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

[warmare]

[It will take her time to process his story. Even though she had listened, she isn't anywhere able to truly hear it- not now. She doesn't feel like she's been able to breathe, let alone think, and he wants her to believe him? Those stupid, foolish romantic lines-

All his heart? It's the sort of thing you hear in lute ballads, not real life, and even if they did... They wouldn't be to her. They shouldn't be, and yet despite everything she's tried to tell him, every reason she's tried to give him-

As if she's been holding hot iron and only just not realized it was burning her hand, she releases her hold on him and jerks away, her knees unlocking to let her legs tremble and prance, her tail whipping anxiously behind her and stinging against her dun rump.]

You just do not wish to die alone-

[He thinks this might be the end, and who can... who can believe the words of a man who thinks he is about to face his end? Hayame's throat and mouth feel so dry that she flicks her tongue over her bottom lip to try and get the words out, her one eye dilated with something that looked a bit too much like fear for her to be able to accuse someone else of that emotion.]

Once we get out of here... you will regret all that you have said to me.

[She's sure. She has to be sure.]

If you are lucky, I will let you retract it all once we are victorious-

[They have to be victorious. Or else.]

[redsoil]

[ Reciprocity is,

a nightmare, to him. It is an offering that cannot last, for he is so vastly different than the others in Kenos — not in form, but in mind. He does not feel he is misunderstood, but incapable of being understood by others who will think of him as a friend to them, only to be deeply disappointed when he does something that impacts them in a negative or frustrating way. Because he does, because he will. Byleth wants to be his friend, and Set wonders — even though Byleth is the descendent of a god, how much of him will be able to fathom the way that Set looks upon the world, and the incongruity of his manner and approach to the war in Kenos.

Friends are — strange, elusive things. Foreign things, that even he struggles to understand; what use would a friend be to him? what are his responsibilities to a friend? His hands jerk away, soft, but sudden, from where he clutches at Byleth's shoulders; Set rubs his fingers along the inside of his wrist, idle and telling of his internal struggle. ( Even he struggles, of course he does. )

They don't exist for me. But you do, and I like you. ]

You remind me of my nephew. [ He murmurs the words, faintly. ] Devoid of self-preservation and sense.

[ It's not a refusal, though. How can he evade such blinding sincerity? ]

I will not be a very good friend. If you still want me, though... you can have me.

[fishfearme]

[Set looked almost resigned, as if Byleth's sincerity had been a battering ram against his very will. He's a fragile person, isn't he, Byleth couldn't help but think. For a god, he felt very much like a thin pane of glass, easily snapped if one exerted enough pressure in the right spot - vastly different to Sothis, who was as impregnable as several hundred metres of bedrock. Nothing short of a meteor strike would crack her.

It proved that beneath the veneer of divinity, gods were just people: messy, complicated, and very raw. He made a mental note that if Sothis ever awakened in this world, he should remain as a buffer between them. Sothis would eat Set alive.]

Then we're friends. [Said so matter-of-fact, and with a very small yet very genuine smile.] I'll not rate you as good or bad - a friend is a friend in my eyes. After all, Shez and I managed to have an amicable relationship despite trying to kill each other throughout the years. We haven't tried to kill each other yet, so already we've started on the right foot.

[Said. So. Earnestly. Set. This is the bar he has for 'friendship'. It's practically subterranean.]

[redsoil]

[ The injuries he sustains now will be worsened, in time. Another round of combat awaits him, and the illness he will accrue from acting in antithesis to his desire — but, for now, he holds his aches and pains at bay and marches to her with his head held high. To flinch and act an invalid before her would be the greatest of insults, both to his pride as a man and god, as well as a show of how undeserving he is of her prayers. To her, he can be nothing less than something unstoppable, something indomitable.

In the cradle of her legs, he sits. His skin warm, but the energy within him dark. Zenith wars strongly for purchase, seeking to find the point within him that will draw him in — against her, Meridian's light takes courage, and continues to resist with its kitten teeth and claws. While naturally a warm body, it is obvious in the purposeful drape of his limb and loll of his head into her hands, that she is warmer still. Below her hands, his hair is heavy and dense; a sheet of red, pure red, root to ragged ends, but along the left of his head, away from the torn patch he had clawed apart, her fingers will find the weight of his sunbeam.

