meridio | (Awash & Hugtopia) IC contact

[ As the sword manifests in his hand, she can't help but watch in wonder as how it materializes so effortlessly in hand. Does it come with a thought, with an impulse, or just by instinct? With any of those serving as answers, it means that the power he has, and the divine source that has granted him it, is intricately woven into his very being.

And it's a beautiful sword as well, a dark platinum with blacks and golds, with one outstretched wing decorating just at end of the handle. It seems weightless in his hands.

She nods. ]

[ Mindful of their proximity, Somnus twists at the torso and hurls the blade overhead, then releases Pyra’s hand to wrap an arm around her waist. The power of Lucian royalty takes them both, magicking them to the spinning sword as it soars over a building. Somnus closes his hand around the hilt and rides the momentum to a confident drop on the rooftop with bent knees, holding Pyra close the while.

He rises. This position grants them the advantage of height, and he takes a single step forward before repeating the process with the downward trajectory to supplement his toss. His aim is true; it takes them from building to building, lower and lower until they finally hit the pavement, at which point Somnus dismisses his blade.

They’re close enough to walk the rest. Relaxing his arm, he steps away from Pyra. His hand finds hers on the way, and they're just as quickly back to holding hands again as he looks at her. ]

[ One moment she's formless yet conscious, flying through the air with him, another she's a burst of particles and light coming together as he touches down, and then she's back, flowing through a stream of light into the next path. His movement is like his duty to the future: everything moves forward, him, his decision, his next step, his next aim, his next throw; she wouldn't be surprised if he had already mapped out the most efficient route to take. His strikes carry a weight, an unbidden (practiced?) absolute cold viciousness in their precision; his lands are heavy in contrast, as if the air stands still whenever he reappears, the world itself holding its breath. Yet he flows bonelessly into the next toss of his sword and the next, momentum conserved-- no, accelerating, diving into the next warp through space in a stream of blue light.

It feels like... she's spinning. With the warp itself, surely, but the power that she feels in the moment of cutting through all. The difference between him and the one who shares his face is staggering. Even still, it feels as if he's holding back so much more of what he might do-- as if he might move even faster. At the end of this, this travel through space and levels and planes all within the span of a few breaths, they end up on the street not too far from their townhouse. Gravity and matter seem to recall that they exist and apply to this man just as the rest, his form coming together through light and his hair and robes settling down upon him.

And Pyra....

She staggers forward, partly from tiredness, partly from her amazement, and only then does she realize that her hand had reached up to his chest to cling tightly to his robes. ] You... [ This is the power of someone who has been made their technique perfection throughout millennia, not just for the sake of refining it, but to put it to use on behalf of the world. ]

Somnus. [ Breathlessly does she speak his name, and her excitement translates into a smile that slowly forms upon her lips and a rewnewed shine in her eyes, a rosy flush as she looks upon him with admiration, as if suddenly star-struck.

For the second time this morning, she has experienced this extraordinary power, and not just that power, but how he uses it, and more importantly...

And with all of Somnus' ability and power, he uses it for the future. She can hardly believe she's met someone like him-- she can hardly believe that he's used it just to bring her back. ] Do you know... how blinding you are?

[ Even in Chroma, she wasn’t nearly this excitable. He stops amid taking a step forward, held in place by the hand clinging to his chest and her expression. He stares at her, at a relative loss for what to say until the moment passes. ]

You describe the power I‌ possess.

[ Blinding is the Light of the Crystal. Without it, he’d be dull. ]

[ Her fingers leave his chest, but her other hand still remains in his. Finding her balance, she continues to gaze at him. ]

Not only that, but the way you use it and...

And the reason you use it.

[ For the world, for the future. His magical prowess and the source is incredible... but she cannot ask after it (not Somnus, at least). But even among those without power, it’s all about the ways and the hows in which they use it. ]

May I see your sword once more?

[ The reason is the future—something that mesmerizes Pyra so. He understands, in part. Power in the wrong hands is useless and wasteful, if not harmful.

Wordlessly, he steps back and summons his blade. He brings it up and lets go, allowing gravity to drop the tip toward the ground before he catches it by the hilt and holds it there, upright, for her viewing. ]

[ Enchanted by the way the blade reforms out of nothing but light into solid, masterfully crafted metal, she continues to stand in awe of it...

