I serve a Friend

She shakes her head, “I have slain a great many of their number, so I doubt very much anyone will be willing to speak with me, let alone have cause to name me.” She sees the aether signatures, just out of normal sight, always watching her but never approaching. The silence would be deafening, were she not accustomed to it, but the true shock value would come from one of them breaking that silence, and the longer she stays the less she believes that’s likely to happen. Besides, even if one of Scions’ number were brave enough to approach and name her, it would be a fleeting, temporary thing. The Goddess will call for her again, and such distractions will fade from memory, as always. There is no point to indulging them now.

“They–and you, Unukalhai–may call me whatever you wish,” she tells him. “I care not, but if giving a name to that which has none will ease your concerns, I will not protest.” It may even be amusing to see what they come up with, and she supposes a small amount of entertainment is excusable.

“I have another question of you,” she says, because their exchange isn’t yet complete, and there is something that has been weighing on her mind. “The older man–I do not yet know his name–he speaks to me very strangely. Angry, but…not, and yet somehow warm. I fail to understand this, might I ask you explain?”

“I serve one they call an enemy,” Unukalhai counters, though he’s not really trying to argue. “And yet they welcomed me. I do not expect them to set aside their caution, but you may find yourself in a situation you did not think possible, should you linger long enough.” But such issues aside, he’s enjoying the chance to speak with someone again - he’s not going to ruin it over something so trivial as a name.

“I will think on that, then, and come up with something suitable in the future.” Hopefully, something she might be able to develop an attachment to - or at least like. For some reason, he thinks it very important that she learn how to like something; though he has no idea if she would retain the feeling if she did. Still, it’s something to think about. Perhaps someone will let him look at tomes that bear tales wherein he might find a relevant name - or he could honor someone from the Thirteenth, and who they once were...

Her next question makes him blink behind his mask, a thoughtful frown creeping across features that would not be seen even if the woman he was talking to were not wearing a blindfold. “An older man,” he echoes, and then it strikes him. “You must be speaking of Urianger. Unfortunately, I have only a limited grasp of his nature and behaviors myself, so I cannot tell you why he is acting this way. But what he is doing... Anger is an inappropriate word for it. Concern, I think, would be closer. He seems to take it upon himself to worry over everything, especially those he deems in need of someone to look after them.”

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The corner of her mouth twitches, but moves neither up nor down. His words have…struck a chord with her, but not one the Goddess’ light will let her linger on. She can’t complain much, about that; there is emptiness buried in her memory, and a deep understanding that poking at that emptiness will only lead to pain. Where the pain comes from is a mystery, but she knows if she stays loyal to her Goddess then it can’t hurt her. As long as she stays loyal, she will feel nothing but harmony.

“A fair exchange,” she says, “and so we have an accord.” The boy, at least, understands her; the older one speaks to her in an alien warmth that only unsettles her, but the boy doesn’t bother with that pretense. He speaks as one agent of balance to another, though they serve different masters, and for that she’s…grateful? Hm.

“You ask if I have a name?” she says, surprised but not startled. She should’ve expected this to come up eventually–other mortals do seem obsessed with naming everything they come across. “I do not. If I had one, it was lost many years ago, and I no longer recall what it was. I do not feel the loss very keenly; rarely are tools given unique names, and having one does nothing to improve their usefulness.” She belongs to Sophia, body and soul, and a name would only drive a wedge between them.

“I do understand that this is not typical,” she adds. “So I will ask my first question: what are you called, little one?”

He can see a response from her, but it isn’t much of one, and doesn’t last long enough for him to fully process what it is. But it’s there, and he thinks that means there is still a person somewhere within this woman, despite all that has been done to her. Still mortal, still... real, in a way that he often thinks he is not. Perhaps the Scions will be able to help her break free of her goddess, if she is among them long enough.

“I thank you for the opportunity,” he says formally, then considers her answer before commenting on it. “I had supposed that might be the case. It seems to have worked well for you thus far, but I do ask you to consider - you are among others, now, and most are used to using names for one another. They may have no meaning or purpose for you, but it can be confusing should someone wish to speak with you in a group setting. I do not think it a bad idea to consider one, if only to make communication easier while you remain here.”