It is woven into a lock of hair by string and metal charm, warm and kept close to the same ear he had sacrificed to her and the Dryad. Easy to hide behind the curtain of his hair, easy to tuck behind his ear to keep it from swinging wildly while he is in motion. It is that streak, the one bound irrevocably to the idea of his world, that is black as night. The proof of the hold that she has on him, manifest as the red in her own hair. Small acts of fealty and promise, made true by the magic of the world.

He leans back into her, lifting his chin in order to find her face, her expression. Battered hands rise, stretching the line of him into a sinuous strip of trembling, pain-ripe skin. He takes her face into his palms, fingers light along the edge of her jaw. ]

Yes, [ he smiles, despite the split in his lip. ] That you frustrate and dazzle me are not mutually exclusive, nothing about you is something I would desire at the expense of the rest of you.

[redsoil]

[ Like an overripe fruit, Set seizes at that stray thought. ( A goodbye that would never be said. ) Even though it splits in his grasp, it is a thing he tucks away into the depths of his mind — among the other stray thoughts, throw-away comments, glancing blows and rapidly-hidden expressions he watches for. It goes to the place where Set hoards things, his own conquests and spoils, and sometimes sifts his fingers through to feel something, anything. The prerogative of a god, unfathomable and otherworldly in his own psychology.

If Zenith's hopes make a world that is beyond chaotic, he thinks he could enjoy it. Less so than his own enjoyment, he thinks — with Anubis, with Horus, he could find something to accept about it. Yet, the allure of hundreds, thousands, millions of worlds that glisten and gleam upon his mother's body, her starlit skin full of the distant dead ( souls, and were those souls, perhaps, not worlds? ) — and the idea that Zenith's world could be sterilized by their leader, whom loves without pity or passion, and made clean, pristine... useless? That is anathema to him.

With him, they could do it. Without him, he knows they are delusional. Only one of their visions will win out, he thinks. ]

I would still be where I stand, if I were in your place.

[ Because Osiris, with his peerless stance and dark eyes, would take Yima's hand. And briefly, in Silco's mind — those fathomless, pitiless eyes look upon him with true apathy. With the eyes of someone who would ignore Silco's clawing, Silco's wrath, and find nothing in it at all. The same eyes that would look upon Set, softened and creased at the corners. Warm. ( Hungry. Possessive. ) His own 'Vander' does not want him dead. He just wants him, however possible. And Yima would give him that.

He dips into Communion, pushing his hand deeper into Silco's grasp. Seizing him up, reaching for the Meridian within him — demanding it, commanding it to come to him. Silco does not want it, nor need it. Thus, it belongs to Set. Meridian must come to heel, and leave this man. ]

I really do like you. [ He says. Without fanfare, without guile. Because Silco is right, and his thoughts have always been Set's own — they will become monsters, glutted upon power and they will gladly watch the horror in their own faction's eyes as they continue on their paths. Their paths, though... require, that Set forever remain where he is. Silco, for all he stands firm with Zenith, could do the same with Meridian; like a whisper, like cool shadow cast by the brightest ray, Set assures him of that, not to ask him for hope, but to tuck it into a pocket. A dark favor. A bitter candy. A ravenous opportunity.

His gaze, settled upon the join of their hands, flicks up. Heedless and burning direct, as he slides his other hand — his free one — across the space between them, to press his fingers, his palm, the whole of his burning touch, to the scar on Silco's face. ]

As partners, then.

[sterngaze]

[Liem listens with patient curiosity as Misa explains a little more about the place she came from and her own dreams for what a new world would look like. It's been a long time already since the last time he heard her speak of such things, and he doesn't remember much of what she'd said on the last occasion, back in Horos.]

And what happened?

