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IC INBOX ( KENOS ).
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█ To Commune with Set is to stand barefoot in an endless, scorching desert. The sun illuminates all, scalding the shadows themselves out from underneath whomever enters his dominion; the arch of gentle, distant, waves of sand mask the precarious chasms, towering dunes akin to mountains. The sense of vastness, timelessness, is of particular notice, lending itself to the alien, eldritch quality of his mind. There is a dark storm in the distance, and you know intimately that this divine being is far from benign. You cannot bargain with a force of nature. You can only survive it. |
after set's revival
She had looked for him. She had asked after him- at least, she had asked some. Far too many of the people she suspected might know his whereabouts she personally despised or considered an enemy, and the last thing she would do is reveal to such people that Meridian had misplaced their god of war, let alone the fact that she as an individual might care about Set as a "friend". And so... She had no real answer for where he might have gone, or what might have happened to him. Even when he went into the Beyond, she had been able to vaguely sense him, and so-
There is only the conclusion that he must be dead, the rage of loss, and the fear of what could have killed him. Had he been shattered? Would he return? She does not know a single thing, and the paranoia grows.
But a few days later, when the sand begins to return, when she can feel a touch of warmth returning to that place... She is there immediately, the coalescing desert lapping at her hooves. Behind her is a storm, barely contained to the dark and ominous peak of the cold mountain, just waiting to be unleashed on whoever had done this, whether beast or Zenite-
Yet she does not speak. She waits, there at the edge, for him to show himself.]
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And one of the first things, is to meet the woman who awaits him at the edge of their joined minds. Set travels to her with his head held high, and his gait betraying the soul-exhaustion of one who had recently been dead. Pride immeasurable, though the distant crests of sand dunes seem to have been brushed aside to reveal aged, crumbling walls and ruins — a hint of his own mental state.
He steps beyond the sand when he comes to her, reaching out to find her hand and take it into his own. ] I am here. Back in Akua's home, in reality.
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She waited here, instead.
And she is eerily still when he comes to her, watching him walk across the sand and her stormy gray eye sweeping over the hints of stone and ruin exposed by shifted dunes. His head is high, but his legs are weary... and his feet cross the border between desert and icy mountain. His hand takes hers... and she turns her wrist to grip his own, tight as if trying to make sure he was solid and real. As solid and real as anyone could be in Communion.]
Who did this to you, Set?
[Her words are like ice, and the storm behind her on the mountain grows darker, roiling and threatening to unleash upon the target he names. Who? One of Zenith's shard-bearers? Aetos? A monster in the Beyond or the depths of Alenroux?
Whatever it is... She seems poised and ready to exact revenge on it. She is a warrior who has bound herself to this god, is she not? (They were friends, were they not?) ... His death is not a slight that she is willing to overlook.
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I cannot die by anyone's hand [ what a boast ffs, ] nor will I be killed without consent. I offered myself to a rite, at the Tree of Life. By my own hand, and mine alone, did I take a nice nap.
[ In some ways, death was an impossibility to him. In other parts of his mind, made vulnerable by Kenos's innate dominion over its Shardbearers — wherein it gave deathless beings the knowledge of their own ends, he knows it could happen. Those two halves of his intellect war with one another, and most of the time, his arrogance dominates the conversation. Especially now, since he has robbed the value of his "first demise" from anyone who might hunger for it. He's tasted death, and dealt with any lingering, instilled concern about it.
But, Hayame — he realizes, only now, that she had been left behind.
Set plays the long game, with drawn out plans and deals, but he tends to forget the immediate people who will be affected by it. For so long, mortals have been fleeting existences, born and dead within a blink of an eye, that he... well. He squeezes her hand, and while it is not an apology he says: ] I am unused to — thinking of how my actions will impact others.
[ And caring, is implicit in those words. ]
cw: suicide stuff
The storm behind her suddenly bursts, and a bitter, icy hail and sleet begins to pelt the hard stone of the mountain peak. Soon (perhaps very soon) the edge of the fall will reach them. The wind is already howling as she stares at Set in shock and something like disgust as his words actually register.]
You killed yourself?
