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

[redsoil]

I had you. In combat, and in bed. I knew you in both, and I would know you now. Even when you go, I will know you.

[ And accept, all that he is. As intoned before they had even slept together, as had reverberated in his punches as they had collided in the Coliseum. He knows of Gen, but not all that Gen is; Set covets more, in the way that he does not covet everyone. Some, he could care less about. Some, he would rather throw off an island to an abyssal, lonely demise. Gen, he — ( Would like to hold the hand of, in his final hours. Would like to see smile once. Scowl often. Would like more of this moment with, where he can make the young man feel small, maybe even safe. )

He could be mean in return, as Gen offers him vitriol. Acid, fuel for a fire. He knows what he could say — Gen is not the first to have him, and was definitely the least memorable; Gen was an idle fancy, a drunken mistake. But, he wasn't. He was crude and bit and demanded and took, but he was nothing like anyone who came before him. ]

Do not be mean, Minegishi Gen. [ And then. ] That night, you were kinder to me than others have been. I do not feel it is stupid to know you, and it is not because I think of you as just somebody to couple with.

[ He touches his fingers to that fake, shitty grin. Traces it, somber but not pitying. Perhaps, in some way, it is the way Gen battles himself that Set adores. He is his own field of slaughter and death. A young man with an obviously broken youth, waiting for his own demise. ]

If you want to fight, we can always do that later, I do not want to waste the time I have with you. I want you around because you haunt me already, Gen. I want to know you, little ghost. I want you to be real and whole in my life. Tell me?

[epiprocta]

[ Why the hell won't this fucker buckle?

It's easy getting most people off his back. A few choice words here, a bristling snarl there, capped off with a little extra posturing usually do the trick with room to spare -- Gen knows his reputation preceeds him, and it should be easy getting people to leave him alone. He's always had to maintain that distance from everyone. It's what it took to keep a secret in that shitty, suffocating small hometown of his. But it feels like every attempt he makes to shake Set off yields zero progress; the warmth of his body just seems to pull closer and closer, like sand seeping into every crevice in cracked dirt. Every word he says claws into his thoughts, and he desperately wants to block them out. He doesn't want Set tempting him towards honesty like this.

Those fingers trace his lips, and Gen drops that pretense of a smirk. Then, after barely a split second's deliberation, he bites.

(Even that feels strangely difficult right now, though.)

His bite isn't even enough to break skin, in the end; it might bruise, and it will certainly leave a mark, but there's no blood. And though Gen does shoot Set a glare in challenge as he clenches his jaw, digging his teeth in, it doesn't last long. One, two huffed exhales are all he can manage before dropping his gaze as he lets his jaw go slack; his breath gloss cold against spit-slick skin as he lets Set's fingers slip from his mouth. Then, after a hard swallow -- ]

... I just know where I'm supposed to be.

[ His words are quiet and choked, but frank. Set's dogged pursuit has won him that victory, at least for the moment. Gen lets out another shaky exhale. ]

I thought -- I could be different this time. Not just be what people expect me to be. But this is the type of person I'll always be. I can't stand it, I want it all gone. Everything. [ 'Including myself,' a voice whispers at the back of his mind, maybe just loud enough for Set to hear. ] ... pretending I belong with some of the people on that side, it makes me sick. I'm sick and tired of you all.

[ His thoughts go mostly to Eustace and Gray. He'd really wanted to try for them. He really had. But he can't pretend Set's words don't also make some corner of his heart ache. 'I want you to be real and whole in my life.' As if. Gen keeps his gaze ducked as he gives a low laugh; his smile this time is genuine in its bitter melancholy. ]

Too bad for you. You better find someone else to waste your time on.

[redsoil]

[ Unfortunately, Set has proven himself rather drawn to Hostile Bastards. He clutches at them with the ferocity of someone who wants to hunch over them and bite the hands that try to wrest them from his person, territorial and protective of what he views as 'his'. Whether they reciprocate or not, that is the madness of a god — it is found in what they sink their claws into, and what they spurn. If Set has managed to carve a path into Silco's graces, what does that mean for Gen? Set has long laid eyes upon the young man's defenses, and has worked to assail them, to wear him down; in this, he can be far more patient than any other soul.

Or, not patient. Simply stubborn.