For her question, the boy pauses, a hand going to his chin in thought. “My master gave me the name Unukalhai when he took me in. I had another, once, but it was very long ago, and the one my master gave me works well.”

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“Hands do not typically think for themselves,” she says, and whether the faint attempt at humour was intentional or not, she doesn’t show. “The Goddess lights the path, and I walk it; that is how it has always been.” Until now, that is. She has never wavered, never strayed, not once in her memory, and that’s what makes the uncertainty of the now such an obstacle. With her Goddess gone, she can no longer see the path ahead, and if she dares to admit it, she fears to tread that unknown darkness. Fears that if she walks on her own, she won’t find her way back to Sophia’s light, and she’ll find herself alone in the dark–truly alone.

“Ask your questions,” she tells him, leaning back in what she imagines is an inviting gesture (it’s hard to tell, the world outside is so complex), “and if I am able to answer, I shall. If not, then we will know what questions to avoid. This is acceptable?”

“Hands do not have minds of their own, but you do,” Unukalhai counters, and leans back against the desk in the pose he finds most comfortable. “But I suppose she would not wish one able or willing to see outside of her will.” Which, when put in that context, makes him wonder a little about that blindfold she wears... He knows why he wears his mask, but it does not keep him from seeing. A blindfold cuts the world off, rather than shields from outside eyes alone. It’s a curious thought, and one to save for a later time.

“This is,” he agrees - verbally, since he’s not certain just how much she can pick up of non-verbal cues - and then, more slowly, adds, “If there is anything more you wish to know of me, in turn, I will answer as well.” That seems fair, he thinks. Balanced. It should go some way toward easing her mind, if they at least try to hold true to what she considers important. “I’ve heard others refer to you only by your role, and avoid most forms of address. Does this mean you don’t have one?”

.. .Well, that came out a little more childlike than he’d intended. But it’s an important question! And in turn, he wonders, did she ever have a name? If she did, does she remember it and consider it unimportant? Or have no memory at all of such a thing? It really is interesting to think about.

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She nods, choosing not to refute his idea that the Goddess is not with her. Not physically, no–Her physical form was quite thoroughly destroyed–but Her touch still lingers over the paladin, lighting her path forward and locking away anything that might threaten to divert her from her course.

“He is a snake,” she says, watching the boy’s aether shift and shimmer in the black. If not for the Paragon’s taint at the edges, it would be quite a nice colour. “Perhaps you are genuine in your convictions, in which case perhaps we are not so different, but the being you serve utters nothing but falsehoods. He would plunge this world into ruin, and call the chaos salvation. As surely as the Crystal’s warriors would burn the star to ashes with their light.” A brief surge of passion almost brings the Goddess’ name to her lips, almost has her espousing Sophia’s wisdom and glory, but the soft golden light settles over her once more. In an instant that passion is cut away, and she wonders why she felt so strongly to begin with.

“My curiosity is satisfied, yes,” she says, voice flat and empty in a mirror to the boy’s own. “But not yours, I suspect.”

“Believe what you wish, but it was beings much like your goddess that brought ruin to the world I witnessed fall, so I could quite easily turn your own words against you. I do not believe we will come to an agreement on this matter,” Unukalhai says, shaking his head. “We are both too loyal to be swayed, and as I do not wish for conflict, perhaps it is best to let this discussion end there unless we are directed to take it up again.” He’s not going to let someone loyal to an eikon disparage his master, and yet he is well aware of how Elidibus’ actions look to others, so is not truly free to speak in his defense.

... Besides, the scions seem to wish to keep this woman around, which means he’d best be polite, if nothing else.

Something happens to her as she grows angry, he notices, in the moments before her voice goes cold and empty as his own - but his cold, logical tone is practiced, born of experience and coaching away from emotional responses. This is a far more heavy-handed approach, and he finds... he finds he doesn’t like it, much. It seems cruel, especially to one who does not seem to be tempered, as most thralls are.

“I suppose it is not,” he agrees, tipping his head back to watch her. Unukalhai wonders what and how she sees, and if the blindfold conceals working eyes or those that no longer function properly. “But I am uncertain of what you would be permitted to tell me. Your goddess appears to have far more direct control of your actions than my master does mine.” Whether or not that is truly the case now, he doesn’t know, nor does he know if an echo of Sophia’s touch remains despite the Eikon’s defeat - but regardless it clearly has been true in the past, and the paladin (... he needs to find out if she has a name, or come up with one, because this feels unforgivably rude) is likely to respond as though such limitations are still in place.

