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

[eyesite]

( then why did she not mention you?

it's a barb that he longs to hurl in set's face, regardless of what its outcome might be — a petty, childish, and ultimately human instinct to try to cause harm when suffering one's own pain or riding one's own fear. there is not a single thread of set's own conviction here that he feels he can accept. he does not believe in the ultimate goal that Meridian promises to its Harmonized because he feels it is far too broad and idealized, crafted sweet as honey to draw the largest number of flies — without insurmountable proof that what he claims is possible, that all worlds would be restored and that the Shard-Bearers would be offered choice into which one they wished to return, to him it's still a risk. because it had felt like it still was to her. he does not condescend to try to lecture set about the nature of war, so it's in anger he feels like he's being disregarded on his comprehension of the nature of fear — it can often be strongest when the object of that fear is still out there, its location and nature undescribed, because that apprehension of its potential and the dread of the unknown is one of the strongest living creatures can muster. he could personally shelter her as far away from it as possible, but the fear would be a cancer that would grow out of his reach, festering in the knowledge that all that she feared most still existed out there, in her own mind waiting to claim her. a comprehensive lexicon of fear himself, he knows there is no logic to it.

it is only in Zenith, in the complete assurance that all worlds that had existed before had fallen into Oblivion, never to return, that she would find absolution from the burden of that fear.

he shoves away the names, coldly furious at what he sees as incredible hypocrisy. as these latter days of the Oracle's ordeal have worn on, it has (perhaps predictably) been Meridian who have been hunting down and killing those that have Harmonized with Zenith, both those that had been as such initially but especially those that had converted. it seems not only a paltry defense but an irritating one that he would brandish names — names of people that john himself knows — as those that might do her harm in Zenith's name. if she found solace in Zenith, john knows they would protect her furiously; what a ridiculous hypothetical, when Meridian already have copious blood on their hands.

he wants to bring all of these arguments to bear to set. he, too, wishes he could crush him under the weight of them. but he increasingly knows that there's no point. there is no debating a god — by their very nature they write their existences, so how can he expect his heart to change on that which he feels ironclad?

he does have one thing to say, however, because it regards that very nature: ) You would tie her to you in a storm. ( his voice is oddly still; he frowns, dark eyes sharp. ) But you are a storm.

( perhaps not the same one. but one that she would have to continue weathering all the same.

one that he has, as well. and he's already so tired.

ultimately what pains john more than what he perceives as erroneous, unfounded assertions and hypocrisy is what set does last: he robs him of what he perceives as his own personal agency in this. in these caverns, he feels distant to the Eye — not completely separated, as he had been when he had first arrived in kenos, and not completely blind to it, as he had been in the tunnels beneath the Institute, but it gives him more clarity and more certainty in his — his, as jonathan sims the man, not the Archivist, not the avatar of the Eye — thoughts and his decisions. set would tear that all away. reduce him to all that he fears and worries that he might become: a monster that cannot be trusted, motivated and animated by nothing more than the nervous twitches of an entity it cannot entirely understand. that, even here, distant and adrift from it, he would have no personal power in this situation but to be carried by the demands of the Oracle in its absence.

even though its current is enormous, john does what he can to shut himself off to the pressure of Communion. he goes cold, distant, and remote; set sits back and reaches for his hand, but he yanks it away, glaring, and he says only one thing to him. )

Get off of me, Set.

( if there's anything more he has to say about the situation regarding rudbeckia de borgia, he will not do it like this. )

[redsoil]

[ If she resists, will it not be for naught?

This act of fervor will empty itself between them, and he will have attempted to tear Caren from her foundation fruitlessly. Even worse, for the war god to succeed — it will come around, after all things have been laid out by the Oracle and judged. After a victor has been crowned, if he has dragged her into the light and loses, he will be the most pathetic combatant — insecure, light-hungry and burning himself upon an altar of foreign hopes to make up for the fact that he, himself, is without hope. No matter what, victory or loss, he will regret what he does to her. He will regret what he has done to Childe, for it is against his desires to wrest others brutally from their convictions; not when he, in turn, feeds himself upon the strength of their passions.

This is definitely not the choice he would make, but like nature — thoughtless and brutal, he strives to make it. ]

Caren — [ He murmurs her own name to her, leaning down further to touch his nose to hers. To find her golden eyes with his own and hover in her space, to clasp her hair in one hand and reach down to her hands formerly clasped in prayer. To press a cursing kiss to the bridge of her nose, smiling and mournful and embittered to his own actions. ]

I do not know if I will recover from what I have done to Childe. I do not think I will recover from what I am going to do to you. I have to be resolute, in this — even as I, I think that I am begging myself not to do it. [ Contradictions within contradictions, all contained within his parameters. Set's personal yearning does not often clash with his divine path, but neither does he usually do something like this. There is brutalizing someone's body and heart upon the battlefield, via strength and tactic, and there is battering at their will until consuming it.