[Surrendering to despair and struggling to even wrap her mind around being stolen to a different world, Hayame had attempted to end her own life in Kenos, only stopped from crushing her shard beneath a hoof by the crippling nausea and mental rejection the act summoned in an aion's body. She had been fighting this whole entire time to kill herself, to go back to her world and die in Matsukaze's arms in order to cleanse her dishonor, make up for her mistakes... But she had been set to die to end her misery, for honor...
And Set had demanded she not do it. Set had been the one who demanded that she value her life. He had demanded she find another way than throwing away her life.
He squeezes her hand, but she barely notices, gone completely, eerily still but for the way the rising wind whips at her mane and tail. His next words barely register. They are not an apology, they are barely an excuse, and her mind is far more focused on-]
For what?
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If I was unwilling to put my soul on the line for us, what kind of man would I be? I admit, I did bargain to make my return a given — I am not stupid.
[ Not an inch of him suggests that he turned upon his life in despair, that he sought to escape anything ( save for his responsibilities for a few days ). His eyes are tired, the dark mesdemet he lines them with unable to cover the bite dissipation has taken out of him — but, the irises themselves shine, bright and savage with excitement. With new confidence, with direction and perhaps even the madness that exists within someone so wildly driven to mysteries and puzzles and hidden things. He is a Savant, after all. The knowledge and wisdom he obtains is for all Shardbearers, whether it hurts them or helps them.
He grasps her a little tighter, rising on his toes as a wind picks up behind him too — a hot one, ripping across the landscape to buffet his hair and disturb the landscape. Things are being uncovered, revealed. Strings connected to points of interest. ]
I was able to contact a Shardbearer from the past, Hayame. Someone dead to this world, by connecting my soul to the Tree of Life — an Iconoclast, like you. Like the Oracle, below the Tree.
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But she doesn’t care. (Not right now, anyway.). Maybe the philosophers amongst them will drool and rub their hands over this, crowing about “the truth of this world” or the “balance” or whatever new thing it is excites them, but she-
She had cared about one thing.]
Another “bargain”? With who?
[Anger flashes on her face in time to how the storm behind her rumbles with a roll of thunder threatening the clap of lightning. The demon, the black-eyed gaki, one of the traitors? Who was it he had trusted to make it a “given” (hah) that he would be safely planted in that accursed Tree and revived, all while she had searched for him in vain, high and low, worry in her hearts like a fool? She still hasn’t let go of him, but the hot and icy air begins to collide, mix-
And though she is not crying, her expression strung out on shock and surging rage, the sound on the wind is a faint echo of a mournful wail of someone abandoned and left behind.]
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( Again? ) ]
You are upset.
[ Before he even gives her a name, he voices his confusion. ]
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He looks at her like he truly cannot understand why that is, and maybe he couldn’t. She has always tried to be aware that no matter how human he looked on a normal day, no matter how much weakness and fallible things that looked human she had seen in him, that he was a god…]
You were gone. Just gone from here!
[But it’s not an excuse anymore. How many times has she demanded (begged) him to just tell her before he did things that she would misinterpret as betrayals or insults? To just warn her, just the slightest of considerations? His desert had vanished, his presence and power temporarily gone in death, and she-]
I did not know if you had been killed or simply vanished from this world entirely!
[She has seen it happen, people disappearing as randomly as they’d arrived, and she did not even know if that meant they found a way back to their world or if they fell into a crack and landed in some limbo of nothing.]
Or maybe you decided you were done with me.
[She had wanted to believe that wasn’t true, but how could she not at least consider it a possibility when it felt as if he was gone from where she had grown used to always having him, lurking in some corner of her mind whenever she needed to call on him? He had said only she had the power to sever their bond…
But something had. And she’d had no way to tell if it was death, disappearance, or abandonment, and that-]
I knew nothing, Set!
[And he’d just gone and killer himself? For what? For whom? The edge of the storm finally reaches them, and wailing sleet pelt their bodies with an angry chill as Hayame stands motionless, her black mane and tail whipping in the wind around them.]
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The things that she says, to him, are impossible things. They speak to her insecurity and not the infallible truth of his intention and action. Had he wanted to be done with her, he would have been done. To be killed was — not impossible, but a feat that he would not have allowed to occur without being very loud, very violent and exceptionally informative about the process, the location, and the perpetrator. Even an ambush would have been hard to pull off, on him — an ambush predator, at his core.