When Gen sinks teeth into his fingers, he winces. He hisses through his own teeth and the flinch of his body threatens retaliation, an immediate need to find purchase with a bite of his own against Gen. To not let such an attack go un-answered. ]

What did you think Meridian expected of you, Gen?

[ It is only a question, to learn more. He draws his fingers back with exaggerated slowness, flexing them until he feels them begin to ache far too much; again, he winces and tucks his hand down between them, where it is warm and he can stroke the center of Gen's chest with the back of that bruised hand. A methodical motion, not unlike an attempt at foreign intimacy, or just the act of trying to soothe that aching heart he can feel in their corner of Communion. ]

You could just be gone, if that is what you want. You need not take everything with you. For I only wanted you to be you. Rude, annoying. Irritable. Sad and angry. Rotten, just like me.

[ A proposal. If Gen wants what he wants, it is fine. If he does not belong, that is fine. But, Set cannot fathom why he would want to destroy it all, if within him is the — that plaintive little whisper, about wanting himself gone most of all. It is not an unfamiliar call. It is a whisper that Set gathers into his own mind and sets in his lap, running hands over attentively. Gen wants to die. ]

You are not a waste, Gen. This world asks a hard question of us all, and the magic of it will push us in directions we would not normally have to travel in worlds of our own. Perhaps in yours, you would have found that end. Or a new beginning. Now, all you have to your name is the choice of how, when and by what hand you will die. And maybe, who will mourn you.

[epiprocta]

[ Nobody will mourn him. Nobody should mourn him. Gen knows how he’ll die, because that hasn’t changed one bit from the very beginning. He’s always known that he’ll slowly crumble while doing exactly what he’s been expected to do — an entirely unglamorous, unceremonious, dull way of dying.

But that’s not what he says.

He’d been permitting that slow (admittedly soothing) rub at his chest — a different sort of intimacy than he’s used to, chaste and gentle and initiated without goading — but Gen touches at Set’s wrist after a few moments. Pulls it away from his chest to look at it. Lets his fingers slide across the back of his hand, against chafed skin and raised tendons, until he feels those bitemarks where they’ve dimpled red against Set’s fingers.

He looks at those, instead of meeting Set’s gaze, when he speaks. ]

That’s cruel. [ He laughs, but it’s a far cry from the usual harsh, sneering way he usually laughs. There’s something far more honest in the brief, quiet melancholy of it. ] I’ve been holding on this long by myself and you want me to die by myself, too? [ A sigh. ] … at least when I die, I’m dragging everything down with me.

[ Perhaps surprisingly, the undercurrent of spite in those words isn’t anywhere near as strong as the suffocating drag of loneliness.

Another slow exhale before Gen digs a nail into one of those bite marks, furrowing it in deeper. A very deliberate move as he asks, quietly, ]

Or, what. Are you gonna die with me, if I asked? [ He looks up now as he continues to dig his nail in, grasping tighter at Set’s hand. ] If this rude, annoying, rotten son of a bitch asked you to die, exclusively for him, and for nobody else — for no other reason — would you say yes?

[ He knows the answer is no. Set had something to live for and a place to return to, even if it’s just for a promise and a duty. But just by virtue of those factors, Set can’t be what he’s looking for — no matter how enticing that offer of unconditional understanding is, no matter how much a part of him wants to wallow in those endless, heady, warm expanses of sand in the landscape of Set’s mind. Gen already knows this, and so he doesn’t wait for an answer before dipping his gaze once more — pulling his nail back and rubbing the pad of his thumb against the sore crescent-moon mark he’s left. ]

… if I could get that, then maybe I could’ve been whatever it is Meridian expects of me. But I can’t get that, so I won’t. There’s no place for me there. You get it now, right?