( He will never have what he yearns for, and so, he must fight for it. )

In response to her question, he sinks deeper into her own mind. Has he convinced himself? Naturally, in this moment he is nothing but a man convinced that the path he's on is the right one; Zenith is incapable of embodying the ideals of countless unique individuals. They cannot accommodate for every soul, and anything that seeks a singular world will seek to suppress and control those who do not fit a mold. But. If there is no mold, the world itself will rot and collapse under the weight of every dream, every desire, every free thing that he ( wants ) knows they will seek to attain — to Set, Meridian-bright, Zenith's dream is only another apocalypse in the making.

It is lovely. It is scintillating, but it will never hold a candle to the promise of Meridian. ]

You are going to let me do this to you, Caren. Because when you enter Meridian, you will know it for what it is — beauty, life and the eternal promise of something to ruin oneself on. Do you not want to aid me? When I come down from this... and I am once again the penitent, pathetic god you know me to be? Do you not want me?

[ Minegishi Gen could not want him enough, and left. He could not infiltrate Liem Talbott's heart and give him strength. He fed Melshi ( Cassian ) and his companion ( Jyn ) to Zenith because he could not be what they needed. So, for Caren — he feeds Meridian to her as something selfish and utterly pathetic. A broken, sham of a god who wants to hurt her deeply, and then lay in her lap afterwards and be forgiven. ]

[redsoil]

[ Set finds John intensely hypocritical, as well.

Only in Zenith's name, is she worthy of being protected. Only if Zenith holds her, will she be absolved of her fear. Only if Zenith. Only if Zenith. Well, Zenith is not the only choice that she can make — and to be so deluded in his righteousness, Set thinks of Jonathan Sims with the utmost contempt. The two of them are like oil and water. What Set knows as factual, Jonathan Sims in his mortality will see as fiction. What Jonathan Sims sees as the only path, is merely conjecture and cruelty, to a god once known for his freedoms. The liberties he had taken to visit other worlds, to learn of other peoples and comprehend their differences.

He is a storm. A god is not a human.

In the face of Jonathan Sims's cold, the cessation of the thrum between them and the withdrawal of his hand, he stands. Rising above him as a mountain might, hair falling around his face to obscure all but the vibrant red of his eyes. Narrowed, silent. If he must consign a handful of people with painful memories and dying worlds to their demises to restore all others to their lives, he will. Meridian does not pretend to be a kind path, it is as brutal and wicked as many presume Zenith to be; to him, in many ways, Zenith is the kinder path. It wipes all pain away and seeks to invite all to a better existence, and all can learn to love and accept it. But, he is a cruel and capricious thing — a god, not a human. And he will turn his face away from cries of agony, if he cannot find another way.

He really, really wants to find a different way. ]

As something inhuman, I lack the ability to forge the connection that you can. But, I am trying.

[ Within him is the potential to be humanized. While within John, is the ability to throw off his humanity. ]

I will yield that to you, Jonathan. And nothing else, ever again.

[bakedapple]

Lady Yima?

[ His smile dulls slightly, but considering their present circumstances, it's a very controlled reaction to finding out that the boy is a Zenite. The incongruity of this child just seems to get more and more glaring. ]

...I don't know where she is. If I had to guess, she disappeared, just like all the other people.

[ But he doesn't want to upset him. So he adds, even though he is not sure of this at all, ] When we find her or Cyrus, I'm sure one of them will be able to help us. Or... maybe the Oracle will help.

[ He eyes Lucien's roots and branches again. ]

You don't remember how you got like this?

[hauntedking]

A knife doesn't have thoughts and feelings and a choice.

[ Dimitri... isn't angry. Just sad and maybe a little betrayed and hurt. But then again, he couldn't have known and nothing he did here would change what has already happened to John's world. So perhaps he cannot condemn him. But it does grate against his own personal sense of justice. ]

What was the alternative? Your own life against a world? Against an eternity of suffering?

[ He wants to understand this. Somehow. ]

I won't claim that my hands are clean. But... why?

[epiprocta]

[ Gen freezes at that, gaze hardening. His grip loosens just a touch from around Voryn’s wrists. And though he doesn’t understand on a rational or conscious level why that question — did your world abandon you? — makes his blood run colder for a moment, his gut instinct answers for him instead. His answer is spat out, guttural and hoarse, before he can think to stop himself: ]

How can you be abandoned by something that never accepted you in the first place?

