THE SOOT OF IGNORANCE: RISING ACTION

[beleos]

BETWEEN UNCONTROLLED ESCALATION & UNENDING PASSIVITY

The moonlit city of Highstorm has always been a tranquil location.

Its people, passionate about the steady leadership of Zenith's leader — Lady Yima — begin their movements slowly and deliberately. Following the lead of their most trusted Shard-Bearers and the word of their Lady, activity in Highstorm begins to increase in the vicinity of Yima's Manor. The Court, the town square outside of it, becomes a hotbed of bustle and voices. Personnel and attendants rush around with documentation, stirring others to action. A select few figures gather the full force of their long-standing houses, calling on family bonds and their own castellans to assist the efforts that build over the course of a few days.

For the tranquility of Highstorm is only ever punctuated by its decisiveness, its faith that their path is the correct one — and now, they will prove it.

In a trickle-down effort, from the most loyal Zenites to the newest, the news unfolds for them: Amos Burton has been tasked by Lady Yima herself to turn the tides back in Zenith's favor. He is to end the life of the 34th Tribune, Cyrus Marcius Germanus Kokkinos, alongside the fortune who have found their way into Zenith's graces. In the earliest hours of the invasion, the figure of Yima herself steps out onto the balcony of her quarters — the highest point of the Manor — with her robes soft around her body and hands extended to her people. Her silence is punctuated by glowing feelings of pride that flow through the hearts and minds of every last sworn Zenite, bolstering their resolve and encouraging them with the cool, ever-flowing might of the people who look to Zenith's Shard-Bearers for their victory.

She sees them off with unspoken sentiments of love, confidence in them — the whispered promises that she knows they are ready to see the war through. And perhaps none of them will know that it is the last time they see her.

For in the sun-dappled sprawl of Springstar, their target awaits them.

The bustle of the city has always been without reservation; the bright and airy attitudes of militant citizenry look on with confidence and celebratory warmth as their Shard-Bearers have brought them to a marginal advancement over their enemies. While Tribune Cyrus's popularity has waned, there are alternative avenues they have begun to explore — the figure of Agapitos Voreen has become deeply popular, with savvy statements, an easy confidence and a willingness to deny Zenith any room to breathe, he is a shoe-in for future Tribune, whenever the next elections are held.

Which is why, in between one moment and the next, the city is rocked by the efforts of their opposition. Zenite-aligned Shard-Bearers and the small house armies of Yima's most loyal core families fill the streets with chaotic distractions, ranging from duels with the Helios Legionnaire to direct attacks on civilians. ( Where does your character draw the line, if they care to? Will it matter in the long run, do they believe? ) Appearing from several Cornerstones hidden within the city's confines from missions long past, tracking the movements of Legionnaires and Shard-Bearers alike from the placement of listening gems and tracking spells, even rising from the bowels of Kowloon to trap the city in a pincer movement — Highstorm goes on the offensive.

Springstar puts up a valiant resistance in return; however, within twenty-four hours, Zenite Shard-Bearers will have hunted down, cornered and slain the Tribune. In that moment, Meridian-aligned Shard-Bearers will feel a splitting pain: the suddenness of having an integral element of their power ripped from them, the sensation akin to being crushed, gasping under the weight of Zenith's swell. The last trickle of emotion from Cyrus for them is a gentle warmth, fondness and forgiveness and the purity of his confidence in them. He believes in them, he always has, and he prays and hopes for their victory even though he will not be around to see it become reality, now.

His death is announced the following day by his assistant Cetina, the deer-morph girl choking back angry tears as she — with a furious and tearful General Ayo Zaman and the somber, mournful figure of Hieropoios Natalia at her side — lambasts Highstorm for the act of aggression, attempts to rouse the city and Meridian's hope, and pledges that she will not let her best friend's murderers escape her vengeance.

Hours after Cetina's message, in the far corner of Highstorm — following the people's celebrations and rejoicing in their strike, the delight in the might of their Shard-Bearers and the renewed passions of their people in pursuit of their victory — a brilliant, golden beam of sunlight pierces the eternal night of the city.

In an instant, the balcony upon which Yima had stood and the rooms beyond it — in fact, the entirety of the Manor, is engulfed in fire and light. The Manor falls, crumbling in upon itself as debris cascades into the living quarters of Shard-bearers and partially topples into the Court beyond. While the Tree of Life, the Reflecting Pools and many businesses around the Court escape extensive damage, the Manor itself is in shambles. And in the wake, many Zenite Shard-Bearers will feel the suddenness of having an integral element of their power ripped from them, the sensation akin to being crushed, gasping under the weight of Meridian's swell. In the wake of the strike, there is a deep silence within them.

Any attempts to contact Yima are met with the same silence a Shard-Bearer feels when reaching out to another who has left the world entirely. And with that, both sides are left to pick up the pieces and weigh the consequences of their actions.

ADDITIONAL MATTERS

During ( and in the wake of both assaults ), there is plenty for any Unharmonized Shard-Bearers and more moderate Meris/Zenites to partake in. Damage has been wrought to both cities at differing times, and there is a degree of life lost no matter the best efforts of those who value innocents over the price enacted by acts of war.

In Springstar, the citizenry has been ravaged by attacks stemming from the depths of Kowloon: as monsters in the form of both individuals with unusual appetites (cannibals and vampires, for example) and heavily-drugged, superpowered addicts have been finding their way into the city, slaughtering civilians indiscreetly, picking fights with the Legionary, and engaging in general criminal mischief and violence. Following Zenith's assault and subsequent assassination, the city will be on high alert and be deeply hostile toward Zenith-aligned Shard-Bearers, as well as mistrustful towards any Unharmonized ( for good reason: they might still Harmonize with Zenith! ). After the day of the attack, the attacks drop off significantly, but do not vanish entirely, for now that some have gotten a taste, it will take time for Yura to reign them in once more.

The people of the city turn to their Shard-Bearers in the wake of their Tribune's murder; even though his popularity had waned, it isn't as though his death doesn't affect them! Deeply concerned and frightened for their future, they demand information about what will be done to protect the city from another assault like this? Some civilians will turn to the church, or perhaps community leaders, but it seems very few turn to the legionary, after they were so focused on the attacks that they missed the forest for the trees. Their trust in their military leaders is waning, and they’re looking for answer. Some community leaders have tried to soften the hurt and anger of Springstar’s people, but they look toward those whom were not a part of the current establishment to answers.

In Highstorm, Yima's Manor lays in shambles, but the rest of the city is unharmed. Shard-Bearers who were living in the Manor will find that their living quarters suffered from the collapse and subsequent fires, but any precious items/belongings they had in their rooms can be recovered after sifting through the rubble. One of Yima’s most trusted, Florence, seems to be taking the reigns of control, and while there are still pockets of the manor that remain on the outskirts of the building itself, she encourages any Zenites who had not moved out to move on quickly, since what is left should be used by any newcomers who need shelter, and not those whom have had the opportunity to make bonds, and have allies that they can rely on.