[redsoil]

Go on, [ the words are soft, they have nothing to do with what Gen feels, or says, and everything to do with the way that the young man takes hold of Set's hand and begins to dig his nails into his fingers. Into the injuries. To make them worse, to claw them open — and it hurts, the ripe burst of pain that emanates from him is proof of that. If he could, he would hold onto the scar a human would have left. A scar, made by Gen, forever. ] I am cruel. [ Rotten, and cruel. Even to someone he wants to — what? save? As if. Set is not a savior-god, not a hero who arrives with the blessings of others, a warm affect and a do-good attitude. Among the Meridian, he is one of the fringe members, an outlier. Even home, he was an outsider to his own family, his own people. And while Gen speaks, questions, and radiates that pit of unsoothable loneliness — he is so quiet, watching the way those nails drag at the bite marks until he feels his own skin give way a little. A bead of blood bursting up from where a canine tooth had gotten him plenty good. And maybe, because Gen was not looking at him until this moment... he will think that the slow roll of tears on Set's face are from the pain — even though they had begun, long before. ] Do you want to know how cruel I am, Gen? [ Murmured. ] It it this cruel: I do not know what will happen in our future. I am not omniscient, but some things I feel are inescapably true. Fated. Destined. Humans are free of these things, but gods are not. I do not know what will happen in the future, but I have a feeling... at the end of all things, it might be best if what I become dies with you. I think we're far more alike than we want to be. And it would be so wonderful, to tell someone I really hate 'fuck you, I am dying with this rotten son of a bitch instead'. [ It feels like he should laugh, but he cannot. ] I do not want you to live directly under a light that causes you, or anyone such pain. That is why I am going to become the shadow for people like you — the ones who would burn otherwise, and need someone to hold them. Like this. [ An eclipse, among Meridian. Someone who is, but is not. Someone who can keep the direct pain of hope off of them, and filter it into something more palatable. ] — would you live, if I asked? If I could do that, would you look back and consider the path I will carve for rotten things like us? Not Meridian's path, but ours. Because I will wait for you. [ He won't delude himself into thinking he could ever be that important. Not to anyone. But, he asks. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Unfortunately, Set is right. There's only one person in existence who could have asked that question, for whom Gen would have considered saying 'yes.' But that person remains asleep as a shard somewhere in the safe corners of Amos' room, silent and unreachable -- and even if they could speak, that question is just about the last thing they'd ask. 'Would you live for me,' is a question so far into the realm of the hypothetical for him that Gen can't even imagine a world in which he answers with, 'yes.'

But that's not to say some part of him doesn't ache for it.

Gen looks at Set in silence for a moment and wonders what those tears are for -- if they really are for him, like he wants to guess. He wonders if he's special at all, or if Set would extend this same invitation to anyone else just as volatile. He wonders if it would have made a difference, if Set had offered him that shelter just a little earlier, before this entire scenario chipped away at what remained of his endurance. As much as he knows, he knows the answer to all those question would have been 'no' ...

a part of him wants to believe in another place, at another time, Set could have dragged a 'yes' out of at least one of them. The blinding sunlight and endless, heady expanses of sand in the landscape of Set's mind call to him. Maybe he could have buried himself in them, were circumstances just a little different. ]

... you can wait all you want. But I won't ever be there. [ It's a testament to Set's allure that Gen's answer is frank instead of dismissive. No 'fuck off' or 'as if,' just a low exhale, not quite a wry laugh, before he dips his gaze once more. A drop of Set's blood's flecked red on the side of his thumb and he rubs absently at it, feeling it grit between his fingertips. Too bad it flakes away easily instead of leaving a stain. ] You think I'm as easy as you? Even if you did die for me, it'd mostly be to spite whoever it is you hate -- I'm not interested in being your side piece. And you want me to stay there just for you? Fuck you. Cling to someone else, instead.

[ Someone else might stand a chance, he thinks. Someone else not so rotten to the core might find their home in that shelter Set offers. It's a good offer, after all. He's almost jealous of this hypothetical recipient.

And while the settle of Zenith's chill in Gen's soul grows deeper, firmer, colder, it brings along with it a peace that had been absent before Set had said his peace. Though the core of his being is still built on exhaustion and loneliness, there's some respite to be found in pretending he'd ever stood a chance otherwise. A tiny part of him thanks Set for offering him the chance to be so delusional, and for the first time, he does think that maybe Set's talk of being a god isn't bullshit. Maybe that's why he adds, ]

But if you ever feel like dying in the end, I'll still do that for you. I'll do that much for you, so. You can find me. I'll wait for that.

[ Said as he grasps Set's hand properly. Firm but calm, no longer clawing or digging in his fingertips. Simply asking for the final push to put him where he belongs. ]

[redsoil]

I still will. No matter how deep you go into this thing you need, or how far you run in search of your death— [ He runs his hand up, across the forefront of Gen's throat and into his dark hair, cradling the side of his face as he finds those equally dark, hopeless eyes. ] You will always find me there for you. Now, and in the end.