[ (Because he never had, not really. He’d pretended. But given what he is, he knows he never stood a chance — he would have always been something warped, barely tolerated.)

— that was far more vulnerability than he’d allow himself to show to a stranger, though, and his temper flares hot once he realized what he’s said. That grip around Voryn’s arms doubles down tighter, nails digging into his skin, and Gen surges closer. So close Voryn must be able to feel the way Gen’s chest swells with each breath. ]

And who said I wanted anything from your side, anyway? Support? Don’t make me laugh. [ His lip curls with scorn with that word, canine ears flicking when he cants his head. ] The only thing I want from you now is going to help you, too. Get that Zenith out if your system. Aren’t I generous.

[ Said at a humorless deadpan. Something about dealing with Voryn makes his stomach curl with unease; he wants this transaction over as quickly as possible. Because looking at the expression on Voryn’s face gives him the discomforting sensation that he’s more likely to be put on the back foot the longer this conversation goes. ]

So hand it over. Now.

[sterngaze]

I know that death is inevitable.

[Liem frowns, his voice quiet and a little frustrated. Death has been coming for the people and things that he loves for his entire life, and if this form gives him a second chance to live on despite his fate in his own world, he may well watch death continue to take what he loves for centuries more. Hasn’t he already become inured to that reality? It is not for unwillingness to accept the reality of death that he clings so desperately to the dream of returning his own world to life.]

People, gods, even entire existences must all die eventually. But does it have to be now?

My world was still young and vital — and from what I know, so were those of the other people here. They could have had long lives ahead of them.

[Maybe he is just being sentimental, but… is that so wrong? To fight for a world that he knows and loves, instead of one that doesn’t even exist yet?

(What if it is wrong? Shortsighted, selfish sentiment. What claim did his world, or any of theirs, hold to perfection, anyway? His wasn’t a flawless world; of course it wasn’t. Were they really so worth bringing back?)]

The gods that presided over my home could, and did, raise those who had died before their time. My own temple offered this service, to those who could afford it. You speak as if it is an impossibility, but it is not.

We are the arbiters of that power. Do you not feel the weight of choosing not to use it?

[fireballer]

Thank you for making the journey. I don't know how long I could have gone without relief.

[ah, straight to the point. this is what he's always liked about rosaria. no small talk, no pleasantries, just cutting to the chase. he certainly appreciates that quality about her, considering he, too, would rather not participate in such things. it was definitely one of the things he disliked most about being a noble and interacting with other nobles.

he shuts the door behind her, hoping appreciative vibes could be sense through the enhanced communion. normally he wouldn't enjoy having his thoughts and feelings on display, but with someone he trusts, it certainly cuts out any need to voice his thoughts.]

Indeed. I haven't participated in this... process, though. [he's just kinda suffered by himself for a bit. kaeya would be mad at him if he found out.] Have you?

[consolation]

[It is only because it will destroy him that she pushes against it at all. Of course, immolation, corruption can only be done with so much willingness. It cannot be fully chosen or leaned into, but it can be allowed. So for her to struggle is like the legs of a corpse kicking after the heart has stopped.

Because he is right: She is going to let him do this to her.

Set knew when he came to her what she was and how she receives the requests of others. That she will not resent him no matter what he does. She'll be able to receive this too, all the same.

This kiss is the ugliest player in all of this. Even as they struggle in this, it feels like a connection-breaking lie, something that shouldn't exist for them if it is genuine. Caren turns her head from it, almost petulantly, the only thing he doesn't mean. It sedates her nonetheless; no longer physically struggling, she lets her head hang. Limply, mostly kept aloft by her hair, she too has stopped kicking.]

No. [It's weaker than before.] You're a heathen god...a devil.

[Will it be like the veil of Zenith's darkness being lifted from her eyes, or will a piece of her have broken off, another piece that shouldn't have existed, so that she forgets some of what transpired? When he's finished, he won't delight in what he's done. She will not care either way.

It will destroy him, but he's asking not to stay the destruction, but to be rebuilt.]

If I come, you will be exorcised. Sooner or later. But you will not have to be alone. That is how I'll forgive you.

[consolation]

[She is less twisted by the plantlike transformations taking hold of some other bearers, but as she holds his hand in hers, the way the leaf-veins have begun picking into old hidden scars is more obvious - her skin has thin, fading texture of something that wants to fall from the branch.