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“You share a similar aether with him,” she says, with no preamble or easing into the uncertainty gnawing at her. There’s no use to pretty words that dance around the issue; she would much prefer to cut to the heart directly, and leave no confusion about her purpose. “The Paragon in white. The one who plays at keeping equilibrium, when we are both aware he seeks only chaos.” Her disdain for the white-robed Ascian is plain in her voice–the most emotion she’s shown so far–and her lips even pull back in a sneer. “I will freely admit I dislike him greatly.”

But the boy isn’t quite deserving of her ire, yet. He was there when her Goddess was slain, yes, but the slaying was not by his hand and, with what little is left of the Goddess’ guidance, she knows his death would be meaningless to the balance. Killing needlessly, on the other hand, would bring her end about that much quicker, and if she’s allowed one human indulgence it’s that she doesn’t wish to hasten her death. It’s coming, and she has accepted her ultimate fate, but that doesn’t mean she wants it to be tomorrow.

“I mean to understand why you are tainted by him.”

“He is my master,” Unukalhai says simply, returning blunt truth for blunt truth. Her disdain for Elidibus means nothing to him - in his eyes, she is twisted by the ideals that formed her goddess, and so of course would resent what she feels is a mockery of that. “Your dislike of him in noted but unnecessary, as neither he nor the eikon you worship are here, at present.” His own tone is level, even flat - logic is the better weapon here, where a child’s emotions might run away with him and cause him to misstep.

“You call it tainted, but he is the only reason why I still exist. I owe him more than one lifetime’s debt, and so I serve him. Nor will I see this star fall to either Light or Dark. I have seen a world consumed by the darkness,” his own, but he will not let his voice shake as he brings up his past to someone who has no reason (and possibly no ability? he isn’t sure) to care, “And I care not to see it happen again. My master has allowed me to prevent that fate by staying here, with the Scions. Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

... Idly, Unukalhai wonders if she has a name. He’s been thinking of her as ‘the paladin’, but that’s hardly an appropriate or polite form of address...

youthfulemissary-blog

voidblood asked:

(PLD!Demi) Is she staring? It's impossible to tell, but her attention does seem to be intently focused on one young masked boy.

“...Yes?” Unukalhai has been aware of the paladin’s presence for some time now, but he can hardly claim to be comfortable with her being around. She is loyal to Sophia, though not tempered, and he is the one who led the warriors and the Scions to her goddess, who personally dealt with many of Sophia’s tempered thralls. He’s not certain where that means he stands in her opinion, nor if she might be moved to action without her goddess directing her to do so, and Unukalhai has never been very good with the unpredictable. But there’s no sense ignoring the marid in the room, so he’s going to address her, and perhaps... perhaps it will be alright, in the end. “Did you need something?”

#etosvitri

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He watches the boy remove mask and hood, and gods, but he is a child. Without the mask it’s so much clearer, his big eyes and young face– whatever happened to him should not have. And as he listens to his short tale, that’s made that much clearer. “That was a heavy burden to bear,” he says quietly. “Especially for one so young.” It was like putting pebbles in a stream to stop a flood, he thinks, and the pebbles cannot be blamed for being washed away. Those poor children…this poor child.

It’s strange to be able to empathize, but perhaps…it’s easier to feel for someone else’s pain than his own. That he can feel anything at all is novel, but it’s– he reaches out almost absently to put a hand on the boy’s head, patting it absently in reassurance or comfort before he realizes what he’s doing and retracts the limb back to his lap.

“I am…sorry for what happened to your world,” he says softly. “The burden one carries when they fail to save those they wish to is– one I know too well, and one I wouldn’t wish anyone to carry, let alone a child.” Even if he isn’t a child anymore, it’s what he looks like and sounds like, and so still is, in a way. Trapped in amber, somehow. “I am glad your master saved you, and that he wishes to save this star from a fate like that.” He doesn’t know who the man is, or what he is, but if he wants to protect Hydaelyn then he can’t be all bad. And he’s not one to judge anyway. He’s a voidsent himself, or at least voidblooded. He cannot pass judgement on any other.

