The Seeds of Unrest: the Iconoclast Oracle

[beleos]

RUNNING OUT THE CLOCK

The situation is bleak.

The Blight - and the massive labyrinth of roots tearing both cities asunder, spreading deadly flowers wherever they penetrate - have progressed to a point beyond catastrophe. People are dying in rapid numbers. Bearers are having difficulty keeping up with the spread of infection - even among one another. The collapse of Kenos seems inevitable; a cure will not come in time. You can do nothing but watch as each new day brings further disaster, ticking down the seconds until it all falls apart.

And then, you feel something seize your Shard. As if physical fingers have wrapped around it, as if it is being clutched through you by invisible hands, you feel invaded. You feel wronged. But before you can panic, a voice enters your mind through Communion.

“Excuse the dramatics, but there isn’t much time for pleasantries. The Trees are about to hit the point of no return. But there's still work to be done. The Tree of Life will take you where you can find it: the Oracle and the creature causing all this mess. Fix this when you find them. However you'd like.”

Have you heard Aetos’ voice before? Perhaps it is the first time; perhaps it is familiar to you. Either way, the last thing you will remember is a confusing jumble: a spell of immense and incredible power, one utilizing the Tree’s strength to shelter you. The sensation of every cell in your body coming alive, yet seeming to break apart and render you into billions and billions of tiny pieces, all hovering in different times and places across all the different iterations, timelines, and realities in which you have ever existed. A voice that speaks not through words asking your forgiveness, unspeakably sad.

And then, there is nothing.

AWAKENING

Your eyes open, gritty with the feeling of a long, deep slumber.

Perhaps it takes a moment to shake off the heavy veil of exhaustion, to recollect what you were doing before you fell into this state of hibernation - but as soon as you do, you feel an immediate sense of foreboding around you. It is thick in the air, oppressive and pervasive, and you aren’t left long to wonder at its source. You lay beneath the branches of the Tree of Life, but as your bleary eyes focus… you see it. The Tree is all but bereft of life. Its bark has withered down to gnarled wood, the soft lichen dried up, and the grass that should be alive beneath you is long dead and gone. There is not so much as a single leaf on its decaying branches.

It has been this way for a long, long time... you realize this with a feeling of intense dread as you see it - the beautiful expanse of stars, of the cosmos, of universes scattered like starlight above the tree's boughs, gone. In its place hangs a sickly, ominously low-hanging, and dying sun ready to sing the end of everything.

You can't help but wonder how long Kenos has been in this state, but a sense of gratitude fills you as you realize that the Tree expended the last of its energies to protect you, the Bearers, during your state of rest. Had Aetos worked with the tree to see you sent here?

The next question comes quickly: how much time do you have left…? And can you find the Oracle before that time expires?

ABANDON HOPE (DAYS 1 & 2)

The cornerstones are still active and will take you to whichever city you wish to see.

Highstorm and Springstar sit like empty monuments to the cities that were once filled with life - yet the first thing you will notice is they are strangely absent the signs of the Tree’s overgrown roots, the Blight, the catastrophic damage that you can recall all too easily. Instead, each city sits as those they were summarily abandoned overnight, leaving nothing but their shells behind. There is a stillness in the air that is unnatural and unsettling. Despite the lack of any sign of the citizens of either city, you cannot help but feel… watched.

Something terrible happened here. Best you find the Oracle before something terrible finds you, instead.

The burning of a dying sun beats down on you wherever you go, unbearable heat sending waves off the aged cobblestone streets. Perhaps it is your instinct to seek refuge in the shade - but linger too long about the shadows and that feeling of eyes on your back, of being unable to breathe, of your world closing in around you will grow untenable and drive you back into the light. If you hope to explore the ghostly shell of your city in search of the Oracle - or to sate your curiosity, some problem-solving might be in order.

