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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

[howtheyshine]

[Never.] It's a snarl. One Zerxus can feel a hint of panic behind.

What's he going to do? Can he fight this creature? How? Does he want to?

[I don't bow to you.]

(No, that's the the one that follows, who is it, who is it?)

[I don't bow to anyone!]

[withintenfeet]

"No one is bowing and no one is fighting." It may be a surprise, how easily that soft voice thunders with authority.

"Tempus, this is the god who needed a place to go. I gave him that of my own free will." The griffon cocks his head with clear scepticism; Zerxus misses the gesture, but he can feel the impulse behind it. "I mean it. He's one of ours, now, just like - "

The comparison sticks in his throat, but it's enough; the aggression melts away, and Tempus leans forward to gently press his beak against his paladin's forehead.

Try again.

[howtheyshine]

He is not nervous he is not afraid he is not either of those things. He does not wish he could touch Tempus's celestial feathers to see if they feel like a cosmos he doesn't remember.

[L... Like who? Try what?]

Try something to get him out? Banish him again? (Again, that's an interesting word to come up, again.)

He wants to ask Zerxus if the man is angry with him but he can't manage to pull his pride in enough to say it. He wants to ask if Tempus can hurt him but the creature can hear him. He doesn't want it to think he's anything but confident.

[Who are you talking about?]

Probably best if they aren't focused on him at all. And information, information with feelings attached, that's valuable.

[withintenfeet]

The torrent of anxiety meets a sea of calm, in the wake of Tempus's understanding.

"He wants you to explain properly. No threats, no posturing." Firm but gentle, with the sort of confidence that doesn't rely on fear.

Moments later, though, it's made clear that the tranquil composure only goes so far. He'll answer the question, but he won't do it out loud, and even his inner voice lacks the rock-solid steadiness.

I have a son. Do you understand what that is?

[howtheyshine]

A pause, a twinge of wariness. But he's more curious than ever.

[Progeny. A child.]

Though from his tone, the understanding is clearly academic.

[withintenfeet]

Yes.

How does he explain this in a way that resonates, that really -

We aren't related by blood, but he was still an infant when I met him. Still so new to the world, still learning what all of those sounds and colours and sensations meant, and how to reach back himself. Who he could trust, when he was scared or lost or in pain. Where he came from, and what kind of person he wanted to be.

There's an ache in the words, a pulse of guilt and yearning dull and steady as a drumbeat. It doesn't undercut the vast swell of love and pride.

[howtheyshine]

Zerxus' feelings bleed over as he explains, leaving the entity overwhelmed again.

He sounds a bit like he'd be stomping his foot if he had one.

[I am not an infant. I have existed since before the dust that made your oldest ancestors and I will exist until all is dust again.]

A pause, and his words go stilted with embarrassed awe. [I just... haven't seen... life, in a long time.]

[withintenfeet]

Interesting. Just then, you sounded about twelve years old.

No staggered unease or wary intrigue, just wryly amused warmth that neatly punctures his griffon's ire before it rises again.

[howtheyshine]

[Wh--!]

He catches himself instead of giving another cranky protest.

There's a sense of attention being turned back to Tempus. He's trying so hard to stay officious.

[I... I was... somewhere dark. Dead. And- I escaped.]

The word dark carries a mountain of weight.

[withintenfeet]

It is not a dread that Tempus can truly know; he is celestial radiance given material form, a beacon within any shadow. Still, he bows his head in acknowledgement.

My knight became your sanctuary.

This, he understands; this, he supposes, he can accept.

[howtheyshine]

He hadn't thought of it that way. It makes him feel small and strange. He wants to kick and bite and scratch at his own invisible insides until they stop doing so many strange things.

[His eyes did.]

There's no way he'll admit that he was afraid of being in the dark again, unable to see. It hasn't fully registered--or it doesn't really matter--that he's left Zerxus that way.

[withintenfeet]

He gave them to you. Don't forget that.

"Tempus - " Zerxus is cut off with a gentle butt against his cheek. This close, that beak should seem horribly menacing; through these eyes, it simply doesn't. "Fine, fine."

No more arguing. Instead, "You're both going to have to lead me, I - " He's going to have to get dressed, and the words he mutters at that realisation are in another language entirely. (Primordial is great for cursing in, it turns out.)

[howtheyshine]

This time, he stays sullenly quiet. There's a new fear somewhere inside the cavernous nothingness that he's coming to associate with himself. Interior space, a body without limbs or substance. He doesn't have power here, not in this body while the knight is awake.

Rather, the only power he has is what was given to him. The eyes, with that beak hovering so close to them.

So he'll hang on to whatever spiteful advantage he can get.

[withintenfeet]

He wouldn't be much of a redeemer if he didn't know the volumes that silence can speak. With a gentle stroke of his fingers through those fluffy neck feathers, Zerxus takes a step backwards, and carefully pivots towards the entrance.

Hey.

[howtheyshine]

[What?]

Defiant and petulant are close enough in tone, right?

[withintenfeet]

You're here to stay. I made a promise

That same gentle, solid steadiness, if a bit - stressed and worn, now that he's living with the consequences.

We'll need to figure some things out. We'll need to help each other, if you really want to experience the world.

[howtheyshine]

It's the gentleness that does it. He's been so long without kindness, without even the notion of kindness, he has no defense against it now.

[Wh... What do you want to wear?]

[withintenfeet]

He doesn't say it out loud, but there's a swell of warm gratitude.

...I should put my platemail on, but that's - here, let me show you.

The floor is smooth and uncluttered, and it's not a long way to his armour stand. There are so, so many pieces.

I'm not sure we're up to this yet. Even if we manage, it will take - a while, and I don't have an explanation.

time to play fast and loose with powers

[howtheyshine]

There's a tinge of bafflement on the god's part.

[Why would it take a while?]

The armor rises in pieces from the stand, straps loosening and ties unwinding where they need to. The god might not have any human sense but vision, but he has others. Zerxus might not be able to see it, but suddenly he can feel the shape of his armor in a way he never has before. Every curve and plane stands out to Zerxus at once, every component of the metal itself, down to the flecks of rust too small to be visible yet. The essence of his armor given an outline in his mind.

[It knows you. It knows where to go.]