lazybox | [voicetest] it's this guy

Era had tried to remain on the Source for a stretch, but until the Scions were returned along with her the option she had were quite limited. She visited her friends, giving them a bare bones explanation of what happened. She slew the Lightwardens and returned the night sky back to a world drowning in Light.

She breathed not a word of the danger she was in, nor the revelations that were revealed to her — not even to Edmont, though Era knows the man is aware she omitted a fair bit from her retelling. She spent most of her days lingering in Fortemps Manor, spending time with the only father she's known. Each day that passed she noted the lines of worry etched ever deeper upon his brow. She did her best to seem herself, and yet the man's intuition was particularly keen when it came to his children, whether they be his by blood or by choice.

Every night her sleep was restless, to such an extent that Edmont had taken to checking on her long after he should have been to bed himself. Era hadn't realized her dreams had been a bother to anyone else — not until she awoke from a terrible dream (memory?) to find the man hovering at her bedside, clearly concerned for his ward's well being. It took her some time to shake herself fully awake. To remember who and where she was.

It was then that she learned it was a frequent occurrence. Every time she drifted to sleep and dreams came for her, she would call out in a language not a single soul could comprehend. Edmont had taken to sitting in the chair at her bedside most evenings after she retired, ready to place a comforting hand upon her brow and soothe her back to sleep like any father would. Most nights, he said, it seemed to help.

When she asked if there was anything that stood out about what she said each night, and his answer told her precisely where she needed to go.

So Era packed up her things the next morning, readying herself to the journey back to the First. The Fortemps household made sure her inventory was fit to bursting with all manner of foodstuffs, freshly laundered clothing, and whatever else they deemed a necessity for her. It was as she was about to teleport to Mor Dhona that she was overcome by the uncharacteristic urge to give Edmont a hug. She does not, however she does pause to take one of his hands in hers, looking up at him with an earnest, thankful smile.

"I shall send word of my safe arrival with Feo Ul," she promises, then whirls away in a rush of aether.

-

"Did I say aught that stood out to you?"

Edmont fell silent then, hand a heavy, comforting weight on her shoulder.

"Hades."

-

The sight of Amaurot silhouetted against the murky twilight of the Tempest fills her breast with something she cannot quite put name to. The enormous streets do not feel quite so foreign to her, though that make sense to her as this is not the first time she's set foot in the phantom city. Still... She finds herself pausing at certain junctures she never paid heed to before, wondering why something seems to be missing from that plaza, or why she can recall the scent of roses when eyeing the remnants of a garden — a garden she has no logical reason to know existed, but her mind's eye tells her there were flowers of the loveliest shades of blue and violet all the same. A red fruit whose seeds burst like overripe grapes between her teeth. The scent of old books and ink. The feel of silken cloth against skin and...

Only skin.

Era continues wandering, fear and comfort warring for dominance within her chest. Every step fills her with a sense of déjà vu she cannot shake. She had always desired to know of her life before she was Era, but...

Her breath catches in her throat and she finds herself in desperate need of a seat. Something (memory) tells her one is nearby, but logic tells her it will too big, much like every other thing in this city.

Everything is too big for her, but —

Why does that feel so wrong?

In the end, Era finds herself sinking to her knees upon the cold, unforgiving stone in the middle of a deserted road. Hands pressed to her eyes, she inhales slowly. Exhales. Inhales. Does her best not to let this overwhelming feeling drown her. Focuses on the way her tail curls around her side. A tail that feels both comfortingly familiar and uncomfortably foreign.

Memories.

She always wondered what it would be like, if she could remember. Era would not call these flashes memories, but does not know what else to think of them as.

"Hades," she says, the name foreign and familiar on her tongue.

It occurs to her then, quite suddenly, what this feeling is.

Grief?

She is, almost, alone in the city. The ghosts of the Amaurotines have not faded away; rather, it is as though they do not see her, preoccupied in whatever routines they are eternally embroiled in, bereft of their creator. They are nothing more than memories, after all.

But when she speaks that name, there is a faint chiming, as though some aether-construct lying in wait for her has activated. And, indeed, it has, for very shortly she's approached by...

Well, the Amaurotine undoubtably still towers over her, but in comparison to the height of the others, they are clearly a child. If Era thinks to pay attention to her aetherial senses, there is something different about this ghost, something more of the Ascian's personal aether. The child feels more like his creator than do the anonymous Amaurotines filling the streets and the offices; like Hythlodaeus, there is a touch more effort, or perhaps a touch of an accidental thought of something else.

And their voice, young as it is, has some touch of the familiar about it, too. "You called for me?" they - he - asks, in the same dense, nostalgic tongue as all the others speak.

She shouldn't be here. (She is meant to be here.) She should leave. (Stay.). This place is not meant for her. (He built it for her.) Her heart aches for something lost that was never hers. (It was hers nine times over.)

There is a ringing in her horns, faint and melodic, and Era barely registers it. It is only when she feels a weighty presence behind her that she unfurls herself and twists to see the source of it.

An Ancient — a child. She goes still, staring uncertainly at the small giant. His question confuses her.

"I called for no one."

There would be no point.

"You said my name," the child says. Rather than continuing to tower over her, he kneels down, and then with a slight whumpf, sits beside her, robe hem flaring upwards briefly to reveal plain, soft shoes before he smooths it back out. Seated, now, there's evidence that either more or less care was put into the appearance of this one, because the jawline visible under the mask isn't quite as shapelessly anonymous as the others.

