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

FOR AMOS ➳ HOW IT’S MEANT TO BE ➳ 話し合っても放せない物

[warmare]

[The Zenith energy in her body doesn’t feel as if it doesn’t belong. Not enough. Not as much as it should. Hopelessness is not an emotion she is unfamiliar with. She has mourned her world even as she fought viciously to return to it, throwing herself into service for the only power that claimed it would return her to the place that must exist if she is ever to fulfill the only duty she has left.

But she cannot abide it. The Oracle has made it clear how this contest will be decided, and she cannot allow herself to linger in the grey between Zenith and Meridian any longer. She cannot allow anyone else to, either. Still, it takes her time to separate her own thoughts from the jumble of shard-bearer’s thoughts bleeding into communion, to fight through the reminder of everything about her worlds that wasn’t worth saving…

Until she finds the mind she wishes to reach out to, across the mix of people and roots beneath the great dead tree.]

Amos.

[baltimores]

Yeah.

[ The voice that meets her is exhausted, drained. Frustrated. But present, even amid the din surrounding them, amid the discomfort of his own emotions surrounding it. Infected as he is with Meridian, he's spent the past few days trying to understand what it is and where that shit came from — and even once he'd recognized that longing and yearning was a false and foreign substance, it's not like he could do anything about it. Not then.

So he's still tired from it. And yet from where he is across the cavern he'll bring himself to his feet, his eyes finding Hayame's form because, well. She's a lot harder to miss than he is, but at least he's standing now. Looking out at her, his eyes ready to meet hers if she can find him.

Because he also knows that she isn't going to waste his time, and that counts for a lot right now when he's been left feeling alien in his own skin, in his own mind. ]

What's up?

[warmare]

[Perhaps they are all tired. Hayame does her best to hide her own exhaustion, even though it is Communion, and therefore all the harder to conceal. Even though it is pointless, considering what it is she plans to propose. The movement is what draws her eye to the man and not just the mind, their eyes meeting...

If she is going to hesitate, now would be the time. The Oracle had implanted in their head the way which they might purge themselves of the unwanted energies, and to do so... involved exposing their shards, opening up their hearts and minds to being known... But of all the Zenites, there had only been one she considered for this job. Even with what remained muddled (for her at least) from the last time they had laid eyes on one another, in the privacy of a room at the World's End...]

We each has what the other requires.

[Zenith, Meridian, the energies that were causing such a chaotic imbalance within their bodies... The sooner she returned to her rightful state...]

I propose a trade.

[baltimores]

[ Well, at least they're on the same page. In more ways than one — both drained from this (and who among them isn't, anyway, after the misery of past month or so), both ready to do something about it. Actually knowing that they can brings its own little burst of energy, the ability to take action invigorating, and it's that sense that might first alert Hayame of his agreement before what he says or does next. ]

Yeah. [ And yet his energies are still tired, just with a hint more life to them now. Amos cants his head in the direction of one of the tunnels — one of the larger ones so they'll both fit, and somewhere a little more private than exposing your entire being out in the open around so many people — before he starts heading towards it himself, his steps with far more purpose now than they'd had days ago. ] Let's go over here.

[ It isn't even a question for him to accept Hayame's offer. He's going to have to do this with someone, and though he doesn't like how much she already knows about him, she's better than virtually every other alternative. Anything else she learns will be secondary. And she wants the crap that's in his system, and he needs it out, so it only makes sense to take the path of least resistance.

He'll move a decent ways into the tunnel, with only just enough light from the luminescent plants that remain to highlight his form. Maybe his face, if he steps in the right light; but maybe it'll go by easier if they don't really have to look at each other while doing this. At least they'll have that, at least they'll have as much privacy as they can manage to shroud themselves with in here — a search for the most ideal circumstances possible in a situation that's anything but. ]

[warmare]

[Hayame had been ready to suggest the same thing, and so there is no need to answer Amos's suggestion to move with anything but a sense of agreement. There may be little privacy to be found here beneath the roots, but she had explored what tunnels were available in the time between their arrival and now. Not all of them were large enough for her, but Amos has chosen one that she recognizes, and so without a word to anyone else amongst the shard-bearers now beginning to debate and react to the Oracle's mandate...

She leaves the ritual hall behind for the darkness. The soft glow of the luminescent fungus reflects along the ripple of equine and human-like muscles as she moves, her hooves occasionally clipping against a root instead of the softer dirt. In the shadows it is barely visible that her dark mane and tail seem to have grown thin tendrils of vine that sway along with the jet black hair. Only one eye remains to reflect the light when she approaches, close enough to touch.

But she does not. Yet.]

Amos.

[She is willing to do whatever is required to achieve victory, to return to her world, but that does not mean she relishes exposing her shard to him. To anyone. She'd had to do it to purge the Blight, and that... that had been enough to make her understand what might happen between them now. Claude's presence was even now still lurking in her head. Would Amos join him? Would he know more of her?

