[ Upon leaving the Beyond, the first place he will end up is — naturally, Highstorm. The city is closer to him than that of Springstar, and Set immediately steps into the midst of the growing, spreading roots with a sense of fascination and annoyance. How dare the Blight reach the city? How dare it be spread beyond the Scorching Isle? With Tibbs having destroyed the Cornerstone, as far as he last recalled, either one had been made by a Shard-bearer to continue accessing the island — or, prior/during their visit to the Isle itself, someone had come along with them. Someone had spread it, to Kenos-proper. If only the Scorching Isles could have been left to perish in their Blighted state, for Ra's sake.
And then, there had been the mirror.
( There had been the mirror / there had been the mirror / the mirror / the reflection — )
In the distance, he hears the flutter of feathers, the beating of a pair of great wings. The world of cold roots and slowly-dying people has faded, replaced with the silken slide of warm sands. The sprawling desert behind them and the pale, sand-gold city of the gods before; a vast metropolis meant to be full of humans and gods alike, thriving upon the walkways of lain stone, drifting in boats along the clear, blue Nile beyond the largest structure — the temple itself. As he steps forward, there seems to be no other soul in sight.
Only the sound of wings. The flutter of a striped feather that drifts to the ground before him. In the distance, a figure alighting upon one of the high balconies of the temple, the palatial estate of the gods — ( there had been a mirror ). ]
Horus?
[ Sorry, Vash. This might be the second or so time you've had to deal with this loop, with Set. Stubborn, swift and volatile — yearning, for someone he could not truly describe what he felt towards. ]
vash ( highstorm ).
And then, there had been the mirror.
( There had been the mirror / there had been the mirror / the mirror / the reflection — )
In the distance, he hears the flutter of feathers, the beating of a pair of great wings. The world of cold roots and slowly-dying people has faded, replaced with the silken slide of warm sands. The sprawling desert behind them and the pale, sand-gold city of the gods before; a vast metropolis meant to be full of humans and gods alike, thriving upon the walkways of lain stone, drifting in boats along the clear, blue Nile beyond the largest structure — the temple itself. As he steps forward, there seems to be no other soul in sight.
Only the sound of wings. The flutter of a striped feather that drifts to the ground before him. In the distance, a figure alighting upon one of the high balconies of the temple, the palatial estate of the gods — ( there had been a mirror ). ]
Horus?
[ Sorry, Vash. This might be the second or so time you've had to deal with this loop, with Set. Stubborn, swift and volatile — yearning, for someone he could not truly describe what he felt towards. ]