[ Gen may think this is an offer he could make to just anyone, perhaps even to another soul — someone more deserving, who could make it out of the mire he was choosing to belong to — but, there is nothing more personal to him than making such a vow directly to Minegishi Gen. In this moment, in this way.]

I did find you, though. I came to Kenos, one way or another, and I found you. Against all possibility, against all odds. And I will always find you again.

[ The dark, cool thing inside of him swells. It surges to the surface where he presses himself to Gen, points of contact like biting ice — the desert at night, with beasts howling like haunted things into the starless sky, frozen and calm and waiting. Waiting for the sun to rise again. ]

I think you are the most painful thing I have ever known, Gen. I am so grateful you exist. I truly do treasure you.

[ There is a contradiction in those words, for how could anyone find a reason to be grateful for misery and pain? For a sorrowful, angry boy who seeks oblivion to belong somewhere, and asks of Set to deliver him to that place. How can anyone treasure a moment like this? A boy like Gen?

But, he does. It is irrefutable, as Set draws their clutched hands to his mouth and clasps Gen tightly to him — exhaling, and bleeding the other half of his heart out, for him alone. And with it, he passes Zenith into him — a sound like goodbye, and anotjer sound. Faint, but true: hello. ]

Go be where you belong. Know, I will always, always think of you as mine.

[epiprocta]

[ Set's hand cups against his cheek, and Gen blinks slowly, wearily, before allowing himself to nuzzle into it. And in that moment, it's not just those canine ears of his -- flattened back until they're almost hidden in the dark tangle of his hair -- that make him look like a stray dog longing for a master whose grave he can starve to death by. The listless gaze he fixes on Set is rife with loyalty and devotion that have nowhere to go, as well as an equally ravenous hunger for affection.

Maybe that's why he's genuinely, truly, honestly grateful for that contradiction in Set's words.

'Minegishi Gen' will never be a blessing upon anyone's life unless he becomes something other than himself. This, he knows as an ironclad fact. Then -- if he must be a curse, he'd rather be a memorable one. If he can leave indelible scars, and at least be heard and remembered in that way, he'd be glad for it. To be so wholeheartedly accepted as a blight, as a scourge, as something detestable is a new but almost invigorating experience, and it makes something in his chest squeeze tight. Set calls him 'painful,' and Gen sighs in relief. ]

... alright. [ The chilly flow of Zenith in his veins redoubles, strengthened by the fresh glut that Set pours into him, and Gen shudders. It feels comfortable in the way that sinking into the folds of something unbearably soft and painfully familiar. A return to where he belongs. ] I'll let you think that.

[ And in return, he tries to purge the remaining dregs of Meridian that cling to his flesh. Those scraps are scant and few, but it still feels right to try and hand them over in exchange -- reaffirming Set's place, along with his own. Because if Set is promising to wait for him there, on that side, then he can't be abandoning his post, can he?

His shoulders sink as he exhales slowly, and Gen squeezes Set's hand once more before slowly letting go. It feels like something's settled into place deep within his core, reaching a comfortable point of equilibrium. 'Hello,' Set's voice echoes from the further corners of his mind, and Gen acknowledges it with a small nod.

'Hello,' he should say in return. 'Thank you,' he should say. But those words aren't becoming of the rude, irritable, rotten bastard Set calls his, are they? So instead, he whispers, ] -- I won't be going easy on you next time. [ Maybe there's even a shiver of anticipation in those words. Something almost boyish and genuine. ] Let's see if you can keep thinking that.

[ But until then -- he'll allow himself to be Set's. He'll think of another world, another time, where he accepted that hand offered his way by a man who claims to be cruel, but has offered him a shelter safer than any other he's felt in a while. ]

warning: intense gay

[redsoil]

[ Following the kiss to those fingers, he draws Gen's hand along and tucks it up-underneath the golden collar that he wears high around his throat. Just under the edge of it, hidden behind metal and the tumble of red hair — sits his shard, rough and unpolished, without defined geometry or lovely quality. A rough stone, red and marbled like meat, that appears to the eye like an endless, unhealing wound over his heart; he aligns Gen's hand there, as he feeds Zenith into him, thumbing soft over the pulse in his wrist as he takes care of this young man in the only way he can.