Her hand moves, her fingers slip into her sleeveless kimono top and begin searching for the tight ties of her breast binding.]

... I trust I can count on your discretion?

[She has said those exact words to him before, when she did not know it was even him she was speaking to. But this time, she does not mean to conceal... kissing.]

[baltimores]

[ He feels her come up behind him rather than sees or even hears her, the knowledge of someone much larger than he at his back impossible to dismiss. Someone who he doesn't even really know is friend or foe, and so it does raise the hairs on the back of his neck some, an instinct amplified by the shit they're in. And it certainly isn't lost on him that he is at her mercy here; without powers and with only raw strength between the two of them, she completely outclasses him.

So it's a good thing that whatever their relationship is at this point isn't antagonistic. Despite all the shit he's pulled, right now they're practically cordial. ]

Yeah. [ His voice is quiet; he sure is a broken record right now. Amos tightens his fist as he glances around them, almost wishing his discord was just a touch higher than it actually is. But he stuffs that feeling back down, because being sardonic at the moment doesn't seem like a good call. ] Yeah, you can. As long as I can count on you too. None of this shit leaves this tunnel.

[ There is discomfort there, awkward and wiggling, a mind wanting to pull back from this and that want being plowed out of the way by raw need. Amos looks around in the limited light before raising his fist — patches of bark starting to grow over top of his skin, a new protective layer he didn't ask for, doesn't want — and slams it into the wall beside them. Once, twice, three times before the bark splinters, before beads of sap well up from where it's been split open.

It stings; he ignores it, reaching down his shirt collar with his free hand for his own shard. There's a new, muted light source as he pulls it out, blue fireflies flitting about underneath its surface; Amos frowns when he looks at it, choosing to look up to meet Hayame's gaze instead. Both hands are held out to her — one with blood-sap out in the open; the other with his soul. ]

Ready when you are.

[ The sooner the better, probably. ]

[warmare]

[Technically, Hayame has no reason to believe him when he promises her that nothing he might learn here would leave the tunnel. Once before he has already betrayed her trust, dragging insinuations about her past and character into the light in front of her allies and enemies both... and once before she has felt betrayed by it. For a moment, she does not respond to his offer. Instead, she loosens the binding around her breasts just enough that she can winnow her calloused fingers between the strips of cloth, seizing her shard and pulling it from between her breasts.]

You said before that I should not trust you again.

[He'd said he would do it again, and yet still she had reached out to him with this offer. So is she going to trust what he had said then, or will she trust what he said now? The single eye remaining to her does not glare or glower, but instead... she simply looks at him. It's unclear even if she is demanding an answer or not- she wonders if he will reassure her. But whether or not he does, she lifts her free hand to her lips, as if in pale mockery of the sort of kisses they had shared, which she remembers now all too clearly along with the bitter taste of failure. But unlike then, when she had tried carefully to avoid pricking him with her teeth-

This time, she uses the sharp canines that didn't seem to quite match with human or equine physiology to break the skin until blood-turned-sap wells up to the surface and pricks flavor on her tongue. Letting go of her bite, she uncurls the fingers of her other hand to reveal her shard, the black obsidian of the arrowhead-shaped gem turning slightly blue in the glow of his own.

She thinks she is ready, but first-]

... If we are to exchange the energy that has forced into us, I doubt you will experience anything pleasant.

[She cares enough to warn him. Or perhaps it is simply caring about herself, and guarding the visions she has been tormented with since Zenith crept into her body. All of the reasons her world wasn't worth saving, the horrors of her race's existence... will they be transferred to him? Will he see the things she has guarded so carefully? Or to him, will those energies be a comfort instead of a haunting?]

[baltimores]

[ He huffs; she asks if she can trust him and then immediately follows it up by bringing up what he said before? Why even ask if she already knows the answer? Frustration bleeds through, building on top of everything else that has gone wrong over the past few days before dying out on its own, a slow and fading death. She isn't accusing him; she's stating fact, and it gives him pause as she bites her hand, as she brings out her own blood-sap, too. ]

I'm okay with that. [ Experiencing unpleasantries. Amos' voice is dulled, borderline casual in the face of her warning. ] Not to diminish your thing, but I've been through a lot already. Takes a lot to get to me. I'll probably be fine.

[ A beat, a moment of hesitation before his voice grows softer. ]

I don't know what you're going to get from me. I barely understand it myself. [ The doubts, the longing, the yearning... It's all been as incomprehensible as it has been unpleasant, something that makes absolutely no sense to him assaulting his brain. Even now he can feel it tickling the back of his throat, prodding at his head, and it's awful. He swallows. Coughs. Dips his head down to look at his shard, at hers. ] Look, I know I told you not to trust me. All I can tell you is you're gonna be getting some shit from me. If I use your shit against you, seems only fair for you to do the same to me.