"Are you waiting for someone?" he asks, still possessed of the gentleness of the Amaurotines, combined with the simple straightforwardness of children. "You seem lonely."

"...Hades?" Era repeats in query, curling the syllables on her tongue in a way that is more Amaurotine than Eorzean.

The child gives her something to focus on and she is eager to take it. Anything to stop the tumultuous spiral of emotions inside of her in this moment, however briefly. He wears a mask and robe like all the others, but does not ... feel like the others.

The shape of his jaw is more defined. Vaguely familiar — though that does not mean much right now, when the world around her all feels the same.

"I am..." How to explain without explaining? Era does no lie, and will not start now. Eventually she tugs her knees to her chest, settling into a more comfortable position.

"I am."

There need be no further explanation. If she seems lonely it's because she is.

He simply nods his head as she says his name again. And when she admits to the loneliness... His shoulders slump, just a little, posture now even more like his older counterpart.

(Because that's who, and what, he is. A child too young to have any titles or pretenses to maintain, rather than the man who cast all of them aside. The end as the beginning.)

"I was supposed to meet a friend of mine," he says. It's awkward, a child's attempt at sympathy. "But I don't think they're going to be here."

He leans forward, masked face twisting around to look at her. "You're not from around here, right? I've never seen anyone like you."

"Why do you say that?"

Era knows his friend will not be here, but a shade would have no such knowledge nor inclination. His question gives her further pause, as she doesn't know quite how to answer.

"I'm from very far away," she says. "From very far down the stream of time."

"It's just a feeling," he says. "Like there's something gone that won't come back."

Even children are sensitive to the aura of anxiety that pervades the Amaurot in which they stand, on the cusp of the end of days. Even children who do not belong here, but in a time even further back, when all was peaceful and harmonious.

But a child is still a child, and there's a brightness in his words at her response. "Are you a time traveller? That's supposed to just be theoretical - most theories say that you can't change the past, because it would cause instability in the future, but..."

He stops, and seems to shake himself under the hood. "My apologies, I'm sure that's rude. If you were a time traveller, you wouldn't be able to tell me." Said with all the certainty of children who know what the Rules are. He nods to himself. "But I can show you around, if you like," he offers after a moment.

"Life is like that, sometimes."

There is that feeling of familiarity again. Sadness, too; a deep-seated grief that weighs heavy on her sundered soul. This boy said his name is Hades, and it cannot be coincidence.

"Time is not always linear, nor concrete. Who can say for certain? Perhaps a change in the past simply causes a new tributary to form, branching off in a new direction, leading toward a different end. Safe, and separate, linked only by a far off point far behind it."

But she is no specialist in the concept of time and space, despite having traveled through it.

"If I could promise that our interaction would be of no consequence, what would you like to know?"

"That's the second-most popular scholarly opinion," he says, and there it is, that slight touch of arrogance, though it's not so much looking down on her, at this age, as it is being proud of himself for knowing.

But at her question, he goes quiet. "I wouldn't know where to start," he says. "Everyone is so nervous suddenly..."

His hands fold over his knees. "I want to hear that everything will be okay, but not if it's a lie. My friend and I promised we wouldn't lie to each other. It's important."

He has certainly twisted her arm with his answer. By saying nothing, Era is admitting that everything will not be okay, and if she reassures him it would be a lie, which she cannot abide by.

"Listen carefully, my dear little Hades." Her voice is soft and quiet; soothing and melodic. "Everything will not be okay. Things will be different, and perhaps disappointing, but..."

She curls her tail back and forth, back and forth. Thoughtful. Anxious. She has never been good with children.

"This world is ending, and from its death fourteen more shall be birthed. But you will be brave, and you will survive. Your kin will live on in different form, with no memory of this time and no capacity to create life as you do now."

Era turns to him fully now, eyes an ethereal blue made all the more so in the lights of the city.

"I say this not to frighten you, but to offer you hope. That regardless of this world crumbling around you, you will survive, and life will continue to flourish. A different definition of life than what you know now, but no less beautiful for it."

The child is quiet, as she speaks. But when she's finished... He nods to himself, as though assured of something.

"You're the same, aren't you?" he asks. And there's that sense of knowing, as though the world were tilting on its axis around a single conclusion. "The reason my friend isn't here is because you are."

A bit harsh, but honest.

She cannot help the way she flinches at his statement. It is the truth, which is what makes it so brutal.

"Her soul was sundered into fourteen," Era confirms. "I am comprised of nine of them, but we are not the same, she and I. I will never be her, only myself."

The way his shoulders slump in disappointment is but a precursor to his later self's overdramatic motions. But at the same time, there's something hopeful in his voice.

"But you still kept your promise," he says. "To meet me here."

"I—" Era sees the way the boy all but wilts, and there is a foreign urge within her breast to scoop him into her arms: to soothe and reassure, despite the disparity between them.

It is not something the Warrior of Light (Darkness) is prone to doing, and she wars with herself briefly before coming to a compromise. She holds out her hand for him to take should he deign to; an offer of comfort within her own.

The smile Era gives him is tired, but no less earnest for it.

"I suppose that she did."

If this Ancient being of her soul was anything like Era herself, broken promises are an unforgivable thing, and must be avoided at all costs within reason.

She finds she likes the thought of similarities between them. Between the soul that she was and the soul that she is. Era will forever be her own person, but inherited traits... That is something like family if she isn't mistaken.

"Your friend desperately wanted to keep her promise."

[voicetest] it's this guy

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject