Uwaritace
07-25-2018, 12:27 PM
"The Rift is dying," she correctly surmised, and the beast beside her couldn't help but droop. "Yes," he simply said, voice quiet. Despite his best efforts and intentions, the Rift was dying: bleeding out, day by day. Some of the light lost had been restored with the awakening of Hope, but she had done nothing to stem the figurative bloodflow. And Kaos? Kaos was out of ideas. Kaos hadn't even been intended as a tool of redemption and recovery, just one of vengeance.
And vengeance had been had. The memory of it did little to soothe or thrill him now, only satisfied the ghosts of the dead gods he was made of.
The Rift, as a whole, reminded him of Uwaritace. Rescued, but too late. He let her mull on it, once more finding his gaze wandering the boughs of the burned tree.
Of course, she asked the questions he had dreaded, the questions he had asked himself for a year, or more: how do we fix it?
He had tried to reverse the effect with sheer influx, thinking that, perhaps in time, the wounds would heal. He had found the Hopelights, and handed them out, hoping that strong enough hope would seal them.
But it just kept on bleeding, day after day. He'd sought for Helovia, to take back the realms the dead pantheon took from him, but he couldn't find it. Whether it was lost or simply closed to him, he didn't know.
He was silent for a while, long enough that it almost seemed he would not respond. Then, he heaved a deep sigh. He was over being angry about it. Yelling at Taivas wouldn't fix it. Still, he itched for something to take out his frustrations on, something to scream at until his voice was hoarse and his heart exhausted.
"I don't know," he simply said, the detached calm of his voice an indication that this was, perhaps, dangerous territory to venture into.
And vengeance had been had. The memory of it did little to soothe or thrill him now, only satisfied the ghosts of the dead gods he was made of.
The Rift, as a whole, reminded him of Uwaritace. Rescued, but too late. He let her mull on it, once more finding his gaze wandering the boughs of the burned tree.
Of course, she asked the questions he had dreaded, the questions he had asked himself for a year, or more: how do we fix it?
He had tried to reverse the effect with sheer influx, thinking that, perhaps in time, the wounds would heal. He had found the Hopelights, and handed them out, hoping that strong enough hope would seal them.
But it just kept on bleeding, day after day. He'd sought for Helovia, to take back the realms the dead pantheon took from him, but he couldn't find it. Whether it was lost or simply closed to him, he didn't know.
He was silent for a while, long enough that it almost seemed he would not respond. Then, he heaved a deep sigh. He was over being angry about it. Yelling at Taivas wouldn't fix it. Still, he itched for something to take out his frustrations on, something to scream at until his voice was hoarse and his heart exhausted.
"I don't know," he simply said, the detached calm of his voice an indication that this was, perhaps, dangerous territory to venture into.
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
