For a stature of time, of moments, Lena expected nothing. Her voice would be a ghost on the wind, eventually drawing to a granule, to overwhelming silence, forged into naught, into diluted poignancy, into showing her she wasn’t worth anyone’s time. But she still kneeled there, pressed against the earth, against the shrine, waiting for the inevitable strike of the hour; a telltale sign she was worthless again, or the ringing irritation of the Spark God himself.
 
What she got, in actuality, was neither.
 
Her head whipped up quickly, swift, torn between the blades of hot, molten light, eyes widened, gazing in the thick of reverence, swallowing, not fearful, but apprehensive, pondering over the lengths she’d gone, the words she’d maintained, the sway of her name over the field of apparitions and divinity. Beams of lightning shattered against the rocks, the stones, the marble, the wares, a snapping chord of electricity and song echoing past the junctures until she pulsed with the radiant chords of bliss; shocked, forced to turn behind her to witness the splendor, the grandeur, the opulence of the omniscient.
 
She thought about cowering in his wake – she’d never been this close to the God of her lands, no matter how many times she’d managed to watch him descend from afar, rupture them with his disdain – but there was no scowl etched on his features, no ire or vexation rippling from his hide, and all she managed to do was bow her head in his presence, so uncertain, so perplexed. She’d asked and been received; the bestowal, the grace, seemed unearthly, seemed mythical, and she was transported, muted, caged by his stature.
 
But when her gaze finally swept back to him, she noted her little yellow flowers tucked behind his ear, and didn’t know where to start, what to say, how to begin, smiling though the mist and whirl of her sentiments, wondering if she was supposed to laugh or cry or grovel, cherishing the moment anyway, to see a God speckled in petals and blossoms. Even thereafter, her honeyed eyes might’ve conveyed a rampant disbelief as he stated how she served them as well as she could (and already she wanted to dispute it, to claim she could always be more; all that determination, all that stalwart energy, buzzing and flowing and humming throughout her veins). However, before she could grant him her voice, his stare centered on her little piece of the Sentinels, and she watched the metal shoot, rocket, ricochet upwards (she gasped, somewhere in between, mystified once more, spellbound, bewildered, touched by the allure), witnessing the copper filament transform into a shield, and she could already see it now, along the flaming plains of battle, courted in front of her and a fallen comrade, sparking and ignited, incensed by the blood, by the fervor, by her desire to keep them all safe. It was utter perfection, and she didn’t deserve it. “Thank you,” she finally managed to herald, a hallelujah, a gesture of fulfillment and benediction, expressed by her heart, by her essence, by her pure, unguarded soul, reaching forward, bestowing a harmonic sung beneath her breath. It spun to life, compressing and uncompressing, forming into a smaller, singular collar (that Imogen gladly volunteered to wear; chirping with excitement), and the Mender suddenly wanted to burst, wanted to cry, wanted to do something other than plead her gratitude. “I’ll do my best to keep everyone guarded.” She vowed, a nod of her head, a kindle of her spirit, rich and invoked, steady and valorous, tipping her crown to bear witness to him again, a wild pondering formed across her lips. “Do you think it will have any effect on Kaos?” Or was it just another silly, capricious dream, to whittle away the seams of a betrayer, to ensure her brethren were protected?

[Thank you admin! <3]