[The way she speaks about this person who tried to change the world, it sounds as if they weren't successful after all. Of course, she could just mean that her world was erased before that person could gain much ground — but then, from the very first time he met her, Misa had always been set on making a new world to replace the old one. Why would she be so dead-set on leaving hers behind if it was finally becoming a safer, more just place to be?]

You're right, of course. A strong system of justice, one that people can rely on, is important. It's easy to become disillusioned and turn to crime when the system that should be enforcing fairness and stability doesn't actually protect those who need it.

[leicesters]

[Even when she looks afraid, she's beautiful, and he's torn between that and a more reasonable part of him that wonders if she has a point, if stress and exhaustion haven't scrambled his mind to the point he isn't thinking clearly. He wouldn't be nearly this forthright under normal circumstances. Maybe he'd keep his feelings, his past, his secrets, to himself for as long as he could.

But circumstances being what they are, he's run out of road... and she looks like she could flee at any moment.]

I won't regret any of this. [He says, but despite that, he looks defeated. Maybe the only thing he'll regret, really, is not getting through to her in time.] But if we do survive this, I'll tell you everything all over again. You can even have my shard, since you're so fond of holding it.

[A last, meagre attempt at a joke. Maybe she'll be too annoyed to notice the edge of desperation in his voice.]

[sterngaze]

[When John's words hit Liem, the weight of them almost makes him flinch. If they didn't let go, they would end up destroying it themselves. Surely that isn't what he's been doing — what they've all been doing, in trying to bring back the worlds they've left behind. Even if their hope is futile after all, they can hardly destroy what has already been turned to dust.]

To what end?

[Finally, he lifts his gaze back to the other man's — almost hesitantly, as though he's hoping he won't still be there when he looks again.]

Why would you [— why would Liem —] give up on even the slimmest chance of returning to what was yours, just to leave it all behind? The things you've built. The people who depended on you. The causes you bled for.

[How is he supposed to leave all of that behind, just cut his losses and say but maybe it can't be done? For a hundred years he has lived and breathed solely for other people, other purposes. He has staked his entire life on the promise that if he was dutiful, if he fulfilled his tasks well and stayed true to his faith, he would be able to die knowing that he had improved the world by living in it, and he could go peacefully to whatever reward awaited him. How, then, is he meant to live on in a world where none of that mattered? Where he is simply Liem the vampire's son, a redundant, unworthy remnant of a world better off erased from existence.

If that is the truth, then perhaps he would rather simply die after all.]

[hauntedking]

[ This hurts; every part of it. The words they exchange, the reality they're in, the discord that's been humming in his veins for the last month or so. It's all pain. It's all discomfort. But he's willing to endure for as long as he needs to. To see this through to the end, because the alternative is to give up, to let everyone and everything he loves fade and wither and turn to nothing. ]

There are too many people depending on me... too many lives in the balance... for me to do anything but give it my all.

[ He swallows. Hard. ]

if our ideals, our goals, must clash... I won't hesitate, in the end. I won't turn away from what I need to do.

[ He's going to regret a lot of this later. Especially after he loses himself to his madness for a time. ]

I never wanted war again.

[intervener]

Maybe.

[ he won't - can't - deny that his ideals have put him in a position of hardship again and again. not everyone is a good person. not everyone who makes themselves your enemy is capable of also being a friend.

but he also knows some do. some are. ]

It isn't all or nothing. There's a middle ground, and you can choose it.

[ but she already knew that, didn't she. ]

[youngprodigy]

My father.

[Though he can't save the man he loves, it's obvious he doesn't regret his choice.]

We had a... complicated relationship, largely due to things I learned far too late were beyond his control. Things that, were he in his right mind, he'd never have done. I want to tell him I forgive him.

[zauneyete]

It's quite possible. After all, we do not know how much of this was constructed by the creature from the beginning. He may have constructed the game to make us scramble, and use our power and sand to try and achieve a purpose to his own end.

When we didn't play along, he may have grown agitated.

Let us how the next oracle is not... quite so roundabout, hm? Perhaps with fewer tiny furry creatures, as well.

