the past beats inside me like a second heart ;

"Tell me now where Fate is leading you... peace, finally? Or does the snake refuse to relinquish her fangs?" She spoke with great interest, and eyes shimmering with glee, as though either answer would please her.

"They called and yet I did not answer...", he spoke only in his own mind, a thought corrupted by the Dark One's influence, one that he knew he would regret saying out loud for it wasn't something he'd believed was right, he was the one who wanted to help the Iskarans the most amongst those of druidic nature; he'd lost his place, his right and his closest friend over this, and yet he could not answer the call to help that Kingdom and, most importantly, its people... Through pain he'd fought day and night, at times, for his plan to reclaim leadership of his organization, in others, inside his mind, led to places he'd never been by an unseen force, unable to turn away to pick up the pieces he'd left behind, all of that as assertion of dominance, to show the Genasi he would not be the one in control soon enough. "No matter how astray...", the words rang as bells to his ears, but he didn't see his actions as incorrect, he'd done nothing but fight for what was right, for good, and there she was, judging him again. She loathes you... Yes, that must be what it was, after all this time, it was all the same, he was still the one in the wrong. You are nothing but a failure to her... It made sense, that's why she couldn't see things the way he did, because in her mind she would always think lowly of him, because the Dúnedain could never be wrong. "The Stones themselves had to call for the Dúnedain for you all to realize that it's better to do something than do nothing and it seems not a thing has changed..." He scoffed, a giggle following as if it was comedic. "-I'm still the evil Genasi that chose people over their duties... What a sin! I'm still the one astray..." She still looked at him as a rebel, a pitiful creature.

Show her your truth... Maybe he should, afterall, he deserved the space to make himself heard after all that had been done. Zephyr was no longer one that could hold it all in and pretend like everything was fine. "And you must be dissatisfied then. Every single one of you must've hated each second of this madness, afterall, how is it different from what I did? Aren't we the same now?" He laughed, although there was no amusement, it was rage that was brewing inside of him. "Wasn't it those same Dúnedain that told me my concern was unrequited? That I had to find peace in balance as an observer, that the problems would solve themselves with time or some bullshit like that..." His smile cracked, leaving behind the intensity of his feelings unattended by the mask he usually wore. "-Or perhaps it takes evil to manifest in a different way for an action to be warranted...?" He stopped himself, his eyes showing more emotion than he would have wanted. "If you-..." Say it, she deserves it... He couldn't bring himself to it, his words had failed him, he could never blame only her for abandoning him. "If any of you had listened to me back then... Iskaldrik wouldn't have fallen to begin with." It was due to the evil he fought against, the one he alerted the Dúnedain about and was shunned away for, the shaming, the prejudice and that damned inquisition against the supernatural that Iskaldrik had fallen prey to the enemy so easily. "Go on... Tell me I'm wrong, Sakkara. I dare you..." There was no more line diving where Zephyr ended and the Dark One's influence began. Good boy...

Though not even the Keeper could not be so presumptuous as to believe she understood all, her heart felt a keen understanding of her place here. She must have been called to the bloodshed because Zephyr had already paid his own dues in giving his soul for his beliefs. It had been her turn, her duty, to fight for what her protégé believed in; to finally bow to the seemingly naive wisdom of the youth. For Sakkara had been ignorant to the nuances of her responsibility as Keeper, and forgotten her place was more so with all the natural people of this world, than with only the Dunédain. Was Casimir and his friend, Juneau, not proof that all those who are lost cannot be found? Was Freydis not proof that you needn't be druid to defend the Stones and the balance of this world? So many others, including Zephyr himself, had taught her that an old soul like her's could still change in unexpected ways. The world's lessons had come to her too slowly, or perhaps the fault was in her stubbornness to learn.

She had been grasping onto tradition so desperately, holding it to her chest as the winds of change raged around her and attempted to sweep her beloved past away. But the past was a dying relic. She was symbolic of all that would be lost soon, the world forever changed into something new. For the sake of her love for those she had failed to understand, and for penance, she had been Fated to shed blood and sweat. Not Zephyr. Still, he was troubled by this. Still, her beloved young protégé turned his nose at the path he had been given because he did not approve of it. Sakkara knew the druid before her well enough that she could practically see the shame, guilt and anger roiling around in Zephyr's veins. He had never known how to weather his own storm, and that had been his downfall. For while Sakkara bared much of the burden for the pain in his eyes now, he was a man of his own choices just the same. All of them were. They all paid their own prices, and the look in Zephyr's eyes was Sakkara's.

"Just because a leaf must fall in the autumn, does not make it right when it is ripped from its branch in the summer," she murmured. There is and was a time and place for everything.

Though his resentment pained her, tore at her heart, his anger did not spark fear in her. Sakkara took slow steps forward. "You cannot know what might have been, and you cannot change what was. All you can do is reflect and find the wisdom to change." she said, her hand brushing over the bark of a pine tree as she circled Zephyr. She watched him now as she might have so long ago, as though assessing something while he trained. Briefly, a look of pain shot through her at the memory and she turned her face to look at the canopy of the forest. "I see you losing yourself in your storm again... you are putting yourself alone inside of it. I would speak to you alone, not to your rage." She sighed, looking back at him. "Do you not feel the coming of winter all around you, Zephyrus?" Look around, center yourself within the natural world as I taught you. "This is the sacred peace of an ending." Remember, winter symbolizes an ending to herald new beginnings. "You are out of place here."

