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

[darlingdatura]

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.

Comments

[emet_sulk]

He listened silently, unheard, unseen, drifting in his natural intangible form. Even for old immortals such as they, the study of souls had been a deep and near bottomless area of academic interest. Emet-Selch had never tried to understand the whys and wherefores of the Sundered. His interest ended at their greatly diminished pall. Thus, he couldn't rightly say whether any of their discussions had merit. It was a fact that the Warrior was not entirely mindless. It was a fact that they had recognised him and spoken names they should not have consciously known. He could feel the uneasiness in his breast as he wove his plans in the shadows, knowing that what he did verged on betrayal.

Elidibus, in fact, did pay him a visit once. He seemed concerned by his brethren's new obsession. He pointedly reminded Emet-Selch of their goal and then left as silently as he had come.

Mitron, he thought. Their body still lay out there, somewhere in the vast expanse of the Light-blasted plain. He could still use them. With that thought, the tightness in his breast eased.

The Scions shared what they learnt with the Exarch via their mutual fairy allies so that he might begin to form a plan to counteract the Lightwarden's influence. But Emet-Selch decided that he had seen enough. By the time the mortals found a means to stave off the passive Light sinking into their very beings, it might very well be too late. So he disappeared and took himself to the Lightwarden's current sanctuary.

"Hero?" he called quietly. "...Persephone?"

/returns late with starbucks

[darlingdatura]

It wasn't too hard to tell that the Lightwarden still made this area their main home. There were those tell-tale signs of gold and white growth, enough in some areas to almost paint the paths that the creature used most.

Like the ones around that field of flowers Emet had created, almost like a thicket fence like the Lightwarden lingered near, but was so concerned with tainting them that it was uncertain about actually wandering through. And even the sineaters who weren't restricted by those brambles presence seemed unwilling to broach that barrier either, not wanting to risk the Lightwarden's protective ire.

It shouldn't care. These flowers weren't food, and yet despite that, despite the squirm of the brambles ever-present around limbs that tried to encourage it's movement and activity otherwise, the Lightwarden always seemed to drift back here when not hunting. Trying to make sense of things for all it couldn't at the moment with the Light burning through. It did mean that Emet-Selch's presence was noticed, that familiar swirl of Dark that had the creature perking from where it had been settled, ears pricking towards the sound of his call.

"H-hades-" It rasped out in response, sounding... pleased?

Surely not. Lightwardens surely wouldn't be pleased to see someone so saturated with Dark on their doorstep. And yet...

me scrambling to remember what we had planned lmao

[emet_sulk]

He still didn't understand how this was possible but he let himself drift upwards, rising until he was eye-level with the Warden and could reach out to touch its face. As usual, he ignored the way their presence weighed on him. His adamant soul would not cave to their passive Light.

"I might have a way to reverse this," he murmured, stroking one porcelain cheek. "A way to negate all that Light raging within you. But will you struggle if I try?"

They had seemed to understand him thus far. He wondered if that extended to consenting to what he was planning.

Oh, who was he kidding? He would go ahead with it anyway whether they wanted it or not. Was that selfish of him? Yes. Did he care? No. It wasn't as though any of his people were here to judge him for it.

[darlingdatura]

It was hard to tell really, if he understood what Emet was talking about here. Even with the time he'd had, the Light had his mind in a tailspin, too many memories there to even hope to sort through, along with the utter confusion of Mikka and Persephone both being... him. But both seemed in agreement to the comfort that Emet's presence brought, a low croon slipping from him as he tilted his face to let it press into the Ascian's hand.

And tellingly enough for all the brambles seemed to bristle and twitch as always, any sineaters nearby merely eyed the pair from a safe distance, not willing to chance testing something so very steeped in Darkness without the Lightwarden goading them into action. About as close to permission as Emet-Selch was likely to get, and likely as close as Mikka would be able to give in his current state.

