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

SET █

[appeale]

[ to say that this is the one person she least wanted to encounter after Zenith sinks fully into her heart would not be entirely accurate. there are others that are worse—Hayame, who Rudbeckia believes would give her a gruesome death. Voryn, a zealot to the cause of Meridian. Dimitri, carving a path of violence to victory. any one of those would doubtless put her through all her most vivid fears. but this particular confrontation—

facing Set is uniquely terrible. what she feels is not quite guilt or shame, only... there is a depth to her despair that she wouldn't have felt with anyone else. ]

I— I didn't mean to. [ what a feeble excuse. true or not, it's pointless to speak; there's no explanation she can give that he'll listen to. nobody would ever believe her no matter what she says, nobody would forgive her sins no matter how little choice she's had. the punishment for trying to defend herself is always far more severe than it would be had she just accepted the blame. and yet for some reason—for some fucking reason, just because it's him, she finds herself speaking in a voice that shivers with fear: ] There was a man—that, Jonathan Sims, he... I-I didn't know what to do. It was just...

[ her words die in her throat. what she ought to do is run. there is no doubt in her mind that Set will kill her for her betrayal (inasmuch as it can be labelled that) because she stands, however inadvertently, in the path of his victory. surely she has wounded his pride as well, his attendant abandoning the god she should serve.

she doesn't move. the Communion between them is a chasm of fear, and resignation, and wretchedness. something echoes within it, a thought that reaches Set in clarity—the terror that had driven Rudbeckia to the ledge in panicked animalistic frenzy, the leash that the Archivist had taken her by with such certainty:

I can't go home. Please don't make me go back there. ]

1/2

[redsoil]

[ When Ruby looks upon him, with naught but despair, he cannot shelter his mind from the thought that bursts, unbidden and miserable from within him: Oh. Oh, I failed you.

She is every frightened woman who has stood before him, tormented and twisted by his whim. She is every fragile life he has snuffed out without truly expending effort, a wretched flower amidst a sea of killing intent, withering even as he tries to water her, sun her, shelter her. Set should have been there for her, better and more true. Because he left her alone, because he was not there at her side — she was taken from him, she stands darkened and distant from him, and she dreads him. Of course she does, Rudbeckia had fastened to Meridian solely because he had pledged his ownership of her ( it is that ownership now, that jonathan sims has marred — and whatever burst of anger he feels is directed not to ruby, but to that man. that man, who coveted and took her from him ).

When Jonathan Sims had plundered his mind for Meridian names and Meridian secrets, it had been Rudbeckia de Borgia's identity and fear that had given him the strength to resist. And now, she has been taken, corrupted from the Meridian light that pours through him — for he had been saved, while she had been left...

She had been,

failed. And he takes a step towards her, another. His hands lifting toward her body, her throat — ]

2/2

[redsoil]

[ — he buries them, slow and soft, into her hair and holds her face between his palms. ]

I did not know. I did not ask, and you did not say —

[ She cannot go home. She does not want to go home. ]

I am so sorry, Rudbeckia de Borgia. For not being there to protect you. I promised I would shelter you, and you were forced into this position because I failed to keep my word.

[ His feet carry him closer to her, in that dark place. Meridian scalds within him, turning him warm, turning him horrifyingly brilliant — a dark sun, one that emulates the thing that leers over the dead world that they had been forced into, to scour and scrape for a few days of survival for. Set's thumb strokes across her dirty cheek, the resolve within him that of a man who clings to her for validation as much as she clutches at him for safety. In the horror of the Oracle-enhanced Communion, he cannot hide how much he depends on her for meaning. How she gives him that most secret of joys: the chance to be better, to be what he once was to Egypt. A protector, a guardian.

