darlingdatura | I left a rose at the bottom of the big black sea

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.

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He materialised silently on the other side of the bed, watching Mikka curl up and whimper. With the deed now done, Elidibus had wasted no time in rebuking him. Emet-Selch could offer little by way of defence other than a stoic reassurance that he was planning to work on another method to bring the First towards Light.

A thin excuse. He could feel something inside him revolt at the thought. Rubbing his forehead with a tired sigh, he shuffled closer to Mikka and tried to put the thought aside.

"Azem... Persephone, are you well?" He gently touched their shoulder.

"M'head hurts-" A faint rasp of a reply, the miqo'te otherwise not budging far. He could likely feel the way they trembled when he laid a hand against a shoulder, arms tensing around himself a bit more as he drew his legs in as well, tail fretfully twitching against the blankets.

"Gods, what did I do?" He knew well enough, clear in the near-sob on that last word, a distress shared with thoughts and feelings both new and old.

"Yes, I imagine it does."

Shifting a little closer, he gently strokes a hand over their hair, fingers teasing through the waves and curls. It matters not to him what they look like. Even with alabaster skin, gold streaks, and paler hair, it is only the soul which matters in his eyes.

His heart flutters nervously in his chest but he maintains an outward calm.

"What do you remember?"

Between the general growth over time, and the fact that as a Lightwarden, haircare was low on the list of concerns, Mikka's hair was indeed more of a short tumble of curls than it had been before. Another thing he and Persephone had in common it would appear.

"So... so much," He rasped faintly, just tilting his head into the light touch to his hair, an unconscious need for that affection bleeding through in his distressed state. "Thought it was just dreams, from... from the Echo but it's not it's more, so much more-"

For all the sudden, distressing glut of new, strange memories, the thoughts and feelings tied to that name that Emet called him, it was a relief to focus a moment on that, rather than the things he'd done while suffuse with Light.

"The Echo as your Scions understand it is simple, woefully incomplete," he whispers, continuing his soothing strokes across the Warrior's hair. "It is not merely a glimpse of someone's past. You are right: it is so much more..."

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to Mikka's temple. "What you see is who you once were. Before Hydaelyn. Before even Zodiark. Your past."

It was a strange thing, that dichotomy of familiar and non that came with those gentle touches and the soothing tone. Mikka had never seen this side of Emet before- and yet in the new tangle of memories, he had, however much he might have huffed and grumbled whenever Mikka- Persephone had teased him about his softer side.

"How did you know?" Asked quietly- he was fairly certain, from what he could glean so far, that the Ascian wouldn't have left him to the Light if he'd known before. "That was... why you came to visit while I- we were... right?"

Skirting around the barest edges of what he'd been, ears flicking fretfully, arms snugging a bit more securely around himself, a sign enough that while he might remember Persephone, he also remembered what he'd been.

"...Your journal." A snap of his fingers brings it to his hand. He lays it on the bed within their reach. "You had been having dreams of another life, yes? Dreaming of a different night sky. Of another life and another world..."

He leaves off stroking their hair and trails his fingers over the additional arms they appear to have kept from their time as a Lightwarden. "You knew my name though I never gave it to you." Swallowing thickly, his voice suddenly tightens. "Why? Why did you not tell me earlier? If I had known, I would have adjusted my methods."

His ears pricked at the appearance of his journal, fingers drifting to brush against the edge of the spine, but otherwise for the moment leaving it lay.

Without the mask obscuring his face, gold eyes were visible to Emet as they lowered at the question, at the emotion weighing it. Cold white and gold, like the touch of Light always seemed to leave in it's wake, and like the arms, the hand of one instinctually shifting to curl fingers in Emet's sleeve at the touch, it remained to be seen what would fade of it's own accord, if anything.

"For... all that you did offer freely to my questions, about your people and what had happened, you seemed so protective of the personal," He replied in a slow, soft tone. "It seemed a bleedover from the Echo, and with so many of the memories involving you in some way, I hadn't thought you would appreciate my accidental eavesdropping. And with as much as there was to do I thought to... raise the subject after we'd finished felling the Lightwardens, honestly."

"I assumed you remembered nothing!" His voice is sharp, cutting through the silent room. "I assumed you would be like all the other heroes who thought to notch their swords by vanquishing me. I assumed you would refuse to heed me, because I am an enemy of Hydaelyn!"

He closes his eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. He hasn't moved his hand away from theirs.

"How was I to know that you would be different?" he asks bitterly. "Thousands upon thousands of years I have walked amongst you all. No-one has ever recalled the star as it once was."

"Just because we weren't seeing things in the same way didn't mean that we couldn't come to an accord." Mikka replied, much in the same way he always seemed to. No matter how it worried the rest of the Scions, he'd always tried to at least understand where Emet was coming from, why he was doing what he did. "When have you seen me not at least try to find common ground? Not the others, not... anyone before, but me?"

The miqo'te shook his head. "I can't say why I remember and others didn't. I don't know how I even came to start remembering, let alone... " He looked thoughtful, tail flicking faintly as he mulled it over, hand still on Emet, fingers gently running over the Ascian's arm in an absent sort of contact. Familiar enough- even in distraction, Persephone had always been wont to contact, even if it was just the touch of a shoulder against Emet's as they sat together. A thing it seemed Mikka shared. "Maybe the others did remember. Maybe they didn't remember enough. Or they assumed it simply odd dreams. I can... only attest to my own experience."

The small touches seem to calm him. He shakes his head slowly - although whether to deny Mikka's words or to deny his own thoughts is unclear. He turns his hand over and grasps theirs as it passes back near his palm.

"In the end, it matters not," he says in a low voice. "They set themselves in opposition to me. They chose their side. And now you - my poor, broken Persephone - have your own choice to make."

Leaning down, he presses a kiss to Mikka's temple. "I am, ultimately, still one of Zodiark's servants," he murmurs. "You were not able to hold the power of every Lightwarden on the First, but your awakened state may yet be of use to us. Your friends have been forced to return to the Source, leaving behind that meddling Exarch and a world which has sunk deep into despair since your advent. What will you do now...?"

Mikka's gaze lowered, fingers curling around the hand that caught his, a second hand moving to curl over top in kind. He still was unsure how to manage the extra limbs, but focusing on one or two at a time... it was almost familiar enough to manage.

The state of things was miserable to be sure. That his friends had safely been sent home was a relief, but the despair of those who remained... that it was because of him? That hurt. Especially for why for all he couldn't bear overmuch to think on those jumbled memories.

"What if... we could free you? As you freed me?" Mikka spoke up softly, thoughtfully. "I don't expect that to change your goals, insofar as you wish to rejoin everyone, but Zodiark... I can't help but think his influence might... keep you from seeing other, better options, tempered as you've admitted to being."

He was torn, both as Mikka, and as Persephone. He didn't want to leave Emet. Abandon him to this, forsake him... but at the same time the people of the Source and it's shards... he didn't want harm to come to them either.

He scoffs and looks away, gazing out across the false city he has built out of dreams and memory. The façade fails the further away from the Capitol one wanders. The towering structures...artifice. Even without Zodiark's influence weighing on his thoughts, he longs to bring their civilisation back.

"As if I would stand by docilely and allow it," he sneers. "There are no better options. Do you think my brethren and I have not considered aught else? We have had thousands upon thousands of years to try.

"...Besides which," he adds in a mutter, mouth pressing into a thin line, "removing His tempering now would only kill me."

It would be a lie to say a part of him does not want it. How nice it would be to lie down someday, close his eyes, and forget about the world.

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I left a rose at the bottom of the big black sea

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