[ That, at least, is said with some disgust. Mr. Tibbs is Heimerdinger coded, to Silco ]

[epiprocta]

[ He wouldn't mind a certain level of delicate and a certain level of cold under normal circumstances. (Even if Caren veers a bit too close to 'cute' end on the cute-cool spectrum to be his type.) But here and now, he yearns for the sort of solid presence that he can clutch in his hands without worry of it shattering.

Not that he's being particularly careful with her. His grip at her wrist remains insistent. And even as he listens to her calm rebuke, Gen only fixes a dead-eyed stare on her for a long moment before offering a response at a hoarse, sarcastic deadpan: ]

Woof.

[ In other words -- she can call him a dog all she wants. It would annoy him were they elsewhere, but he really can't bring himself to give a shit about it right now. All that matters is that she settles down beside him in easy grabbing range, and thus provides an easy target for him to wrap his arms around and pull close. There's no hesitation in the way he buries his face against her shoulder, but it's an oddly chaste and almost childlike gesture -- there's nothing lascivious in the way he simply clings to her as an anchor to reality. ]

... what's the point in talking all fancy like that right now. [ His words are mumbled right against her skin, muzzy and low. ] We're both feeling like shit. Just talk like a normal person.

[zauneyete]

Oh of course.

[ he says, not meaning the words at all, but Set would expect that. ] I've never seen anything like it in Kowloon thus far.

[ He answers, more honestly. Though Silco would suspect, that given where it goes to, and where it leads... That it is likely a point of contact between the church and something deep below. If he had to wager a guess, it would be... well. An associate that Silco has not told Set that he has a connection to, or why he'd wanted information on Meridian's movements toward. He tipped his head, and looked at the tube again.]

I would suspect chemical runoff, or bodies. Both are unpleasant to run underground. [ He says, having experience in this particular avenue.

Though Silco is looking toward the Foreman's office now, since... it's him, and that is where he would be spending his time, if he were here during business hours. He starts to make his way there, albeit slow. He isn't going to be rushing on ahead without them, but he makes his intention known, though its' slow enough for the two of them to fully investigate the tube. ]

[gravings]

[ Again his wording is slippery. It's clear he refuses to budge on this — and why should he? He holds the answer and gains nothing by giving it up. There's nothing more she can do at the moment, at least nothing she can see, and that frustration sits on her like a weight.

Her eyebrows burrow when he tries to play the victim. ]

If you were willing to kill me, then it follows you'd be willing to take my things too.

[ She almost wonders why he didn't take her Shard, but she can see him thinking of it as more worthless than a strange little cube. ]

Do you think of yourself as a good person?

[zauneyete]

Is there dignity to any death?

[ Silco asked, his tone not sharp, but... ]

Senseless is what death is. One simply passes, their body rots, and there is nothing left. No life, no mark, no legacy. What point is there to preserving a world when it is simply as heartless as any other, entirely mundane world across the universe? They're all just as harsh, unremarkable, and if they were not... Do you not think they would have been able to stand to the forces of such destruction?

[ Silco cannot help, but think that every other world is unremarkable. How could he not? If they weren't, if there were worlds where there wasn't such suffering, if there were worlds where he did not have to scrape, suffer, and be wronged for the sake of where he was born... Would it not be unfair?

Wouldn't it be heinous, that an unfeeling, cruel universe would simply exist, and allow this to happen? Yes, it made him strong, it was required, but all these other worlds... they were not the perfect environment for it -- all the other worlds were like the rest of his world. Smelling their own refuse and denying the stench.

He would not stand for it.

Silco was, in short, a Zealot for the worst reason of all. Pettiness. ]

[beleos]

Here is the blurb for when they reach Yima's quarters:

Strangely, the large, gold filigree doors aged by time are not difficult to open. They are unlocked as if offering you welcome; the room is dark, illuminated only by the light of the dying sun cast from the windows in the corridor beyond. You realize Yima's chambers have no natural light; they are windowless.