[emet_sulk]

He decided to take that as acquiescence. He doubted the Warrior-turned-Warden would be able to give him more. Glancing about, he made a horizontal cutting motion with his arm and a shadowy barrier immediately sprung up to enclose the two of them. Any lesser Eater would (hopefully) be repulsed by it. He had no doubt they would try to interfere once their Lightwarden began crying in pain.

Turning his attention back to Mikka, he took their face one last time and kissed what passed for a forehead. Then he closed his eyes and focused.

First, isolate the mind from the soul. With his ability, that was easy. Sorting through the blinding glow of Light to find it, however, less so. He could feel the natural dissonance between their aspects threatening to rend him apart as he grasped the faint tinge of colour hovering disparate from all the rest. But once he had it, he began funnelling aether into a greater yet more intricate version of the magic that the Scions had created on the Source.

It would hurt. He knew he might well lose the physical body he currently had in the Lightwarden's retaliation. But he had to try.

[darlingdatura]

It was honestly doubtful how much of what Emet was planning he understood just yet. He clearly could speak in at least some fashion, understand spoken words, but there was a difference between that and the sort of concept that was the current subject. It spoke to the vague sort of acceptance or trust that the creature had that the dark barrier didn't have the Lightwarden lashing out, for all the shining brambles around it's limbs tensed, the creature almost absent in the automatic resistance of that attempted pull away.

The initial contact was a strange thing, but the sensation when the man began his work was not, the cold-fire burn of icy Dark earning a pained almost betrayed screech as the Lightwarden all but flung themselves away from the Ascian, only stopped in their retreat by the barrier that they slammed against not entirely unlike a bird against a window, once, twice, three times before the brambles lacing it's pale limbs lashed out against the apparent source of the pain. But if the barrier was holding up against it, Emet-Selch was correct that it would repel the lesser Eaters that were doing their best to beat their way inside.

[emet_sulk]

He flinches without thinking but the barrier holds fast against the lesser Eaters. Just as their Light can burn him, so too can his Dark hurt them. It's the Lightwarden he must worry about.

The brambles lash out at him and he retreats, sending out dark blades to try and cut through the mass and dodging whatever remain. This won't do. He needs to be closer. It's difficult enough keeping their soul in sight without all this accursed Light trying to snuff him out.

Using a smaller shield of darkness to encompass him, he darts through the air towards the Warden. Having to maintain two barriers against the onslaught is taxing. If he cannot manage this before they fail, he hopes he can yet make his escape.

[darlingdatura]

There were so many of those brambles- and each cut through just had them tensing around the pale body of the Lightwarden, thorns piercing skin to drop more of that glittering blood in the sand, spawning more of the tendrils to replace those cut down almost as quickly as they were being destroyed.

What had likely been assumed to be a glimmer of reflected daylight against gold was proven otherwise with the Dark hiding the scorching Light- the glimmer ran along the length of several of the larger bramble vines, not entirely unlike being lit ablaze before they were whipped out to lash against the smaller shield Emet had created as he forced his way closer- they didn't resist allowing this, though it was more to wind more securely, the thorns of each seeming to draw longer, sharper, as if to try and burrow in through the shield.

More dangerous though the position was, it did at least bring the Ascian closer in to his goal, for all if he wasn't careful it would certainly render escape an even more uncertain game if things went wrong.

[emet_sulk]

The brambles closed in, their thorns seeking out the cracks in his focus, the weaknesses in his defence. He forced more and more dark aether into his spell, gritting his teeth as he struggled to hold mind and soul separate as he weaved. The closer they drew him in, the less the Warden's gilded limbs seemed to glitter.

More. Even more. He was one man against a creature whose monstrous strength only grew with each victory - and that was before their transformation. Did he even stand a chance...?

No, he could not allow himself to think that.

"Persephone, please," he whispered, staring into their Light-tinged soul. "Help me."

