The red man raised a single finger as the other began to speak, before, in another shocking move, lowering it. What an odd guy, this knight was. He wasn't even going to ask what his whole 'deal' was, frankly. He never asked Peppino what his deal was, despite sort of regretting not doing that. What IS his deal? The bearded bastard simply quirks a brow, even at the very petty motion of the remains of his phone being cast on the ground.

Clicking of rusted gears. A very casual realization. He surprisingly quietly goes 'oh' as his brain suddenly puts two and two together. So...

"...Yer sayin you haven't had a beer in a thousand years?"

...

And then. It's like you can hear Galacta's mind (and then his entire being follows) come to a screeching halt.

"..."

". . ."

"It's...mm." Huh. Speaking of being rendered speechless. "It's...more than a thousand years, actually."

This would be the moment where Galacta goes on another tirade about Anton's priorities in their conversation or whatever; the other being a drinker comes to no surprise whatsoever to the knight. But instead, it gets him thinking; when WAS the last time Galacta had a drink? It's not like he had the time to really sit down and have a drink outside of the occasional victory banquet after an arduous battle, which grew fewer and farther between as Aeon Hero's last moments grew more and more somber...

...

"I should really catch up on that."

“Only physically, huh…?” Magolor mused. “I think I understand what ya mean by that.”

Sadly. Their experiences were not one to one, but the kind of hurt was similar. Betrayal, a sense of being used. Paranoia over history repeating itself, plus judgment towards their own actions while in a state where their choices did not reflect who they actually were as individuals – it was par for the course.

What else could he even say to that? The fact the former hero’s freedom may not be permanent was messed up as it was. Sure, what he did was horrifying, but… Magolor knew what the wrong kind of power could do to people. How, under emotional duress, it can corrupt them, temporarily or otherwise.

That might not be the truth of what happened, but it was possible. Why else would he sympathize, or provide encouragement? There was compassion in there. It was subdued, likely suffocated by a bitterness brewing over his imprisonment. The people he had sworn to protect turned their backs on him. People who must have known what he was truly like, suddenly became wary and afraid.

And yet, here and now, he still managed to extend a sort of kindness to someone. Someone who, deep down, did not believe he was deserving of it.

Did he feel the same?

“Nothing’s hopeless, though.” Magolor’s closest friend came to mind as he attempted to speak in his stead. “I mean. If you have the will to seize your destiny – to change it, and become someone you’re happier with…” He stared into his palms, as if they contained the memories of who he once was. They were firmly crushed. “...then maybe you can be freed. And the world will be willing to give you a second chance.”

"I sincerely hope that is NOT the case."

Galacta Knight's words are heavy, tense-- but every single one of them are uttered sincerely. He may still be bitter and jaded about losing several lifetimes in imprisonment, something in having withered away after the pain of betrayal-- but not even in his darkest moments would he wish the same fate to befall even his worst enemies; not those that betrayed him, not the infuriating blue knave-- not even the Jambandrans he once brought to their knees. To go what he went through...it's a nightmare beyond comprehension, and the thought of the young mage beside him understanding such a nightmare makes him feel sick to his stomach in a way Galacta has not felt for any other living being in far too long.

But as the other admits, their experiences are not the same-- not if Magolor still has it in him to be so optimistic, so hopeful for the future where redemption is concerned. Oh, Galacta is jealous for a moment; how he wishes he could share that hope with him...but alas, he's tired of offering everything that he is to an ungrateful galaxy.

Maybe that can change one day, as Magolor promises...but Galacta is not exactly holding his breath.

"For a young one such as you, you keep finding new ways to surprise me." He mutters, still refusing to take his gaze away from the setting sun before them. Even so, his voice sounds much lighter than it did seconds before. "Yours is a story I would be interested in hearing...perhaps, one day."

“I’m… going to keep traveling the planet, to find a solution.” Against the golden rays of the setting sun, his eyes glimmered. “And I won’t stop until I do. Someone out there has to know something.” Turning his sights to the multicolored sky, he stood tall, internally admiring the view. “If not anyone else, then I’ll just have to find it out for myself.”

Even though it was frustrating. Even though it hurt. He was not about to lay waste to the life he had rightfully earned. If he had to struggle one last time just to keep it, then so be it.

The crown was not going to win again.

“What about you?” It was modest, but the mage managed a slight smile. “Color me curious and all that, but. It must be liberating, being able to go wherever you want, right? The choices are endless.”

He sort of felt the same way, after escaping Another Dimension. To start over anew, going places where no one recognized him for a short while, just to gather his bearings. His time down there may not have been nearly as long as the other was imprisoned, but he had to assume the sense of liberation was far greater than his.

Galacta's gaze follows Magolor's back to the skies, taking in the hues of reds and oranges and glimmering hues of gold. A sight he has witnessed many times before in the form of countless setting suns, but not two ever exactly alike. From Towara to Skyhigh to Neo Star, each landscape offering something new that no other planet possessed-- and now, he realizes, this 'Pop Star' is no different.