As you cautiously step in, a stillness hangs in the air. The room - long abandoned and forgotten by centuries - reveals a scene of eerie hollowness. The walls once adorned with elegance are now engulfed by the gnarled and twisted roots of the Tree. They snake their way across the surfaces like bony fingers, their grip unyielding, as if compelled to stretch before the life had been drained from them and left them to decay. The lack of furniture or personal belongings intensifies your sense of growing unease.

As your gaze drifts upward, the narrow, domed ceiling commands your attention. It arches longways, stretching like a vast, darkened corridor. Its deceptive design plays tricks on the eyes, creating an illusion of an endless expanse of night sky above you. The stars twinkle and shift, moving in tandem with your every step as though you are journeying through a cosmic plane. It is surreal and beautiful. It's almost hypnotic for its realism.

It makes the hair at the nape of your neck stand on end.

If the group deigns to step inside without a vigilant companion keeping the door ajar, it will shut with strength, casting you within perfect darkness. The twinkle of the stars in the ceiling above - and any other sources of light you may have conjured - die inside it. In the silence, you hear something moving, the swish of silken fabrics, the soft clink of jewelry; a particularly astute observer will hear the addition of another breathing in the blackness.

Your nerves tingle. You are frozen. Everything is very, very still.

John and Childe will feel a gentle hand rest on their chests, pressing above their hearts in a gesture that is almost affectionate before it withdraws.

Claude and Dimitri will feel a sensation that defies description: it is the act of being Known, of having someone look at the direct contents of your soul as if being measured. The scrutiny is intense, probing, and methodical. It lasts but a moment.

The door re-opens, casting the light of a dying sun in from the corridor. The room is empty. The night sky is gone from above, leaving only the chipped, fading black paint behind.

[warmare]

[What is that like? Not regretting weakness such as the one he had bared to her just now? Hayame cannot even begin to imagine it, and yet... Something about the defeated look on his face then makes her chest ache. It must just be the burn of shame she should feel to be the recipient of such a desperate confession, it must have nothing to do with him-

She should have nothing to do with such a man, (a human, a liar), what is she doing-

Her fingers spasm closed around nothing, into the same shape her hands had taken when they'd clutched his shard. If she had it when he'd said what he did, she would... she would know- But she shouldn't want to know. And even if he was telling the truth and he felt those things... What should it matter to her? She is a warrior, nothing else, and warriors- Her hooves shuffle anxiously in the dirt and roots, she backs away one, two, three steps from him. He won't regret it?]

You will-

[Her brother had tried to support her, and now he would be tainted as kin to a traitor. Matsukaze had tried to reach out to her, and she had brought ruin to that village and possible death and enslavement to his family. Everyone she let close-

Hayame hurriedly wipes the last tears from her face and turns to flee, hoofbeats echoing through the tunnel until they disappear into the dark.]

[wolof]

[ Her fingers continue to stroke against his shard, idle and open, accepting of the edges and planes, accepting of the parts that are sharp, considered dangerous and undesirable. Those things that make them as Meridian to be other, but she does not touch it with hesitation, but instead she touches his shard like it is precious, hesitant only because she does not wish to snap the pieces of it it. She does not fear cutting her hand.

Her shard, in contrast, is heart shaped, and smooth garnet, a veneer that belies the deep, darkness at the heart of it, spiraling outward and into bright red planes and shifting patterns within. She is dangerous, but she is hidden. Where Set is bold, and outright in his villainy, Akua is seen as soft, almost kind. She has worked hard, to deceive those who need deceiving, or allies that may turn them away otherwise. She is the soft guide, the advisor to Set's godhood, a woman who would trick or sneak to find their goals.

She does not need to be hated -- but she would be, and has no issue with it -- but she will do what she can to support him, her fingers allude to, when she touches his shard. ]

I am unsurprised that they are involved in something even more than that. That they indulge in the first is unsurprising in the first, but...

Do we know what they are involved in? What could they be getting from such a... device?

[wolof]

It is difficult.

[ She says, and her tone is frank. ] We are all... varying degrees of haunted. Either by our pasts, or by what we left behind -- or what we choose to, if you chose Zenith.