He flounders, confused, because he cannot fathom how she came to these conclusions. Except, that part of him knows — her life, the way she was raised, the things she has had to do to find worth, the few things she demands. The fact that the harder she demands them with strength and vigor, the more likely he is to defy her; honestly, if she begged and bargained, he'd be able to acquiesce more readily. Instead, he must jump through his own mental hoops and dodge his own divinity's imposed requirements to sate her needs.
He does not mind the challenge, but sometimes — it leaves him perplexed. He cannot apologize, nor regret. All that he can do is make amends, and that is a miserable sort of friendship, lived in hindsight and the perpetual state of his atonement to her. Set does not think he has failed her, but the truth is that — hasn't he? ( Does he not always? ) ]
Okay. [ The word is small, but carries a futile sort of concession within it. ] I, scared you. I made you think I had left you behind. And you, wish I had told you what I was going to do.
Had I — done that, had I told you 'Hayame, I am going to dissipate myself to connect my soul to the Tree of Life and speak with a long-dead Shardbearer', what would you have said to me?
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Because she… she does not think of Set in terms of failure. That is how she views herself, her own shortcomings and flaws and unfortunate scars inflicted one by one from the moment she was ripped from her armless dam’s body, but others… it is “betrayal” that frames her rage. To fail… she would have had to ask them to succeed in it. But to betray… Her trust, her affection, her devotion, her offerings… all of it could be betrayed so easily.
She wants to deny that he had scared her, but the reality is that she could not without making herself a liar. She had been scared, when she could find no trace of sand in the corners of her mind and she had been forced to consider what out there in this strange world could have so quietly and secretly eliminated a god of war. She had been scared when she had reached for him, and in place of where he always was since that one fateful day… there was nothing. Just her and her own thoughts and the suffocating weight of everything that came with it.
All she wanted… All she had claimed she had wanted this entire time was-]
I would have told you that I thought you were a fool. That I did not think you should die for just the chance of a talk.
[And she would have been “wrong”, apparently. He had succeeded, and maybe something “good” would come of that… But it didn’t change that that is what she would have said before knowing that. She didn’t want him to die for a risk with no guarantee of pay-off, she didn’t want him to die at all, but-]
But I would have taken a place by your side despite.
[Her hand tightens where she’s still accidentally (instinctively, desperately) holding his hand. Despite her intent, there is a crack in the raw anger she covers her other emotions with, a glisten in the eye.]
I would have made sure nothing happened to your shard. That you came back. I would have waited- !
[Without being afraid, without feeling abandoned, without mourning the potential loss of the first person in this place she had believed when they called her “friend”. She would have. So why- Why doesn’t he let her?]
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And even evil listens to her, as she tells him that though she would not have approved of his work, she would have supported him. As he would support her, and has supported her efforts. Standing aside when she lunged for Sebastian Michaelis, not speaking ill of her when she slew her own allies to prevent a complete loss ( because truthfully, the corruption of soul that had happened was disturbing to him, too — and he was busy forming lasting impressions, deep scars ) and asking her to adapt.
To become stronger, by adapting. Not changing herself until she was someone new, but adapting her ways so that no one could ever disturb her footing. ]
— I would have told you that I had ensured my return, because I would have had something of value that the man I partnered with could not resist obtaining. That I was not making my decision without having considered every angle.
[ His mouth thins, as he reaches up to touch her collarbone. To cradle the side of her neck and draw her down to him, to hopefully be able to press his forehead to hers. Shamelessly seeking to hold her to him, as he closes his eyes. ]
I would have told you where to find me, even if I still could not take you directly to the place — and I would have accepted you to be nearby, I think.
[ A sigh escapes him. He must tell her the truth, and perhaps she will understand why she, of all people, could not have been there. Because once he died, how could he guarantee the man's safety? His continued efforts would not be stopped, without someone to assure Hayame that their work was more important than Set's permanent destruction. That he could not ask his warrior to stay her hand, nor would he ever, because her violence sustained him and the chaos she wrought through her focused slaughter was —
it empowered him. ]
I was working with John Gaius. You do not very much like him, as I recall.