“…if there’s anything else you’d like to know about me, or inquire about, you’re allowed to,” he says finally, giving the boy a faint and brief smile. “I won’t be offended.” He has a spectacularly high tolerance for ‘rudeness’, after all.

Unukalhai says nothing at first, simply nodding. It was an unfair burden, he knows, but he still feels as though he could have - should have - done something more. He’ll always feel that way, though, so there’s no use complaining about any of it. When a hand is placed on his head, he blinks, unsure of what to make of the kindness, but relaxes into the touch. He isn’t used to contact - had almost forgotten what it was even like - and to have it now is... it’s rather overwhelming.

He remains silent while he contemplates what to ask, because despite assurances he doesn’t wish to make any assumptions about what might... if not offend, then wound. “...I think,” he begins, the words coming hesitantly, a level of shyness to them that he’s making no effort to hide, “If you would not be averse - may I know what you were like before?”

There’s no doubt, after all, that the man before him is changed - not just physically, but by the weight of his years and his traumas. Unukalhai didn’t have a long enough life before his world fell to really know what he might have been like, but Ardyn did, and he’s curious about what time, pain, and no longer quite being mortal would be like for someone who can remember a time before everything fell apart.

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The thought that the boy has seen the Void hurts him more than he can rightly say; he’s a child, no child should see that place or be near it, or have anything to do with the nightmares it leaks. It’s a bit startling to feel that way, so suddenly and so vehemently, after so long empty, but he’s beginning to feel that the omnipresent warmth of this place, the life and light in it, had begun to…rekindle something in that hollow within, start to spark at old and dusty ashes. And he’s beginning to think something might still be there to light.

“It was,” he says, a little startled. “How…only the oldest history books recall it, so thoroughly was it wiped away. I’m…surprised you know of it.” There is more to this boy than meets the eye, he’s sure of it now, but he’s not sure what. To think that he’s heard of Lucis, when it was gone so long ago and only the books salvaged from that Calamity might still mention it…it’s uncanny. And that and the aura of something around him…

“Thank you, but…I’m a king no longer. Please just call me Ardyn,” he murmurs, bowing his head, before looking at him again curiously, surprised again at his curiosity.

“You,” he says, “are…more than mortal, yourself. I can only tell that much. Will you tell me what you are, Unukalhai?” He doesn’t have to answer, he supposes, but he’s curious. A question for a question, perhaps.

“My education has been... different than most,” Unukalhai says softly, bowing his head in thought. There’s something gentle about this former king, something kind. It’s... comforting, void taint or no. In fact, it’s nearly enough to make him think of the last good days he had before his home fell, when things were beginning to collapse but not yet there - the rare kindnesses shown among those trying to survive in a world that was dying and flooding with darkness.

He shakes his head to clear it of the thoughts clouding it, then nods. “If that is what you wish,” he says, and isn’t certain himself whether he is speaking of not using titles or explaining his nature to the Scions’ guest. Unukalhai finds himself hesitating, then sighs and with a few smooth motions removes both mask and hood, turning violet eyes upon Ardyn.

Why he’s willing to do this, he isn’t certain, but it may very well be because of the honesty in the atypical voidsent. Or, he thinks idly to himself, it might be that he is simply that lonely.

“To explain what I am would take a very long time,” he says, expression grave. “But you are correct in that I am... no longer bound as mortal beings are bound.” He closes his eyes, considering howto continue, then adds, “To simplify the explanation as much as possible - the Void used to be a world unto itself, a reflection of this one. But it was in grave peril, and those given the task of saving it too young and inexperienced to stand against the darkness. So the Thirteenth fell, the life that lived there was twisted into what you know as voidsent - and I would have been among them, save for one who rescued me before I, too, could be so twisted.”

He pauses, letting that sink in, and shakes his head. “I will not speak more of my Master, save that he brought me hence to aid in preserving this star as my own could not be.”

Unukalhai has never liked talking about what happened to him - about what happened to his home. But... there’s no easy way to explain what he is, and so he’s given what information can. (Besides, this man-turned-voidsent needs to know the origins of the type of being he has become. He deserves to know.)