Slowly, he draws her to his shoulder. To the place against his chest where the red of his Shard emulates a heart that had long been torn out, jagged and positioned precisely over the shuddering flinch of his pulse. ]

I wish I had been worthy enough, for you to just tell me that you did not want to go home. I would have spared you this agony, and simply taken you with me to mine.

cw abuse

[appeale]

[ at Set's approach, her terror reaches a screaming crescendo, and she has braced herself – to be struck with a strong hand, seized by her hair in his fist, thrown to the ground at his feet—

those large hands cradle her face before she can bow her head in submission. Set holds her as though she is something fragile yet precious. his voice is low and pained, speaking his apologies and his fault with such fervent sincerity that Ruby couldn't doubt him even if Communion was not shouting at her that his words are true. when in her life—either of them, both too short and far too long—has anyone ever touched her this way? when has anyone ever offered her their contrition and meant it with their bleeding heart in hand?

I wish you had told me.

this isn't the first time she's heard those words. more than once, she had tried to cover for her own mistakes, and Cesare had said so in his soft, disappointed manner that was merely a prelude to violence. he hadn't wanted honesty; he had wanted subservience. whether in her first life or this, telling the truth only ever did more harm – she was lying, or making excuses for herself; it would be ignored, or dismissed, or wielded against her. but it isn't something she can explain, and though he takes it as his own fault, surely Set must think of it as some willing foolishness on her part, her own arrogance, a refusal she has chosen to make.

in a moment of desperation that surges like a wave against the walls Rudbeckia shelters behind, something reaches Set. there is a wordless plea for understanding: that Ruby has no voice to speak with, something coiled so tight around her throat she couldn't possibly even tell him of its existence. it was never an option for her. ]

... They'll kill me.

[ Ruby goes into Set's embrace without resistance, but she is trembling and stiff like he has captured a wild animal, fighting its natural instinct to flee. it shocks her that she's able to say anything at all to him. standing here like this, there is a memory that surfaces, one that Set sees through her eyes in fragments of abstract thought—

a man with silver hair and burning red eyes, an air of strength about him like a knight or a king. the golden band on his finger that mirrors one on Rudbeckia's own, a manacle tying the two of them together. his expression twisted with seething rage and something else, something anguished, and an answering twinge of pain from his bruising grip on her arms. the feeling that she had disappointed him, failed to meet his expectations, caused him trouble when she should have just stayed quiet. her fear, a panicked bird fluttering in her ribcage. the man, Rudbeckia de Borgia's husband, snarling at her: I hate you so much.

and the way he had looked at her the last time she saw him. the way she thought Set would look at her now. ]

Set, I'm a traitor. [ she speaks over his Shard, her voice small. ] They'll kill me.

[ she calls herself a traitor with a strange, bitter taste. even in her own mind, Rudbeckia is a creature of muddled duplicity, two personas at war. she knows she didn't do anything wrong; she has committed an unforgivable sin. ]

[redsoil]

[ Everything she feels, so does he. That is the power of this horrible Communion, that is — perhaps — what it was actually for, what Aspects are for, what the flow of Purity and Discord are for. For the Shard-bearers, even divided by ideology, to remember that they are all people who have lost. That they are in need of comfort, as they battle with their grief and make their decisions. It is not the first time that he has attempted to puzzle out the meaning of the world, why it has taken the form that it has and why they have such innate abilities that speak to the need for one another, instead of the spurning of one another. Why be able to purify Discord best, in someone of the other Faction, if those energies were not equals. Partners.

He feels her, acutely. Her lack of choice is not solely because she falters, but because she has no power to choose. Ruby's heart lives in a cruel cage, without any hope of escape, and she must focus on survival before all else. His understanding tries, hard, to reach her. To take that terror in hand and not close his fingers around it, but to cradle it like a battered bird in his palm and draw her in from the storm. To give her a place she can settle, and maybe one day, her feathers will grow back. Maybe, she will never be able to fly, but at least... she will have the choice to, and someone who will carry her to the window, if ever she thinks to. ]

I know.

[ Ruby will die, if they do not know something.