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But in every single one of them was hurt. In Set’s dealings with her enemies, in Akua’s detached morals, in Liem’s secrets, in Claude’s lies… there was always something hurting. She had never truly imagined she would ever have a friend… but when she had been younger and naive and thought just maybe… She had not thought it would ever hurt this much. It’s almost as if…
As if it were because she, in the end, was-]
I despise him.
[John Gaius. The King Undying who had died all too easily without his tricks and his magics. She had combed his crushed skull into Set’s hair herself in offering. That man, who seemed to have not a single loyal bone in his body to anything but science and experimentation, who consorted with Aetos and the mockingly named Burning Garden, who gambled with all their lives in the pursuit of “truth” without care for what side he stood on…
Her hatred is clear as it always is now that she lives in a world where she doesn’t have to swallow her opinions and her feelings in order to be a “good horse”, to survive- and the hail and ice howls still around them in tempest, even as she achingly presses her forehead to Set’s and her lips twist, her voice cracks-]
How can you ask me to entrust you to men like that?
[She could…. she was a warrior sworn to him, she would serve, she wouldn’t need to be bribed or cornered or weigh the pros and cons-
And even though she had thought differently, that he thought better of her after demanding she live and thrive and find pleasure and peace some day-]
… Do you think I can’t do it? That I can’t not kill?
[Like the others who accused her and dismissed her as something cruel and unwanted, something that couldn’t be brought to an ambassadors meeting, that couldn’t be trusted with anything but violence… Just because she was good at it, raised for it, understood it-
She had already killed John Gaius for his treachery. She didn’t need to kill him again. (Until now).]
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Because I am also a man like that, remember?
[ It frustrates him, in a way, to have the things he is capable of overlooked, or forgiven, or told he can change and grow. Certainly he cannot! Atonement, to him, is a task bestowed upon him that he must experience to keep his given word. He feels for the women he had tormented and slaughtered, because he knows what kind of world he had created and what they underwent because of him — but, he doesn't regret what he did. He doesn't feel sorry for anyone, nor pity their circumstances or endings.
He is complex, and can work with Hayame toward the end they want, befriend her and teach her and challenge the same opponents as her — but, he cannot allow her to think that he is different than creatures like John Gaius, or Silco, or Voryn Dagoth, or Sebastian Michaelis. ]
I am just the one who believes in you.
[ Slowly, he does shake her head in response to her question. No, he doesn't think that of her. No, he doesn't think all she can do is kill. She is not cruel, just hard, in his eyes. Her hardness a defensive measure, something she has known and not one inch of him wants her to lose her hardness or honor, just adapt it. ]
Of course you could. You have the power to stay your hand. Were I to ask you, I bet you would have done it — but, not one part of me is able to ask you to do that. [ No matter what he says that sounds like him believing in peace, or another course, he speaks only to be able to lay a better, inescapable trap. Offering a way to broker peace and diplomacy was not a betrayal of his nature, because those who thought the worst of him were right to. Naturally, he'd want to use it to make the war grander. ]
It is decision I would have left to you, alone. With my encouragement, but never my command.
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He believes in her. Which means he has to be different, even just a little, because those men... They would never do that. A scheming ghoul, a moral-less man of science, a proud racist, a soul-eating demon... She is sure. She didn't want their faith, didn't need it, but she is sure despite that even if she did... They would not believe as Set did. And somewhere along the way, that belief had become a pillar that she relied on, something she believed in. So how...
He says he couldn't ask her to do certain things. That he would have left such a decision to her... But what did it matter, now, when he hadn't... and saying he wouldn't have was no promise or guarantee at all that he would in the future? This isn't the first time she has tried demanding he appraise her of his plans beforehand so that she will not be caught off guard or feel betrayed. Angry demands from a fellow Meridian, an ally, had not worked. Being "friends" with him had not worked. All that had succeeded in doing is making the pain visible in her stormy gray eye personal, made the shame of not knowing his fate and debasing herself asking others if they knew anything even greater.]