And while you acclimate yourself to your circumstances, you cannot help but note you feel wrong inside, somehow…

EXPLORATION

• If your characters choose to explore previously unreachable areas, please use THIS TOPLEVEL to report when they get there in the thread! We will get back to you with what is discoverable in that location.
• The following areas are off limits for exploration: below Yima’s Manor; below the Church of Heliopolis; Alenroux; Kowloon.
• The Great Trees of both Highstorm and Springstar are in a similar state to the Tree of Life and will not respond to Communion.
• Generally speaking, items will be of poor quality. Most will look as though they’ve aged thousands of years. Others will be in half-decent shape, but sparingly so. Oddly enough, it doesn’t seem like the whole city has aged at the same rate, so especially diligent rummagers can find worthwhile supplies. Please consider this should be rare and don’t go overboard!

NOTES

Here are some prompt reminders - see the full thing at the OOC Summary!

• Characters will have a diluted connection to the Zenith or Meridian.
• There will be periods powers are weakened or non-functional during days 1-2 (up to player discretion).
• The sunlight results in scorching; the shadows cause claustrophobia and fear while outdoors.

THE RITUAL (DAYS 2+)

The place you started your journey to Kenos is also where it seems it will end. As soon as the first Bearer makes contact with the Iconoclast effigy, you are collectively drawn to the roots beneath the Tree - like a pang sent through your Shard. Your objective has been found. The Oracle awaits.

Trusting Aetos seems like a fool's errand, but you must put your hope in the Tree. What choice do you have left? It's time to find what lies at the end of this.

Bearers descend, your steps echoing in the dark, cavernous space. Once brimming with life and vitality, the roots are now dried and brittle like the bones of some ancient leviathan that died long ago. As you make their way deeper into the earth, the deadened roots twist, leading you to a vast chamber deep within it; the air here is thick with the smell of decay, and the faint glow of luminescent fungi and mosses barely illuminates the space.

To your left, the Bearers will notice what has drawn them here - and the object of their search.

An effigy sits on the ground between two darkened tunnels. The effigy is made of gnarled, dead branches woven together in a humanoid shape; its hollow, empty eyes are sightless, yet you cannot help but feel it is watching your every move. Branded on its forehead is the Iconoclast symbol carved into the rough wood.

Once all Bearers are present, the Ritual will begin. Your means of exit have been sealed off, and you are trapped, slowly deteriorating together…

NOTES

• Bearers will have access to the Ritual Chamber which is a very wide, open space with the effigy situated against the far wall from the entrance. Several smaller tunnels off-shoot from the Ritual Chamber. They all run to dead ends; some are very small or narrow. This may afford you meager privacy away from the group.
• Once a Bearer steps into the Chamber, they can no longer head back out the way they came. They’ll find themselves automatically walking back into the Chamber as if of their own volition.
• For brevity’s sake we won’t list them out again here, but the complete description of effects Bearers will experience days 2+ is available in the OOC Summary.
• The effigy is impervious to damage.
• It Is Watching You.
• In a dead-end root tunnel attached to the Iconoclast’s Chamber is the Blighted statue of an Otter that may be familiar to some… Please see THIS TOPLEVEL for more information!

THE PURGE (DAYS 5+)

The sap has festered in your veins for what feels like days. It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed; this place has no sunlight. The effigy watches as you remain trapped, huddled together around it, unable to leave as you find yourself sick with the affliction of the Meridian, Zenith - or both.

And then… something finally gives.

Though it does not move and speaks no words, you feel the effigy offering you guidance. Knowledge. Much like the Tree speaks to you in impressions and feelings, you are conveyed wisdom you did not have before: a way to take what you want and rid yourself of what you do not. A way to make your convictions known to all who would hear them. A way to be known. To write your path in blood, be it yours… or theirs.

When all is said and done, only one force - Zenith or Meridian - will gain its favor.

Show it who you are. Show it what resolve looks like to you - and what you are willing to do to attain it.

NOTES

Here are some prompt reminders - see the full thing at the OOC Summary!

• You can Purge your alignment through various methods: Trading, Corrupting, or using the Effigy itself.
• All characters will understand the end goal is for everyone to Harmonize; the alignment with the higher rate of Harmonized Bearers alive when time’s up wins the Oracle’s favor.

