himself for what had happened, even though Lord Miquella's mental state had not been stable to begin with. The curse caused him to not process emotions as well, his reactions bordering on the tantrum that a small child might do. However, he was far from resembling a tantrum.

Lord Miquella's mind was covered by a cloud of darkness that only Godwyn had managed to calm sometimes with his words and gestures, taking the young Empyrean in his arms to walk around the capital in an attempt to make him forget what had bothered him. And most of the time it worked.

Except that Godwyn was no longer among them, his body a twisted and completely different version of what everyone knew.

"It is okay to... be compassionate with Lord Miquella's situation," Saint Trina said, her gaze softening in an attempt to make Amras understand that she was not scolding him. "It is not a good situation, I admit, but you have tried everything to help him. We cannot do more than wait for the time when he will ask for our help, if that happens at all. Me and him..."

The deity sighed.

"...He would have died if not for Radahn. Marika's children are not meant for godhood. Their bloodline has been... too tampered with. Nothing that comes out of Marika's womb turns out to be right, because they stray from their own paths to follow their mother's footsteps. And Lord Miquellla would have followed her footsteps, I assure you. You would have to have... put him down like a rabid dog then."

The thought of Lord Miquella becoming something contrary to what he preached made Saint Trina feel a shiver in her body, and so, she hugged Amras as if she could be protected from those visions of an uncertain future. Her arms did not let go.

"I do not want him to die, and I do not want him to suffer the change. Maybe that makes me a bad person, after all."

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

Lord Miquella was right. His body would not have withstood divinity.

The Gates of Divinity were known to be harsh on those attempting to reach divinity, and would likely taste Lord Miquella's desperation in the air, causing his body to be absorbed without being able to contain the power of divinity within.

The Lands Between told stories of people who failed in their attempts. Lord Miquella was destined to be one of them if he did not continue to gather enough power to reach the Gates of Divinity, and that was only possible by breaking his curse or finding a Lord to share the crown with him. Clearly, Amras had refused, but the rejection had sat so badly with Lord Miquella that Saint Trina didn't know if he was going to recover from it any time soon.

That was no mere rant or temper tantrum. The deity was able to feel the tornado inside her, a tornado of emotions that barely allowed her to hear her own thoughts. It was something darker.

"...He gave you his ring."

It was strange and Saint Trina couldn't help but point it out.

"It is special. The ring. I remember Radahn himself creating it before gifting it to Lord Miquella as a promise ring. I guess it does not make sense to keep wearing it. The Age of Compassion is no more."

Failed before it even started.

She let out a small sigh before averting her gaze from Amras, in an attempt to sever the connection between their minds. Amras' thoughts always went too fast, with an intensity that the deity didn't know how to handle, and he doubted the boy wanted to know that she had been reading his every thought all that time.

Deity life was... incredibly difficult in some ways.

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

The headache had gotten worse as time went on.

No matter how much Saint Trina tried to ignore it to make it go away, the pain continued to haunt him even though it was not his own. No. Lord Miquella's emotions pierced the too thin barrier between the two consciousnesses, no matter if the deity reinforced that barrier as much as possible. One soul, two bodies. Lord Miquella could not escape her just as she could not escape him, always connected by a thin thread that would never disappear.

From that, she knew that the conversation between Lord Miquella and Amras had not gone well.

It could not have gone well. Saint Trina didn't need the pain to understand it, because she knew Lord Miquella too well and knew how the conversation was going to end. In a misnamed tantrum, perhaps, or simply in a breakdown from which they would both end up suffering the consequences. Amras had no way of winning that argument no matter how hard he tried.

As soon as Amras woke up, returning from the dream palace, Saint Trina appeared beside him.

"...I am sorry."

At times, all they could do was apologize for Lord Miquella's behavior, which they doubted would change any time soon.

"Please, do not take his meanings in consideration," they said, placing a gentle hand on Amras' shoulder in a comforting gesture. "He is hurt, and hurt people make big mistakes, sometimes. He is grateful that you spared him the same fate of a marriage without love."

Perhaps Lord Miquella did not understand at the time, but sooner or later he would see that Amras had saved him.

He banged his head on the table and he thought of the events that had just transpired in his sleep.

What was he going to do now? He questioned himself. It had been days since then, and Amras never really got a proper lick of sleep at the feeling of guilt that ate away at his bones.

Would it have changed things if he simply had agreed to Miquella’s plea? No, both of them would suffer a loveless union to a pointless cause, some bitter part of himself thought. It was mean to think of it that way, but it reassured some part of himself that following through the whims of someone he wasn’t even that close with would not do him good.