If you truly believe in me-
[So what did a god understand? What would a god listen to? What would have been just another angry demand that he trust her (that he consider her feelings) dies in her throat as the feeling of futility creeps in. Slowly, the howl of the ice and snow around them begins to quiet, and the storm begins to die... but not because her anger is mollified or because she is calm. Instead... something cracks and splinters on the mountain peak as Hayame pulls her face from Set's hands... and her legs fold until she is on her belly before him, her gaze respectfully cast down. The shame of it burns, because she had thought she would not have to resort to such things anymore, both because she had thought their bond had gone beyond such things and because she was not a slave in a stable anymore, but... what did she know? Maybe no more than a war god who simply could not be like a mortal. Maybe this-]
Great war god Set...
[When her spine curls and her more human-looking half bows low between her forelegs, her brow nearly touching her knuckles where her hands demurely fold upon the ground... her ebony mane shifts and exposes the crimson streak he had once marked her with.]
Your loyal warrior entreats you. A single word...
[Her lips twist, her fingers curl and fist uselessly in the mix of snow and sand. Surely... surely this he could understand, surely this he was accustomed to. (Was this friendship? Was this adapting?)]
Please grant me just a single word of warning before you execute your plans, so that I might not disgrace myself in your absence or unwittingly betray your intent.
["So that I might not hurt like this anymore." "So I might not be forced to turn from you, unable to forgive any longer." Even with those things left unsaid, heavy on her tongue and humming in the air instead... She wasn't sure if the crack in the mountain had been stone or her sacrificed pride.]
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All he has ever wanted from his allies was for them to ask him for what he has gathered, what he has scraped for and bargained for and observed and learned; the wealth of information at his fingertips, rivaling even Sebastian Michaelis ( though perhaps lessened, due to his depth of emotion compared to the sheer rationality of the demon ). And Hayame has asked for word of his exploits and decisions, which — is a little different than just asking for his counsel, to his mind. All she wants, is to not be left behind, and she crawls on her belly before him to plead for what he has not given her — the sight of her doing so striking a dual-chord of pleasure to have dragged her so low, and something slightly off-set from unhappiness, to have forced his favorite warrior to this.
He sinks to the ground, as she bows her head, her spine. Folded before him to beg of him for something a friend ought to give her without such need. And he sets his hands upon hers. ]
— I will. Not because you are begging, but because apparently even I have much to learn about having friends with minds and hearts of their own.
[ It is different, to lead legion-score of warriors. Faceless, obedient.
He tugs on her hands, trying to urge her to look up. She may feel the veil drift across her shoulders, then. Layers of soft, gauzy linen in golds and tawny-reds like the endless rolling hills of a desert, the parting of a secret place around her — as Set draws her into his mind, deeper and deeper, until below her belly and arms is no longer snow, no longer sand, but the cool, slightly-rough texture of sandstone. The faint breeze playing through her hair carrying with it the scent of ink and papyrus, smoke and metal and blood.
Before her, should she finally lift her gaze, sprawls a low table. Heavy, laden with notation and weaponry, charts and maps layered upon it so thickly that to even begin to look upon the titanic assortment might be to go mad with the sheer enormity of it. Above the table is a sea of stars, a cacophony of colors and sizes and intensity of glow, each tethered to scraps of information — through her connection with Set, she will be able to see some of the names attached to the stars: Hayame, Liem, Amos, Sebastian, Silco, Cyrus, Yima, Osiris, Isis, Horus, Coalbrand, the Hieropoios — on and on, with each of the endless stars representing someone. ]
This is my war table, Hayame. [ He tells her. ] It is where I keep everything. What I know about each and every one of you, how to embolden or ruin you, every errant conversation in Communion I have ever listened into, every rumor spoken, every miniscule thing I have gleaned from my interactions, facts and figures and plans and tactics and —
[ He holds steady for a moment, before reaching out to call one of the stars to him. Her name, the sense of her existence stains it richly, the shape of it unique and the associated tethers upon it numerous and dense — river after river of conversation, observation, as he fits this moment to her as well. ]
I will tell you whatever you want to know. I only needed your interest, in the form of a direct question — that is all you have ever had to do, my soon-to-be-blessed warrior. I cannot offer information, without knowing what you seek. For now... your advance notice of my plans is this: I have joined myself to the Church, for power and access to their bevvy of secrets. And I seek to control the Beyond, to begin to lay the noose prepared by Zenith around Highstorm until they strangle themselves with it.