NOTES

• A reminder that the Harmonization tally will take place on Friday, the 19th and be open through Monday, the 29th. The results will be released on Wednesday, the 31st OOCly.
• Don’t forget to submit any deaths to the Death Tracker, with a gentle reminder characters will remain dead until the event conclusion!
• Reminder to fill out the SETTING POLL ASAP if you haven't already!
• Have some MUSIC if you'd like. LYRICS here!
• HAVE FUN!!

CODING

Comments

[gravings]

I think it will be hard to convince anyone that he isn't guilty... or that he deserves a second chance.

[ Even she isn't sure, and she's the one bringing up the uncertainty. ]

If he could speak for himself, we might have a better idea. Even if it's only to find out if we can reverse what's been done.

the road - springstar

[fishfearme]

[Byleth, too, has made his own shade: his cloak draped over his head and lifted arms, creating a strange silhouette amongst the backdrop of the dying sun. He was emulating the cranes that would hunt along the rivers of Leicester, their wing stretched into a makeshift umbrella - a fatal shelter for any fish seeking solace from the sun. Byleth, too, was hunting, but not for fish or for any kind prey: he was seeking purpose, for information and, admittedly, a way to kill time until something happened - be it salvation or oblivion.

It meant he wandered. It meant his strange, stalking silhouette, so similar to a prowling crane, haunted along the empty streets of Springstar near soundlessly. It gave him an otherworldly air, especially when accompanied by a very quiet, soft singing that was startling in how lovely it was. It was a way to self-soothe, maybe, and with only him around - possibly for miles, as Springstar was big for the few Shard-bearers there were - Byleth felt not a speck of self-consciousness about it.

His aimless wandering eventually brought him to the Viomichanikós district - a stop before he decided to check on his house and see if it remained standing. Supplies were vital, no matter the empty state of the world, and the mercenary in Byleth compelled him to take advantage of an unattended cache. 'It's not stealing if the victim is better off', Jeralt would say, so off Byleth went.

So, if Set was still lingering outside of the warehouse, he may hear Byleth's approach before he came into view, and when he did... well, he still looked like some strange, singing cloaked creature - and clearly was unaware of Set's presence, his vision blocked by his cloak as it was.]

[cutlery]

[ Communion gives him a taste of Set’s feelings, but Sebastian would be able to identify it even without that forced connection. The way that Set’s pupils narrow and that little flicker of excitement are things that Sebastian can easily recognize for what they are. Hunger. It may not be so literal as Sebastian’s, but the urge is the same. They both crave things that are more abstract and are willing to pursue them with a ravenous energy that most simply couldn’t understand.

He scoffs, because even if it’s not a threat, he hates being caught in it all the same. He can’t begrudge Set for it anymore than he imagines Set thinks of his hungers, but it’s still irritating because of his lack of complicity in the agreement. If he had agreed to it himself and had a lack of foresight, he could easily say it was a challenge well met. Bartering with Silco in a way that entangled his demon was not nearly so fair a wager.

(Set, of course, finds a clean silk handkerchief in his breast pocket. In his vicious haste, all of that blood and gore had been wiped on a sleeve instead.) ]

And I have almost certainly been alive longer than those gods.

[ It’s not bragging, more a simple statement, though it’s truth is nearly impossible to verify. What came first, after all? Humanity lusting after what they could not have or humanity praising what they could not understand? But such ire isn’t directed at Set, even with the harshness in his words. Sebastian seems to hear it now, and he closes his one eye to compose himself. ]

…Silco told me of his side of this deal. [ And definitely Silco’s alone. Sebastian may consider himself a tool at Silco’s disposal, but even so, his interests were still more self-serving than for Zenith, though that’s something Sebastian won’t admit. ] What do you find you get out of this arrangement? I would like to hear it from your lips rather than his assumptions.