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“I…am,” he agrees, as he follows him into the other room. It’s a nice room, a meeting area, and he wonders why they don’t use it anymore. Though the Void prickles at the back of his neck – a gate was opened here. He wonders who died. That’s sad. Poor Scions. “I’ve never even seen the Void, actually. Many…many things, but not the Void.”

He moves towards one of the chairs, but stops and moves instead to sit on the desk beside where the child sits. Unukalhai… that’s an odd name. He wonders where it comes from.

He watches him a moment. “My story is long, and… it’s difficult to tell,” he says. “But I don’t suppose I mind telling it if needed.” He twists his hands together, picking again at his coat sleeves. “My… full name is Ardyn Lucis Caelum. A long time ago I was a king, but now I’m… just this. One of the Scions, ah– Tallyn, I think his name is, called it voidblooded, not truly a voidsent but…” He runs a hand through his hair. “So tainted by Void that it changed me completely.”

That’s not hard to talk about; in fact it’s easier, with a word for it. The harder part is how and why.

“...You don’t wish to,” Unukalhai says simply, turning to look at the form beside him. He’s certain that the man - that Ardyn - doesn’t actually look the way he appears to right now, but it would be rude to question him further about it, and the boy feels he’s already been rude enough for one day. There’s no need to actively try and make things more awkward than they already are.

He sighs, biting his lip and intensely grateful for the mask he wears, not yet comfortable enough to take it off in the guest’s presence. “Lucis,” he echoes the word, frowning. “That was... one of the lands destroyed in the War of the Magi, was it not?” That explains more than it doesn’t, along with the former king’s own abbreviated explanation. “My condolences for what you lost, your Majesty,” he adds, hoping to make up for his earlier rudeness.

Beyond that, he isn’t sure what to say - he’s never been particularly good with with conversation, and conversing with someone who is all-but a voidsent is a new experience, as well. He mourned for people who became such beings when the Thirteenth fell, but mourning is entirely different than exchanging words with someone who feels like a voidsent but looks and acts like a man.

There is... there is something about him, though - something yet untwisted; perhaps that is what has allowed him to keep his mind?

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He jumps at the accusation – it’s not an accusation if it’s true, though, is it? – and manages to look very awkward. But he’s not hostile about it, this boy, and seems… nervous, but curious. So he nods. “I am, of a sort,” he admits. “To both of your statements. The Amdapori– ah, Natan, that is, he… he took me in. I was wounded.”

It’s a bit more complicated than that, but it’s an answer all the same. He’s sort of a voidsent, and sort of a guest. “You’re…. you’re not– you’re something else, too, aren’t you?” He asks. “Not to be rude, I mean… simply curious.”

If he’s here, though, he shouldn’t mean any harm, right? Natan would have warned him. So he’s… he tries not to be nervous, and even manages a slight smile. “I’m Ardyn,” he says. “And… should we speak somewhere more private? I have a feeling that both explanations we’d like to give are going to be… best when not overheard.” Too private, and too full of things other people might be better off not knowing.

“You’re native to this world,” Unukalhai says, voice soft. “Most voidsent are not.” There’s a catch in his voice as he speaks, and then the child nods. He doesn’t believe this being means harm to him - and even if that were the intent, well... he’s not so easy to hurt as it may seem based on his youth alone.

“Ardyn,” he echoes, considering the name. No, that doesn’t sound anything like he would have expected. “You may call me Unukalhai.” It wasn’t his name a long time ago, but it may as well be now - he is what he is, after all, and his name is a mark of loyalty to his master. Swallowing and trying not to be nervous - the unusual voidsent is just as on edge as he is, after all - the boy leads the Scions’ guest into the Solar and takes up his preferred post of leaning back against the desk in the center of the room.

“We can speak here,” he says, tipping his head downward to stare at his feet. “We won’t be interrupted - the Scions rarely use this room any longer.” In truth, he thinks most of them have forgotten he still lingers here - which is just as well, all things considered. If his master ever asks him to act against the group, it’s better to ease the breaking of ties in advance.

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@blackjacketmuses, from here

Normally, Unukalhai prides himself on being polite to a fault, formal and reserved. He tries very hard to act appropriately as an Emissary’s apprentice should, but just this once he finds his control slipping, the statement, “You’re a voidsent,” tumbling from his lips before he can stop himself. Wincing behind his mask, he takes a step back and bows his head.