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Hayame has given him offerings before, her violence combed into his hair and made a part of him, proof that even in this land far from his Egypt that he was a god with proper worshipers, faith, and prayers... But she had never thrown her dignity at his feet like this before, bared her needs like this, (except that night, those needs-). She does not want to look and potentially see something she cannot stomach on his face.
But suddenly there are hands, hands on her hands, and once he says he will, will... Her halved gaze raises, fingers unconsciously seizing on his. (Dead, he'd been dead-)
The veils part. Veils she had not even known existed. The scents in the air change. The surroundings change. Everything changes as she is drawn in deeper, somewhere secret, somewhere precious, and somehow, despite the fact that a war room should seem like a contained, finite space... what she sees when everything solidifies is so vast and so powerful that Hayame cannot take it all in. She is so achingly and undeniably mortal in that moment, confronted with a breadth of knowledge and perfectly remembered voices, incidents, whispers, schemes, and strategies that if she'd ever doubted he was a god those doubts would have been crushed underfoot beneath the weight of everything Set has collected.
He calls her star to him, and it lights up in his hand, a ball of fire striving so desperately to burn bright or burn out. For a moment, she cannot tell if she is laying on the ground staring up at him or shining between is fingers. Connected as they are by communion, her own knowledge bleeds slightly into the lines and tethers, other stars in his constructed sky winking, darkening, and twinkling in turns. Leaks of everyone she had disgraced herself to searching for him when she feared him dead, Akua... Byleth... Liem... all humming in the night. People she had suspected could have a hand in it, Sebastian, Silco, people she now blamed for it, John Gaius, flickering. Claude growing brighter and warmer, where she'd taken her comfort after finding the cocoon at the Tree. Humbled at first by the divinity she'd been sunk into, she cannot form words. She doesn't even realize that in her attempt to take it all in, to somehow be equal to it, her eyepatch has faded away and her mind's version of herself has two eyes again with which to strive to see and understand. The Church... the Beyond... She has no contacts there, she does not know if she can serve his causes there, but before she can ask him more something he says...]
Soon to be... ?
[He had promised her his favor, that day so many moons ago now, when he had first dyed part of her inky black hair red and sworn to stand at her side and go to the wretched ends with her for as long as he was able. She had just assumed that... that she was already blessed, perhaps in some way she simply did not understand or could not sense, so what...
What did that mean? If he wants her interest, her direct questions... He will receive them.]
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( In the pit of his stomach, he does his best to ignore the way he feels something hot-cold shiver down his spine and spread through his ribs. She had thrown herself at his feet, begged him for something he could have granted her simply because she was loyal and steadfast, but instead had withheld from her. Either because he had simply forgotten, or had determined that keeping her in the dark was — essential? necessary? for what end? To see her debase herself at his feet like this?
No, that cannot be it. Their relationship is that of a god and a warrior, not a god and a creature. ) ]
Kenos diminishes the power of a god, and makes even endless beings into ones with end.
[ He'd, personally, "died" after all. Dissipated, though at least it was with direction and purpose. ]
Because of your devotion, I have become more like myself once more. I have fulfilled an unspoken criteria with this world, and I am able to bestow upon you proof of our agreement — as a proper god should. My blessing, Hayame. You may name the shape it will take between us, and partake of my power for as long as we hold our vow between us.
[ Where better to finally grace her, than amidst the grandest war record ever kept? ]
You made this possible.
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She thought she would have forgotten what it was like to have two again. But her body craves to see and take in so much, there's so much all around her, his presence larger in this secret part of him than she ever could have imagined or really been able to anticipate... and her spirit remembers. Yet even with the lost left one manifest, stormy gray above the gentle caress of his curious, lingering touch and staring up at him with the light of her star reflected in it...
He is still too endless for a mortal to truly, truly see, not all at once. Even knowing he has been lessened by his divinity being tethered to a world that was not Kenos, become able to hurt and to die in ways he was likely unfamiliar... Hayame does not say anything at first. She cannot. All her life... all her life she has never been able to exact change or better anything for anyone else. Even with as desperately and fiercely as she had striven to improve her own position, everything had come to naught in the end... and in Horos, in Kenos, on the few occasions she had tried to reach out and help others...
