Shortest Retirement Ever.
Pearly rays of moonlight shone down upon the mage in the garden as he quietly watered the roses, silvery highlights in his dark hair glinting. There were more now than he’d had several years prior; with all the trouble they’d seen over time and all the worry he’d been put through, it was no wonder. But he supposed he should be grateful that he had just as many laugh lines on his face as he did wrinkles of concern, thankfully none of which were particularly noticeable yet - he wasn’t that old!
This evening, though, it was worry that chased the smiles away from Marius. He and Ghost had only just returned from traveling and while they’d enjoyed themselves thoroughly, in the last few days, his husband had seemed to be… struggling. Little flares of temper, moodiness - just now, he’d outright snapped at Marius over a disastrous dessert. It hurt, yes, but it perturbed him more. It wasn’t like the generally even-tempered man to snap at anyone, let alone him - and especially for something as inconsequential as a dessert.
Something was wrong. He could feel it, as surely as he could feel the coming rainstorm, despite there being nary a cloud in the star-scattered sky. Setting aside the watering can, he pivoted on his heel and lowered himself down to the ground, legs crossed, long skirts tucked primly under him. Closing his pale eyes, he exhaled deeply and reached inward, reached for the Creator’s thread that was bound to his soul. He could feel Sebastien in the house, below him, no doubt cleaning up the shards of the plate he’d smashed, the familiar cool press of the Fog welcoming him in. It danced around his consciousness in wisps, souls calling out to him in sibilant whispers as he walked along the black edge of awareness. There was nothing. No clue for Sebastien’s little tantrums, absolutely not a single thing amiss in the swirling darkness… so he moved on.
Inhaling slowly, his senses centered on that connection, then slid out along the lines that spun out like spidersilk, that connected the anchor stones that rooted Ghost in the man that he was, the man they had, in a way, molded him to be with traits shared from their own personalities - the man they all loved, in their own way.
And here, he frowned. The end of one strand was severed and frayed at the end, like a pulled thread floating in the breeze with nothing tying it off. Dawn. That was Okuni’s stone. Where was it? He couldn’t sense it anywhere, only the torn webbing of the soul-strand, limp and bedraggled. It was just… gone. What had happened? Had Okuni been hurt? It was impossible for the stone to have been taken from her and to his knowledge nothing had occurred to make her want to give it away… the only way to find out would be to try to reach her.
What was just as troubling was the strand that led to Day… Idristan’s stone. Marius jerked in ugly surprise as he realized there was vile, black ichor dripping down the thread - Ink. He’d been told that the Ink wasn’t an issue currently, but there was damning evidence right before his metaphorical eyes that it sure as hell bloody was. He could fix it, halt the infection’s progression with a weave at some cost to his own aether reserves, but it would be better than severing another anchor stone. It’d only be temporary, but he could buy them some time. He’d need Idristan for it, as soon as possible.
Whatever had happened, one fact was utterly unignorable. A new stone would need to be forged to seal Dawn again. Perhaps one for Day, if he couldn’t come up with a permanent fix to cleanse the ink from the stone. And there was only one person on this star, if he could be called that, that knew how to forge an anchor stone for the Fog: Isolvar.
Opening his eyes, the mage rubbed his face. He’d hoped that his dealings with the dragon were over but apparently destiny had more in store for them. It wasn’t information he was likely to give up without getting something of equal value in return, either. At least there was one person that he could consult on what a dragon might want, being that he held one in his soul: Lyrin’a. Perhaps he could shed more light on what had happened to the two stones, as well.
Lifting his gaze to the stars and raising one slender hand to gently touch his own stone, wrapped in the cord about his neck, he sighed. He’d come to the bottom of the matter and he liked none of it - but at least he’d found out sooner rather than later, this time. Rising and dusting off his skirts, he made his way inside again, the door closing faintly behind him as he went in search of his linkpearl.
Lyrin'a, Okuni, Idristan and Ghost all belong to their players.