This doubt is unraveling him. She would scrape some of it away from him if she could, before he completely eroded, and not blame him for feeling it. And when the time comes that this is actually possible, if he needs a boost from his doubt before his final relieving exchange with Hayame, Caren will still be here, to give him a little bit of her own Zenith in exchange for the doubt he doesn't want. She can handle it. Probably. It's fine.

Caren hasn't completely forgotten her own convictions to Zenith, even with her own doubts. She pities everywhere there who is lost and looking for an answer. Her role would be the same in Meridian or otherwise. That might be what sets them apart, him uncertain of his true home and her believing there may be no difference between them.]

You sound desperate. It was urgent? Then you had a good reason at the time. [A good reason can't be easily broken. If he accepted that they could no longer be saved, wasn't there an equally compelling reason why?] Something might have happened if you didn't make it back, maybe. Am I on the right track?

[eyesite]

( no, Zenith is not the only choice she can make, but it's the one she up until this point hasn't been able to. if this is what the narrative needs to be rewritten to in set's eyes (and hers, perhaps) — that he had overwhelmed and compelled her to accept it, though it had been his intention to do neither — then so be it. it is his opinion that she might able to find relief from the terrors that plagued her accepting it into her heart rather than Meridian, but his awareness of the fallibility of humanity means he knows there's no way to know for sure than to see it through. at this point there's no point in arguing about it further. their points are made, and unless set or any of the other Meridian were willing to confirm the poor girl's fears and kill for her supposed transgression, she would do just that: see it through.

the removal of set's weight from his chest elicits a gradual and unsettling ache; even setting apart the already-compromised structural integrity of his rib cage, he had scarcely had any time to try to recover from the dissipation he had already suffered at set's hands before they had been taken out of time to come to this place, to later be held captive within the warren of these tunnels to suffer the Iconoclast's trial. he grimaces in pain, his hand shaking for a moment before moving to rest tenderly over his sternum. his relative separation from the Eye might be a strange freedom in his mind, but it's not around to hold his body together — he hates feeling this fragile, and the fear that accompanies it.

after a long moment, he struggles up from the ground and into a sitting position with a faint sound of pained exertion that catches in the back of his throat; his back bent and shoulders bowed, he rests his elbows and the weight of his upper body on his knees, carefully ushering breath in and out of his lungs. perhaps petulantly, he refuses to look up at set, but he would just really rather not be forced to see himself once again in the situation which had, in their last encounter, ended in his own death.

it seems at first he might not say anything more to him at all, but then, )

Should she regret her choice and wish to return to Meridian, I will do all in my power to ensure that she returns to Springstar safely.

( it's not really much of a guarantee. he finds it annoyingly contradictory, that sometimes it feels as though set treats him as if he possesses some great strength or ability that he patently doesn't have — that he damn well knows he doesn't. all he can do is all that he can offer. )

You aren't the only one who would do anything for those you feel responsible for.

( as tight of a grip as he has over their shared Communion, a vague sense escapes him at this; a wounded sorrow, and something he had left behind in yima's manor, hoping it would be safer there than it would be here with him.

one day they would all be kept there for safekeeping, regardless of whether or not they would hate him for making that decision for them. )

[sterngaze]

[Before, in responding to John’s assertions, Liem had only grown more stubborn. The argument of whether their worlds could be brought back was one he actually wanted to have — because he believed fully in the possibility of that promise, and entertaining that question was one of the ways in which he continued to affirm his own belief in Meridian, despite the weight of Zenith bearing down on him. No matter what anyone said, he was certain that with power capable of birthing an entire new existence, those that came before could also be returned to life.

But the question the other man poses stops Liem in his tracks. His stubbornness shifts to uncertainty, and he regards John with a frown, caught off-guard.]

Why raise a question like that?

[He always knew, in the back of his mind, that in order to bring back the places he and the others in Meridian loved, they would need to bring back the places and things that were terrible and senseless and cruel as well. He knew that returning existence to the way it was would mean the suffering of countless souls — but that was just the way existence was. The fates of those people were not really his responsibility, one could argue.

But would he kill entire islands’ worth of people, of innocents, just to bring his world back? Really, realistically, just to bring his country back?]

The people of Kenos will be able to return to their worlds, just like we will. Or someone else’s world, if they prefer. No one has to die.

[eyesite]

( both his countenance and the aspect of the Communion around him changes, dark and stormy as black clouds on the horizon. )

I didn't have a choice.