[ When he meets her gaze again his voice is hard — not a warning, not a threat, but a promise being delivered in it. ]

And if you air my dirty laundry first, I'll expose all of yours. [ Projection much? Because he knows there's a chance he'll pull some shit, so what would be stopping her from striking first? ] Mutually assured destruction. Either we keep each other safe, or we bring each other down. Those're the only options we got.

[ Because they're both no-bullshit; because there's no chance either of them backs down from this now. They're both far too practical for that; she'd reached to him and he'd immediately accepted for a reason. This is how it's going to go down, and the only safety net they have is the threat of something worse than death.

Which means he might actually listen this time.

He holds out his shard to her, for her blood; holds out the back of his bloodied hand for her to place between his fingers, outstretched to be able to receive it, hold it carefully. If they're going to trust each other, or whatever this next best thing they have going on is, it's time, as far as he's concerned. ]

[warmare]

[Mutually assured destruction. There is a moment when Hayame almost turns hard again, when he implies that she might be the one to expose their secrets first whe he was the one who had already proven himself the one to do so... but she is tired. She has had no rest from the beckoning call of Zenith's despair, the visions of her world's worst, and what Amos describes as... something to barely be understood. Hopelessness and rage were no strangers to her, and yet the way she felt it now was so wrong, the product not of her own usual mourning but the energies that had unbalanced in her shard.

The same shard awaiting it's fate in her hand now, exposed and vulnerable. But so was his.

For a moment, Hayame just stares at his hands held out in offer. It isn't doubt that stays her, but a memory. That day, when the pollen had been thick in the air... he had held her hand. The sensation had been foreign and new, yet so... warm. So reassuring. At least, it had been then. When she had replicated it herself, alone in her stall and wishing for comfort, her own hands had done nothing to comfort her, even though she mimicked the lace of fingers and slide of thumb exactly. How foolish of her to think of it now, and how foolish she would be to connect it in any way shape or form with whether he was trustworthy now. It's their very souls at stake.

But she reaches out. Her blood-smeared palm slides over the hand that holds his shard and clasps, trapping the blue lit gem between their flesh. At the same time, her other hand gently presses her own obsidian shard into sap-like blood coating his fingers and oozing from the breaks in the bark on his skin.

And in that moment... they suddenly connect.]

[baltimores]

[ Amos can only assume it's some kind of trepidation that's bringing Hayame pause, the way she stares at his hands but makes no move towards them. It doesn't make sense otherwise; she's the one who had initiated this exchange and he'd very clearly laid out the terms. There's no more reason for them to wait.

And then she reaches out, her blood pressing against his shard, his fingers instinctively tightening so that her shard won't fall between them, and...

Oh.

It's a light curiosity skimming over the surface of his thoughts as with their connection comes her memory of a day some months ago. A completely innocuous one, by his standards — she'd invited him to a restaurant. The food was good. There was pollen in the air. They'd touched one another over the table some, and it had been warm and pleasant, and then it had been over.

Why is she thinking about that? flits across his mind, a light and airy thought taking brief flight over the maelstrom below, because it's easier.

Because underneath that is his heart in a vice, his lungs out of breath, his very being choked and strangled for what he needs back. Amos with a man and a woman, warming up his insides with a hearty swig of tequila on a snow-covered landscape, physically cold but emotionally warm thanks to the company he's keeping. With three other people, gathered around a table in a ship's galley, the environment cold and sterile and yet happy, a joy in the mundane of simply being around chosen family. A boy, battered and bruised, curled up on a threadbare-soft couch, his eyes peacefully shut and contented smile on his face as he rests his head in the lap of a woman who murmurs sweet nothings to him as she cards her fingers through his hair.

These are all good things, and beneath them all Amos is screaming as he reaches for them, hand outstretched as his lungs fill up with dirt and he suffocates kills himself under the burying burying burying of longing nostalgia to live without these people is not a life worth living he is the only one left he shouldn't be why can't he bring them here with him why can't he go back home he needs to go back home he has to be able to go back home...

And outwardly he is calm but for his face twisting in discomfort as emotions he can't understand has never opened himself up to roil around in his psyche in his soul, looking down at their hands and wondering why Hayame is thinking about that day in Springstar. ]

cws: sa, slavery, forced amputations

[warmare]

[Even if it would be shameful or embarrassing or strange... Hayame wishes that the only thing detectable in the sudden flood of connection between them was that day in Springstar.

Everything gets so jumbled. She sees him as a boy in the lap of what looks like a mother, as a man with his comrades, and yet beneath the images that should inspire warmth... she can feel the desperation screaming beneath it, the clawing, the struggling, the discomfort with what Meridian energies have wrought in his body.