The main issue now plaguing Zenites is the sudden, overwhelming crowd that begins to gather in the Court, demanding information from them about Yima's safety — they are frantic, and rightfully concerned about further assaults of that incendiary degree from Meridian. The city will be on high alert and be deeply hostile toward Meridian-aligned Shard-Bearers, as well as mistrustful towards any Unharmonized ( for good reason: they might still Harmonize with Meridian! ). The Manor itself is almost entirely destroyed, with only a shell of the outskirts left, and though those who are left are already trying to sift through the rubble, they are often overcome by their sorrow, and it is not uncommon in the wake of Meridian’s destruction to find some of Yima’s most loyal in distress, for the loss of their leader.

A LIGHTHOUSE AGAINST THE ENCROACHING STORM

A few months ago, all current Shard-Bearers experienced a mass dreaming event, full of teeming darkness and a pervasive sense of terror. Following the death of Cyrus and the "presumed loss" of Yima, all Shard-Bearers will receive yet another dream.

This one is a simple, direct thing: rife with a haunting sense of being watched, observed as if from the reeds and brush by a hunter. Whatever your power level, however skilled you are and confident you are in your place, your decisions, your heart will quake before the severe impression of something prowling at your heels. Just out of sight, but never out of mind. Every Shard-Bearer's shard will wrench free of their body upon waking, falling from their physical form as if to flee this sensation of something waiting, patient, for the right moment to pounce.

Echoing in the back of their mind, a wordless, shapeless promise lingers: Forward, or back. Back, or forward. Dart and weave, flit and flutter, scamper and scurry. We are here, now. In the back of every mind, what was in the process of coming before is — it is here, now. Looming right above, waiting for the outcome, watching for which way the last lives at the end of existence will flee.

Upon awakening from the mass dream-become-nightmare, Shard-bearers will slowly become aware of the exacerbation of previous events that have been persisting since October. These events are no longer subtle, and will impact everyone regardless of faction allegiance, with purposefully targeted strikes:

— Darkness has spread within Springstar. Wherever there is shadow cast by person, object or building, it has deepened, darkened, and grown in size. Walking through any shadowed area or touching a darkened shadow will fill a Shard-bearer who enters that area with feelings of dread, of something lingering just out of sight, of danger prickling along their spine, and entice them to run and flee. If they are not quick enough, an unseen entity savages them — aiming directly for wherever their Shard is hidden and held. They are being hunted.

— Light has spread within Highstorm. Starlight and moonlight seem to sear what they touch, leaving patches of bleached-white scars upon person, object or building. Being touched by the light or coming into contact with a white-scarred entity will fill a Shard-bearer with feelings of malaise, like they should simply lay down and accept what comes next. Suffocating hands waiting to pin them down. Even in the safety of the shadows, the scourging glow of any light reaches for them and rakes across their bodies, seeking the place where their Shard is hidden or held. Ravaging them with hot-and-cold burns. They are being sacrificed.

— Shard-bearers readily become lost in familiar places, as if their homes and bastions of safety and security have become strange ( estranged? ) from their minds. The route to that favorite haunt ( perhaps even their own place of business ) eludes them, and searching for it alone becomes an impossibility. It takes another Shard-bearer, at times, to aid them in breaking free of the mild befuddlement. You're just tired. It's just the strain getting to you.

— Citizens of both Springstar and Highstorm continue to speak about neighbors who have 'suddenly moved away', or the disappearance of a favored shop or cafe. Some mention favorite, useful landmarks vanishing, causing them to forget where they are coming from, or where they are going. When directly asked about this circumstance, they shrug and declare that it happens all the time these days. In fact, there's nothing to really be done about it. And if pressed, the citizenry's eyes go glassy and expressions become confused as they ask who, what, where, and why their Shard-Bearer has begun asking them such strange questions. None seem bothered by this strange occurrence, as if all is well and normal.

— Shard-bearers will begin to see familiar faces in crowds, standing on street corners, peering through their private windows, waving them down at their familiar haunts. People from their own worlds, loved and hated alike rush for them — adoring and hostile alike. Family members and friends who seem to attempt to meet their eyes before the crowd swallows them up; loved ones who should be captured in Shards try to flag them down, calling their names and asking them where have you been? what's going on?; enemies and abusers seem to advance upon them, pushing their way forth hungrily. And then they are gone, but not before leaving behind the impression, the strange sensation that, they are real. Really there. If only for a moment.

OOC & (IMMEDIATE) WORLD CHANGES

The full document for this event can be found here!

So, what does the world look like now that this has all gone down?

The world of Kenos ripples from the effects of our players!

Springstar is (mostly) physically unharmed, though the population has been reduced thanks to the number of murders and criminal mischief that has taken place during the attack. Damage seems constrained to things like broken doors and windows, looted property, and murdered civilians, though the severity is up to how many defend Springstar from the concentrated might of Ryad’s regulars, and a practical army of addicts rising from the depths below the city.

The leadership of Springstar is also shaken, though there are procedures in place for this – if one is particularly studious, they will recall that this is not the first Tribune that has been assassinated, though it is the first in a long while – and the Church and the Legionary have stepped in to maintain the peace while elections begin to be arranged.

Cyrus’s body is interred publically at the Church in Heliopolis for a week after his passing, before his body is immolated during a service, his soul returned to the Tree of Life. Those who attend will feel the light of Meridian fill them, and their Discord may be reduced by one level thanks to the warm hope that fills them, even as they despair at the loss of their leadership. Meridian calls to its most loyal, and asks them to do what they do best, show hope and unending resolve, when things look to be their most hopeless.

Highstorm is another story. The destruction wrought is more property, but the number of people who were within the manor is difficult to count until a week or two after the destruction has been evaluated, and cleanup has begun. The loss of life is not devastating compared to what was leveled upon Springstar, but perhaps the most distressing is that Yima is not present. Florence reassures those in Highstorm with her calming, but firm presence.

With few of Yima’s softer adorations to be found, Florence instead pushes the faithful to muster their will and begin the recovery efforts. After all, they have long proven to have faith in Yima’s guidance, and they should believe in it now when it is difficult. It is not the first time their fortitude has been tested, after all.

Her words fill those in Zenith with a sense of calm resolve, and they may feel their distress and discord from this destruction alleviating slightly. Highstorm’s government works smoothly without Yima, and those who are interested in history will be able to see Florence’s name throughout the annals, as one that would guide Yima’s faithful when the matron was in convalescence, or respite. What Zenith does best, after all, is build something new when faced with destruction. Consider this a primer for your new world, to help bring the faithful back from the brink of their despair.