He knows who will do it, who will look upon her and not see her for her despair and desperation, who will see her only as a criteria to be met and a blemish against value. This Oracle is one that he has slowly come to hate, with all his heart; and if every Oracle is like this, and makes demands of people it breaks and asks to surmount themselves, while others circle like sharks? He will destroy them. Every last Oracle, and condemn every soul to the next generation, the next cycle. ]

You are not a traitor, Ruby. And I do not hate you for trying to survive.

[ As she holds him, he fastens his arms around her and rubs his hand against her shoulder. He looks at the hateful eyes of a man who shares the same wedding band as her and shows his sharp teeth against his memory, holding her closer; in their mindscape, he brings to bear every weapon he has ever known. Blade and projectile, fist and heavy axe. Sorry Iske, his fox-wife now. ]

You are going to hide. You are going to run and hide, for the rest of this battle. You will find a place to tuck yourself among the tunnels where nobody can reach you, and stay there until it is over. And I will find you again, after.

[ He murmurs it into her hair, pressing her face to the warmth of his Shard. To the place where she can feel his soul and how it yearns for her. ]

And if you want to stay Zenith, nothing will change between us. You tell them that you understand where you belong now, you look at them and tell them you could not bear Meridian's false hopes and it is better there. Lie to them, however you must. You will still go to my shrine, you beloved dragon will still be safe, and we will still be this way.

[ Carefully, he aligns his mouth to the crown of her head. He pushes a hesitant kiss there. ]

And if you wish to come back to me, I will be Meridian. I returned to them, for those like you. You will always be able to come back to me, even if you do not hold hope in Meridian; I will try hard to be your strength, your hope. We will lie, like we did before. We will say I asked you to pretend to go to Zenith, and because you are obedient and serve me, you did.

But first. You are going to run. And you are going to survive.

[appeale]

[ at times, Set may be a wildfire, a blazing sun, the heat of the desert sands so intense that it burns your feet – but in this moment, he is simply warm. Rudbeckia curls into him seeking that warmth, like a flower trying to escape the frost, like someone pulled from the depths of an icy lake. is it worse, she wonders, to have this for a moment, knowing that it won't last? once he releases her, she'll go back to the cold; and someday, when he discards her for good, she will go once again.

she doesn't want to care about such things. Set should be nothing more than a lifeline to her, a temporary means of survival. it's foolish to have hopes, or desires, or feelings at all when she knows none of them will matter in the end. but she thinks— if she could have—

Ruby flees from that budding desire, deeper into the dark. even so, she can't help clinging more fiercely to Set, the only torch she has. ]

I don't want to stay there. I'm scared of them. I know I'm not a good Meridian, but all they care about is action. Zenith demands devotion. I've been there before. [ she does not mean it in the literal sense. Set is overcome by a chill and its association with home; a feeling like walking on tip-toe over glass shards, eyes searing on the back of his neck. ] If they don't think I'm loyal, they'll...

[ a cold, dark room. the scars on her back. ]

That man—Kaeya, he'll kill me. Or Amos. And Lady Yima—wouldn't be able to love me.

cw the screaming furby feedback loop

[redsoil]

[ The scars on her back.

There are some people, that despite the obvious siren's call of their Aspects, manage to resonate more within him than even some within his own faction. Ruby is one of them, her terror in this moment so acute that he tightens his hold on her, half-lifts her off her feet as if preparing to hoist her onto his hip or back and run until he dies to keep her ( them ) away from the poisonous, screaming thing inside of her mind and soul. He knows she was never that attached to Meridian, but he also knows from her own admissions, that Zenith holds a particular haunting quality. Even if the message resonates with her, she cannot find purchase in either place.

