[ The thunderous sound of Hayame's assault against her bitter enemy is sonorous to him, musical in might and violence. It is the manner of tension and hateful atmosphere that he craves, that he incites simply by existing; perhaps, in that, he will always fail her. The standard that she holds him to is one he works to meet, one that he wishes to meet, and one that he feels he will always, always fall short of. And for what? To be once again lambasted and maligned? To be begrudged for what he brings to Meridian, or for the company he keeps? In his own land, he had consorted with enemy gods all the time.
He knows why she comes. To demand answers from him, while he runs out of ways to explain to her why, what, how — everything, but the very core of his soul. ]
— my own duty, [ Zenith is cool, building within him. It allows him to remain level. Calm, as she bellows to him at the point where their minds meet. He does not emerge from the sands; instead, the whole desert seems to shift at the edge of her hooves. ]
no subject
He knows why she comes. To demand answers from him, while he runs out of ways to explain to her why, what, how — everything, but the very core of his soul. ]
— my own duty, [ Zenith is cool, building within him. It allows him to remain level. Calm, as she bellows to him at the point where their minds meet. He does not emerge from the sands; instead, the whole desert seems to shift at the edge of her hooves. ]