[sterngaze]

[Liem, who has spent much of his life travelling in the company of no one at all, who has long considered the wretched realities of difficult service something that exists only between him and his patron god, is not in the habit of seeking aid — especially from those who might regard him as friend. He is slow to heed the suggestion that he should do so, even after Set's past admonishments, and those of others. By his reckoning, he is not so feeble that he must trouble others with such things.]

I have no more need than anyone else of such assistance.

[He speaks this with conviction, despite the blooms of livid, dusky grey that show starkly against the fatigued white of his face. The sun has burned him cruelly, dizzied and fatigued him — but the shadows it casts are long, and he still retains enough of his power to summon shade of his own, for some brief stretches when he must travel beneath its unshielded glare. He is not helpless against it, despite the weakness in his blood.

Besides; he can plainly see the toll this apocalyptic land has taken on Set as well. The ruddy shadows of the church's vine-clothed interior cannot hide such things from him.

Liem sits in a carven alcove, scorning the rickety, time-worn pews in favour of a lip of stone at the foot of the wall. But when the slash of sanguine light is choked by Set's withered vines, he emerges to step into it. Friends, the god says. He would not have assumed such a thing — even now mistrusts it, like a wild creature eyeing bait dangled before its nose.]

Perhaps I did not call because I believed your aid would be better directed elsewhere. You must be very busy.

[redsoil]

It is precisely because you are equal in need, that you have the right to call out.

[ And it is within a god's ability, and power, to spread themselves across all voices raised to them and touch the lives of each and every one. Is this what Nephthys meant, when she said that a god was not meant to rule? That their power was not for absolute dominance, but to support, to uplift. He thought he'd known it once — who he was, what he was meant for, the authority he had received by virtue of his birth and ascension. Had he not been perfect of form and mind?

As Liem emerges, the faintest of sounds escapes Set. A little sigh, not of displeasure or pity, but — of what? Acknowledgement, maybe. He has fed this man himself for weeks, and listened to his tales and queries with the mindfulness of a companion, moreso than a god who looms large and unattainable. Set is a god, and he walks there among the people of Kenos. He crosses to Liem without hesitation, and halts within reach of him. To rake his eyes over the fatigue in his face, his weaknesses. ]

Never so busy, that I cannot be here for you. What will it take to prove that?

[ He will not struggle or scrape to uncover what it would take, for Liem to believe in his sincerity. He will ask, and do precisely that. ]

I do not take friendship lightly. I do not really take on friends at all, so I want to do right by you.

[hyperpotamous]

[ this is why it's unfortunate that john is just the most average of guys. he's no fighter and has never needed to be anything else. ]

Well, it's not my favourite as titles go, but we'll add it to the list.

[ he doesn't back up, even if he knows he can't win right now. he's been God for too long and has forgotten what it feels like to be afraid that you can be hurt or killed. ]

You make it sound so sordid. We're all just pulling together in this trying time. [ he waves a hand dismissively. ] Who died and made you hall monitor?

[baltimores]

[ rip reigen, too busybodied for this world ]

Do you think if I apply enough force when I wring your neck I can get your head to fly off like a champagne cork?

[ You know, while they're egging one another on. In the real world his fingers involuntarily twitch, the snarl to his voice that much more prominent. ]

Sorry I'm not up to your standards; I've been busy not eating and not sleeping because of the otter. [ See, it's Mr. Tibbs' fault, not Amos'. ] You know he's not going to give you what you want. Let's skip to the end before he finds some other way to fuck everything over.

[redsoil]

Flatterer, [ Set laughs, wild and, well. Flattered. ] If you want me so badly, come and take me.

[ To fight, is to dance.

To dance, is to yield to something passionate, something crisp and clear as a kestrel calling — unseen in the sky. The rush of wind whipping through the reeds along the Nile River, the sudden thrust of a scaled body lunging into the waters while sediment stirs in its wake, the purity of an untouched oasis that looms into view after a long, difficult journey under the brutal, harsh heat of the sun. To fight is the most wonderful thing for him, and he traditionally pours his time into the Coliseum, into Ryad's dangers. Into Shard-bearers, Meridian and Zenith alike, in the throes of battle for something that will make victors of one faction and failures of the other.

