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07-06-2017, 04:54 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
His breath pooled, white and cold. He felt the spike break, a tremor in the flimsy magical connection; he felt it, and he saw it, a rain of frosted blue shards. It fell around Roskuld, hard bits of ice, but not as sharp as glass. Exhaling softly, he released his grip on it, and what was left of the spike fell apart around a thin, foot-high cracked spire.
He wasn't sure he had ever seen her wield her sword before. He.. he wasn't sure he even know who she really was; the child of Ophelia and the Spark God, but what else? What more? Who had she become, in the past few years? She had helped find him in the glacier. Mesec had helped, too.
It somehow felt ironic, that the children of the Gods came to his rescue.
And I should be grateful, he thought, blinking away something that stung like shame and pride, for having such friends. The uncomfortable feeling swelled inside his thin chest, behind the jutting point of his breast. He couldn't label it, didn't even want to, but he didn't know what to do with it without labeling it either. It got stuck in his throat, stuck in the display of ice shards flying as the sword dove through it.
Got stuck in the sharp, amber eyes levered at him. He didn't freeze like a deer in the headlights, but he couldn't move either, pinned by the gaze—his breath pooled, its rapid pace a telltale sign of his state, if the hollows around his ribs and flanks didn't already give it away. He wasn't sure he wanted to move, either; Elding's back was turned. She didn't know that he was there. It was just her and Chico and the shattering ice.
He almost preferred it that way. He almost wanted to be nothing but a ghost, a broken bit of memory, come to offer some kind of relief and then melting back into shadows—there and gone like nothing more than a breath of air. He shifted, slightly, and his bones groaned in protest.
Something strained in his soul.
He'd reached his limit.
When the last spike shattered—and there hadn't been that many of them to begin with—no other rose. It was just them and the ice dust settling slowly. His pulse roared through his veins, and hammered in his head. His sides heaved.
He said nothing. He didn't have the breath to.
He wasn't sure he had ever seen her wield her sword before. He.. he wasn't sure he even know who she really was; the child of Ophelia and the Spark God, but what else? What more? Who had she become, in the past few years? She had helped find him in the glacier. Mesec had helped, too.
It somehow felt ironic, that the children of the Gods came to his rescue.
And I should be grateful, he thought, blinking away something that stung like shame and pride, for having such friends. The uncomfortable feeling swelled inside his thin chest, behind the jutting point of his breast. He couldn't label it, didn't even want to, but he didn't know what to do with it without labeling it either. It got stuck in his throat, stuck in the display of ice shards flying as the sword dove through it.
Got stuck in the sharp, amber eyes levered at him. He didn't freeze like a deer in the headlights, but he couldn't move either, pinned by the gaze—his breath pooled, its rapid pace a telltale sign of his state, if the hollows around his ribs and flanks didn't already give it away. He wasn't sure he wanted to move, either; Elding's back was turned. She didn't know that he was there. It was just her and Chico and the shattering ice.
He almost preferred it that way. He almost wanted to be nothing but a ghost, a broken bit of memory, come to offer some kind of relief and then melting back into shadows—there and gone like nothing more than a breath of air. He shifted, slightly, and his bones groaned in protest.
Something strained in his soul.
He'd reached his limit.
When the last spike shattered—and there hadn't been that many of them to begin with—no other rose. It was just them and the ice dust settling slowly. His pulse roared through his veins, and hammered in his head. His sides heaved.
He said nothing. He didn't have the breath to.