But Set says that she has done this. That her offerings, her devotions, had restored to him something of himself and how he was supposed to be... and he does not say "thank you", not in words like that, but he offers her something. His blessing...]
Set... I have fought every battle since our vow as if I already had your blessing.
[Whether he was capable of actually granting it then or not, his godhood limited and made weaker... she had simply assumed he would be, and waded into conflict and war as if cloaked in his favor already. Now he wants her to name her reward... ?]
If you would give me something now...
[She almost demurs, respectfully lays the offer back at his feet to allow him to select the shape his favor might take for himself, but... It is her choice. Even though she cannot think of an exact conclusion immediately, caught off guard yet and unable to imagine the full breadth of things a god like Set could bestow upon a worshiper... She made it, she made this possible so-]
Then I want... this.
[Her hands raise, vaguely gesturing to... him, to the room, to the overwhelming pressure and intimidating sense of divinity that threatened to swallow any mortal that came before it. That gaze, that aura... that proof that that they were bound to each other.]
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[ He says it again, for her to hear. It is an injury he must bear, because in the end, recognizing that a god is little more than a memory without those who believe in them is a difficult thing to have to consider. Set has always thought lesser of mortals, thought himself independent — that he had been known for his ability to traverse the world, land-to-land, without being bound to restrictive duties was... well, it had helped. But, without that land and those knowledgeable people, it was Hayame who had allowed him to step back onto a divine path.
However adapted it was. ] You, who have carried my name into battle, will carry the proof of your loyalty and devotion. No one will be able to doubt that I favor you, that I pride myself with your strength and vision.
[ In another life, he would sprawl upon Kenos as the endless, red desert. The arid plains that did not support life, but stifled it; yet, upon those sands, life still found itself spreading, stalwart and defensible, stubborn and true. The desert was a beautiful place, harsh and pitiless, but splendorous to those who adapted to its nature — and he values Hayame for her power, and yearns for her to adapt, as well. To thrive, clever and cunning and honorable, not brittle and faltering.
He sweeps his hands down upon her, her star hovering off into the dark distance of his endless war table, papers fluttering in the wake of her stormy passage. Set gathers her hands into his, pushing his mouth to the place where her fingers tuck together as he aligns the heels of her hands. He kisses her there, and perhaps to a mortal, it would be the most magnanimous sign of his gratitude. She did this. She did. ]
It is yours, Hayame. Call upon me when you have need, and my presence will envelop you — I will strike fear into the heart of the one you wish to cower before you, and they will know that you are a warrior who's prowess is of grave peril to them. Doubtlessly.
[ There is a sense that it is an impermanent thing, that it is not as powerful as a blessing would be in his own world, but it is the crisp, burning bite of power that settles upon her. The whispering hint of Set's divinity, stretched out to bolster her strength. ]
no subject
She did this.
She’ll remember exactly what his face looked like when he said it, the way his lips moved, the way his eyes gazed upon her, the warmth of the peculiar kiss he presses to her fingers… not that the rest is forgettable- it is not. She won’t forget the sensation of his power seeping into her veins and covering her like a battle shroud, nestling into something she could call upon in times of need…
But she won’t forget the rest either.
Somehow, she has found her feet again. Thinking the way he took her hands must be the way of his people, of Egypt, she gently, firmly turned the motion back on to him, pressing her own kiss in turn… and then bringing his fingers to her forehead, where she might bow her head slightly over his knuckles.
A far different stance than the desperate humbling of her previous bow.]
I will not disgrace your favor.
[Even if she failed again… She had to live, like he had asked her, demanded. She had to survive to fight again, despite the fact that her upbringing and instincts lead her to want to offer him her life, to pledge to die for honor and his service…. If she cannot say that she will end her life in his service, then what—]
I will never truly fall as long as this blessing remains.
[Truly. Whether that meant her shard, her body, or something else… She releases his hands so that she might straighten up and stand tall again, looking around until her temporary eyes alight upon the endless papers, the threads that connect… The Church, he’d said, the Beyond…]
Tell me what you would have me know, Set.
[About those things, or anything else he might wish her (allow her) to learn.]