He has been waiting, to clash with this young man. Zenith does not know the splendor of him. It seeks to quiet and calm him, when he should be burning dark with passion and fever. With the force of that promise, trailing in his wake, Set turns his eyes upon Childe and rushes forth. They are powerless, but he has never truly needed a weapon. He is the weapon, every inch of him perfect and deadly, honed in centuries of battle and tactic. To move first is to allow the other to perceive and prepare for what comes, so Set makes his first attack as direct and forceful as possible.

He rushes in fast, but his gait reduces as he narrows the distance between them: a leap, a skip, a small bounce. Set feints, with the lift of his right knee, as if aiming to drive his weight through his thigh and into Childe's solar plexus. Instead, he converts his momentum by stepping in, dropping that knee in order to pivot on his toes and aim with his left leg. A high kick that, if he were fully divine, could literally rip the head off a man. Here, it'll just hurt bad if it connects. ]

[redsoil]

How long can you hold your breath? I want to know how deep I need to make your grave, when I drop the desert on your head.

[ I’ll turn all the lights on in your house, leave all the water running, open your fridge door and not close it, and turn your gas stove burners on and let them waste gas. You’re going to start stressing the fuck out, your blood pressure will triple, and you’ll have a fucking heart attack —

HE'S GONNA BITE ALL YOUR FINGERS OFF AND STEAL YOUR FXCKIN GUN ]

So impatient! While I would love to skip to the end of all things for reasons of my own, I would much rather now devote my efforts to fucking YOU over, specifically. I hope your loved ones are haunting you, Amos Burton. I cannot wait to revive them, and make you answer to them for your weakness.

[diversionist]

[ y'all ok or like, ]

[baltimores]

[ set can and should go fuck himself ]

[redsoil]

[ he cannot wait to go to amos's funeral knowing he could have changed the outcome ]

cw: eye gore, [sighs] eldritch v*re mindfuckery

[cutlery]

[ He barks out a laugh first, because as predicted, she’ll never be satisfied at all. She only wants his true death, and that is something that he has confidence won’t be allowed. He’s too valuable to some, too interesting to others, and so, his Shard will always be saved by those alone, if not also for misplaced feelings of righteousness. She’ll always be left wanting, but she’s making a mistake here that she doesn’t realize.

When a demon says you are even, that is a gift. He has stayed out of her way save for a curiosity that she doesn’t even know (and one that neither of them know—), but this is one he could not avoid. How unreasonable and unruly. His pupil dilates under the spear’s tip, but not for fear or anger, but for recognition of what a fool she is to toss it away. He’s been uninvolved, if petty.

No more.

The spear drives into his eye, and the immediate reaction is reflexive. His fingers dig into her skin hard, and the strength is bruising on her arm with his strong grip, but the soft leather gloves can’t break the skin. His body seizes as he jerks back as much as he can from the point of it, but the breath he doesn’t need catches in his throat as he bites down on his lip until the skin splits and bleeds. The pain is hot and vicious, and he can’t retreat to the parts of him that are less human and don’t feel the pain of the body he had so painstakingly created as a mask.

But in Communion, the response is more marked as he can’t hold back, or maybe it’s that he chooses not to. The space of his mind is an abyssal sea composed of the same shadows that he can usually manipulate so freely, but they’re kept quiet underneath the cool composure of the gentleman that Sebastian values so much. In the sharp feeling of that eye being destroyed without relief, he lashes out like a trapped animal. It’s an oil that assaults Communion full of eyes that watch and beasty teeth that grin, bone-white from the abyss. It’s not visual so much as an impression, yet there’s still something monstrous in that dark.

It only lasts as long as the pain and as the spear as held in place, but those vicious mouths speak. It’s a cacophony of growls, hisses, and low-pitched murmurs, all speaking some language that’s unrecognizable and overlapping, but that drips with malevolence. Whatever they’re saying remains a mystery, but the tone and the feelings behind them are clear.