But Zenith has done its own damage in hers. Where Meridian has tried to sway Amos with all the good that he'd had in his world, Zenith has tried to break Hayame with all the bad that didn't deserve saving. The stables where jinba were bred, captured, and broken to the saddle and bit. A young girl staring from a distance at a dead-eyed armless woman with the same black hair and dun coloring being led to the breeding post, the chosen stallion following after. Fires flickering on the edges of a banquet where a fat, rich lord puffs and groans, pleasuring himself with the pliant mouth of a prospective purchase. Orphaned children of the jinba hunts who barely knew what a parent was. A newly captured jinba screaming around the bit as it's arms are cut from its body, turning a proud, independent creature into a shell that cannot bathe, feed, or care for itself.

And the doubts come with it. She rails against the unfairness of it all, the disgrace of what had become of her. Was that world worth saving? Even if she succeeded in her own quest to save that one village, those few orphans, what did it matter for the rest of the jinba still suffering under the yolk of humanity? What was the point if she'd already failed, if she had to die just to accomplish that one little thing? Wouldn't it be better to remake the whole thing... ?

Hayame keeps her own gaze locked on their hands, the smear of blood-sap over gems and flesh, her fingers tightening and her expression strained. She could not allow herself to doubt, to let the despair creep into the cracks in her hearts, and yet... Zenith had crept in anyway.

If he'll just take it away--]

cw references to csa, prostitution

[baltimores]

[ There's more.

Springstar fades the longer they grasp one another's souls, the longer their blood presses up against them, instead taken over by.

Amos' eyes flutter shut as he cooly exhales, tipping his head back.

Because the things he's seeing from Hayame are objectively horrible. He's been that mouth before. He's resided among orphans. My mom, too, he thinks at the impression of Hayame's mom being led away to be fucked, an accidental thought rising to the surface in the moment. It's not quite the same, but the gist of it is. Another thing to have in common. Another vulnerability exposed.

And yet it all seems so meaningless in the moment, pales in comparison to what he's really getting from this.

Because as Amos starts to find himself getting lost in Hayame's memories, the content isn't what he's drawn to. They are horrible; they are hell; he cannot think of anybody he would ever wish such things upon. But more than that... they bring clarity. The Zenith gracing these memories brings with it the sense of finality, the knowledge that everything will come to an end, and there is peace in that. He lets himself fall back into it, be surrounded by it, let it embrace him once again.

This world was hell, and it is no more, and that brings with it a refreshing balm. It's everything he's been missing since afflicted with Meridian, since experiencing a futile desperation for things that are dead and gone and not coming back. His lips part and his fingers scrabble for a grip against Hayame's, digging in almost painfully with the force of gratitude he needs to communicate to her for giving him this again. For letting him feel like himself again.

As he slowly soaks up more of the Zenith within her — more, it's a drug, it's relaxing and cooling and one of the most beautiful things he's ever felt, especially compared to the past few days — Amos' eyes flutter back open, his head righting itself as he seeks her own gaze out. He could kiss her. He could do anything she asks of him, as long as she keeps giving him this.

As long as she takes away the pain he doesn't know how to feel, frees him from constantly trying to reach out for a past that will never come back. ]

[warmare]

[Hayame had never imagined she could have as much in common with a human than she had already discovered on that day in Springstar... and she did not relish in finding out that there was even more. It is another bond... and another weakness, at the same time. To be known as anything but a warrior to be feared on the battlefield is so terrifying of a prospect for her, and yet she must be known now by a Zenith... so let it be him. Let it be Amos, because-

Because-

Amos memories, or perhaps it is more accurate to say the Meridian energies that shape them, feel so bracing and sure. She has nothing quite like them for herself. Her dam had been an Armless broodmare, and she hadn't possessed the hands to stroke her hair or hold her even if she'd wanted to. Through the similarities they accrue, unlike Amos, Hayame had not escaped her fate years ago and left it behind for a new life. She'd had a brief month in which she had slowly learned that perhaps she could be free, that perhaps there was a way to survive outside of the only system she'd ever known... and then she had been here. The shackles are still heavy in her mind.

But the warmth of Meridian soothes over the cracks in her hearts when it returns to her from Amos. (Could she have those things, like he'd had, if she returned to her world and found a way to survive instead of dying as she had promised? Would she be able to know years of a life away from the breeding stables, amidst her own kind, eventually finding people who would call her ally, companion, or friend?) It covers the doubts and reminds her... her world is out there somewhere. She has to get back to it or she'd never know what she might could have. Even if it ended in the fiery explosion she had promised, at least those orphans might know the life she never had or could, her honor would be cleansed...

Her hands tighten in turn over his, heedless of the potential pain in either of their grips. His soul is in her hand and hers in his, and the sap their blood has become smears sticky and viscous in between. She can feel him so closely, in the bond created by their trade, one that urges her just to stay in his company, with someone who is seeing her, who she is giving unto and receiving in return.

Their gaze meets again, and the cold fury that usually dwells in her one remaining eye has been temporarily quenched. Her expression is vulnerable and raw, her doubts warmed by Meridian just as his reaching was cooled by Zenith, and her lips part... but nothing comes out. She swallows, tries to force them out even though she doesn't rightly know what words they'll even become. Right now...]

