exarchon | Open Post

Hythlodaeus had been wandering Amaurot... the re-creation of Amaurot, everything filled with familiar colours wrapped up in the all-permeating, familiar hue of Emet-Selch's aether, and he would claim his heart was breaking at the finality of the ghostliness of it all, but he knew that his own form was ghostly, as well.

He did not have a heart. Merely the memory of it.

Still, it was sad, and sadder yet, to consider his friend, and all the pain he must have been to create all of this.

His steps paused, catching something different with his aethersight. Not Emet-Selch, but material all the same, even if with aether much thinner than he would have expected, and he directed his steps in that direction. Oh... Someone was here. And he was hurt, but alive.

Hythlodaeus stepped into the room where the person was, sitting quietly. The wound, if he looked carefully, had the barest traces of the colour of Emet-Selch's aether. The presence was not happenstance, then. He must have brought the slight, scarlet-clad figure here himself.

There was a lot on everyone's minds upon the return from Fanow. Emet-Selch's claims were still floating about in the back of everyone's minds. Y'shtola being retrieved by a snap of fingers. Yet they returned with another Light Warden down and with just as many questions as answers. In reality, they had set out to do what they had intended to. Perpetual light ceased to be, opening up the skies for the true night to bless the trees; the people can now look up through that canopy and see the stars winking and blinking down at them. A sight that had not occurred in nigh a century.

Now it was a time for rest, for regrouping. While Theo and the rest of the Scions didn't hesitate to return to the Crystal Exarch to inform him of what all had transpired, at one point Theo dismissed himself. A soft smile, albeit tired, was given to the twins before he he left them all to further discuss, if needed. The Viera simply reassured them that he merely needed rest. Nothing more.

Upon return to the room, Theo pushed open the windows and continued to sit on the ledge proper. Just aquamarine eyes gazing out into the darkness of night. Theo wasn't unaware of the Light within him wanting to burst forth. Every now and then when he coughed, a disturbing white color would appear. It was a sign that the Viera now recognized, but he continued to hold himself together. Theo would hold himself together for the First. For the star. His friends. Yet seeing the Viis of the First as a bit much. It was alarming to note how many differences there were yet how many things were the same. For a moment, Theo felt as though he was staring back at his own home.

He missed them, his brothers and sisters. Missed his blood sisters more now than what he had when he first left. This is where Theo's mind wanders for the evening - thoughts about them. How were they fairing? How would things have been different he was still there instead of here. It wasn't something that he really allowed for himself to think, to reflect upon. Only because of where he had just come from do the thoughts seem to linger.

Another sharp pain made itself known in that moment. Theo felt his vision swimming, unfocused. It brought on another series of sharp, painful coughs. They were painful and wet as he pulled himself away from the window. No one needed to see Theo like this. Thus did he stumble his way towards where he could wash his face. Noticing the white on his shirt, he peeled the layers off and tossed them aside for the time being.

And Theo would try to get the taste - or lack there of - out of his mouth and soothe the ache.

Edited (whoops) 2024-03-10 21:41 (UTC)

There’s never enough time. From the First to the Source, one adventure to the next without pause, without rest, without time to process or say good-bye.

They've told him he’s fine — better than fine, even. More than he had been before. Purged of his excess light. Cleansed. And utterly unharmed (at least, physically).

He doesn’t argue. Doesn't mention that, weeks on, his nervous system, forehead to fingertips, still roils in quiet moments, the whole-body churning of a bad hangover. Doesn't ask about the strange green life that sprouts from his skin or whether the color will ever come back to his hair. Doesn’t tell anyone that fine feels far away now.

Because there are so many already lost, and too many more he can yet save. Because a smile better suits a hero. Because, well, there's just not enough time. Too much else to worry over. Like this Allag business, and the mess that’s come along with it.

Truth be told, Viktor doesn’t quite get it. Maybe he would’ve if he’d paid attention, but that debriefing had gone on and on without so much as a snack break. All political theater and over-delicate diplomacy. Not nearly enough actionable planning or meat miq’abobs. And, oh⁠—Shtola had been there, too, and in his estimation, her presence was a free ticket to turn off his own brain. Details, remembering, that's her wheelhouse.

But, Allag. Weird, right? They’re back. Or…revealed? Something like that. Hopefully better behaved than they had been a few eras ago. Ostensibly eager to peacefully rejoin the world stage ⁠— after an obligatory diplomatic tour of the Allied Nations, of course.

Of course. And that’s why Viktor is here. Home. Vesper Bay. Standing so near to the former headquarters of the Scions ⁠— a proximity that is thankfully only fleetingly painful. Who better to escort the crown prince of Allag across Eorzea than the Warrior of Light, himself?

Having grown tired of waiting for the procession of diplomats and guards to disembark, Viktor steals a glance at himself reflected in a nearby window. He’s just getting over the shock of his still unfamiliar pearly gray hair when his gaze settles on the reflection of the ship and the outline of a familiar form setting foot on land. Viktor thinks passingly that the line of his mouth, perfectly reflected by the glass, is so achingly right that it might make him sick. Entirely undignified, he whips around, heart and head fighting over who it is exactly he expects to see.

His head wins out. A miqo’te, yes, but a whole one. No blue crystal skin, no walking staff, no wise, mysterious smile. Viktor does his best to school his disappointment. His voice cracks all the same when he chirrups, "Well met…er, your highness?"

Edited (i promise my other tags won't be this long dfjha) 2024-03-12 03:16 (UTC)

let's go with potentially missing scene; feel free to swap to brackets if preferable

soulmate au

allagan prince au