The unharmonized have a choice, as they so often do. This time, however, the stakes appear even higher than before. The cities are not as welcoming as they once were, and those that have not chosen are beseeched by the civilians of both Highstorm and Springstar. ‘Do you not understand what they’ve taken from us, and what they will in days to come? You cannot let this continue, standing on the sidelines. Imagine the ways in which you could help us,’ they beg, and it feels as though your neutrality will become increasingly inconvenient, as time goes on.

What can we expect next?

As the month of Pelu ( aka March ) dawns, you will begin to feel it. Something tugs at you.

Those who have lived through more than one will feel that anticipatory anxiety rise, as the next oracle is coming. Are you ready to fight to claim it, even when it feels so dark, and even when everything feels different, and harder? Do you look to the stars, and dream of your home? Or do you gaze outward, into nothing, and dream of what you will make from the ashes?

Anticipate the oracle in the coming month of Pelu, and to learn more about those that will step into the voids left by Cyrus and Yima.

And as always!

Questions can be directed here!

Individuals less-inclined to busy themselves with either effort, or looking for a way to gain a foothold/explore the world can report here for exploration attempts. We recommend examining the Kenos Wiki's Locations for ideas, if you don't know where to start. Or! Ask someone in the Discord Server for a recommendation, we have long-time players eager to help.

Lastly, remember that Cyrus and Yima will be a little occupied this time around, but anyone who might ICly have reason to contact them regarding the brewing troubles can do so here!

CODING

Comments

HAYAME (JINBA) 🏹 ICONOCLAST (MERIDIAN)

[warmare]

01 ↣ BATTLE FOR MERIDIAN [NEAR HELIOPOLIS] ↣ 様はない出来栄え

[Hayame is already in Springstar when the chaos begins, in the middle of her daily training sessions with the Legionary's archers. No soldier under her instruction was allowed to be anything but the best they were capable of (and she had a reputation for running off those whose best did not meet her exacting standards), and so within minutes she has them deployed to their units. Those whose battalions were stationed farther afield she mobilized herself, the swiftest-footed amongst them was sent to ask for answers from General Zaman... Then Hayame gallops from Heliopolis into the city, into the thick of the chaos and the violence.

There is no end to the surge of enemies. The drug-addled Kowloon citizens barely feel pain and stumble forward relentlessly no matter the injuries. The magical beings loosed from Ryad are possessed of powers and abilities sometimes beyond what should be expected from their humanoid forms. Depending on when others catch a glimpse of her, she may be completely unscathed... or beginning to show the signs of prolonged guerilla battle when the enemies were crawling from alleys and appearing from the shadows, sweat lathered on her flanks, blood staining her side and dribbling down a leg from a wound that slipped past the cracks in her armor. Blood that isn't hers on her hooves. But depending on who catches sight of her-]

A. [MERIDIAN (RESCUE)] [Just when things might have begun to look dire, the numbers overwhelming, the sound of a galloping horse(?) signals the arrival of the cavalry. A mounted archer, perhaps, because a long, thick arrow suddenly pierces through the skull of an enemy, an equine form arches overhead in a long leap from a nearby raised path... but when they land heavy onto a Shimmered human accompanied by the crack of enemy bones and a cry, kicking and lashing out to grab and bodily throw another into a canal... And the identity turns out to be centaurine. It's Hayame, her hair shorn short in the Harbinger Oracle ripped half-down and wild about her face when she turns in a whip of long tail to extend her hand with urgency.]

Grab on- !

[There's no time for debate, is there? There's more of them rallying, closing in.]

B. [ZENITH (ATTACK)] [For Zenites, though, there is not a single hint of hesitation nor mercy. Hayame has been warning Meridians for months and months that their enemies were enemies and should be treated as such, that those who trusted them or claimed that this one was good or could be trusted were a pack of fools, that those who were reckless enough to invite them to their city in friendship to spy openly upon them and prepare for gods knew what would be held responsible once the truth of things came out...

And now it has. Whether they are actively attacking someone, distracting the Legionary, "helping" Springstar citizens, or even just existing in the chaos... Hayame does not hesitate to fire on sight, aiming for a kill, the head or the heart, without a single warning, the snarling threat unleashed only after the arrow has flown.]

I will take your head for this, Zenite!

02 ↣ JANE DOE [FIELD HOSPITAL] ↣ 雌人馬の顔をかけている人間の女

[When the chaos is over, and the attackers are gone... The wreckage remains. Houses looted, stores damaged, blood and bodies strewn about the street, and the injured crying out for aid. Makeshift triage centers and places for treatment spring up wherever someone with medical training or healing magic gets to work and the usual clinics and hospitals are deemed too far or too crowded to handle more patients.

And in one of these makeshift field hospitals, there is a human woman lying seemingly unconscious in the shadow of a shop awning requisitioned as a roof over the patients' heads. Half of her face and skull is swathed in crusted blood and bandages, there are bruises all over her body- at least, her upper body, her lower half seems to be naked, covered for modesty with a blood sheet, the shape of a splint up and down one leg visible in how it drapes.

The strange thing is... what is visible of her face seems to look like a certain Meridian-aligned shard-bearer named Hayame. It can't be, surely, because Hayame is a centaur, and this woman is... very obviously not. And Hayame's hair had been shorn short in the Harbinger Oracle, but this woman's hair is longer. But whoever she is, she lays quietly on her pallet, dead to the world and the chaos of the immediate aftermath of the Tribune's assassination. Elsewhere across Springstar, anyone who happens to look for Hayame... will not find her, though plenty of people can recall seeing her fighting in battle here or there. Anyone who reaches out in Communion will feel nothing- not someone intentionally hiding their presence, just absence of consciousness or ability to respond.

Perhaps... Perhaps she was a casualty of battle. Her human doppelganger managed to survive, at least. Maybe. It hasn't been a full day yet. Only time would tell. The healers are stretched thin.]

03 ↣ FROM A DECURION, RESPECTS [HELIOPOLIS CHURCH] ↣ 最終に、護民官に敬意を払う

[Whatever had happened (and she isn't exactly volunteering that information), Hayame manages to make it to the latter days of the Tribune's lying-in-state. There are bandages and a splint still supporting one of her back legs, which seem a bit shaky at times, and she looks... slightly wane, her body having been mostly healed but left exhausted by the energy expelled in the process. Despite that, she has dressed herself formally in black robes and wrap (with help) and styled her hair and cosmetics (with help), befitting the solemnity and formality of the occasion.