This is what a demon is—a nightmare shoved into physical form, and all its instincts say that it won’t stop until it eats you alive. ]

[vallt]

[any hostility, however brief, isn't enough to make her so much as flinch; she's dished out enough of it herself. there's a struggle that washes over her, confusion that goes well beyond the bounds of her understanding, but that doesn't move her, either. her feet are just as solid as the rest of her as recognition sparks in set's eyes, and she knows —

that she hasn't made a mistake here. that she's where she needs to be right now.]

He is, [she can affirm in a soft voice, readily. the certainty of that reverberates through the communion space. not cruel; good. there isn't much she can trust here (or anywhere at all), but she has that.

jyn can affirm, but she doesn't follow up with anything more.

instead, she remains steady. her other hand folds on top of his, cementing the hold. the offer.]

You can tell me more about the weaponsmiths. I'll be right here.

[sterngaze]

I'm inclined to agree. Regardless of what ultimate fate might await him, whether or not he can reasonably be made penitent, I don't think we should rush judgement before he has even had a chance to speak for himself.

[Although Liem said that Tibbs isn't entitled to a fair trial as a human person might be, it still seems negligent to him to decide his fate without so much as hearing from him first.]

But patience is, I fear, not in great supply among many of the current shard-bearers.

[youngprodigy]

[Cid sighs a strained little noise.]

It's the bloody Final Days outside.

It... doesn't look good. I can't even begin to guess what can be done.

[Not the most cheerful of greetings, he knows.]

But at least here you're protected from that sun.

[diversionist]

Stop complaining.

[ he says sternly, reaching out in turn to smear some of his blood-sap onto vash's shard. and then,

vash surely learns that what happens next is important: because the empathetic bond opens between the two of them, crumbles every single one of cassian's — and his, surely — defenses, leaving the answer to vash's earlier question, his why, crystal clear.

cassian had said to him once, we aren't all so lucky as to be born in peaceful times. the truth of that burns clear now: vash sees armies in white armor marching into towns, crushing resistance, hanging so-called instigators in the square; he sees this expanded across cities, across planets, across an entire galaxy. history rewritten: anyone who ever opposed the empire, criminals and discontents and monsters; anyone who supported it, heroes bringing about peace, making the galaxy better for everyone.

a frightened voice: they're making a weapon, a planet-killer.

an ancient city crowded with people, falling to pieces under an unfathomably huge shockwave, too powerful to leave survivors. a young man's voice: tyranny requires constant effort. it breaks, it leaks. authority is brittle. cassian, fleeing a battlefield as a teenager; cassian, a child, looking out upon an ugly scar of an enormous mine, on what should be (once was) an arboreal planet; cassian, an adult, committing wholeheartedly to the cause of resistance, to fighting the empire, until he has nothing left. because he has nothing left, no home or family or scruples or identity left to him but the cause.

because zenith promises change. because he cannot restore his galaxy as he left it, and live with himself. because he already cannot live with himself, the lives he's ended and atrocities he's wrought, but at least they were for something. because there should be people out there who are meant for peaceful times, who will be able to speak of the empire, of terror and oppression and darkness, in the past tense, taste freedom, know what he never has —

and so, it's easy. it's easy to let go of the bright meridian energies bottled in his blood and let them pour into vash; it's easy to take, in turn, the cool zenith energies that whisper to him of a better galaxy. ]

[muchalucha]

[ As Quetzalcoatl listens to Amos work through the emotions that surge through him, she both listens quietly and opens herself up to them. There are little barriers that you can make in Communion to keep out the worst of the cacophony, but in this case, she allows it. After all, she knows too that there’s part of her that just doesn’t understand the emotions that most of her fellow Shard-Bearers are going through, or at least not in the same way. She’s something else and has always been something else… But more than many immortal beings, she wants to deep understand and empathize.

