Mikh'tan Moshroca (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darlingdatura) wrote2020-11-08 12:29 am
darlingdatura) wrote2020-11-08 12:29 am
I left a rose at the bottom of the big black sea
The Scions wouldn't have agreed to this. Barely tolerated the presence of the Ascian, certainly didn't like or trust him speaking to Mikh'tan. Not that this ever stopped the little Keeper from seeking Emet-Selch out to talk whenever he showed his face. If he was ever bothered by the man's barbs and smart remarks, he was especially good at letting it roll off his back. Seemed earnest in trying to bridge the gap between them, to find some common ground. Held a hope that they could find some third option between the idea of one or the other. Something. Anything.
It wasn't such idealism that had him sneaking away from the Crystarium in the dead of night though. He'd kept a brave face on things, but it was impossible for him not to realize what was happening to him, long before anyone actually admitted it to him, long before he was starting to crack apart ilm by ilm under the strain of the glut of Light Aether. If any of his companions had any idea, they'd surely stop him but no one was expecting him to leave, to slip away to Amaurot.
For all he wasn't a creature of darkness, there was some semblance of relief in the malms of ocean water above blocking out the Light he knew stained the skies, all but prickled up the back of his neck. The Miqo'te managed several steps away from the aetheryte before he felt a surge that had the white creeping in at the edges of his vision, that searing cold all but carving it's way through him, sending him stumbling hard as he dropped his bag, grabbing for one of the railings to at least avoid hitting the ground. Tail frizzing as he let out a low, distressed noise of pain behind his hand, fingers quickly stained with the glow of liquid aether as the air positively crackled with the same energy making more of that awful white and gold creep over skin like a poison.
It would take him a moment to be able to go looking or call out, if Emet-Selch wasn't already aware of his presence. He held no real illusion that this wasn't exactly what the Ascian had been planning, but at the same time...
He didn't see a way to make this stop. Didn't want to be alone in what he was afraid would be the final days or even hours he had left as himself before the Light subsumed him.
He'd spent too much of his life alone.
It wasn't such idealism that had him sneaking away from the Crystarium in the dead of night though. He'd kept a brave face on things, but it was impossible for him not to realize what was happening to him, long before anyone actually admitted it to him, long before he was starting to crack apart ilm by ilm under the strain of the glut of Light Aether. If any of his companions had any idea, they'd surely stop him but no one was expecting him to leave, to slip away to Amaurot.
For all he wasn't a creature of darkness, there was some semblance of relief in the malms of ocean water above blocking out the Light he knew stained the skies, all but prickled up the back of his neck. The Miqo'te managed several steps away from the aetheryte before he felt a surge that had the white creeping in at the edges of his vision, that searing cold all but carving it's way through him, sending him stumbling hard as he dropped his bag, grabbing for one of the railings to at least avoid hitting the ground. Tail frizzing as he let out a low, distressed noise of pain behind his hand, fingers quickly stained with the glow of liquid aether as the air positively crackled with the same energy making more of that awful white and gold creep over skin like a poison.
It would take him a moment to be able to go looking or call out, if Emet-Selch wasn't already aware of his presence. He held no real illusion that this wasn't exactly what the Ascian had been planning, but at the same time...
He didn't see a way to make this stop. Didn't want to be alone in what he was afraid would be the final days or even hours he had left as himself before the Light subsumed him.
He'd spent too much of his life alone.
no subject
Was it the overweening Light or despair that caused him to sink slowly to the ground and bury his face in his hands? Every time he thought he had mourned enough for his long-lost friend, something or someone came along to remind him of them. In his less gracious moments, he had found himself wishing they had forced Azem to stay and help so that their soul might also be touched by Zodiark's Dark hand, so that he could raise them (if they were sundered like the rest) and spend the rest of eternity by their side.
"...I cannot stay," he said finally.
The Light was beginning to itch at him, seeking to pry away the Darkness suffusing his soul. He raised his head and stared tiredly up at the Lightwarden's masked face.
"I will come back for you. I..." He really shouldn't. What would Elidibus say?
After struggling with the words, he repeated, "I will come back."
That was all he could do in the present circumstances.