She requires the aid of her escort to make it up the stairs of the grand Church, her injured limb still stiff, but... after the Harbinger Oracle broadcast, it had become foolish to deny their connection or hide their relationship any longer. She takes his arm and relies on him slightly in public, despite never allowing such before. In the hallowed halls of the Church, she waits patiently amongst citizens and shard-bearers alike for her turn to pay her respects... And when she is the one beside the altar, staring down at the Tribune's face in preserved repose... She releases Claude's arm to slowly and painstakingly lower her powerful body, biting back the pain required to do so until her belly is on the floor, her palms following suit, and from there... She bows her head deeply in a final show of respect to the man. Even if they had disagreed on how to handle Zenith, and she had argued with his decisions as a war chief, he still...

She stays there, head bowed, for a long, long minute. Perhaps two.

Afterwards, she can be found in talks with Springstar citizens looking for assurance or someone to blame for what has happened, attempting to provide both but perhaps looking as if she could use some back-up or a reason to excuse herself... She can also be found alone, deep in thought with the light from the stained glass windows casting colorful reflections onto her dun coat.]

04 ↣ WILDCARD ↣ 鬼札

[Hit up Hayame's plotting comment if you'd prefer a custom starter/want to discuss a specific thread! Sorry I'm so late ;;]

FOR [HERSELF] ➳ THE LIGHT OF MERIDIAN ➳ 最も暗い時が夜明けの始まり

[warmare]

「watch this space for a potential Tier Up, coming soon to a Meridian near you」

03

[wolfish]

[ When Yuri first sights Hayame, she is accompanied by Claude. Though he has seen them together in the privacy of Hayame's residence, has since become accustomed to the signs of him littered about her home during their tutoring sessions, Yuri refrains from approaching. He tells himself that he will do so later.

The second occasion is when she bends before the remains of the Tribune, and it is a clear and visible labor with the state of her leg being what it is. For Hayame, who battles so fiercely for the cause, it must be difficult reconciling with Meridian having been dealt such a blow. He does not approach her then either, having no desire to interrupt that quiet and painful moment.

It's only when Hayame is quite alone that Yuri at last strides toward her, arcing his path so as to approach from the side of her good eye, though he knows full well she can hear him. Much as he does with Dimitri, he positions himself where he can easily be seen as a matter of course. He briefly notes that her makeup has held up well, despite the heat and emotion of this particular stretch of unending day, the hues subdued to match the occasion.

His own follow the same convention, so he imagines their people observe similar customs of mourning. ]

How are you holding up?

[ He asks quietly, so as not to disturb anyone passing by. ]

[warmare]

[Had Hayame noticed, that every time this man approached her with purpose that he did so from the right side of her? Yes, she had, because she is an observant woman, and she... has been hyperaware of threats and surprise from the left side of her for well over a year now, ever since the eye had been ripped whole from her skull by a demon in Horos. Even though an eye had been put into replace it... That had not been her choice, it had been done screaming and thrashing against bondage, and the oculus... was a traitor, tied to someone else whose identity she did not know and could only guess, who might at any moment be seeing through her.

She cannot ever risk taking the eyepatch off. Not even when she sleeps, when she shares a pillow with her lover, or when she wishes to simply sit and practice reading or be at ease. So. She notices.]

... Yuri.

[A greeting, with a slight dip of her head. For "Regulus". But just as she did not call Khalid by his true name when they were out in public, to keep things simpler for him... She does not use it. Her make-up held up well... because she has not been crying. All of that had been dealt with in hospital bed, angry tears staining her face as she cursed herself for allowing any of this to happen. For not deriding the weakness in Meridian better where she had seen it, for letting some of their members convince her that she should accept things rather than waste her time fighting them on it, and--]

I am vindicated. And I am standing.

[She had wanted the former so badly, but not like this. The latter, she must be grateful for... for without it, she can do nothing. After a long pause, something simmering, roiling beneath the surface...]

Yourself... ?

[wolfish]

[ Hayame isn't wrong. Though her stance toward Zenith had felt severe at the time, she had more reason than most to know they had some genuine monsters on that side. Yuri knows Zenites aren't united in this, knows there are those genuinely disturbed and disheartened by what has come to pass, but Yima gave the order. She rallied forces to invade Springstar, slaughtering not only her target but countless civilians who had only been trying to live their lives.

And so, Hayame's suspicions had proven correct. No amount of wishing would change the reality of lives lost and the likelihood that open war is staring them down. ]

So you are.

[ He agrees easily, knowing there's little more he can contribute to that thought. To that reality in which they're liable to find themselves battling even those Zenites who never wanted this — who never wanted it like this. War does not make considerations of preference. It never has. ]

I'm doing about as well as one might expect. A few new scars for the collection.

[ Rather than state what they both know, Yuri turns his attention to what he doesn't. What had caught his eye more than once this day is the injury to her leg, and while he knows full well that she is no horse, Hayame's equine legs are structurally similar if not the same. A leg injury is a serious matter — though he does his level best not to look as concerned as he is as he asks. ]

Will you make a full recovery?

[ That she's moving as well as she is bodes well, he hopes. ]

[warmare]

[Hayame had never considered her stance toward Zenith as severe. It had always been, in her mind, only natural and reasonable. Was it severe, to be willing to kill those who were fighting to destroy your chance to return home? Was it severe, to be willing to shun those who would damn every person living on your world to death? She certainly did not think so. Even if so many Meridian could not find the will to be firm, to be stalwart, to do what needed to be done... She had always known she would have to be the one to do it.

After this... Will it still be here alone? Or will the others finally see reason-]

... Supposedly. The healers said that there is... something about me that rejects magic. Some sort of... "field". It may simply take... some time.

[She did not wish to dwell overly on what that "field" could be, not this woman who did not understand and resented magic to the point that her major power activity rewards meridian powers had apparently manifested in a rejection of its power over her, and somewhat around her. Yuri had healed her once before. But then, she had been conscious, and she had willingly, if not grudgingly, accepted the use of his magic in her body. Apparently, when she was not conscious, when she did not know the intent of the spellcaster, when the wounds were as dangerous as they were to someone with an equine lower half... (Not that... she was aware of those conditions...)]

And besides, there were those with more life-threatening needs.

[That was true, at least. Countless citizens had died or been maimed. As much as Hayame desired to be hale, to be able to fight, this very moment... Maybe it was better. It was a foul, manipulative thought, but for just a moment... She thinks "maybe it is better I be seen like this" by the citizenry, injured and yet stalwart, bent but not broken.]

[wolfish]

[ Yuri has to believe in second chances on principle. Many of his people are criminals or fugitives, and while stories varied, society had given up on them all. His own situation was wildly circumstantial, but he'd been offered a place in the king's army rather than being killed in the defense of Arianrhod. So too does he have to believe there's some other way, yet if those leading Zenith are militant, are willing to sacrifice the few who remain on the altar of some undefined utopia, what can he do?

