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[howtheyshine]

There's a break in the howling darkness. It's all he knows or needs to know. There's a break in his endless, roiling, bleak existence, a crack of light under a door that shouldn't exist, only exists because it's been forced.

There's a break in the darkness, and He leaps for it with abandon. Even oblivion would be better than the harrowing monotony of nightmares. He leaps, and plunges into cold and silence.

For a moment He doesn't know where he is, or maybe more accurately he is nowhere that should be. It's paralyzing, skewering, a death-beyond-death nothingness pain that lasts only for a breath--

--and then his consciousness careens into a field of firefly minds, bodies and beings, places to hide from what follows.

What follows?

He doesn't remember.

All he knows is that one of the fireflies is laced with starlight, and he streaks toward the beautiful shimmer of it without a second thought.

Comments

[withintenfeet]

Zerxus isn't stupid, despite various claims to the contrary; he hasn't heard of a Dark World specifically, but if it's not another name for the Abyss it's probably something close. Whatever this being is, it was either formed or influenced by an evil place.

They're in his mind; it's entirely possible they chose this form on purpose. Just because it feels like a reflection of something true, something real, doesn't necessarily mean it is.

A very long time ago, he took an oath that meant risks like this was always worth it.

"Then we'll keep you anchored here." He raises a hand, and carefully offers it. "But I'd like to set a few ground rules, if you don't mind."

[howtheyshine]

He pauses right before touching Zerxus, hovers there in uncertainty. There's a ritual air to the way the human holds his hand out, like there's some part of the gesture the shadow himself should know and react to.

"What rules?"

[withintenfeet]

He knows, instinctively, that he needs to use his words carefully and sparingly. It would be nice to have Quay's voice in his head right now, or Patia's - but then, they'd probably be telling him not to do this, so he'd have to ignore them anyway.

"Never use me to hurt anyone." Not never use me at all, or don't hurt anyone yourself. Some choices need to be made freely.

[howtheyshine]

The tension in him drops abruptly, and something tight in the air around them, like a thunderstorm, starts to fade.

"That's it? That, and you let me stay?"

[withintenfeet]

"That's it." What else is there, really? He can protect his friends and their city without making deals for it. Evandrin is gone, and Elias is thousands of miles away.

[howtheyshine]

"Then... I swear I will never use you to hurt anyone."

The echo is back, more distant, a sullen rumble like thunder instead of sharply mocking. Something about the words and their repetition feels like bands of iron being secured around his neck and wrists, even though he knows on some level that a neck and wrists aren't even a part of how he normally appears.

He mimics the way the man is holding his hand out, but doesn't know what to do beyond that.

[withintenfeet]

Zerxus leans forward to curl his hand around the boy's, and he can feel something like thunder in his own chest, rippling out and making him shudder. It doesn't hurt, but he can feel it changing him, somehow, leaving him exposed in some deep, fundamental way.

That's all right. He's already been hollowed out and left to keep going.

[howtheyshine]

It's strange to suddenly feel the emotional underpinnings of the landscape around them. To feel the loves and longings that shaped it in this man's mind. But somehow he knows, with the shiver in the air, that he's equally exposed. The fear, the feral intensity he's willing to use to survive. His poorly-buried anger.

For a moment, Zerxus will be able to see/feel/sense the thing the shadow was lurking, waiting to be remembered in all its vastness and cruelty.

Taking this man's body isn't going to be easy. He has unfamiliar power, the same starlight that drew the shadow to him. It shimmers in his bones.

But with the agreement, the shadow feels something else, too. A strange security, an unfamiliar comfort. The world out there can't touch him any more than he can touch it yet.

"Who are you? Why would you help me?"

[withintenfeet]

His head tilts upwards, for a moment, gaze narrowing but not darkening. Everyone has cruelty inside of them.

"Sir Zerxus Ilerez." There are echoes beneath - First Knight, paladin, father, widow - and he doesn't smother them, but he doesn't acknowledge them either. "I'm helping you because that's what I do."

It wouldn't be much of an answer at all, anywhere else. Here the words ring with profound divinity that's older than the world, perhaps older than the gods. He doesn't need to say what he believes, what he's devoted his life to; that conviction is all around them.

Everyone deserves compassion. No one is beyond redemption.

[howtheyshine]

He stares. He feels suddenly strange and small and knows for a fact that he shouldn't. He remembers what he was in the Dark World, even if what came before is a mystery, if there ever was a before.

But the strange small feeling isn't just about the power he can't use here. The way this human all but invited him in, offered sanctuary, speaks as though it's simply right. It makes his nonexistent insides turn over uncomfortably.

"Why do... why do you believe that? The thing that's in the bedrock here."

[withintenfeet]

He's had a lot of people ask him that, over the years. His answer has broadened, deepened, but it hasn't changed all that much.

"Everyone has the potential to do harm. Some do a lot worse than others, but condemning them - it doesn't heal any of those wounds. It doesn't bring anyone back. It just spreads more pain."

The world has enough of that, even in a place like Avalir.

[howtheyshine]

He takes a willing step toward Zerxus, then another, and his form shimmers unevenly, a mirage of indecision between shapes he can show this man.