Don't let go.

[Not yet. Even if they had nothing left they could trade... She had missed how it felt when he held her hand.]

cw references to death, suicide

[baltimores]

I won't.

[ His voice is a soft exhale, half here in the moment, half so intimately with her in a way beyond bodies, all with Zenith. More and more as time passes, as they continue to grip one another. There's no need for it to be as strong as it is, but what else would he do in this moment but hold tight and never let go? She's a lifeline.

She's practically kin.

Amos can't tighten his grip any more than he already has; what he can do is look into her eye, the curve of her face, her neck, down to her arms outstretched to reach his, and step forward. Slowly, and telegraphed, but close the gap between the two of them, bring their presences that much closer. Because being inside one another's heads — or is it souls — is one thing, but he's always operated much better on the physical plane, so the closer the better. Even if he can't let go, can't disrupt the way they're holding both of their souls together...

He looks back up at her, something awed in his expression — and for once, not because of the grace Zenith is bestowing upon him once again. It's a deeper understanding of her — because yeah, they know one another, a little more than either one of them would like, but he's yet to comprehend why Hayame would be Meridian.

Why anyone would be, really, but Hayame? A hopemonger? If anything, she should be— ]

I can get that. Going back for kids. [ He speaks in hushed tones, a private conversation between two of them in the shadows, and not wanting to broadcast such a sentiment at all. For his sake. For hers. ] That'd be a good thing to do.

[ But they're already dead, he can't stop himself from thinking. It's supposed to be just for himself, not communed to her, but considering the sensitivities they have towards one another when like this...

Normally, his stomach would churn at the thought of those kids Hayame would go back to already being dead, but here, with Zenith flowing through him more and more, it doesn't occur to him. Because: Amos is used to death. His mom died when he was young. One of his friends committed suicide when he wasn't that much older. People died on the streets of Baltimore day after day after day, some he knew, most he didn't; death as much a part of life as life itself, and so he'd learned to accept it. Embrace it when he had to. Because doing anything else was foolish, futile, a good way to get yourself killed — or invite more and more and more pain on top of what was already there.

So why do anything but move forward and never look back? And as the Meridian leaves him, he knows he'll be safe again. ]

cw; suicide

[warmare]

[She shouldn't trust him when he says he won't let go. She shouldn't let him get any closer, especially now that the Zenith energy that had been within her was in him, now. It should make him more of her enemy again... yet she cannot see him as that. Though she was a woman who preferred things black and white... he had been frustratingly grey ever since that first real conversation they had shared. It drove her mad at times, and yet-

A dun foreleg slowly uncurls, moving as if to reach out and brush against a leg. He'd liked that- before. But she hesitates, and the edge of a hoof barely grazes against his trousers.

Hopemongers, she had labeled Meridian to him the first time they'd met at the edges of that pool full of memories. She despised it so, when it came from blindness or ignorance, but in her case... Going back for the kids, he says, and shame lances through her hearts. Can she claim that is all she wants? She wants it, that is true, for in those children who had a chance to live freely as she hadn't, but atop of that- He thinks they are dead. Of course he does. All of the Zenith believe that it is gone, but she can't-]

It is all my fault.

[She shouldn't be saying that, either. Something she has never shared with anyone, but now, when their communions blend together like something seamless, when he brings her mind to her students, that hidden village full of war orphans. Orphans that she, once... before she had realized there might be a way out of it all, when she had still been committed to loyalty to the man who'd had her dam bred to produce her-]

I was entrusted with them, by someone who put their trust in me, yet I am to blame for them being in danger.

[She had told him what she had been used for. Hunting her own kind, controlling the Armless, tricked into thinking that she was better than them, that she was somehow different-]

If I do not save them... What is there left to do but slit my own belly open?

[How can she do what he does? How can she just believe that they are all dead, when their deaths would mean honor dictated she should join them? How can she simply move forward into a content life as a Zenite and never look back on her failures... ?]

[baltimores]

[ There's a moment of bemusement, tinged with the hint of a thrill as she brushes her hoof against him. Amos isn't entirely sure what that's about, but still, he lifts his own foot, knocks it lightly against her other front hoof still on the ground. Playing footsie. Kind of. While they continue to hold onto each other, continue to not let go.

His gaze — his heart — softens at those mental images of tiny horse-children, happy and healthy and living the way kids should, the way neither of them got to. Doesn't really change, even as she details the circumstances of her pain. Because he understands her — but he also understands now that's what Meridian brings. Pain. ]

Hey. [ Without any other options available to him he lifts their entwined hands — the ones with his soul in between them; if he was trying anything here, it wouldn't be with it in the way — and nuzzles her hand when it's within reach. Looks back up at her. ] That's one way of looking at it. Can't do anything if you're dead, though. Not for them. Not for the ones who'll come after.