“My apologies, that wasn’t appropriate,” he murmurs with another wince. If the Scions wish a very strange voidsent within their walls, it isn’t his place to question the decision. He’s hardly mortal any longer, himself, after all. Though... he is a little frightened, despite himself. He doesn’t like thinking about what happened to his home, or to the people he knew and cared for before the end of everything, and here is a reminder sitting right in front of him.

...But he isn’t acting like those lost to the hunger for aether. So perhaps it will be alright? “Are you a guest of the Scions?”

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#headcanon heavy post woo #but lbrh unu is still pretty ambiguous

“It’s not impossible,” he says after a moment. “There’s a primal, Alexander – I think it’s more than simply a primal, to be honest, and I know at least one Ascian was involved in its recent summoning, but…” He shrugs. “That thing could travel through time in all directions. To be honest, it made me feel a little better, knowing that something like that could be done.” He shakes his head. “But it’s…gods only know how the hell it works.” It’s not something he’s actually curious about.

He blinks and then softens, despite himself. One of the things he’s noticed has changed in his time as Drake is that he’s…kinder, perhaps. Is that the right word? He knows he’s far less of a condescending jackass, for sure, but he was never a cruel man. Even so, he’s…kinder, now, he thinks. He’s seen enough to relearn how to really empathize with people. He reaches out to gently ruffle Unukalhai’s hair with a soft sigh.

There isn’t much he can say to some of the admission, but he acknowledges it with his gesture and a slight nod, and then he lets out another breath and leans back. “It’s…been an adventure,” he says slowly. “Not a pleasant one at times, and being part of the expedition, watching – watching myself die, for lack of an easier way to put it, it was–” He shudders. “But I don’t know that I regret being here, being…this.” He thinks Unukalhai understands that, too.

“Alexander?” Unukalhai sounds the name out, eyes narrowing as he files the information away. He remembers the Scions talking about that primal on occasion, when he listened without being seen, but it’s not something he has any personal involvement in. And he’s not certain he should try to find out, either, less it come to cause trouble if he ever must work against his friends for his master’s sake.

When his hair is ruffled, his nose wrinkles on instinct, though he can’t remember the last time he had contact of that sort. It was certainly well before his world was consumed, perhaps... And then he does remember, and wishes he didn’t. Because the last person who had done that had looked at him very sadly even as they smiled down at him, and had gone off to find supplies to keep their small group fed for the next little while, but had never come back.

He’s quick to shut that memory away, of course - those without the echo had never stood even the tiny chance he had in their doomed world’s attempts to stave off the growing darkness, and it’s easier to pretend that such people never existed in his life. That he had always been as he was at the end: alone and half-trained, struggling against a tide he stood no chance against. A small deception, but one that he allowed himself to believe, because it helps him remain certain that the path he is on now is the only one he could ever have taken.

“A second chance is a rare gift, for all that it comes with a price” he says instead, trying to put the thoughts of what once had been out of his mind entirely. “You seem to have put that gift to use, despite the cost you paid.”

youthfulemissary-blog

sequoiaofeorzea asked:

"HAPPY NEW YEAR UNUKALHAI!" exclaimed the excited meqot'e Sequoia Redwood giving the kid a big hug.

“Oof!” One squished Unu, courtesy of Sequoia Redwood. Ah well, at least the hug is nice!

#sequoiaofeorzea

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He’s startled when Unukalhai takes his mask off, but appreciates the gesture for what it is – despite being slightly unnerved by the boy’s eyes, pale purple like the crystals that ate him alive in another life and probably caused by the same thing – and he sighs, shaking his head and struggling a moment to find the words.

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t always Drake Rubeus,” he explains haltingly, his voice low and eyes going a little distant. They’re in the Stones, now, he realizes, and he’s all too painfully aware of the Tower standing just a few malms south of them, reaching into the sky like a threat and a promise. He swallows and sighs again, registering he’d gone silent and trying to continue.

“There– there was a man, a Garlean named Nero tol Scaeva. He was with the XIVth. He was an engineer, like…like Cid Garlond.” He stumbles a little on the Cid’s name for very different reasons. “Though Nero was always fascinated by the Allagan. Not the primals, just…the technology. It eventually ended up leading him to Syrcus Tower alongside the Ironworks and…us, the Warriors of Light, and– he was trapped in the Void.” He laughs humorlessly. “And he never left.”