[ Akua is unique in that she is... Harmonized, and if she had to choose, she knows whom she would go for, but she does not feel the...pull. The drive, to further deepen her relationship to Meridian. She knows what a high price zealotry will tax from them all -- she's seen it time and time again -- when Heroes looked to Villains like Catherine and called her the Arch-heretic of the East all the while she tried to wrest control and peace for her country.

Because heaven forbid the other side achieve a victory.

Akua, however, is unusual, and she knows it. ]

This is an unusual opportunity, for all of us to be...pulled. By one faction or another like this. Some of us dance the line between Meridian and Zenith naturally, but others spiral ever-further into their zealotry.

As someone new, you'll have a fresh opportunity to choose your path. Do either... feel stronger, now?

[sharethememory]

[ He's not faring well, but really are any of them this late into the game?

Perhaps it is due to his fragile state of mind or the cleansing offered during the Blight between the two of them, but the walls that separate the rest of Zhongli's stream of consciousness from Rosaria through communion is thinner than usual. Thinner even then the tangled yarn of shared thoughts between the Shard Bearers within this space. Cracked and flaking, line bits of stone crumbling away.

Come get Childe. He'll need to be re-planted.

Zhongli does not know whether to feel relief or sadness that Childe's suffering is at an end, so both emotions bleed into one sludge-like mud that leaves room for little else, sticky and encompassing in its potency. It weighs heavily in the pit of his gut, breaths coming quick and strained as he tries to regain his composure. There's not time for that. No time for this - not any of this. Time marches forward-- is moving forward. Time waits for no one, so it was either keep up or be swept away in its current just as it had always been and just as it always will be.

So come, he does - the fastest Rosaria has seen him move probably in all of their shared time here in Kenos. It's not a speed built out of skill or ability, but out of a reckless agitation. One built out of regret and remorse and hesitation.

Re-planted. rE-pLanTED. replanted. replanted.

Re-plant where? How? To what end? With the tree a dying husk in front of all of them that not even those most attuned to it could not heal, how were any of them supposed to come back? How was Childe supposed to come back?

Zhongli does not voice any of this when he arrives, however, no matter how easy such thoughts might be pulled from their shared communion or from his widened eyes as he sees the shard clutched in Rosaria's hand. Childe is gone. And Zhongli would see to it that what happens next would be taken care of by his hand. For what god could call himself a god (and friend call himself a friend even if that term might still be too generous to describe the messiness between them) if he could not tend after what little he had left of his own world.

Zhongli holds out his hand for the shard, palm upturned and steady: ]

Thank you, Rosaria.

[ Thank you for doing what he could not in his moment of weakness. ]

[sharethememory]

[ Zhongli returns the soft smile, but this one does reach his eyes. It breathes golden light into them that had been absent for days as they languished within this dying cavern like two lanterns before offered up into an evening sky. And it is a fond smile, so very very fond.

Zhongli loves (not loved) his home more than anything. More than a heart of stone should be capable of loving. ]

It can never be truly gone as long as its memories are treasured in the hearts and memories of the living. It's not all gone because I am here as well as four others from my home world. It refuses to fade away silently, surfacing again and again as a trinket here or an item there finding its way into the cluttered merchant stalls of the baubles market. By the creatures found in the depths of Aetos laboratory.

[ Zhongli could stop there, question answered on a technicality. But for someone as earnest as Vash - for someone as kindhearted and strong as he is, he does not deserve the vague answers and omissions that Zhongli normally weaves through his words. Perhaps Vash will be able to understand why others (and to some degree Zhongli himself) could not. For while Zhongli's heart is with Meridian, his soul stands with Zenith.

When the door opens--- ]

But that is not the question you were asking, is it?

I do not know if the world I love is gone nor do I have any way to verify the truth of such a statement. It is true that I could spend my efforts trying to answer that question. But I also know that right now this world is wondrously alive and also suffering terribly. Does this world deserve my love any less only because I stumbled upon it second?