[ They're dead, but there'll be more later. In a new world. Where nobody will be treated the way they were growing up, he's pretty sure, Zenith singing to him.

He gives her a small, rueful smile. ]

You should probably be coming with me. [ With Zenith. ] I'd bring you back with me if I could, but...

[ But she's absorbing his pain Meridian so he never has to go through that again. The whole thing is rather counterintuitive, and he can't help but give Hayame an almost apologetic laugh.

She understands him. He understands her. And it's for those reasons that he wants to save her — and can't.

Not here, at least, but maybe later; and how's that for hope. ]

[warmare]

[Though there was no feeling in her hooves the way humans had sensation in their own limbs, Hayame feels the pressure and the faint sound of Amos' foot returning the gesture she had half aborted. It makes her... It makes the corners of her lips twitch, just slightly. She's more confident the second time, sliding the edge of her hoof slowly up and down the side of his calf until-

He lifts their hands. The movement arrests her attention. It makes the words stand out all the stronger. Words that sound like... words that man might have said to her. The one who had pulled her from the waterfall she'd tried to throw them off and instead of condemning her asked if she wouldn't take students and train the young ones in archery. The one who had pointed out the shameful truth of how relieved she'd been to be saved... and who had asked her a question that had begun to change everything.

Don't you want to live in a world where it's alright to be happy about that?

Now Amos reminds her that the dead cannot do anything for anyone and she knows, she knows but... Hayame's expression grows thoughtful and raw as she processes what he says, that he thinks she should come back with him, and if it had come from any other person she would have torn into them for the presumption, the gall, but he... Her hand twitches against his cheek where he had nuzzled. Two fingers curl away from the desperate press of their hands on shards so that she might rub along the line of his jaw, over that barbaric beard of his. Maybe there is Zenith yet hiding in her hearts, lurking somewhere in too high an amount to be given away to just one other. If she could blame that for these treacherous thoughts...

Her lips curl up in the corners just enough to almost possibly count as a smile. One that is sad, and tired, and hates herself for even considering the possibility but she needs to know-]

... What sort of world would you create, Amos?

[If that Yima woman was actually right. If Zenith took from them every Oracle they needed to remake the worlds they claimed were gone.

If Hayame herself failed (again), like she did now in letting her hearts waver enough to even dignify asking a Zenite what they planned to do with the power they might some day supposedly help wield. But with him, with this strange thing between them, the invitation he'd laid out at her hooves knowing full well that she could not take it...

She needs to know. Wants to.]

[baltimores]

[ He tilts his head, exposing the angle of his jaw as she rubs her fingers against it. Soft, rhythmic touching, from both fingers as callused as his and a hoof unlike anything he'll ever have. The motions are soothing, repeated physical contact predictable and pleasant. Amos sees the beginnings of a smile from her, and his own widens a little in response, becomes more genuine as he makes a soft humming sound in thought. ]

Not sure. Didn't think that'd ever be my job. [ He is ready, in his entirety, to turn over any portion or say he has to Yima — because he knows people like him can't be trusted, but people like her can. It'd be the responsible thing to do.

But with Zenith flowing through his veins again, recementing itself in his neural network, inspiration comes a lot easier. Almost like it's natural, and his eyes slip shut as he tries to picture it, to bring it to life with words. ]

One with wide open spaces. Enough for everyone to have what they need; space for them to grow food and have shelter and be with their people. With fresh air and clean water... [ He would've been happy with just that, wouldn't he? He'd been in a good place where he originally came from, but after more than a year of living planet-side, being able to enjoy its resources on a daily basis... ] Somewhere everyone could live. I had a friend who had trouble with gravity. It'd have been nice if she could stay down on a planet with us.

[ An inadvertent mental image of Amos with one of the women from earlier. He doesn't expect her to come back, but... still. If that could've been an option for her. ]

I think if everyone got the chance to be self-sufficient... Live off the land, raise their kids, be in good health, want for nothing. I think that'd be nice.

[ Simple, and inconceivable to him, considering the overpopulated place he came from where it was so easy to fall through the cracks and never re-emerge. Some kind of agrarian society. That's enough to sound like heaven to him. What more would anyone need than that? ]

[warmare]

[The motions don’t stop. Maybe she is weak for taking comfort from such a thing, for being lonely enough that even that amount of touch sparks and warms her made-cold hearts and the stiff steel of her muscles, but… if she stops caressing him, if he stops holding her hands…

The bubble might burst. The tether of shared energy between them might finally snap. And she doesn’t want… she wishes…

Hayame doesn’t really remember how to smile. The corners of her lips feel strained, as if unused to such a position, trying to remember when the last time she had done it fully, properly, had been. When her brother had handed her the arrows he’d made before their last mission… ? Months and months and worlds ago. But the image Amos conjures up…

That village of orphans would have been like that, if she hadn’t come to it. If she hadn’t ruined everything. Those children would have grown up and had children of their own. They farmed the land, gathered from the forest, hunted in the mountains… it had been a simple life, but they could have been happy like that. If they’d been able to avoid the fires of war and the greed of humans intent on power… they’d have had parents, too. They wouldn’t have had to run and hide.