"What if pain is your purpose? What if causing it is what you're for?"

He does think it is his purpose, not his. But it bears asking.

[withintenfeet]

He'd argue against a concept like that on its face, if this was a fellow mortal asking. Anyone who believed that of themselves had been beat into shape by something else; anyone who believed it of others did so because it was convenient.

But he's talking to something else entirely, so he gives it due consideration. This answer is less rock solid in its certainty, but there's no deceit in them; new belief begins to blossom as he forms each word.

"Pain by itself isn't evil. It's just...a part of being alive." He cares so little about the gods who walk Exandria now, but he can't help thinking of the ones who were thrown away. They were just as fundamental in shaping what mortality became.

[howtheyshine]

The not-a-boy shivers, somehow reassured and unsettled at the same time. Maybe at the thought of gods that he can feel in this place. He doesn't mean to, he doesn't even know it's his influence, but in the far far distance there's a rumble of thunder and the brief silhouette of something horned and taller than a mountain. He was a god of dreams, in his own way, whether he remembers or not.

The silhouette terrifies him the rest of the way to Zerxus. He ducks around behind the human, queasy with shame and furious for being ashamed at the same time.

He is a little closer to what he Was now, in appearance--a ragged yellow cloak, a broken pale mask, a crown of sharp spires resting on the cloak's raised hood.

[withintenfeet]

Zerxus can't quite grasp what he's seeing beyond a strange pull in his chest, aching sympathy and wistful yearning, but he sees the reaction. His sword materialises back in his hand, and he plunges it into the earth in front of them; a statement, a warning, not an attack.

Then he turns his head, and meets the mask's gaze as well as he can. "Fear is nothing to be ashamed of."

[howtheyshine]

"I'm not afraid!"

Snarled in a voice that sounds absolutely nothing like a child's now. It sounds more than anything like the echo from above that he thought was mocking him. Of course, with their sort-of-pact made, Zerxus can tell he's lying--the hum of anxiety that comes off of him is clear.

Cloth tentacles weave themselves together anxiously at their tips, form little clumps and knots then unravel and vanish back into his robes. "...Now what happens?"

[withintenfeet]

Instead of flinching from that voice, Zerxus turns to face him properly; it may not sound like a child to most people, but it does to him.

Again he reaches out his hand, but this time it shimmers with a slightly different shade of magic. Calm Emotions is easy for a being like this to resist, if he wants; it's an offer, not a command.

"I think...now I wake up, and you can see what my world is like."

[howtheyshine]

He touches Zerxus's hand with one long tendril, fascinated by the sense of foreign magic. It doesn't do much, beyond give him a sense of reassurance, but it also... is comforting, in a strange way. A strange way that he isn't going to think about.

"...All right. I'll come with you."

[withintenfeet]

Smiles don't come easily to him, anymore, but reassurance does; his expression is warm and certain with it, as he squeezes that tendril of cloth, or of magic, or of divinity.

"Here we go, then."

In one sense, Zerxus closes his eyes; in another, he opens them.

[howtheyshine]

He's not sure what he expects, and wonders if the pull he feels toward a different plane is what it feels like to fall asleep.

But then Zerxus opens his eyes. They look different, slightly wrong, a tint of yellow gold in the iris, but that's the only visible sign that there's a deity crouched in the back of his mind, peering out through his eyes in fascination at--

Well, the ceiling of his room, but it's a real material ceiling.

[withintenfeet]

At first, he thinks he hasn't quite woken up yet.

Then he keeps staring and nothing brightens, nothing sharpens; he is staring up into shadow, dark and featureless, and blinking rapidly does not dispel it.

It's the first time panic surges through him. "What - "

[howtheyshine]

His panic gets an immediate panicked response.

[What is it? What's wrong? What happened?]

[withintenfeet]

On the bright side, someone else panicking means Zerxus can smother his own; it's a bone deep instinct at this point, being calm and steady for other people.

On the downside he does not have an answer to that.

"I can't - " He blinks again, slow and deliberate, just to make sure. Right, okay. "I can't see. Can you?"

[howtheyshine]

[Yes. I'm anchored to this place through your senses. Through your vision.]

Technically it doesn't have to be Zerxus's eyes, but he doesn't know how to change his anchor now that he has it. And he's not sure he wants to either.

A thought occurs to him and his bemusement turns into an aggressive growl.

[You can't change your mind. You can't. I'll destroy your fucking eyes before I go back.]

[withintenfeet]

Anger and fear would both be a reasonable response to that; instead there's a flare of ferocious indignance and wry aggravation. This time, when he closes his eyes, it's extremely pointed.

"If I really wanted to do it, threats like that wouldn't stop me." He pushes himself upright slowly, focusing on his other senses to ground him - the scent of of wood and ink and steel, the crackling of the fireplace, the cool breeze from the balcony.

"I made a promise, and I don't intend to break it. This is just..." He's been blinded in battle before, but never for more than a few minutes at a time. "I don't know how I'm going to explain this."

Keeping it a secret from the general populace is, theoretically, doable. Keeping it a secret from the Ring of Brass, that is absolutely not happening.