[leicesters]

[Claude watches her go, and doesn't try to stop her. Even if he won't regret this, was it a mistake? He had just wanted her to know, even if it was one-sided, even if she refused to accept this was the end, that she wasn't alone. That someone cared about her, and she could have the affection and companionship she craved if she just reached out to accept it. In the end, she had chosen to be alone anyway.

Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut. He doesn't chase after, sinking to the floor of the tunnel instead, drawing his knees up to his chest, caught by a paralysing feeling of grief. Byleth was gone, subsumed by Sothis. An old friend had turned into a wild beast, Dimitri maddened with the strain of their circumstances. And now he had scared away Hayame, the last person he had left to turn to, all because he couldn't keep his feelings in check.]

I'm sorry. [He mutters it under his breath, even after the sound of hooves have long receded.]

[warmare]

[Dehumanized, he said... and Hayame says nothing in turn. She assumes that Byleth may have already connected the dots himself as to why she took such violent issue with Voryn Dagoth and his pride in his house built upon slaves, his blatantly racist views of other races. And if he had not, if he guessed her only a woman who was particularly against slavery for the sake of morals or justice...

Then she has no particular desire to address it.

But he brings up again that he is not fully human, no matter how human he happens to look, and Hayame fixes him with a long, silent look. In Alenroux she had not asked him what he was, because she assumed that if he wanted her to know what the other half is then he would have announced it. This time, though-]

I thought there were only humans in your world.

[Of living beings that could be counted as "people", anyway. ... She knows about wyverns now.]

[fishfearme]

The humans number the greatest currently...

[He paused fractionally, a hint of uncertainty tinging his expression. He remembered when Sothis had finally sat him down and explained things beyond what crumbs Jeralt had fed him - once her simmering rage and confusion had settled into something that was less likely to scorch him.

Sothis had terrified him initially: this ancient, furious being, rousing from the depths of him and tearing his body from his control like he was nothing more than an afterthought. She had... not-apologised for that, once the crimson had faded from her vision, and while he had come to rely on her for guidance and comfort, that sliver of fear remained. First impressions were difficult to shake.

But she told him. She told him the truth of the world, the other half of his origins, and why she despised humanity so, no matter how many times Byleth had told her that not all of them deserved her contempt. She had been betrayed too many times, her open hand slapped away. Even he understood her disdainful apathy.]

In my world, there exist two races: humans and Nabateans. The Nabateans are also called 'Divine Beasts', and only assumed humanoid forms to better walk amongst humanity. Their true forms tend to be... large and bestial, which humans found frightening.

["You would have thought I was there to eat them, not aid them," Sothis grouched irritably, while Byleth felt very sorry for the early humans Sothis had encountered.]

The Nabateans also had unique abilities that humans didn't have, such as extreme longevity or access to Crests, a power that is passed on through their bloodlines and Crest Stones. Apparently, humans coveted these powers, and...

[There was no way to slice it, what was done was inexcusable, actually downright evil. It was only a theory from Sothis's side, but the few details Jeralt had let slip - "the dark truth behind this world" his father had sighed tiredly - and the false scriptures had only confirmed it. Why the few Nabateans left could be counted on one hand, why those Hero Relics possessed the bones and hearts of Sothis's children...]

There are barely any Nabateans left. The majority of them were slaughtered by humans, to steal their Crests and craft their corpses into weapons called Hero Relics. The modern day humans are unaware of this history, though. And I'm...

[A pause.]

I'm of Nabatean blood.

[It was the first time he had ever said this so frankly, or even admitted it aloud instead of the more vague "I'm not fully human". He had Nabatean blood - Sothis had confirmed this. He wouldn't have synchronised so effectively with her Crest Stone if he hadn't. But what did this mean? He didn't feel the same fury Sothis did towards humans, because he grew up amongst them. He loved his human father, and the few human allies he had had done no wrong.

But at the same time, he was distinctly not human. He was strange by their standards. Weird. Not truly one of them. He was stuck in a halfway spot, but there was nothing to be done about it.]

This grants me the same advantages most Nabateans have in terms of strength and endurance, but... it's not something I would tell a human from Fódlan. For... obvious reasons.