It would feel like he was taking advantage of Miquella too if he hadn’t refused it, he reasoned to himself, thinking of how utterly vulnerable he looked.

So much for being a friend.

Amras was well aware he himself wasn’t a good man, but it didn’t feel right to leave Miquella like that on such a lonely place in bitter terms. But he knew he can’t do anything about it for now, not while the Empyrean refuses to be seen.

Somehow, Godwyn crossed his mind. He had an inkling that their brother would have been able to fix it, but that man’s not here now, not anymore.

The golden ring sat heavy between his fingers, the cold band starting to feel surprisingly sharp as if it knows his offense against its previous wearer.

He was lost in his head, not really bothering to acknowledge the presence in the room the moment it came.

@thesleepdeity

[thesleepdeity]

Don't be afraid.

Saint Trina closed her eyes at those words, burying her face in Amras' chest as if she could truly disappear from the sight of anyone who wished to perceive her. Being alone frightened her, but she was not alone. Amras was beside her.

His warm body enveloped her with exceptional care, something she had never felt before. It was not worship. The adoration came with so many other perceptions— lustful love, glittering eyes watching her as if she were a prize they had earned after a lifetime of suffering. Saint Trina was not a prize for her entourage, and Amras understood that because he was not part of it.

The deity felt more comfortable with Amras in just a few moments than she had in her entire life.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the boy's scent mixed with the grass around her. Liurna had a very different smell from the rest of the Lands Between, more natural, and the pools of water were always good for getting their feet wet. Perhaps they could stay there for a while.

"...May your dreams be filled with promises," Saint Trina said in a whisper, pressing a soft kiss against Amras' robe. He probably wouldn't notice, but her words were the same ones she used with those who had trouble sleeping. She only hoped to be of some help. "Promises of a good future, and health. You will become Elden Lord, Amras. ‘Tis not a hopeful wish, but an oath. You will be the new Elden Lord, and will begin a new age."

Lord Miquella's Age of Compassion was no more.

Soon, it would be replaced by a completely new one. Saint Trina felt it in how the wind moved around them.

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory

[thesleepdeity]

"The stars..."

Saint Trina looked up at the sky, noticing the little things twinkling in the darkness.

The stars had always been something she loved. Perhaps it didn't make much sense, but in a place like the Lands Between, finding companionship in the stars was not uncommon. Many travelers used them as guides, while others just looked for them in an attempt to tell themselves that they were not alone.

"...Do you like the stars, Torrent? I hope so," she said, reaching to the steed to stroke his back for a few moments before lying down next to Amras, their bodies so close together that they were touching. Amras' clothes brushed against her bare legs, her own dress lifting a little due to the movements. "They look so beautiful from here..."

The dream palace had never been able to recreate the real glow.

Lord Miquella would try from time to time, creating small fireballs that he would then attempt to hang in the sky of the dream palace, but it would never be a replacement for the real stars.

Gently, Saint Trina moved to lie on her side, watching Amras' profile.

"I have not experienced this. Sleeping under the stars," the deity commented in barely an intimate whisper. "Well, yes, I did, but not... not here, in reality. It makes me feel... unsafe, to know I am resting with something unknown out there."

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory

[thesleepdeity]

The day was, fortunately, uneventful.

They did not cross paths with Saint Trina's faithful, which made her relax little by little. Although she knew that her faithful would not dare to harm her, every time she thought of their hands trying to touch any part of her like a blessing it made the deity feel the need to recoil. However, it seemed that very few people in the Lands Between retained their reasoning.

If only she could do something to get everything back to normal, to the days when the only screams were those of children playing back and forth at being soldiers, and the Lands Between thrived.

When night fell, they made camp.

"I am not... very tired," Saint Trina replied, hesitating on how to explain to Amras that deities did not need sleep to be rested. "But my legs feel sore. A good kind of sore."

Although they had not walked, riding Torrent for a long time also formed certain pains in her legs, especially since she was not used to it, unlike Amras and Lord Miquella.

"Are you tired?"

Amras' face was illuminated by the fire of the campfire, making his features sharper as blades. Saint Trina looked into the fire then, a small blush appearing on her cheeks.

He didn't know what was wrong with her.

Maybe Spring was getting to her a bit.

"...Torrent must be tired, too. We should let him rest until late tomorrow. Are you in a hurry for reaching Leyndell?"

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory

[thesleepdeity]

Home.

Amras said it so easily.