...He remembers. His words to the knave-- about how he refused to get involved with this planet and its strange happenings, in no small part to spite the other knight, but also because he had already felt for himself what attachment would get him. Even now, he knows he should stay away-- he is a hero no longer, and none of these are his fights to fight.

But...something about Magolor's plight resonates with him. And the mage still shows him kindness that he doesn't deserve. Kindness that someone who knows his identity should not offer him.

"Liberating...?" Galacta chuckles, and unfortunately it is once again a sound with no true joy behind it. "That is...not the word I would use for how I feel, unfortunately. I am free only in physical form-- and even that is never a guarantee for me."

After all, how can he know for sure he's free of NOVA's prison for good this time? And even if he is, it would be only a matter of collecting the Wish Stars and imprisoning him again. And it's not just imprisonment, but also persecution, that Galacta Knight must be wary of.

“…?”

But as the elder continued to speak, he realized something about his words. They were not scathing. No, they were quite the opposite, in fact. Flickers of orange peered through the dark, bemusedly staring back. Unlike before, he did not struggle nearly as much to look him in the eye. It was not as daunting.

Do you mean what you say? His puzzled gaze seemed to ask. Why? Cowardice was what brought me here in the first place. I… I shouldn’t be…

Those self-depreciative thoughts were wrangled into submission as he caught a spark of something warm. If he blinked, he would have missed it. And if anyone else had told him, he would not have believed it.

Clasping one hand in the other, heat spread throughout his very being. Not because he was anxious, or feverish, although the tension rising in him may have read otherwise. No, this was an entirely different feeling. One he rarely ever experienced, in its most genuine form.

He choked. Wrestled with the emotions welling up, holding them hostage until he could hardly take it anymore. This was simply for the sake of letting the warrior finish his speech, since it would be rather embarrassing to interrupt during such a crucial moment.

Once he was done, though, Magolor broke. The dam he put up cracked and crumbled apart as the water rushed past in the form of uncontrollable tears streaking down. In an effort to keep up appearances, he swiped them as they fell, keeping his strangled sobs to a minimum. While he was not going to suppress them completely, no one wanted to see what he looked like when he was unabashed with the waterworks. It would be very, very gross and undignified.

“Th… Thank you…” He managed after taking a couple breaths between sniffles. “I… I will.”

Once upon a time, many years ago, even Aeon Hero did not know how to deal with people crying. He was, after all, first and foremost a weapon protector; he knew how to wield various weapons and all the different ways to immobilize an enemy, but to comfort others or deal with vulnerability...that was lost on him.

It did not make him hate seeing such display of sadness, of heartbreak and pain, any less.

It does not make him hate it now even any less, either.

So, unfortunately, that fleeting kindness is as much as you'll receive from him, Magolor. Hugs? Sweet, reassuring words? A comforting pat on the back? He doesn't...do that. He was never properly taught how (and anything he learned on his own, he's mostly forgotten through the years after...everything).

But at least be reassured that acceptance...that, you already have no matter how blunt. Other than that, you get only a curt nod as a response to your gratitude.

"What--"

Can I do to help, is what Aeon would've asked-- but Galacta does not dare. He is not a hero, not anymore, and he'd like to believe he knows better now than to charge lance blazing into a fight he knows nothing about. And there's still so much about Magolor - about what's happening to him - that he doesn't remember understand.

(And Magolor has hit too close to home for Galacta to risk anything now).

The both of them had made mistakes. Grievous ones. And yet, somehow, the universe had decided to give them their second chances. Whether it was mere coincidence, or the universe itself somehow saw potential in them, nothing would change if the past was brought to the forefront of everything.

…Nothing would change.

He, too, felt his nerves settle. It was hard to believe their little exchange reached this point, as the other stated, though he was wholly willing to accept it. Being on edge for what seemed like an eternity was too tiring. His psyche was frayed as it was, considering what he was going through.

Which, of course, led them back around to that again.

“I don’t know,” was his honest answer. “Lots of folks don’t like it. I don’t either. If I could turn it off, I would.” Magolor threw his hands in the air, defeated. “All it does is remind me of the worst decision I’d ever made. Of the weakness in my heart that was taken advantage of.”

Fingers delicately curling, he hesitated to speak further. If he uttered his truth, unveiled the foul deeds which had been done, would that break this? While he was aware of the former hero’s history, and he did not allow that to cloud his judgment – what of his own? Was he even deserving of forgiveness, in the eyes of someone who had exacted justice upon the wicked many a millennia ago?

Shakily, he breathed.

“The Master Crown, one of Halcandra’s most sacred relics… manipulated me into pursuing its power.”

His proclamation was decisive. Bringing his sins forward was the path he chose to take.

“It stole my body. Locked away my soul. Only death could set me free.” Closing his eyes, he scrunched, recalling the final blow as the beast he became was slain. “But I persisted beyond that, and it still remained. In an ironic twist of fate, I utilized the abilities it bestowed upon me to destroy it. Permanently.”