In their Communion, her terror — it sinks into the things that he tries to keep from her. The shivering thing that covers its ears and tears at its own hair and flesh, begging those who refuse to hear not to let it happen again please do not let it happen again it it going to happen to me again and again and again —. To no avail. Just like for Ruby, no one came for Set. Even here, he ensures that he never feels the begging, pleading thing that wants to look up and cry for help. It will never happen, it needs to die, he needs to keep it from Ruby —

Lady Yima — wouldn't be able to love me.

( Ruby's terror rips it from his hands, before he can hide it. Before he can be there for her.

The image of his brother, crawling out of the dirt below the tree. Handsome of face, charming of smile. The perfect gentleman with green skin, strong and adoring and gentle. A god of life, a god of prosperity, whom the people look upon with shining eyes, with hopes and devotionals sung in his honorable name. Osiris, Osiris. He crawls out of the dirt like green worms, in Set's eyes. Worms and vines, and dead eyes. Eyes that look upon him with — Ruby will know it, Ruby will know it because her own brother looks upon her in such a way.

And Yima is there, in this memory-vision. This potential thing. She takes the brother who looks upon Set with the promise of a world for two, where he finally, finally owns him, and the Lady — she,

she loves him, unconditionally.

She would love Osiris, whom carved Set apart. She would love him as she will always love Ruby. As she would love Cesare. With no heed given to those they will prey upon, with no condemnation for what they have and will do. Lady Yima — wouldn't be able to love me. ) Set's terror ricochets across their connection, the haunting phantom of Cesare Osiris that haunts his mind, that spoke words of love, of obsession ( All I have ever done, was for you. I love you. )

His hands hold her, tight. Hard. He doesn't mean to, but he cannot help but clutch at her. ]

All I cared about was you. [ Weakly said, choked out. She won't believe him, even if he is an open, raw wound that she can claw into and find no lie in. ]

When I kicked your shoes off, at the masquerade — it was so you could run easier.

[ He does pick her up, then. He wants her off the floor, he wants her out of these roots, he wants her away from Meridian and Zenith ( he wants her with him ), where he does not have to feel this terror of all things screaming within her. She validates him, because she needs him. Even if she only needs him for a little while, she is a woman that he could have seen in his past life and hurt as easily as any other man. He has hurt women. He does not want to harm her. He just wants her screaming to stop.

He reaches down, trying to take her shoes off her feet. Those dainty little heels she wears, they'll hinder her. Her hair, he needs to give her something to keep it up and away from the roots, so she does not get caught. ]

If you do want to stay, you know they will keep you safe. You will be Zenith, and that will be all that matters to them. You do not have to pretend you want to come back with me, I do not care. I will, I will make Jonathan Sims keep you safe, even. And Lady Yima, she... would love anyone. Anyone.

[ Osiris and Cesare included. ]

cw abuse and misery

[appeale]

[ what bleeds between Set's fingers from the wound he had tried in vain to cover is a vision that perhaps no one else could understand as well as Rudbeckia understands it. a brand of horror she is so intimately familiar with, a nightmare she has envisioned so often herself without needing anyone to feed it to her. their fear blurs together in this Communion space that neither of them can control. Osiris' hand reaches out towards Ruby; Cesare's hand runs through Set's hair. what lurks in their gaze is something she can't decipher, something Set knows that she can't perceive. Ruby is a paralysing influence on their shared vision, helpless and unable to resist, only knowing that if it ever came true, her world – such a small and insignificant thing, just her, beneath any shred of concern to Meridian or Zenith – would end.

she thought— she really thought she wouldn't cry. that it couldn't break through the thick blanket of ice that had settled her heart once she swallowed the serenity Jonathan Sims had offered her, or even the numbness of shock inflicted on her by their vision. but when Set hauls her up, fumbles to remove her shoes with a sudden and desperate protective urge that she cannot pretend not to see in him – a harsh sob wrenches itself from her throat.

if she didn't cry, though, she would scream. she would have to tell Set everything, needing him to know that they won't accept her, that they can't, and tearing herself to pieces in trying to communicate it. it isn't something she could ever actually put into words when it's simply an immutable fact of the universe that she knows, a culmination of every cold gaze and cruel hand that has ever laid upon her, every person that turned away from her pleas, every warm sentiment that ran dry. ]

I— I want to stay with you... [ in the end, this is the only way she can express her fear. ] I don't have anywhere else to go, please don't throw me away. I'll be good, I'll...