There is a tragic beauty in it, being the one to witness the last moments of someone's dying hopes. As someone kills their hope, or yields themself to their demons. There is also a timeless quality to it, being the one to shepherd souls to the place they feel they need to be — because, he values choices. He will fight them, he will not yield to them, but he will accept them. He is not as warm, nor as kind, as Quetzalcoatl who looks upon everyone and finds love in them; no, Set finds them painful, ugly, stupid little things at his worst moments and loathes them for what they do to him at his best.

( He needs to stay Meridian, he realizes. To keep the promise with his child, and to truly safeguard whatever these people have found in him. Is it love? Friendship? Acceptance? Something to hate, to battle? Whatever it is, if he can be that for them, he will. He will. ) ]

I really hope you do not, Gen. You have a such handsome new arm, and so much to do with the rest of your time here.

[ Daringly, though Meridian now sings stronger within him and Zenith finally takes root, permanent and lasting, to Harmonize within the young man he had found reason to give his body willingly to — he leans in to kiss the center of his brow. To align his mouth there, nearly as scalding-hot as the desert sands Gen had buried himself in, as a summer afternoon spent lounging in the street with a bottle of pop and a battered slingshot, of holding a sweat-slick hand tight in his own, running up a hill while the grasses bit and flicked and stuck to bare legs, of bodies entwined in a way that does not hurt the way it ought to.

The listlessness of Gen's eyes. The loyalty and devotion in them, he does not look away from. If they are at all meant for him, he will meet this hungry young man without flinching from him. He thumbs further at the corner of that boyish smile, and his own mouth echoes it — smiling genuine and daring at him. Already seeking to meet him, straining to greet him. ]

You will find I am capable of many things, mdwj m ḫnms. If even by chance, I fail as both a man and a god to die alongside you — I will carry you with me, and treat you preciously as someone new in our next life. You can rest here, now, if you wish. I will keep you safe until you go.

no homo tho

[epiprocta]

[ His fingers touch upon the smooth surface of Set's shard, guided by Set's own hand, and there's the immediate, instinctive desire to dig his nails in. To scratch at that textured surface and leave marks, claw in as deep as he can. The urge to communicate through violence is ever-present and powerful, and Set must also feel it in the prickle of aggression that tugs at the end of their shared mindscape -- the bared teeth of a dog that knows no other way to interact with people except by biting.

Maybe it's fitting, then, that that kiss to the brow is what soothes him.

Even small and almost chaste, the gesture carries enough inhuman heat to scorch through his nerves. The sensation of it is weighty, like being enveloped in an endless expanse of desert sand, hot enough to ripple through the air; it brings to mind sleepy summer afternoons in his youth, where all he'd wanted to do was doze beside the one person he'd found peace in.

That person isn't Set. But in this moment, here and now, he can at least pretend that Set could have been that person. ]

In our next life, huh.

[ Truth be told, he doesn't really believe in reincarnation. All he wants after his death is peace -- someplace quiet, someplace where he doesn't have to be himself any longer. But ... maybe it wouldn't be bad, if things go down the way Set puts it.

Set is insane and abnormal. Nothing about the way he conducts himself makes sense. And even if Gen is starting to come around to all of those lofty claims that he's a god, that he's something fundamentally greater than human -- he still can't fully understand Set. Maybe that's alright, though. Maybe he doesn't need to. Maybe all that matters is that, in another life, he might have found shelter in this overwhelming, suffocating, sweltering heat from the very beginning. He would have gladly burned there, instead of in the quiet, endless, darkness of his hometown. ]

... then find me faster, next time. [ It's not in his nature to easily ask for things, or to even accept them. But while he doesn't agree to Set's promise, or say that he stay under Set's protection for the moment -- his actions speak plenty for him. He curls up small once more as he sinks against that soporific, comforting heat of Set's presence, though his body's no longer shaken by tremors; the slow exhale he gives is almost a sigh of relief, glossing warm against Set's chest where he ends up resting his head, eyes quietly shuttering closed. ] Before I become like this. [ And, softly, comprehensible only across this too-intimate Communion that's been opened between them: ] ... I wouldn't've minded living for you, then.