Hayame swallows. Her fingers slow on the rub along his cheekbone, but they don’t stop. The half-smile on her face grows a bit more like a real one, even if it’s bittersweet and full of knowing… this was just a dream. If she believes in this, she has to believe her own world is gone… and she can’t let herself do that.]

I can’t say I ever pictured you as a farmer.

[Her voice is quiet. Reflective. Doing him the service of trying to imagine it, even if it is a dream she cannot allow to happen. If it even could happen.]

I guess it’s not so hard to picture, though…

[A world full of… well, his just had humans, didn’t it. There wouldn’t be any place for people like her. It would be silly to even ask-]

I don’t suppose there would be a place for someone like me… ?

[A jinba or a warrior or a slave that tried to be free… she doesn’t say. She’s going to die in her own world where she belongs or a demon or someone else she’s made an enemy of will shatter her shard in this one. … It doesn’t matter.]

[baltimores]

[ He can't reach her face to reciprocate; all he can do is tilt his head that little bit more into her fingers, the fingers on his other hand drawing little patterns and lines against her other hand with the bit of movement he can afford. Careful with her shard between them, of course, but otherwise light and dancing. Whatever this is, it's pleasant; no reason not to make it a little more so.

Especially when she looks, feels, acts like this. It's a throwback to some months ago, grumpy and pained centaur gone, instead replaced with a friend. An actual one. One he still has, despite his everything. He huffs a little laugh at the idea of him as a farmer — wouldn't have thought it for himself, either — eyes still shut in a pleasant waking dream; his smile a little dopey at the image she conjures up of young jinba going about the lives they'd both wish for them. ]

Don't see why not. [ Why couldn't there be room for Hayame there? (He knows why, from her background and what it means; but things like that aren't going to matter there. Don't matter to him most of the time, because he'd had the privilege of being able to shed his background and have nobody recognize him for what he'd been on sight alone, but... still. At least his heart's in the right place.) ] Might be an issue if you ever wanted to go to space, but if there were more people like you then that'd be incorporated in the ship designs. Shit, I'll figure it out myself if I'm still around when we get to that point.

[ Jinba, he assumes she means. Would there be room for jinba in his ideal world, and yeah. Sure. He'd find a way to make it work, no problem.

His eyes are lidded as he looks back up at her, content and happy and feeling as pleasant in her company as he ever has in anyone's. ]

It can be your world as much as mine.

[ You really should be a Zenite. With me. ]

[warmare]

[All he can do is tilt his head into her touch, but that's... that's all he has to do. Her fingers follow the line of his jaw, curiously brushing over the hair on his face, lingering over where the corner of his mouth curls upwards in his smile. It seemed like such an easy expression on his face, like the muscles there remember how to make that expression... and for a moment she almost envies him. She almost thinks there can't be something wrong in him, because at least he knows how to smile. At least he has reasons to smile.

With the bond fast and fresh between their shards, she even almost thinks that maybe he'd been sincere, when he called her a friend. She almost thinks that maybe they could be that, despite the fact that they might need to kill each other for the sake of their goals. But down here, in the dark with only a faint, soft glow...

Her half-smile almost makes it all the way to a full one.]

If you managed to figure it out, I suppose I would have to honor your efforts and try going to space.

[If she was indulging in a fantasy this grand, this impossible... why shouldn't it be one where she isn't completely terrified by the idea that the night sky was a huge, empty expanse of black and stars? She'd been raised believing that the stars were the lights of the heavenly field of gods, not a place that mortals might ever tread.

But what he said next... her smile falters. Her expression softens, turning inward, and she knows... She knows she shouldn't be indulging in this. She had sworn that she would be the most stalwart Meridian of them all to make up for the weaklings among them, that she would kill whoever she had to... but there is just enough Zenith energy left lurking in her hearts to whisper what if you lose? What if you lose this Oracle, and the next one, and the next... And if that happened, if there came a time when she had to face the possibility of never being able to return to her world where she belonged...

Her voice is quiet when she finds it again.]

... Will you save a place for me?

[If Meridian's cause was lost, if she only came to him in the final hour...]

[baltimores]

[ His smile broadens at the idea of Hayame in space, willingly widening to its fullest extent. His eyes light up in good humour, teeth exposed only because it's a full smile. A real one. Happy to be back with Zenith, happy to be with her, happy at spitballing what's ahead not just for him but the both of them.

Happy, in this dark and dead underground filled with nothing, because he shares an intimate understanding with one of his people, where they are able to meet each other halfway and in all likelihood both be better off for it.

Just happy, to the extent that he's capable of — which, as it turns out, is a fair bit.

