[ Never, could he willingly destroy a path he can see use in. Zenith may not be his bastion, nor where he places his fragile will, but he cannot turn away from the message contained within — nor Lady Yima, who waits for him. Whom he is infinitely curious about, as a mother who either lost or turned away from hope. Who was she? How did she come to be here, to travel through the tree and forever mourn her children?
Silco asks him, if he would have promised such a thing. He answers the question, correctly. They chose to spare one another, nearly frozen and lost to the Blight. One of them could have taken the other, burning their curse upon their body and freeing themselves — and even backed into a corner, hackles bared and defenses sharp, maddeningly so — they had shed blood, instead. Their souls sang, discordant and wild, together. Even now, he can feel Silco more acutely than any other. Save for Jonathan Sims, whom he knows to avoid.
After all, the Archivist's brand glows upon his brow. Evidence, that he had killed him. ( Truly, it had just been to even the scales between them. Akin to how Sebastian had thought his death would even the balance between himself and Hayame. ) ]
I do not think you, or Zaun, should have to be redeemed to have the right to exist.
[ The words sound warm, as though he says them as a comfort, but the truth is there between the two of them: We are not valueless, nor any less worthy of victory, because we are wicked. It is a similar sentiment he shares with Akua, because Kenos is not a world that cherry-picked its stock of Shard-bearers from heroes. In fact, most of them seem to be awful villains of varying degree. ]
I am fine with you as you are. When finally we must clash in the name of these ideologies, I will meet you without reserve — but, not now. We need not fight here. We need only survive this challenge, and prepare for the next.
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Silco asks him, if he would have promised such a thing. He answers the question, correctly. They chose to spare one another, nearly frozen and lost to the Blight. One of them could have taken the other, burning their curse upon their body and freeing themselves — and even backed into a corner, hackles bared and defenses sharp, maddeningly so — they had shed blood, instead. Their souls sang, discordant and wild, together. Even now, he can feel Silco more acutely than any other. Save for Jonathan Sims, whom he knows to avoid.
After all, the Archivist's brand glows upon his brow. Evidence, that he had killed him. ( Truly, it had just been to even the scales between them. Akin to how Sebastian had thought his death would even the balance between himself and Hayame. ) ]
I do not think you, or Zaun, should have to be redeemed to have the right to exist.
[ The words sound warm, as though he says them as a comfort, but the truth is there between the two of them: We are not valueless, nor any less worthy of victory, because we are wicked. It is a similar sentiment he shares with Akua, because Kenos is not a world that cherry-picked its stock of Shard-bearers from heroes. In fact, most of them seem to be awful villains of varying degree. ]
I am fine with you as you are. When finally we must clash in the name of these ideologies, I will meet you without reserve — but, not now. We need not fight here. We need only survive this challenge, and prepare for the next.