A future isn't a better one if it's built on the bones of people who never should have died. People who deserve to live every bit as much as they do. It's disheartening to know the more moderate souls are overpowered by extremists... And far too much like home, in certain ways.

Yuri has had to evaluate this after since Cyrus' death crashed over them all. Doubtless, he has more ruminating to do on the subject. In the interim, he steals a glance at Hayame's leg, trying not to appear as though he's openly assessing. ]

You do, huh...? Guess I'm lucky you allowed it from me before.

[ Whatever that resistance to magic is, Yuri surmises that it must have something to do with her will. Hayame made it no secret that she didn't favor magical healing, though she had allowed him to when she was bleeding out. Perhaps choice and some measure of trust have something to do with it — in theory, anyway. ]

It's tolerable though, as it is?

[ The concern can't be helped, though he asks as casually as he can. ]

03

[kaientai]

[ Some people would probably say wearing a hat in a church is rude, but if Ryouma cared about that, he wouldn't have done it. It's stupid when he thinks about how he literally hides behind it, but this is hardly his most unhealthy way of coping with things. He'd set aside his aversion to funerals and shown up to pay his respects to a man he'd barely known.

Ryouma hasn't felt this way in a long time. The worst part is that he recognises the feeling, which makes him restless because he's it only happens during times in his life that later turned out to be major turning points. It's that awareness that starts him walking after he'd escaped the crowd. He hates big funerals, especially. Walking has always been his meditation, so Ryouma hopes some answers will spontaneously drift from the fog of thoughts and feelings. The anger he'd felt after what Silco had done to Quetzalcoatl had gone, but nothing had appeared to replace it. He had once said he applied his knowledge of navigation to find his way through life but now feels utterly adrift without a clear heading. It's a bad feeling.

He finds his way here to this quiet area he'd assumed would be empty. It's out of the way, and he wanted to smoke. You're probably not supposed to do that in church either, but to Ryouma, it's just another fancy building. He's surprised to discover Hayame here and turns to leave — he hadn't intended to disturb her — but hesitates. The part of him that cares about others has always been the stronger part, winning out easily over his politeness, and Ryouma is certain that if this has been hard for him, it's been far worse for someone who has been here a lot longer. ]

How are you feeling?

[ It feels like an inadequate question when it could mean anything, but he's not expecting a particular answer either. She's been injured, and Meridian suffered a staggering blow, so Ryouma imagines she probably feels a lot of things; he asks because he's willing to listen. ]

[warmare]

[Hayame does not know how to conduct herself within a church. She has visited a shrine, acting as a guard in her master's retinue, and she has visited a temple, but neither were half as grand or large or well-made as this sanctified place... and neither had been places she had been particularly welcome, allowed to pass the first torii or gate but then kept waiting at the paddocks beside the carriages, horses, and Armless that other pilgrims had arrived astride. Jinba were nearly as ritually unclean as a beast, the priests said, or like a woman defiled by blood flow. They could not achieve enlightenment, and so to preach the sutras to them was pointless. Purification could be done upon them, but the sort for animals not humans. Even if they had been modest places, not the rich complexes of the capital or castle towns with riches from local lords... She had never properly seen the altars, the statues, the offerings, or the sacred vessels.

She does not care if someone wears a hat, or smokes.

A small nod is what she provides in greeting, when it seems the man has decided to stay. The man supposedly from the Four Provinces, she recalls, that she had disagreed with on many things, and sparred with. She is the perfect picture of a loyal warrior in mourning, because she had put effort into being that today, from the perfectly coiffed hair (what remained of it) to the fine lines of dark silk robe. And when Ryoma speaks...]

I am vindicated, Nobody of Tosa.

[That is what she feels. But it is not said as if she brags... for there is no joy or reward at all in being vindicated.

It simply is how she is feeling, after months, a year, of trying to convince Meridian shard-bearers that they should take a harder line against Zenith, that to play pretend friends between Oracles with people willing to abandon all of their worlds or condemn them to burn was the height of foolishness that would only allow their enemies to learn how to attack them all the better. How many times had she railed against those who invited Zenites to Springstar, lambasted those who refused to close their borders?

If Ryoma wishes to say his own feelings in turn, though... She does not stop him.]

[kaientai]

Ah—... [ He laughs a little, but at himself. ] Of course. I'll admit that's not the answer I was expecting, though.

[ As he lights a cigarette, a little cloud forms around his head from the puffs of smoke he exhales. Ryouma had braced himself to be a shoulder to cry on if that was what was needed, which he now realises was stupid because he'd forgotten the sort of person he was dealing with.

There were plenty of times when that sort of warrior persona turned out to be a frustration in the past, but right now, it's just fine. Ryouma has never been very good at comforting people; his skill with words doesn't extend to that because he has no idea how to begin articulating emotions. He prefers finding solutions anyway, not just sitting around and having feelings about the problems. ]

You had to know I'd ask why with that answer, though. I'm sure I could guess, but I would rather hear it for myself.

[warmare]

[The smoke smells different than the sort she was used to. But... its been over a year since she had encountered that specific aroma. It wasn't her world. According to this man, it wasn't even her time anymore, either. If he even lived in a world with jinba- which he didn't.

He also wasn't living in a world where Hayame, of all people, would cry on the shoulder of a man she only barely had begun to know anywhere, let alone in public. So much of her private life had been smeared across Kenos during the Harbinger Oracle, but thankfully for her... her rare tears, at least, were still hers alone.]

You ask in such a frustrating way...

[Implying that he could guess, that he considered her answer to be some sort of... fishing for further attention... Hayame scoffs, her arms crossed tightly beneath her bound breasts.]

But I will tell you.

I am vindicated because I have been advocating for months and months that we close our borders to Zenite shard-bearers... and look what they have done in the meanwhile. They tried to do something to the tree in Heliopolis, and now, they kill our Tribune on the steps of his very home- the result, no doubt, of spying and reconnaissance done by Zenith under the guise of friendly "visits" to our city.

[When had it become "our" or "my"? She does not know, and she does not dwell upon it.]

Visits some of my illustrious Meridian allies both sanction and invite.

[If her voice sounds like ice, judgemental and sharp... Well. If she can manage not to play friends with Zenith, the people literally fighting to rob them of their worlds... She fails to see why other people have such a hard time with it.]