( accompanying the words is a profoundly bizarre and unsettling sensation: that of being locked in place, unable to move but also unable to keep from moving. his mouth forming the words that had been written on a page, a ritual with the intention of using him as a key to allow the Dread Powers access to their world, but no matter how furiously he tried to regain control of himself, he kept reciting them — as if the man who had written them to ensnare him in this trap was puppetting him himself.

the moment he had opened that statement and begun to read it, just as he had hundreds of others before it, completely ignorant of the truth of what it held, he had been no more able to stop the end of his world than to stop his own heart from beating.

he gives a single, harsh laugh. ) If I could give my life to set everything back to rights for my own world, I'd do it without a second thought. But that has never been an option I've been given.

I was misled. I thought - ... We all believed that what we were doing was preventing the world from falling into exactly such a state. ( sasha and tim had already lost their lives in this pursuit; melanie had mutilated herself to escape the compulsion of the Institute. he had died, but it was only by his acceptance to become the Eye's avatar was he able to return from that. ) By the time I'd learned the truth and seen the larger picture, it was too late.

I hope you understand me, Dimitri. ( he really does. his heart aches with yearning for that acceptance — having shared with him his fears, john harbors a sense of empathy with the man that he would never be able to fully sever. ) I was used as the instrument of my world's destruction once, even if I did so unwillingly. To restore it to the way that it is, to the state I'd reduced it to... it would be like doing it again. Except I would be making that choice this time.

( he just doesn't have the confidence that he would be able to fix it. he doesn't think it's possible. perhaps if martin believed, he could at least believe in his belief, but alone... he's too weak for it. )

I'm sorry. I cannot make this decision for all of our worlds. But for mine, I do — because death is far kinder than what they would all face otherwise.

[appeale]

[ hearing his promise, Ruby's eyes close for a moment, a sharp pinprick of bitterness shared between them: At least he's honest. it's an assurance that she can believe only because the loophole it offers is so generous. he will offer a hand now, and when the time comes that he withdraws his support, they will graciously agree that he did all he could for her. there is no such thing as "unconditional." she accepts that reality – her body is one she has made accustomed to living on scraps – and whether she means for it or not, that acceptance welcomes Zenith with it. she never has been very good at fighting against the inevitable.

the fact of the matter is that she doesn't just lack the willpower to resist Zenith when it is creeping through her veins with such soothing calm — she equally lacks the willpower to return to Meridian. if she had truly taken a trade, she fears she would have recoiled from that blazing light regardless of her intentions, an instinctive urge to flee into the dark. it's why it has taken her this long to make the attempt at all, and why she isn't surprised that this is where she finds herself in the end. she can't blame Jonathan Sims for it; her fears are her own, even if he has pried them from her. the only thing he's done that she can object to is knowing her, seeing the miserable kernel that lies beneath all her lovely layers. ]

... I was never a very good Meridian. I can't pretend to believe, and since I'm not willing to fight for the cause, they've never much liked me. [ she doesn't sigh – the weight pressing down on her is too heavy to allow her breath to release – but something seems to give. ] I guess that in Zenith, at least, nobody will think I'm committing genocide by not trying hard enough.

[ Rudbeckia extends her hand to John as a lady would: downturned palm, dainty fingers extended. ]

[zauneyete]

[ It likely said a lot, that Silco had not considered offing Yima -- or that it wasn't his first choice. He was not one to simply accept leadership, but he had not been fully done wrong by Yima, and she had... certainly been upset, by the prospect that Jinx had left. She'd given him gifts, after all, and asked him to make monsters. He doesn't share this with Set, it is not the secrets he keeps that he fears being unleashed.

He does not fret about Set knowing that, if he finds it. It is his, and he does not spread it, but it is not a secret that he closely guards, like his daughter.

Set is true, that he could never love his son like he does his daughter -- Silco does not like anyone like he does his daughter. There is something to be said, for finding your child in the moments after [[something]] betrayed in the aftermath. Something about finding someone just as hurt as you, and taking them in, even though Silco had never thought of himself as the type to be a parent. Unlike Set, he was not married, he had never really -- well. Being betrayed by someone who had been like your brother certainly axes any ability to trust in the future, and Silco had revenge to plot, besides, it had never been a concern.

But... ] I am not asking you to... give up your own goals. Any more than you would ask me to give up mine, or favor your child over mine.

[ No, not that. As much as he knew they would oppose each other, in the end, as much as he knew that they would be foes, when the end came, only one would be the victor. He knew this, and he wanted it to be Zenith. He would do everything in his power to make it so. ]

I am asking, that in the event of... [ The unthinkable. Meridian's victory -- perhaps even Zenith's, if Set faltered, or if Yima found it in her heart to bring the Meridian to this new world as well. He had spent little time thinking about this perfect world they all so desired... ]

A result, in which you live, and I do not. If it is possible...