Even as Hayame finds her doubts once again, and hey. He gets it. They're talking about something far off down the line; something that very well may never happen. So his expression softens in kind, his head bobbing slightly. Giving her permission to let go, if she wants. Or to keep going if she wants, too. Both are good with him, as long as she's also happy — because he thinks, for at least a moment, she was there right along with him. ]

Of course.

[ There's no hesitation in his answer. No doubt. Because when it happens, he will keep a place for her. If he has to kill her one day, he'll bring her along with him. One way or another, he'll make it happen — for her. ]

Whenever you're ready. I've got you.

[ And despite all of his own shittiness, he really has no reason to lie here. To betray her on that front.

It's as real a promise as can be made. ]

[warmare]

[Hayame isn't used to people smiling at her. She didn't tend to make people want to smile, let alone in her direction. ... It's nice. It's something she shouldn't care at all about, because what did a warrior mind if they were liked or they brought joy, and yet... After so much confusion, rage, and doubt swirling about in the ritual chamber, after beginning her time in the dank earth viciously stabbing out the eye of Sebastian Michaelis and dealing with the stares and looks that followed...

It is like a light, rather than the abyss of black she so often attributed to Zenith and its followers. For a moment... she basks in it.

And while their shards are at peace with each other, while the exchange of energies has made it so much easier to feel him... she lets herself believe that she isn't a traitor just for asking him the question that she had. For feeling relief when he says he will accept her, even if she only comes to him when she feels there is not a single ounce of hope left for a Meridian victory. Even if she wants her world back, even if she cannot even begin to think whose shard she would end up shamefully begging that Yima woman for, torn between her (half) blood brother and the man who had offered her a life lived free she regretted struggling to believe in...

Her fingers drop from his cheek and slide along the line of his jaw, slowly falling. She relinquishes her own shard fully into his hand so that she might take his fully into hers... and slip under the hem of his shirt so that she might carefully return it to where it belonged, nestled just above his heart. Later, a certain war god will demand she kill this man in exchange for what she demands of him... but she returns his vulnerable soul to him instead.]

... Let's stay just a little longer.

[Here in the depths of the tunnel, as far away from the main chamber and the chaotic press of bleeding communions and mingling voices as they could physically get...]

It's quiet here...

[And there will not be much more quiet to be had.]

[baltimores]

[ She isn't a traitor; she's a survivor. They both are. It's why they get along so well, why they can understand one another so easily. Nevermind any of the violent acts she's committed — including the most recent ones — and nevermind the perceived need to be a warrior at all times. It doesn't matter because she's a survivor, same as him, so he gets it. Or at least most of it.

Can't begrudge a contingency plan, though. (Especially not one for a situation he wants to come to pass.)

Amos dips his head slightly in attempt to follow Hayame's movements as she returns his soul to him, whole once again. His fingers lightly curly around hers, holding it safe in the palm of his hand as he waits for her to finish. The way she handles it, he feels safe. Nothing bad can, will happen as long as she's holding it, as long as she's giving it back to him like this. At least not here, not in this moment.

And when she's done, and when she speaks, he lifts his head to her, his gaze soft. Silently, he extends her shard to her; without his gravity powers returned to him, he has no way to reciprocate the favour she just afforded him. (Might not actually want him to, the way things had gone last time he'd had access to that part of her body, but that's a moot point since he physically can't reach it anyway.) And his eyes crinkle a little. ]

Quiet's good.

[ They can stay here a little longer. Until the feeling fades, until their attention is called away elsewhere... whatever it is, but they've no reason to disrupt this moment of peace they've successfully cultivated for themselves now. ]

[warmare]

[Quiet's good.

In quiet like this, she can pretend that she is a survivor through to the core, to the very end, and not a woman who has sworn to give up her life for the sake of cleansing her honor and saving the orphans she had wronged before a single day passes in her own world. If she can ever return to it. But even knowing that... she had fought to survive the breeding stables. She had fought to survive until her sale. She had fought (just not hard enough) to believe in a future where she might be free. She now fought to survive here, for victory, for-

For her to put aside the pride and the defenses she had honed living in a world where her body was not her own. She did not so easily allow anyone to touch her because every Exhibition Day everyone touched her- or at least, everyone who was interested in potentially buying her. Even her seasonal heats she viciously suppressed and instead tortured herself with painful, useless abstinence... until her failed attempts at regaining her agency at the World's Edge. But...

... She preferred it when they were even.

With a rustle of dry vines that now ran through her long hair, Hayame bends down just slightly, narrowing the foot and a few inches that she has on him. Instead of snatching her shard from his hand and reclaiming it... this way, she can draw the layers of her kimono-like top enough apart that it bares the place on her sternum just below her breasts where her shard is meant to rest.

As if it were some sort of pact, or perhaps just proof of their understanding in this moment... She waits, her halved gaze softer than she should allow it to be.]