If the spell lighting their way is a beacon, Dorotheaโs hand on his arm is an anchor. He hadnโt thought he needed one until that second. โThrough the door and thenโฆโ
Then Rafal, then answers, then to be rid of the wretched darknessโฆ
The sentiment is so open ended that heโs lost in it, turning the hopes over in his head because it canโt be helped, itโs one of the few ways to soldier on blindly. When the edge of the doorframe is finally distinguishable, Seadall shakes her hand away. โMe first, keep a spell ready.โ After encountering Rafalโs image, there is no doubt that another danger waits. A Dorothea double, orโฆ
His leading foot finds air beyond the doorway. Seadall is half-pitched forward, his left foot scuffing uselessly at solid ground until the worn shoe slips into the darkness below. Rendered dumb with shock, he can only blink. Was he falling? Had he died? Far below, there is no sound of a shoe meeting anything solid, as if it could fall forever in the void. Only then does Seadall muffle a shout, the heavy weight brushing past strands of his hair to press directly against skin.
Ice floods his veins, the beat of his pulse hammering against the unmistakable callouses of individual fingertips that now rest against his neck.
Seadall has had enemies wrap hands around his neck before. Commonplace among brawlers - and yet the response is instantaneous. Flailing, both hands reach for the iron grip, seeking a weakness even as heโs steered backwards.
As soon as both of his feet are back on solid ground, Seadall bends his knees and finds leverage. Or was the hand purposefully loosening its grip? He doesnโt care, canโt be bothered to wait for the answers, ripping the fingers back one by one as he twists to face-
Nothing, at first. Itโs hard to pick details in the dark. Itโs a man, but Seadall had already known that. The strength and size of his grip had given that much awayโฆthough it wasnโt a particularly comforting truth. One hand is braced to a shoulder, the other still wrapped tightly around the strangerโs wrist, shooing the voice in his head that wonders (loudly) what good such a thing would do if he had been able to maneuver Seadall so easily with only one hand. Now, the chill of the strangerโs hands fall to his chest and shoulders as they wrestle for an upper hand.
โWhat theโฆโ Breathless, his accusation trails away. Another trick of the darkness, where he can suddenly make out specific features. Dark hair feathers around his features, significant tendrils of rot consuming the skin of his neck and infecting the sharp structure of his jaw, his face. Finally still completely, the stranger releases him, the gold of his gaze unnaturally bright where it regards him, several shades calmer than Seadall himself feels in the moment.
Dark hair. Golden eyes. A man of decent build and height. Seadall knows heโs seen this person before, thinks it a trick of his hazy memory until the voice of his most recent dream floats back to him.
Seadallโs inhale is sharp, stepping back once to give his savior little more room. โAbban?โ A shake of his head. โSorry. Would you happen to be, Adham?โ.
โ | Seadall soulstain: 2