[ He does not ask Set to raise her. She is free, independent and strong. She is wild and untamed, his daughter. She would likely kill him on the spot for asking this, or at least threaten, and then cease talking to him for weeks on end, until Silco made it up to her. ]

Well. I would ask that you give thought to her, in the case that forces greater than I, or her, could weather. We would need your consideration.

[ His fingers twitch, uncontrolled.

He does not want to think of a Meridian victory, even as a part of him that he loathes -- that this sap wants him to consider -- sings with agreement. He wishes for a Zenith victory, and he has done everything in his capability to amass power, to ensure that when his daughter is unleashed on this new world, she will have a playground to make of it.

But there are no guarantees. Silco needs to strike deals, to ensure the foundation. Set is one among many, he considers, but an important one. ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco has no idea what he says, in the end. Runeterra has its own languages, of course, but he had not been trained in any of them, if they even had similarities to Makoto's native tongue. (And Silco is not well travelled enough to stab at a guess.) Though, he can certainly guess that it is something amusing to the boy, because he says it like it's a small joke, or perhaps something subtle, filled with meaning.

He only blinked his single eye, instead of asking about it. He is not incurious, but Silco is also loathe to admit any weaknesses, whether they be his daughter, or they be his ignorance about certain things. Silco was smart, but he was also a trencher, with little education beyond the basics (if that) and he'd spent a great deal of time filling in the gaps, putting things in place, learning to do things like cook books, manipulate, and learn to get what he wanted, with words, a few threats, and swaying enough powerful and strong people to his side. How to get what he wanted, without physical power.

Silco had learned, not at the feat of a duke of hell, but by merit of desperation, and that is what constantly motivates him in this world Desperation to see it done with, destroy it, revenge on the last lingering worlds for the insult that Zaun was gone and they were not. For the fact that nobody here could hold a candle to his daughter. He was angry, and hateful, vengeful.

It is that which motivates him, as he took Makoto's hand, and started to offer the power that Zenith promised, the darkness and shadow. It is that which he offered to Makoto's hand, their skin to skin contact detestable, but necessary, as it was the only way to offer this corruption to someone, and Silco would accept this as necessary.

Lucky Makoto, perhaps?

The force of it is not gentle, as it would be for those who believe in that perfect world Yima promises. Silco's belief in Zenith is violent, like dunking someone under the water for absolution, like being drug under, and into the undertow. Baptized in cold waters that drug one under.

There would be no gentle welcoming for Makoto, but instead a torrent of the force, like promising violence and retribution; instead of welcoming. ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco took his time, to peek in once the door opened, and he does not press forward until Set or Sebastian have made their way to enter either. Call him weak, or paranoid, but he's used to being flanked by muscle, and the first rule of having muscle is: let them go first, and follow after. Next to Set and Sebastian, Silco is painfully mortal, too. Easily eradicated and eliminated.

His mortality is something he is trying not to be too cavalier with, despite all the murder he's dealt out, and the fact that he's died himself.

Not something he wishes to repeat, either. Though, the deeper they go, the more he's surprised by how few clues there are to what happens here. On the main floor, there's plenty of tubes and signs of grand ingenuity. It somewhat reminds him of his shimmer factories, actually, though the large tube in the center, covered with residue certainly caught his eye. He looked from it, to the office up above.

Though with how deserted the main area is -- not even degrading tools? -- he would be shocked if there's anything there. Though he intends to sack it regardless. Though the tube... ]

Where do you think that goes to? [ He asks, already guessing. It goes down, not up. ]

[hauntedking]

[ There's a bit of a wince from Dimitri. He... shouldn't jump to conclusions, should he? He has his own darkness. But of course, he also feels intensely guilty about everything he did, even if he felt he had no choice or was steered into it by circumstance. Maybe he can give a little more grace to someone who isn't him, though. He has a tendency to judge himself the harshest of all. ]

...I apologize.

[ He drops his head for a long moment. ]

...that was unfair of me. I should not have made a conclusion. I... don't know what happened to you. Or what led you down the path that you took. You... you know a little of my own, after all. [ His fingers flex, curl into a fist before he relaxes again. He understands that perhaps John wants to consign his own world to oblivion. That it might be a kindness to the people John loves and remembers.

It's not something he can do, though. ]

We have to stand on opposite sides, then. [ His shoulders straighten. As tired as he is, he understands that. He has some of his old fire back. ]

I wish there was a better way. For all of us.

sorry it got so long...