Saint Trina had gone so long without spending more than a day in reality that it was strange, but at least her own body kept her from feeling the extreme cold or heat that lashed the Lands Between from time to time. Perhaps, even on the road, they might meet one of the merchants who would greet them as calmly as they always did.

With Lord Miquella sleeping soundly, Saint Trina's vision had returned to normal, and with a soft smile on her face, she took Amras' hand and rode right behind him on Torrent.

Maybe she could stay a while.

The deity's hands rested on Amras' waist, wrapping around him gently as she dropped her cheek on his shoulder.

"...Thank you. For letting me go with you."

Her hands wanted to continue exploring every part of Amras' body, curious about what she might find, but in those moments she stopped before she could.

They had time.

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory

[thesleepdeity]

"...I do not know."

It was hard to think of what would happen next with Radahn's death so recent.

The bond between Lord Miquella and her had not changed, still strong and resilient against any natural law. However, the tugging she felt had faded, probably because Lord Miquella was in such a deep sleep that he wasn't even able to reach the surface.

Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps, in dreams, Lord Miquella would not regret Radahn's death, thinking that the easiest path to godhood was to marry someone like him. Marriages of convenience were still marriages, and Lord Miquella would have been expected to fulfill his marital obligations just as in a real one.

The thought gave them chills.

"He will feel better soon," Saint Trina tried to put an end to Amras' doubts, without separating from him. "He just needs some... time."

Lord Miquella was going to be in mourning for a life he had not lived, but divinity was not what he expected. The world would not be fixed because he wanted it to be fixed.

Saint Trina knew that.

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory

[thesleepdeity]

The embrace took her by surprise. So much so, that she couldn't stop a gasp from escaping her lips.

Amras' body was much warmer up close, and Saint Trina was able to feel every breath his chest gave. A constant movement, a little faster than usual, but alive. The deity held back the urge to bury herself even more until she became one with Amras' skin, to feel his heartbeat next to her ear.

However, Saint Trina was content to have him by her side with only a few scratches as a reminder of a battle that had not only been physical, but emotional as well.

"...I like your hugs," she murmured. "You are so... warm..."

Maybe that wasn't the best way to put it.

Saint Trina closed her eyes, burying her face in Amras' shoulder as if she could escape the universe that was especially out to get them.

But Radahn no longer existed.

"...Radahn was the only one to respond to Lord Miquella's call a long time ago," the deity said, in barely a whisper. Maybe those secrets could stay between them. "And there was a vow. Marriage for an heroic fight. There is not a god without a Lord, nor a Lord without a god. They go together. Radahn was older, stronger, and he could have been a good consort, for his part of the vow was a small price to pay. But Lord Miquella died before he could honor his part of the vow, and the entrance to the Lands of Shadow was sealed."

"Please, Lord brother..."

His half-brother's dark gaze rested on him, plunging dagger after dagger deep into his soul. Daggers, knives with a too-sharp point, piercing hot flesh and covering everything in blood. Miquella's hands trembled in his lap, hidden from judging eyes.

"I must ask thee for more time, again," kind Miquella kept his tone of voice soft and his gaze innocent, as he tried to stomp out the feeling of dread that resurfaced deep in his chest every time Radahn made the pretense of moving. Radahn would not lose his temper with a child. There was no need to panic. "Our promise..."

"Our vow," Radahn interrupted him, with a growl that echoed through the throne room.

"...Our vow," Miquella corrected himself after a few moments of silence. His eyes burned with unshed tears. "I have not forgotten our vow, Lord Brother, I promise. But I need more time than what thou have given me..."

His half-brother did not look convinced.

Something in the chest of the young Empyrean threatened to explode. His heart, perhaps, which sought to flee far away, away from words that hurt too much to say, from a sick body that would not allow him to defend himself under the watchful eye of the person who kept him pinned. Miquella held back a shaky sigh, knowing it would only make Radahn's attitude worse, and decided against it.

His legs threatened to be unresponsive as he slowly descended from the throne, the offspring of royalty prostrate on his knees like a low servant. No stain had splashed Miquella's hands until then, clasped in front of his face lowered into supplication. The ring on his finger felt like a brand burned into his skin.

"Lord brother..."

The young Empyrean ducked his head, a gesture that did not fit the most important child.

"I will definitely—" Miquella drew a shaky breath. "Definitely become a god, so— so... if we… if I… honor our part of the vow, please..."

He closed his eyes tightly, almost as if the figure of Radahn might disappear in those moments and be replaced by Godwyn, who would take him in his arms and comfort him, wiping away his unshed tears.

"Promise me thou... will be my consort. I... just want to make the world kind."

@whenbonestellhistory