FOR CLAUDE ➳ A REUNION IN THE RUBBLE ➳ 愛してくれた人へ返すべき言葉

[warmare]

[They had not been together when the fighting in Springstar began. Hayame had been at her usual duties with the Legionary, training the archers near Heliopolis, and Claude had still been in Alenroux. She grabbed her weapons and galloped out with the soldiers into the streets, and he mounted his wyvern and made the journey. There had been a time when they were able to unite, when together from the air and from the ground their arrows had ended the lives of Shimmered Kowloon thugs and monsters from Ryad that sought to kill civilians in the street and sow chaos. But in that same chaos, they had been separated, Hayame vengefully turning her halved gaze on Zenite shardbearers…

And she had not been seen since. It’s been over a day. Any attempt to commune with her was met with nothing- no hint of presence, no consciousness, no awareness. Not someone shutting someone out, like she had before when she’d desperately been trying to hide from others in the aftermath of her run-in with a demon, unwilling to try and communion with her emotions in turmoil. Nothing. Not even the faint pulse of soul that came from a Shard in a dormant state, calling out to be found and returned to the soil of the Tree. Either she is unconscious… or she is gone.

The damage left in the wake of the attack impedes the search. The usual hospitals and clinics overflow, and it becomes somewhat difficult to know where to take the injured, where field hospitals have sprung up. The healers and doctors exhaust their magics, or their body’s stamina. When asked, no nurse or white mage nods affirmatively when asked if they have an injured centaur amongst their patients. So where… ?

It nearing the end of the second day before the centaur young Lyra called “Master Hríd” shows up looking for who he calls Khalid. Somewhat out of breath, sweat lathered on his flanks, the burly middle-aged centaur (who, Hayame had muttered under her breath before introducing them at the last meeting of centaurine Springstar citizens, never seemed to wear a shirt “despite having three competent-seeming wives”) is there with news. He doesn’t know how it happened, how she wasn’t identified until then, but Hayame has been found.

Once Hríd shows Claude to the proper place, the elderly healer who had set up the makeshift triage center in a residential district home near Heliopolis has half an answer. She doesn’t know why, or how, but that woman definitely hadn’t been a centaur when she’d been brought unconscious to her the other day. She had definitely been human, she swears, only two legs… and there’d been so much blood and dirt on her face and hair that she hadn’t recognized her from the broadcast of the Harbinger Oracle trial, she hadn’t seen well for years, you see… but oh, do not worry… she managed to save the left eye! It had been touch and go for a minute there, she’d almost thought she’d have to just remove it…

And there, where she leads, is Hayame, on a pallet out in the woman’s backyard, laying unconscious near several other injured citizens of more human persuasion nursing broken arms, savage bites, and slash wounds from the invaders. Her body has been washed slightly wherever the healer had been working, but her clothing is covered in dust, dirt, and dried blood, one back leg splinted, bandages covering the left side of her face much like how she had tried to hide her sickly green new eye when she had stumbled home from her “repayment”. … Curiously, her hair seems to have grown since Claude last saw her, from the ends brushing the nape of her neck to noticeably past her shoulders.

… She’s as healed up as this healer can manage for now. She might be able to do more later, once her magic recovers, but… her patient’s life shouldn’t be in danger. Why she won’t wake, however… the old woman shakes her head a little, trying to explain. In a very short time, her body had been forced to heal at an unnaturally fast rate… it was likely too tired to muster waking yet.

Give it time? Or call another healer, if you like. But she has to sterilize her tools and get back to work with her hands where she can. And in the meantime… Hríd helps to gently turn Hayame’s heavy body over to ease her breathing, carefully arranging her with makeshift cushions the most comfortable way a centaur can lie before clapping Claude on the shoulder and telling him that he’ll be back when he can, just leave word with one of his wives if you need help.

… Take care.]

[leicesters]

[For the past couple of days, Claude had been sick with worry. He was well-acquainted with war, all too used to that resigned feeling of knowing that, no matter how carefully plans are laid and preparations are made, the unexpected can happen, and that old friends who were there one day could be gone the next, slain in a world where death was much more final there than in this one. But he can't accept it so readily with Hayame: he looks across Springstar for her, asks anyone who might have seen her, and at one point almost considers weighing the risks of exploring Highstorm in secret while the other city is also still in disarray, or perhaps the Below, if she had been dragged down to Kowloon instead...

Fortunately, neither of his riskier plans needed to come to fruition when he's found by Hríd. He recognises the neighbourhood the centaur leads him to as one of the districts he had helped defend during the attack, and he's grateful he was able to lend his aid in defending the people there, seeing how they in turn had rallied once again to offer shelter to the needy and to treat the wounded where other facilities were overwhelmed.

Yet leaving aside that appreciation, worry still dogs his steps until he's able to speak to the healer, who confirms the Shardbearer he sought is in her care. It's only the decorum of being considerate to other patients that stops him barging through, yet he still moves to Hayame's side as fast as he can, to where she lay unconscious.

The state of her, bandaged and bloodied, seizes like a knife at his innards. What had he been doing all this time? It's not as though he could dog Hayame's every move to protect her, they were warriors above all else so long as this war lasted, but it still pains him to see her hurt again, and he wasn't there, again. He kneels by her side, examines the bandages -- they look fresh, still, and not in need of changing -- before he presses a kiss to her forehead. She's still warm, still alive, and he doesn't have to concern himself with secrecy any longer now that the city is well aware of what they are, and when the loved ones of other patients are too absorbed in their own worry to even pay heed to some new arrival.]

I'm here. [He says to her softly, hoping the familiarity of his voice can rouse her. He nods to Hríd as the man claps him on the shoulder and takes his leave; he'll have to find a way to repay him for the help, later.

For now his focus is on Hayame. He doesn't have a change of clothes for her, but he does at least check she's comfortable after being turned over. It's when, holding the blanket as a makeshift screen, he checks the healer had loosened her breast bindings to allow her to breathe more easily that he notices the gleam of her shard, and was now resting on the pallet by one of her arms. Carefully, Claude picks it up to inspect it for damage -- perhaps it had already come loose and fell when she was turned over? He can't be sure, but having it separated from her body can't help, especially if it's been loose for an extended period of time.]

I've got you. You're safe now. [He mutters to the shard, whether she can hear him or not, and presses a gentle kiss to it, too. As if it might bring her back sooner, to know that he's here, just as she had held his shard in the past.

Then, with care yet not wanting to waste any more time, he reaches to replace the shard to her breast. All he can do now is sit and wait, and he does, readjusting the blankets and holding her hand in his.]

[warmare]

[She isn’t asleep, so there is no dreaming. One minute, Hayame had been clawing through rubble, her chest throbbing with an ache of loss she could not explain and fueled by a last burst of hope from a man cut down, desperately forcing herself to shoulder aside chunks of stone and hope that a smaller, transformed body might be able to winnow through the gaps a centaur could not. Her hand had broken the surface, she remembers… someone helped her…

And then someone else is holding her. Not in their arms like an embrace… in their hands? Warm and trusted palms cradle a “her” slowly awakening to consciousness… and then her Shard is put back in her body.