With a squeeze, his fists clenched, then gradually opened. At the same time, orange crescents cracked, shining dimly. Morose.

“That should have been it. The end of its terror. I’d fought tooth and nail to accomplish that, and still, it came back, just to taunt me.” Half of his face was gripped, pressing deep into the gold latched up top. “I don’t want this any more than anyone else. But it won’t. Go. Away.”

What a fickle, fascinating, mysterious thing-- the heart. The power, the potential it holds; Galacta is intimately familiar with the power of hearts...or at least he was, once upon a time. Or rather-- Aeon Hero was. Can he still summon Heart Spears, if he tried? He doesn't know anymore. He's stoo scared of the answer to try now.

He knows better than anyone; the warmth, the joy, the bliss it can bring forth-- as well as suffering and destruction.

...

The Master Crown...?

Galacta Knight frowns, although that expression may be lost behind the darkness of his mask. The name alone somehow sends chills down his spine, despite the fact that he can't quite put his finger on it. The name echoes with something that he feels he should know, he should remember-- but like with many other things, his memory under NOVA's inprisonment is keeping the answer away from him under lock and key. But even without his memory, both Magolor's words and the power that he exudes match.

And then there's horror, hidden still under the mask's shade, that recoils within his stony facade as the mage's story continues. The loss of autonomy, the loss of self-- and the destruction associated with it. The struggle, the suffering, only to have it all be for naught; a self-fulfilling prophecy that never stops...

With a powerful beat of his wings, the temporal warrior takes to the skies once more-- this time just high enough to maintain eye contact with the mage.

"...You almost had me fooled, mage."

Galacta Knight's expression, intense as ever, somehow betrays nothing-- and neither does his voice, loud and clear not with gentleness nor disdain but still brimming with authority. Another beat of his wings as he comes closer to the other, eye contact never breaking.

"You almost had me fooled for a moment...making me think you were weak. Ignorant of the power you possess. A coward, even."

And then.

It's there. Fleeting, already gone like a shooting star-- but for a moment, it was right there in those magente eyes so deep they came closer to blood.

"But I can see it know. For all you have suffered, all you endured...you are brave. Braver than many of the warriors I have fought with and against. What you describe would have broken lesser souls--"

A deep sigh, like it comes from all the way, buried in his bones.

"--And yet yours remains. Take pride in that, if nothing else."

Just as it had been for him these past couple of days.

With a light sweat hidden under his helmet, Magolor nervously tugged at his collar and sighed. “Uhm. I guess not. If… you don’t think it is, I won’t push it.”

He must not have liked hearing that particular name. For obvious reasons. Who would?

“But.” Taking an uneasy breath in, the magician steeled himself, just in case. “Just because you’re you, that… doesn’t mean I wanna fight. Even if I’m in a state where I’d fare far better than usual.”

In any other situation, he would not mind a brawl. Having participated in tournaments before, he did not dislike fighting under fair conditions. If it was just for fun, without any stakes, then sure! Let him have it! Any excuse to test his strategies and watch people blow up in the process was a win-win in his eyes.

Challenging this guy, though? That was a death sentence. Completely moronic. Which was why summoning him was even worse. He did not feel sorry for the parallel wizard which shall not be named.

“Nah.” Magolor shook his head. “I’m not like that. Not only do I know where I stand, but. I understand that it’s gotta be exhausting to have that sort of expectation put on ya.” Any sort of expectation, for anybody, was tortuous. How could a person live, if they only did one thing their entire life?

"..."

"...Really?"

Listen. Can you really, honestly blame him for being caught completely off guard by this reaction? Because if Magolor truly knows who and what Galacta Knight is, then he is being...very calm about it. An extreme underreaction, taking into account the situation, in Galacta's opinion.

And yet here he is-- not wanting a fight, but not wanting to rat out Galacta, either. So he's okay with this? With Galacta being free, knowing what he knows? What???

Yeah, he needs a minute to process this, alright. A solid minute passes before Galacta gives any kind of reaction, staring back at Magolor in that same piercing manner, although definitely more shocked than hostile this time. Trying to decipher the mage - find out what his game plan here is, yet coming up empty. Magolor is nervous alright, and in a manner that is just...genuine. And Galacta doesn't know what to do with genuine.

"..."

"...I see."

And then, all at once, Galacta...relaxes. Not completely (and he may never be able to again), but the palpable tension ebbs away even as he continues to examine Magolor. The tension bleeds out, and the exhaustion settles in.

"...Despite what you may have heard, I am not looking for a fight, either." Not anymore, or at least he's trying NOT too-- fighting may be too hardwired into him at this point. But so far, the mage has proven to be someone Galacta would feel no satisfaction harming. "So...you may not believe it, but you do not have to worry about that, either."

And yet...that still leaves... "But if you do not wish to fight, what should I think of, well..." He waves his hand vaguely towards all of Magolor; "...this?"