So, she feels that longing. She smiles at it, though it’s sad because that’s the hardest part of Meridian, she thinks. You can have the hope that you’ll be able to return, and you can work incredibly hard to see it done. But it still won’t do anything for that ache itself. ]

Mm, even if you make friends here in Kenos, it can still be lonely, I think. The people I’ve met here, they’ve been very kind, except one person. [ SILCO ] But… I think it can still be different too. A little lonely, even with that.

[ She nods as she thinks about her family, complicated and messy as they are. ]

You miss people you care about. Right?

[ It’s a question more than a statement, because they’re still acquaintances at best. Two people on different sides of this conflict, and even with warm optimism and love of people, it still does feel like a guess, a little bit. Though, to be fair, that uncertainty is more Silco’s fault than anything. ]

[diversionist]

[ the glass, unneeded (have her teeth always been that sharp?), is returned to the pockets of his coat. and once his blood-sap has dripped onto her shard, he turns his hand so it's easier for her to spill hers onto his shard.

in this heightened communion, there's no hiding the spike of irritation he feels at her question. sharp-edged as it is, isn't really directed at her; and she can probably sense that, too. or, rather, it's not directed only at her. she's one of several to hit this nerve. ]

You Meridian, [ he says, giving his head a shake, as her blood drips onto his shard, ] all assume that everyone has something to return to.

[ lives. homes. families. it infuriates him every time another bearer — meridian, always meridian — ask him about going home, assume he wants to go home, wonder about the loved ones at home he must want to see again, as if any of them are alive. cassian is normally in control of his emotions, but here with communion blurring the lines between their minds, with the powerful connection that they forge between the two of them, the depth of his anger is clear.

not just at thoughtless questions he's been asked here. not even primarily at those. quetzalcoatl can see his reasons for certainty laid bare: can see a galaxy throttled in the grip of an empire, can see imperial officers' total control over the governments, airspace, holonet, news; can see star destroyers whose shadows blot out the sun over planets, dwarf entire metropolises; can see white- and black-armored troopers swarm like ants over planets, over settlements, quelling the softest breath of insurrection in their wake, crushing cultures, crushing populations.

an old woman's voice, the empire is a disease that thrives in darkness. and, it's easy for the dead to tell you to fight, and maybe it's true, maybe fighting is useless.

cassian's own voice: kill me, or take me in. and living as one with nothing but the cause, with no ambitions but the cause, with no reason to live but the cause: be given orders, execute orders, return for more, keep going. keep going, because the empire is unfathomably powerful and they are not; because they are always short-handed and the empire is not; because he cannot live with himself doing anything less, because he hates the empire with all his soul, even as he takes his own soul in both hands and shatters it, because —

meridian would see his galaxy restored, would see the empire restored, would change nothing even as its horrors consume countless planets. because zenith would let him change that, would bring hope where there is none, meaning where there is only tragedy. and so it's with perfect willingness, that he sees meridian's warmth drain out of him, that he takes the dark cool moonlight from her. ]

[fishfearme]

Thank you for your understanding.

[He genuinely was grateful. He knew some might take offence to such a request, but to him it was common sense to hide your Shard and its usual placement. Death here was transient. They can die in a myriad of ways, but so long as the Shard remained safe... they could survive. If it were possible Byleth would've locked his Shard away and hidden it away from his person, but alas.

Once he was certain Jyn had closed her eyes and wasn't peeking, he carefully loosened off his tunic and reached underneath it. His Shard rested over his unbeating heart, a polished stone with the colours of sunrise's blush, marred by a blackened Crest emblazoned on the front. The Crest looked as if it had been branded on, with the edges slightly smudged, as if the Shard had scorched a little. He took his Shard from its resting place, letting it stay in his palm as he tightened up his tunic and adjusted his cloak to hide what he'd been doing (though no doubt Jyn would've heard the rustling of cloth from his movements).]

I'm done. Do you wish for me to close my eyes as you take out your Shard?

[muchalucha]

[ Her smile softens in apology at the spike of irritation, but it’s not a total surprise. It’s not specific to Cassian himself, but she thinks that it’s probably how most people inclined to Zenith must think reflexively, and especially so with his terse explanation. If you don’t have anything worth going back to, then of course it would be insulting.