Soon enough that it seems almost impossible to think that Shard being implanted could have nothing to do with it… Her hand in his moves, fingers reflexively curl and tighten, then release. A furrow passes over her brow before it vanishes again into the slack of dead-to-the-world. Her tail twitches.

And then her eye is open and she is filing her lungs with a sharp inhale, mind struggling immediately to get up, move, she had to move but the energy left in her body was not enough to muster it and her attempts must be aborted, something that would normally fill her with the panic of a warrior that could not attack or defend but instead there is only aching and pains and…]

Khalid… ?

[It hasn’t occurred to her where they are, her brain still catching up, and so she addresses him with the true name she reserved for time spent alone together (or, as it turned out, centaur picnics). She means to say more, she thinks, but her throat is so dry and his face is… he is…

There. Beside her.]

[leicesters]

[Any relief he feels at seeing Hayame jolt awake is soon replaced as he gets to his feet, saying hurriedly,] Easy, Hayame-- I'm here.

[He had moved as if to stop her from getting up too quickly, potentially injuring herself or any nearby patients in the process, but settles back down when she recognises him. She's lucid, at least, for all that this must be disorienting for her.

He squeezes her hand, then lets it go.]

You're safe, but your injuries haven't fully healed yet. How are you feeling?

[warmare]

[It was not easy to calm her from a rage or from the instinctive defensive lashing out of a cornered, confused warrior. He accomplishes what very few likely could, even if no one in this makeshift courtyard clinic could appreciate being sparred the chaos. Her eye darts wildly about but keeps coming back to his face, fingers squeezing weakly each time in a way that betrays them not for random spasms but confirmations.

He was real. He was there. She was safe, like he said, which meant she did not have to fight to rise, struggle to get into a more defensive position. The answer to his question was... pained, aching from bruises not yet healed because more priority had been poured into the eye the white mage thought she was doing her a favor saving, the back leg splinted because magic had been applied but an equine limb like that was too scary a thing to risk having done a weak patch on. She could say that once she swallows and finds words, but what comes out is-]

The Tribune-- ?

[She had felt... It had felt like-]

FOR NEBULA ➳ RESCUE IN THE RUBBLE ➳ 瓦礫からの手

[warmare]

[The damage to Springstar has been done.

Though the attacks are winding down, the last of the Shimmered Kowloon thugs and the monsters of Ryad being pursued by Shard-bearers and the Legionary, there is still chaos in the streets. Injured citizens cry out for aid, covered in blood, and the dead litter the streets. Smoke curls in the air from a stray fire here, there, and shattered glass on the ground, doors rent off hinges, show where looting has occurred. Some people just weep where they are, because they have heard the news traveling fast through the city.

The Tribune has been assassinated.

Though most of the buildings of the city have escaped damage, unlike when the Blight roots had torn through walls, soil, and columns of everything they had come across, the invaders focus on causing panic and sowing confusion had resulted in some rather dramatic property damage. What had once been a rather large bakery complex has collapsed into rubble, half of it seared from an explosion caused by mill dust combusting when introduced to fire. And if a certain Shard-bearer happens to be passing by, or searching the area for those in need of aid...

A rock shifts, and many other pebbles cascade downwards in chain reaction. A sound, long and strained, is faintly audible... and then the rock shifts again, just enough... Just enough to create a hole large enough for a bloody hand to thrust through, seeking some sort of anchor or escape.]

[furibund]

[ Too many people are acting like now that the fighting has diminished the battle is over — It's not. Nebula, having performed more rescue missions than most by this point, knows it's not. While there are people mourning she keeps moving. The only thing Nebula knows how to do is move forward — there is rarely time to falter, to mourn. ]

[ Not when there's wreckage in the city. ]

[ Not when there's still monsters choosing to take advantage of a weakened city, all in array and damaged. ]

[ Not when people are missing. ]

[ It is both a coincidence and not one that Nebula is in the area of the bakery complex. While word speaks of the death of their leader, so does explosions and fire. And where there is both of those, there are people. She'd helped to lead a few out, had found some injured, and there are those that assure there must be no one else. But Nebula's ears and vision pick up more than most others, she hears the sound of shifting rocks and turns her head in its direction. ]

[ Then more. And she curses something the poor man she's with barely hears before abandoning him where he is - he can walk back. Finds the space and glances until her thoughts, fears are confirmed with a hand - nameless, unknown, just a body - emerges. Gritting her teeth she moves forward. ]

[ Use a blaster that'll get the work done faster! ]

[ Her gut tells her, but she's learned now to still and think and not jump to immediate answers - Faster, yes, but at what cost. ] I'm coming.

[ She growls it out, sharply, hopefully enough to hear - a dangerous conviction as she begins to move to pull the rubble away, eyeing carefully the pieces that may cause more disruption, tossing a large one away without hesitation. She won't let another person die. ]

[warmare]

[The ears of the person beneath the rubble have been ringing for some time now. They don't know how long they have been under there. The explosion had happened, the rumbling, and then there had just been... had it been pain first and then blackness, or blackness then waking to pain? They knew there had been a moment... When they had almost just given up. Just laid there and let themselves go, because the loss of the Tribune had rent a hole in the Meridian energy they were propping themselves up with, because they were just so gods damned tired...

But they couldn't. They couldn't die here, they couldn't die like this, and they had enough room to move to reach that thing that enabled them to free a damaged leg and push toward the surface-

Where someone is. Someone with a voice, someone who says they are helping. The dusty, bloody hand scrambles for purchase, a snarling hiss of exertion joins in the effort to push rock aside... and after one in particular is removed from the top, enabling someone below to push up with strong shoulders...

Hayame's face begins to come into view, the left side coated in tacky blood, eyepatch gone and the organ beneath swollen shut. The other one, though, the natural gray one... That find Nebula.

And remembers a certain brand of hope.]

[furibund]

[ There is nothing surprising about finding a body. Frankly, bodies were a dime a dozen in her life - in varying states of brutality and decomposition. There's a difference, then, when the person you're digging out is someone you know — ]

[ — Someone as strikingly identifiable as Hayame. ]

[ The distressed panic that comes from being in such a position intermingling and being outweighed by the sheer determination the will - hope? - to live that has come to be on brand with the other. It's a trait Nebula both admires and respects and one, she thinks, the other will need now more than ever. ]

[ Her mouth dips low, scowling - she turns her head this way, then that looking for any assistance. Of course, there is none. Hissing out a curse that came from some far reaching planet in the Andromeda Galaxt she glances the hole, pit. Whatever over. ]

Don't move too much. You might dislodge something.

[ And the last thing they need is it being made worse, like Hayame getting buried once more. She shifts her hand - the metal one - into wirey tendrils so they formed something more useful. ] If it hurts too much, scream.