He swallows. “His body, at least,” he adds. “His soul, on the other hand…” He shrugs a little, helplessly. “Someone – I’m assuming Hydaelyn, but gods only know – took his soul and put it in some dead boy’s body, and I suppose there was some time-related shenanigans involved, given the circumstances, but the end of the story is…” He smiles faintly, and there’s still no humor, only a tiredness that is far, far older than he should be. “Well, the story’s not over yet, I guess. But I’m here.”

“I see,” the boy says, expression thoughtful - not exactly surprised, as the tale is not terribly far from his own experiences - but concerned. “Time does not flow quite the same from reflection to reflection, let alone the void or the source... but to step backwards in time is outside of my knowledge.” He does not say that such information may not be outside of his master’s knowledge, and really, it probably doesn’t need to be said anyway.

He takes a breath, then nods slowly. “You know that a physical body cannot travel from one world to another,” Unukalhai says, frowning. “The form I have here now is....different than before, in its way.” But he still looks like himself, for all intents and purposes is still himself, even if he has to focus sometimes on maintaining his presence, and unnerves those who know nothing of him but can still sense that he doesn’t belong. “It was my soul - my aether - that was rescued when my world was consumed.”

Its the closest he’ll ever get to the full truth, really - but a truth for a truth. It’s a balance that needs to be preserved, much like the balance between light and dark needed to keep the source from falling.

"I cannot say I know what it is like to be placed in another’s life, not in the way you have. But I do know what it’s like to die alone in the dark, and to be grasped out of it by something... more.”

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“No, I…know you don’t mean any harm,” he says after a moment, turning back to Unukalhai with an almost startled look on his face. “I didn’t mean to imply I was afraid of you, or– anything like that. “ That wasn’t the case at all. He felt terrible for the boy, he did; the thought that that…that place was once his home? That was horrible. That those creatures were once friends, family– no. He cuts that train of thought off with a vicious shake of his head and a shuddering breath.

“It’s not you,” he repeats. “It’s simply–” He can’t come up with a good explanation for it, so he just sighs. “You are right about the unpleasant memories, but I don’t hold you responsible. Really, you of all people probably understand best of all what I…” Again he trails off, and this time he seems to decide something, looking around to make certain no one else is around. No one is – the others are all busy, and the Stones is all but empty save for Ephemie at the bar and some of the Domans, and they’re all dealing with their own businesses, so they aren’t listening.

He sighs. “Can you keep a secret?” He asks, and then laughs. “That’s a silly question, but I– suppose it makes me feel better to ask. You would be only the second person to know what I mean to tell you, and perhaps I’ll tell the others, but…not just yet. You, though, you’d…” Unukalhai would understand. Possibly in more ways than one, because thanks to the boy’s story, he’s starting to wonder who was really behind his…resurrection, so to speak.

Unukalhai frowns, wondering why he’s being asked such a question, though he supposes it is still a reasonable one. He keeps secrets quite well, after all, and his master... well. His master has taught him to use what he can, when he can, to further what needs done. But right now he doesn’t really want to think about his master - just the man in front of him and the puzzle he represents.

So slowly, he nods... and then holds up a hand. “I can and I will,” he says quietly, “But since this is clearly a serious discussion, it must needs be done face-to-face.” He’s not yet used to walking about without his mask and hood in place, but for this conversation it just wouldn’t be right to hold to his perception of anonymity - such a position of power won’t be the kind of reassurance Drake needs.

Violet eyes squint briefly as he removes his mask, exposing them to the light they’re no longer quite used to. (They weren’t always violet, he knows - just another mark of the damage done to him in the time before his Master had found and rescued him.) Silvery hair falls almost into his eyes and he pushes it back, placing his mask down as he climbs into a seat of his own.

“I’m listening,” he says, voice soft and all too keenly aware of how old and tired his eyes look, despite his eternal youth. It surprises him slightly when he takes in Drake’s appearance and sees - or thinks he sees, he knows he’s not yet quite as observant as his master no matter how he tries - a similar aged look in the eyes of the man he’s speaking with.

#poor voidtouched boys

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