[affal]

( makoto's memories of horos are not gone. he is not suddenly reverted back to the individual he had been when he had first appeared there in the shrine of the firebrand, who had been taken with all of the others to the throne room where they had undergone the same painful ritual which had resulted in either their attunement to pleroma or kenoma. in order to permit his body and soul to continue forward in kenos, these recollected experiences had instead layered over with a sort of haphazard emotional patina — there are certain places where his memories are relatively clear, but in others they are so thickly covered in the mental equivalent of scar tissue that it's near-impossible to tell what is beneath. gen is scattered throughout these; he features in many memories that would likely never return to him, as they would threaten to compromise his emotional integrity too greatly. but others... they are closer to him. and with each passing moment of physical and mental turmoil that gen puts him through, they are made closer and closer — these each individual attacks chipping away at the protective layer he had plastered over them, each progressively making the overall picture more and more clear.

ironically, it is the physical pain that reconnects these neural pathways far more swiftly or accurately than any positive encouragement (or merely the passage of time) might have. call this a learned instinctual behavior having been adapted relatively quickly in Hell, where the quickest way to learn any lesson had been to convince the mind it would allow it to avoid pain in the future.

so even if he had the wherewithal, could he even argue with gen? as much as he would argue that the circuitous speech of silver-tongued demons at court was his primary method of approaching any situation, he couldn't deny that the brutal language of violence that gen leverages against him now is one that cuts to his quick, bypassing all else to strike through to the heart of him.

it's hard to focus on gen's verbal taunts with how much of his attention is dedicated to preventing himself from buckling mentally under the pressure of the Zenith energy that gen direct his way now — this having been said, his sudden release and the violent kick at his knee split this neatly, compromising both. he gasps out a sharp cry of anguish, and the knee gives way almost immediately; linear progression of events breaks down in the confusion directly following after, but as he regains cognizance he's on the ground — his chest burns and aches with an impact he hadn't even been completely aware he received, and he instinctually curls inwards on it and rolls over onto his side, taking the second blow as a sideswipe to his back. there's nothing he can do — he knows now that he's been in this position in every iteration his life has taken, and on the one directly prior to this one, when they had both been on horos, it had been gen himself who had perpetrated it. then, as now, he knew there is nothing to do but weather it to its end — to try to become uninteresting in the hopes he would lose interest in his cruelty.

unlikely.

by the time gen kneels down next to him, he doesn't have the energy to resist being taken by the collar again; his hands lift to grasp weakly at gen's arms, but it's all he can manage. rough, callous fingers tangle into his hair, and the needle-sharp pain having his head wrenched back is so familiar — so much so that it not only elicits the physical pain that burns in his scalp and aches in the crane of his neck and threatens to tear in the stitching around his neck, but it also causes a psychic twinge to reverberate throughout his very shard. it ripples through the rest of his body as a violent, nonverbal shudder. a piece of him he had tried to bury has returned to him, and the shock of that moment was all the energies of Zenith needed to fully permeate into the damaged recesses of his shard, chasing what little of the Meridian remained within.

the eye contact that gen had forced previously had been unfocused, bleary through a thin sheen of tears, but after this — after causing them to violently roll back into his head before falling closed as a wave of sudden internal peace rushes through him at the forced acceptance of Zenith — they open again to see him. truly see him. now there is a glint of recognition, of knowing, where there hadn't been previously; he is exhausted, restrained, and playing host to excruciating pain that takes up familiar roost within his body, and despite all of this he smiles at his tormenter. )

Minegishi-kun, ( his voice sounds like it's gone through a few too many cycles in the washing machine, but still it purrs with the type of familiarity that only marrow-deep hatred can engender. shared empathy of Communion even more profound than what they had been equipped with previously settles over them like a layer of newly-fallen snow; he accepts it because he can sense it comes from gen as well, vicious and disgusted. that... it's comforting. it's something he can grasp, something he can understand. his right hand raises unsteadily to the side of his face, drawing a slow path down the column of his neck toward his collarbone. he manages a few pained laughs, even if the effort makes his whole chest burn; new tears prick in the corners of his eyes at it. ) If you wanted me by your side in Zenith, just as we were before... you could have just said so.

( he laughs again, the sound oddly wet in his lungs. )

vee dont look at my edits im so sorry

[redsoil]

I would expect nothing less from one of the only people [ other than set, who continues to enhance his utility so as to keep the eye of both leaders, ] who actually utilizes himself as a piece upon the field, instead of blindly allowing others to use you for themselves.

[ The tone is scathing, but that sentiment is aimed beyond the two of them. It seeks others, who simply sign on to a faction hinging upon their hopes and desires, rather than practicality or how useful the faction would be. What he looks at this young creature and sees is someone deeply pragmatic, and despite Set's cavorting and carousing, the chaos he embodies is only one aspect of his person — he may not be insightful, nor able to read an individual well, but he is not an idiot. And he is deeply, undeniably pragmatic. ]

And I understand your apprehension, in potentially accepting anything from me.