[ Because that's probably easier than saying something, she imagines. Or maybe it's not either way, Nebula shifted her weight and stepped back. The arm now the form of something more along the lines of a pick as she finds a piece of the rubble with no clear grip and wedges it in between it to lift and pull once more. ]

[warmare]

[When she had thought herself alone... Hayame had accepted the idea that she would simply need to take the risk. She knew the dangers of rubble and fallen rocks from her time hunting in the mountains, that in attempting to help one could just as easily make things worse. But by herself, there had simply been no choice.

Now... If Nebula... She was not hallucinating, was she? Her vision is half clouded with blood and dust, but she swears it looks like Nebula, it sounds like her, too... and she has to simply believe in it. The advice, too, that she gives... is sound. And in response, before she manages words, she manages action. Teeth grit, and she finds a way to brace herself on her scraped palms with her shoulders supporting the rocks above her, and-

If she were the sort of woman who laughed, she might laugh, no matter how fraught the situation or how much pain she felt. "If it hurts too much, scream". Of course. That, she can handle. As is, she cannot make that sound even if she wanted to. Her lips simply part, the corners peel up and bare her sharp teeth, but only a drip of bloody saliva drips out.]

Ah--

[Acknowledgement. She understands. And before Nebula begins to move anything else, she knows she has to get it out, just grit it, just force it out--]

My leg- There's something on my leg.

[Though in her rattled, desperate state, conscious only because of desperation, adrenaline, and a bitter, hateful urge for vengeance... She forgets to note that her legs are currently... human-shaped legs.]

1b

[kinaesthesia]

[It is getting late into the conflict by the time the two of them cross paths, though it is hard to tell with as chaotic a blur everything has shifted into. Gavial’s mood has has taken a considerable downward swing by this point; the job she had initially come here to do—provide an eye-catching enough distraction while the real mission is undertaken—feels incredibly superfluous in the wake of all of this. What good is causing a scene or tangling with the Legionary when the streets have turned into a hotbed of chaos already?

She’d made a good effort to do as she had promised at first, but the attacks on the civilians are too egregious to ignore, especially when she had put time and considerable effort only weeks ago into helping the people here deal with these very attacks, before they had ramped up to this seemingly unstoppable point. The civilians could care less of her good will now that things had shaken out this way, and less so the Meridian Shard-bearers. This one in particular.

Gavial is heaving a breath, lowering her axe after just dispatching another shimmer-mad lunatic, when she hears something just behind her that she quickly recognizes as the thundering of approaching hooves. Ever alert on the battlefield, it proves to be her salvation as the motion to turn and seek out its source prevents that swiftly fired arrow from finding its more precise—and lethal—target. It makes a not insignificant shot against one arm instead of finding a home in her heart, and she’s biting down on a wordless shout and a curse as her eyes land on the odd kuranta woman responsible.

She’s reaching for the familiar feel of her healing Arts to mend the damage even as she starts moving, axe still held tightly in hand; if there’s anyone amongst Meridian who she knows is deadly serious about a fight, this woman would be chief among them, leaving Gavial with little room to be sloppy. Normally, she’d be raring for a chance to go against someone so strong in a serious fight, however the conditions are far from ideal.

…But there’s been no sign at all from Amos that he’s completed his mission yet, so fine—it’s a fight she’ll get. She can’t let all this be for nothing. She still has a job to do.]

If you’re going to come after me with all of this going on, I’m going to make you work for it!

[warmare]

[Hayame has not seen everything. There is too much chaos, too much happening, and she had not seen Gavial from a distance, having plenty of time to observe how she moves before she makes a decision. She turned the corner, she was there-

And she was a Zenite. If Hayame had the time to analyze it might raise a question that the other woman was locking metal with a Shimmered Kowloon thug, but at the same time... that could easily be explained by the drugged up deep dwellers being unable to distinguish friend from foe in their states. It isn't enough to still her bow-

Or stop the rage fueling her.]

Do not even pretend to be the victim!

[The snarl reaches out across the battlefield all teeth and snap, and within seconds another arrow is notched upon the string, the aim is set... and she fires after the larger target of the woman's chest as she moves and Hayame herself continues to canter forward, leaping over a body and closing the distance between them... But not too close. After all, that reptile Zenite had axes.]

Crawl back to Highstorm and take your "friends" with you!

[... And she has a bow.]

[kinaesthesia]

[Gavial is finding that she has plenty of rage of her own fueling her right now. This whole damn thing is an unsalvageable mess and she’s stuck between the need to make it all worthwhile and the desire to instead make things right.

It’s a good thing she loves fighting, because there’s no end of it to be had here, whether against the denizens of the Below come out to wreak havoc in the sunshine, or the Meridians rightfully incensed about the chaos brought to their door. This fight, here and now, is something that is blessedly easy to focus on compared to everything else falling apart around them.

So it’s easy to fall into the rhythm of quick steps and the slow and steady pulse of healing Arts mending the wound in her arm, eyes locked onto her opponent and calculating. The woman certainly has that kuranta-like speed, and it’s all Gavial can do to keep her own path circulating as that bow is raised. Another shot is the last thing she wants to contend with while still largely unfamiliar with the woman’s tactics, so as soon as she sees that bowstring drawn, Gavial halts and plants her feet; her axe is planted head down against the stone underfoot, one hand still held tight onto the haft, while she raises her wounded arm in a quick motion before her, palm outward.

The arrow breaks against an invisible shield and the momentary bright flash of magic.]

I’ll be out of your hair as soon as things calm down!

[Even as she says it, Gavial already knows this is a fight she can’t avoid. So she’s watching, sharp-eyed, in the wake of the attack, waiting to see how close the Meridian would dare to get. She needs the advantage of close quarters and is ready to pounce on any available opportunity, but who knows how much of a challenge seizing it will be.]

[warmare]

[Hayame has been called cruel, she has been called a warmonger, she has been accused of being a psychopath who loved killing... But despite her willingness to do it and her intense, hard-line words against their enemies... She did not actually love fighting. She did not even necessarily "love" being good at fighting- it was simply what she had needed to be, her only chance at a life lived without a human or a jinba stud heavy on her back.

And now it is the only way again. Not to be sold off to her best chance within the limits of a jinba's fate, but to even get back to her world in the first place. She does not care that the other woman seems to insist she has little to do with this chaos, or that she will leave. She was here now, was she not? It meant she had come here, and even if she tried to play as if she were against it now-

Hayame's arrow shatters against the invisible shield, but that does not mean the next one will, or the one after that. Her detest for magic only grows as she pulls another from the quiver and notches the new arrow on her string, calling back-]

They will calm down when every one of the invaders is dead!

[Before she fires the next arrow, aiming for exactly the same place she had struck before, as if sheer will could shatter that shield.]