As the Lightwarden's writhing tendrils enclosed his shield, he threw all caution to the wind and dedicated his remaining energies to erasing the blight on his friend's soul. If he died for this then so be it.

With everything he loved gone there was little left worth living for.

[darlingdatura]

At first it almost seems like nothing will happen. Like the brambles will, as is their way, break through the shield of Dark to descend upon the Ascian inside, rend him to pieces.

And yet their growth stalls. Emet might find it easier to maintain his defenses as he works. It was debatable how long the Warden would remain so, but it was an opportunity all the same.

The creature shrieked as Emet's efforts were paying off. An agonized sound that close as he was, the Ascian would be able to feel, almost as if it made his very bones shiver like fine crystal about to shatter. But as soon as it had started, it seemed to cut short as if the wind was knocked from the creature. As the Light was being blasted from it's host, the crushing brambles were beginning to crack and crumble, flowers along the lengths withering in kind. After enough seemed to have died off, the pale figure formerly bound by them crumpled almost abruptly, like a puppet cut loose of it's strings, into a heap of too many shivering limbs.

[emet_sulk]

The sound goes right to his back teeth, making his head ring in an unpleasantly disturbing way.

But...some threshold seems to have passed. The shifting brambles around him halt. He covers his face as the pieces crumble to dust and scatter, lowering his arms just in time to see a figure collapse on to the sand.

He waves away his personal shield but keeps the larger one in place. Hurrying forward, he crouches by the former Warrior, touching a gentle hand to their cheek as he checks them over both in body and soul.

[darlingdatura]

It was little surprise that body and soul both were in need of recovery. Whilst the brambles and their watching blooms were gone, Mikka's body was still warped from the touch of so much Light, too pale, too many arms, gold streaks marking where brambles had wound around before. But they were gone, as were the eyes. The mask worn still, though cracked at some point during the struggle.

And while he still looked the part, the searing cold of the Light had left him, the cheek under Emet's palm warm to the touch. The feel of it earned a low, ragged noise of exhaustion as the pale face turned in against his fingers as if seeking comfort.

[emet_sulk]

He breathed a quiet sigh and gathered the former Warrior in his arms, spending a few long moments simply kneeling in the sand with Mikka/Azem/Persephone tucked against his chest. It didn't matter what form they wore. He knew who they were. Who they once were, at least.

After a few minutes, the dark bubble evaporated. When the stray sin eaters, now devoid of their Warden, converged, they would find nothing except a wide area of kicked up sand where the pair once were and a few remnants of alabaster Light fading to dust.

Mikka was taken back down to Amaurot, to a room that might be both familiar and unfamiliar. A recreation of Emet's own, overlooking the Capitol and nearby districts. With everything to the scale that it was, the single bed quite dwarfed either of them as they currently were.

Emet himself was nowhere to be seen at the moment. But he would appear if summoned.

[darlingdatura]

Waking as himself was... a surprise. Almost as much as the nasty discovery he'd made at some point that Warden or no, he had been aware of what he had doing. Unable to stop himself, beyond some small resistance that amounted to little and less than nothing in the long run, but aware all the same. That he was moving under his own power now in the entirety, that he didn't feel the slither of brambles or the pierce of thorns was not something he expected, and he floundered somewhat, settling for the moment for just curling in on his side, too many arms winding around himself as freedom from Light seemed to come with a wash of memories that were not... his? Someone else. Things he'd seen only bits and pieces of before in snippets and dreams now all there at once, threatening to drown him from the sheer amount of them, a faint, distressed little rasp slipping from him as he buried his face in his hands, ears pinned against his pale hair.

[emet_sulk]

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.

[darlingdatura]

"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.

[emet_sulk]

"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?"

[darlingdatura]

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.

[emet_sulk]

"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."

[darlingdatura]

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.

[emet_sulk]

"...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."

[darlingdatura]

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."

[emet_sulk]

"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."

[darlingdatura]

"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."

[emet_sulk]

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...?"