[ the things she cannot put into words, the inconsolable wail that is caught in her throat, finds the crack it can escape through: Communion does not need her to speak, or even understand her own feelings. Set does not receive memories laid out neatly in a film reel, but feels the aftermath of what Ruby's life has left her with. her certainty that she will not, cannot be loved is something rooted so deeply within her because it has been fed and nurtured by every person she has ever encountered. he feels the despair that struck her the moment her family's warmth evaporated, knowing that it was her fault; that she had disappointed them, that at the centre of her is something so terrible, anyone who sees it is changed.

her mother's harsh words, relentless, finding the flaws in her looks and her actions and her very existence. a rod striking her knuckles in a teacher's hand. the whip held high, Cesare's voice gone cold: Tell me what you did wrong. her father the Pope with a fistful of her hair in his hand when he had been smiling so kindly just a moment before.

the servants rolling their eyes when she speaks. whispers in the hallways. coughing up a glass of water, her throat burning from the grains of sand mixed into it. pinned to the wall by her husband's sister, shouting at her: Just go and die quietly! that red-eyed glare again, and the despair it struck in her heart. there is no end to it, and no reprieve.

maybe Zenith would accept her, maybe Yima would love her at first. but it is inevitable that it would change because it always, always, always does. ]

drives us right off the cliff together

[redsoil]

[ Truly, he hates Communion. This pervasive mental unity that batters at his fragile walls and tears through them as one might easily carve through an overripe fruit; Ruby's terror so easily splits him, aimed right for the vulnerable core of his person — that place where so many have found purchase in these terrible caverns. His heart aches for them all, it agonizes and struggles against his own mind, his cruel nature; he wants to punish her ( all of them ) for failing to believe in him, for not looking to him alone in their times of need. He wants to punish himself, for being such a waste of a god to them all that they fled into the dark. ( He wants to be there, with them, in the dark. )

He cannot resolve her terror, but at least — maybe, she can know she is not alone in it. That someone, somewhere, screams for help that never came and never would for them, as well. As the ice in Ruby's heart splinters, it finds the core of his own heart — his own tongue falters, stills. He strangles on the words he wants to speak to her. Nothing feels right, nothing he can say will be enough. When she was with him in Meridian, he never cared for her utility or devotion — had he not said that? Could she not believe him? And he knows, now. No, she could not.

Eventually, even he would turn on her. The immutable truth in her heart would not let her see them beyond the time limit she truly believed was imposed upon them. ]

You need to hide and be safe. [ He urges that of her. ] I am not going anywhere in this life without you.

[ Often, he thinks of the divide between Meridian and Zenith — the ideological mission that drives the two is cruel, it demands they stand apart when really, they need one another. They must need one another, or the ma'at of the world will rip itself asunder long before any of them know what happened, why it happened, what the wisest and most encompassing path to walk is. ( Yet, he loves the fighting. But. Right now, he really hates the divide. There is no reason for it to exist, if it must part people who need one another. )

( Call-and-response. As she yields the numbing ache of her reality to him, in the form of family that despises her, blames her, criticizes and wishes for her death, he also cannot help the way his own pain moves to latch onto hers. A smiling, warm-eyed brother who he admired for so long, served proudly at the side of — becoming a warped, twisted stranger before his eyes. Poison in wine, numbing him from the belly outward. Hands upon him, the need to save someone he loves and lives and would rather die for. Think about what you must do? What is it that you can do?, end of the line, of course he will yield everything. His pride, his dignity, his power — even his body. A sister who sees it, she sees it all, she knows the truth and she turns her back. She looks upon him as if he deserved it. )

Not a man, not a god, not anyone Rudbeckia de Borgia could find safety in. Right? Right. ]

You know how to get to my shrine. You always have a place there.