[ More than Makoto knows, actually. And in a way Set actually will not give away. Not for free, perhaps not even for all the power in the world. ( Fuck you, Osiris. ) The advice that comes from Makoto is received twofold; the brief burn of his tempestuous personality, at being given something that feels patronizing — and more strongly, the acceptance of it. The acquiescence to someone who clearly is experienced in the matter, and whom he knows he would be remiss to refuse the wisdom of. Set is always, always more likely to heed non-humans ( former humans, even ). ]

That is correct. The Lady offers Shards. An individual, a place, a power and this is alluring to many who enjoy instant gratification.

[ The words are sharp, but he is not speaking unkindly of these things. In fact, he is as deeply invested in that 'immediate gratification' as he is in prolonged satisfaction; the two are not mutually exclusive to him, after all! ] Meridian offers an item that tethers one's world to their soul, and many other things. They are known by all to be knowledgeable of time and space, and I find them far more wicked than popular opinion would suggest. Zenith is full of good hearts, seeking better things for themselves and their loved ones in the wake of their perceived losses. Meridian is for the bitter and the bastards, who will fuck over everyone else to get what's already theirs.

[ just as makoto aims for j, his destined sun, meridian aims for their territory, their people. selfish and mean, he finds meridians. ]

[intervener]

[ Vash's shoulders hunch a bit further as he's tugged along like a dog on a leash, trotting to keep up with her as if this is Something He's Used To Doing. convenient! ]

Cyrus? [ hm... he looks like the gears are turning over this one, and then he leans further still, dropping his voice for discretion - as if there's any discretion in this would-be sardine can filled with people. ]

Listen, I think you have the wrong idea here-- I mean, I don't know if Cyrus is into that, but I'm not the kinda guy who casually jumps into... you know, you know? You're real pretty and all, but still... you really think this is the right time for that? C'mon...

[zauneyete]

Admirable of you. We must all consider what is best for the group, yes, and not what our individual wishes are.

[ A half-laugh. ] Personally, I would prefer to torture the creature and then slay it personally for the slight of stealing this oracle from us, but...

We can't always get what we want, I suppose.

Merely eliminating this Thing before it is too late is a mercy it does not deserve, but... [ A shrug. ] It is better than the alternative.

[intervener]

[ Zhongli agrees, and maybe it was a done deal before Vash even went and asked. whether it's something in the steady, low-burning pulse of some uneasy, heartbreaking sense of sorrow that lingers between them in their shared Communion or the ambiance of the cavern...

...it doesn't matter. Vash doesn't like it. no matter how much of that pain and grief is coming from this man, it's too much. more than he deserves, Vash is willing to wager.

his own smile is soft, and though there is a real tendril of fondness that unfurls between them, that softness doesn't touch his eyes. there is a look of... apology, instead. ]

You love your home and the people in it.

[ it's not a question. it's a statement, one that's good as fact - one Vash doesn't need to be affirmed. he knows it's true. ]

You don't really believe it's all gone, do you?

[ the trade is a simple one, even if the terms aren't necessarily spoken aloud as much as inferred: Vash will give Zhongli what he's looking for. (he probably would, even without being given the answer to the question he's asking.)

but... he really wants to know. he wants to know why someone like Zhongli is giving up the Meridian in favor of the Zenith. it's important. ]

[intervener]

No, you know I'm not.

[ gosh?? he was just commenting on her weird nose, so clearly his vision is just fine smh,

okay, okay. Vash folds his arms tighter over his chest, leaning back against the winding, dead roots behind them. ]

We aren't enemies, and there's a way for all of us to end up where we want to be without violence. Even if things were different, that doesn't mean we can't be friends.

[oomfies]

[ In a way, Lottie wishes she was underhanded. A schemer, of sorts. But no, there's nothing particularly nefarious about the way she's put herself within Akua's bubble. Maybe that alternative would be easier to deal with than this one, the one she wants, the one that's always particularly rough: talking out feelings. Because she has so many that it's overwhelming, grips her chest particularly hard when she's existing, grips her even harder at her question. ]

On my own? Uh, yeah. [ She says after a beat, something like mirth trying to dance its way into her voice (it doesn't work). ] But right now? Yup.. Yes.

[ There's a pause, where she opens her lips then closes them. She can't help but think of all the other times they've met, how normal and safe they are in comparison to this. The both of them looking and feeling particularly haggard, trapped in some stupid event that always happens to them. ]

It feels like I'm constantly overthinking things but, way worse than usual. You know?