Even with his answer, she doesn’t hesitate to bring her hand over his Shard as well to allow the gentle drip of her blood onto his Shard. It’s a slightly different sensation with her blood, even with her ability stripped away. With it comes a sense of better health and vitality, though it won’t last down here as long as it might normally. She’s a god of Creation who had made humanity with her blood, after all.

But as she gives her blood and feels the relief of sunlight flooding back to her, she “listens”. The visions and memories come to her, and she sees his reasons. It’s a world beyond even her divine imagining, a world that returns to the stars that she’d come from. Part of her is a bit thrilled for that because it’s an incredible feat! But— No matter how they seize and shape teotl, people would always be imperfect. They would always been drawn to the worst tlatlacolli, the failings that make the world that Cassian unintentionally shares. ]

Mm, I’m trying not to, at least.

[ Cassian isn’t the first Zenite (or, Zenite to be, in his case) that she’s talked to that scorns their world completely. She and Silco had talked about it a fair bit at this point, after all. However, what she sees and feels from Cassian is different. Silco clearly loved his world, or at least a part of it. There were parts that he despised, and maybe that was even most of it, but he would still be destroying something he cared for in the process.

Cassian, though… That isn’t the sense she gets at all.

It’s sad, of course. But there’s an old, complicated sort of nostalgia that comes through as well. It’s nothing so grand as the world that Cassian shares, just a brief sort of vision of Quetzalcoatl standing at the top of a pyramid that would surely seem more than ancient to him. Power thrums through her veins, hot as the sun, because she was the sun, and as she looks down at the ancient city below, it’s just a simple question on her mind—Is this worth saving?

She laughs a little, realizing that he’d surely feel that memory too, just as she had felt his. She draws her hand back to rub her thumb against her poncho to clean off some of the blood-sap, but she looks at him as she talks. ]

I do understand it. [ As is probably obvious now, but. ] It’s not my domain, obviously, so I can’t take any credit for making or unmaking it! But still… I’m sorry that your world wasn’t kind to you.

[erbe]

They are, but like this I don't think you can be harmed. I've seen a couple others... How long have you been like this, Lucien? Do you remember?

[There is concern in her voice. He'll feel it as she seems to emotionally probe him for an answer he might not be able to give.]

[warmare]

[Hayame might not remember this man’s name (it had been something strange and foreign), so this “title” would have to do. Thankfully… she does not attach much importance to names over reputation.

And she had already formed quite an image of this one all on her own.]

“Pulling together in this trying time”… ?

[Her tone is mocking, her long ebony tail whipping out behind her in emphasis.]

Pulling together with who, Fool? Not your fellow Meridians.

[She seems to invite him to deny her insinuations, hands that could crush a man’s skull spreading wide.

- After all, she may not be familiar with that exact phrase, but. She’d appointed herself.]

[sharmat]

That your plane would see souls as pieces to connect and not as whole, all-encompassing energy is very interesting, Lord Set.

And Duat is the afterlife designed to keep the mortals of your homeland?

sidles into 3;

[cryomance]

[ Doubt has always been a grave enemy of hers yet not one she's found herself surrendering to this extent. She finds she can't focus on anything else but questioning whether or not the path she'd set herself on is true. As someone who'd always been rooted in decisiveness and gut instinct, it catches her off-guard to find that both have abandoned her.

All that remains is an endless litany of doubtdoubtdoubt. What if her world can be saved? What if it yet persists out of reach? What if her cherished people are crying out in response to her abandonment?

Faintly, the voices of the other nuns sing around her, a hymn she must have heard a thousand time. A hymn about finding hope in the most dismal, rotten of places. Of reaching out to the Anemo Archon to be saved... she'd give anything right now to smother it out of her brain, which is why she welcomes the sharp voice that cuts through her thoughts.

Her eyes flicker upwards as she clings to her spear. ]

...I was looking for one of you. [ Any of the former Meridian would suffice at this point. ] I'm not partial to anyone's desperate seduction through choir music...