[appeale]

[ there wasn't any special reason that she chose to put her life in Iske's hands after the Borgias sold her off – he didn't care one whit for her safety, he wasn't kind or generous, he had no interest in her as a person at all. his future did not include her. it was a decision she made because he was the protagonist. and while there were moments where she felt some manner of warmth from him, the fact is that Iske never promised her anything. the only thing Rudbeckia had ever relied on was his position in the narrative.

Set is not a fixed existence in this world. to entrust herself to him is like hoping to keep her footing on sand. he offers her his actions and his vows, and yet because he is someone real, someone whose story is not written on pages she has read herself, he lacks the certainty she sought in Iske. still. still, the things he says—All I cared about was you. I am not going anywhere in this life without you. the things that he understands, without a need for her to explain them. the places where his sharp edges fit against the gouges left in her.

unlike in her old life, unlike with Iske, it does not need to be Set that she binds herself to. but she thinks that maybe — she wants it to be him. ]

I don't care about Zenith, or Meridian, or any of it. [ her words are delivered into the crook of his neck as she clings to him, her arms wound tight and head burrowed against him. it would be nice to think that she wouldn't have to let go, but she has no expectations of him carrying her to safety, away from all of this. they don't have that option, and she doesn't resent him for that. ] None of it matters to me. You're all I have.

[ much like these caverns beneath the Tree of Life, Ruby's heart is a gnarled knot of roots that have grown down deep, sprouted from every terrible seed ever planted in her by the hands of another. there is no untangling them, and she wouldn't try. tracing her words back to a source is impossible in such chaos, but what is clear is that she means them. whether she speaks of Set as a lifebuoy or a beacon, whatever it is she thinks of him, she does not understand any better than he can – yet it is the truth, nonetheless.

Rudbeckia loosens her desperate grip, first by inches and then all at once, extending her feet towards the ground so that Set may place her down. once her toes touch the dirt, she presses a kiss to Set's cheek, near the corner of his mouth. ]

I'll hide. Until it's safe.

[ that is what she will always do. ]

[redsoil]

You have me, then.

[ He breathes it. Drying the tears that spill from his eyes, seeking to hold her fast. The expression on his face twists, into a toothy sneer. A vicious little smile of defiance.

His balance skews towards Meridian in effort, and Zenith in existence; he straddles the line between two factions, repulsed and straining to hold not their ideologies, but their people fast to him. A difficult, impossible task that will tear him in two. He would burn this world if it meant ensuring the ones he has come to care for will ride a wave of horror to the things they desire, and he will be able to return to his own realm and do his duty once more. He is drawn to either side because they are a means to an end, and those means may fluctuate over time. Adapt and transform, but regardless of them —

she will have him, through all that comes their way. That much, he is certain of.

Ruby begins to let herself down, to loosen her grip upon him and badly, badly he wants to keep holding her. She is miserable, she gives him meaning beyond that which he might deserve; dangerous, insane meaning. He is miserable, and he does something for her that the two of them cannot put words to, but understand implicitly between them. As her mouth brushes along the corner of his, he reaches up. Slow. To cup his hands across the exterior of her hair ( he does not sink his fingers into her tresses, he would not like it, his own hair is long and has been gripped by so many brutal hands — ), to gather it up and loop it around itself. To take up a stray root, two, and pin her hair atop her head.

Out of her face, out of the way of grabbing hands or debris. ]

— you are mine. No leader, nor force, will obscure that now, Ruby.

[ For her, he presses his nose to her forehead. To the center of her brow where he breathes her in, deep and slow. Run, he urges her in impressions and wild energy, like a coursing hound or lunging crocodile, hide, survive for me. ]