Questions form in her mind about the sword, and he'll see them dancing within her eyes, as if they are just ready to leap off of her tongue. How is it that he's wielding it with one hand? Who made it, why was it made? To just protect--? But it's gorgeous for a weapon, decorated, almost appearing as if it should only be used in ceremonies. Why is there only one wing at the handle, and what does it symbolize? Who taught him how to wield it-- let alone wield it alongside the power he also has? His parents, perhaps? Parents that wanted him to be able to protect himself, who held him while he was young and hoped the world for him--

A world's future that he now protects with this blade, ages-removed from whoever it is that raised him; and with this same blade, he has also protected himself and others... for over millennia.

No, she cannot ask these questions. Not when he does not enjoy reminiscing. Her curiosity should not override his comfort.

She steps forward, and then around to face him. Now he holds the blade between the two of them. Slowly, her hand lifts to rest upon the broad-side of the sword, feeling the difference of its cool metal surface to the warmth of her own. Past its silver edge, gleaming in the morning light, her eyes briefly meet his before turning her attention to the weapon. Actions speak louder than words. This is true for him: for while he succinctly uses his own, he has helped this world already through touch. How does she convey her gratefulness in the same method?

She cannot thank the weapon itself, for it is inanimate and bound to his hand. The blade is a symbol of might, power, the grace with which he wields it all, an extension of him, a symbol of him, if not him, himself. Yet, she cannot say 'thank you' aloud again to him, either. That would not be enough.

Actions speak louder than words; she should try to communicate as he does.

Leaning in, she presses her lips to the blade's surface. Only after a second or two does she pull away, the corners of her mouth curling softly into a grateful smile. Her eyes, too, shine with appreciation as she looks at him. ]

[ He thinks that she might inspect the blade until her curiosity is sated, but she proves him wrong when she leans in and leaves a kiss. Transfixed by this display, he can only blink. The look she gives him brings him back to the moment.

She loves life. This blade, which he dismisses by releasing the hilt, exists to guard the future where that life may thrive. She must mean to convey her thanks to its wielder. In acknowledge of this, he nods after a pause; this, however, has ever been his duty for him.

Walking around to orient himself toward the direction of the townhouse, he looks to her. She needs her rest, so they should start moving. ]

[ Just a blink from him, just a pause, and just a nod as the greatsword dissipates into light and back into him. She believes he understands.

...But he's urging for them to continue. Ever-moving forward, this one. With a nod, her fingers shift in her grasp with his. She takes a step alongside him, then another, and soon they begin to walk hand-in-hand. She'll remain silent as they walk to their townhouse. Before they enter, however, she says one more thing. ]

He has your eyes, you know. [ Noctis does. (And his face.)

And if their eyes catch just right within the morning light, it's as if their color shines the same hue as their divine power. ]

Your legacy [ What they had talked about the first week here, at that. ] ...is realized in his goodness. [ She laughs softly, jokingly, although it is tired. ] Maybe your own goodness had passed down to him through all those generations...?

[ Time to enter the townhouse. ]

[ The door opens with authentication from his communicator. Somnus thinks as they enter. He smothered his goodness the day he threw morality to the wind and began his fiery crusade in order to give his people the future; Noctis, however, holds onto his virtue. Noctis will walk tall, while Somnus walks with his head down.

Inside, he makes for the door that was claimed by Pyra. It's a mystery if she requires sleep, but he expects that she desires rest regardless. ]

Our visages may be the same, but his virtue is his own.

[ He should look in a mirror to see his own charity, then. But she is too tired to continue her playful tone to say such a thing.

Instead at the threshold of her doorway, her hand releases his to settle upon his chest. Once again, her palm rests over his heart. ] Then, two unique goodnesses... that developed separately through time. [ Independent from their genes, their similar faces, the color of their eyes, their divine magic. Doesn't that make it even more incredible that such goodness exists, so far apart in ages?

She wish she could explain the phenomenon that that is to him, but it seems that exhaustion prevents her from doing more. How he had noticed that tiredness before, she doesn't know, but she's oddly grateful for it nonetheless. She's vulnerable, yes, but... also safe with him. ]

Maybe one day... we, together with you, will see the sunrise.

[ With these as her parting words, she breaks from him at last. The door closes shut a few seconds later. ]

(Awash & Hugtopia) IC contact

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