The battle for the fate of Iskaldrik had been harrowing, but no shortage of work presented itself afterward. Freydis had been all too eager to sign her name to the ledger of the task of anything she conceivably imagined held some sort of connection with the fabled Iskaran arches. The work had been grueling, but not fruitless. Nor had it been lonely. Along the way she had companions in Froy, Diarmad (and Njal dragged through the moss behind him), Agnes, Jove, and others–with whom she often tried to hold hands. Faithful as a mentor since the day Freydis first stumbled out of the arches confused and seeking direction, Sakkara was there as well.

Though Freydis had dedicated much of her energy to the restoration of the stones from her own journey, which by now felt like it had taken place lifetimes ago, never in her wildest machinations would she have placed herself as the Keeper of a Circle. Let alone the Circle of the Veil. She had learned about its existence, mourned its flickering out of the world, and set her sights on doing all she could to see life breathed back into it on her trip during the Road. Hope for the standing stones was only one of the valuable lessons she learned along the way.

Freydis stood with her back to the setting sun one of the first days the stones were restored. There was beauty in every slanted shadow, every glimmer of the veil from the corner of her eye. At moments, she thought she might stand and revel in it forever. Other moments, she passed time in quiet admiration of the fey guardian, the Elk Warden who had braved gods only knew how long of Nintra’s oppressive rule and rot, who continued to give of itself to guide the list to freedom once it was purified and liberated. The Elk Warden felt like the obvious choice to protect the stones with her.

But something pulled her from her reverie–feather light footsteps of approach. Freydis looked over her shoulder at Sakkara and smiled warmly. “My good Keeper,” Freydis greeted affectionately. “If you weren’t busy… could I steal a few moments of your time?”

For better or worse, new generations would begin traditions of their own and write down stories far more magnificent than her mind could have imagined for them. Much of her faith and hope for brighter days, days that she would never see, were placed on these young souls who heralded a new age. Though Freydis' soul was not young by traditional means, the Veil Maiden's purpose still gleamed as the sun at dawn - while Sakkara's headed to its twilight. With the juxtaposition of both a heavy soul and a hopeful heart, Sakkara would now dedicate much of her time to leaving her knowledge and burdens in the gentle and calloused hands of Keeper Freydis Icefang.

"Alas, I can not remain in Iskaldrik forever. But as long as I live and breath, Keeper, you may call on me. We are sisters of destiny now. So, how can I be of service?"

The year and a half that had passed since he chose to leave behind the life of comfort he'd tried to build and failed to fit in changed something within the Genasi, something that tied him to the person he once was. Iskaldrik had been recovering from the effects of the blight, but his soul was still darkening with time, each century posing a challenge that, this time, he'd only barely conquered, one of mind, seeking control over the former Dúnedain, offering more and more power, tempting him into submission... He was still in control, but part of him was lost in his battle as he had to give up a piece of himself to get the power and the confidence he needed to reclaim his metaphoric throne as head of the organization, bringing all factions that'd formed after the severance of connection, during his attempts at helping the refugees of Iskaldrik, under his command once more.

A part of him was gone, but his heart remained good for now, or so he forced himself to believe, although sometimes he would catch himself showing a side of him he didn't even recognize, one that could very well be another person completely. There was no telling what was the dark influence's doing and what was his own, as if they slowly merged into one single individual each day that passed. It scared him to thing of this, wondering how long it would be before he was no longer himself, no longer in control; when would the man who only wished for good turn against the world he dreamed of healing?

Proof of his was how he looked at @sakkarathekeeper, the person he'd cared so much about all those years, his mentor, his dearest friend, and yet something whispered thoughts into his mind, of the day she abandoned him, of how she never looked for him, of how she despised him for only trying his best, of how she loathed his existence and of how she would betray him again if he let her close... Deep down, he knew it was not true, but his mind was troubled with those thoughts nonetheless. Zephyr forced himself through the dark thoughts, offering a smile to his oldest acquaintance. "Hello, Sakkara." He greeted her with a nod. "A year has passed since we last saw each other. I wonder if you noticed my absence." It would've been said as a joke another time, but now it lacked the tone.

She had just bent down to drink from a creek when a familiar presense was felt. "I notice a great many things, Zephyr," Sakkara murmured, wiping the cold water from her chin and standing. "Your absence is not the least of which. The Stones have called to every Dúnedain, no matter how astray." I think of you every day; I hear you in the wind and see you in the dancing leaves. But she did not say so, choosing instead to turn and face her former student with an impassive facade, not thoroughly convincing. Her heart ached. "Iskaldrik is healed. You must be content." I fought for it only in your honor, and in my daughter's.

Anivia was recognized in an instant, a beacon of hope set against the darkened sky. She knew Sakkara would not be far behind, and merely half-smiled as she watched Micefang’s mounting excitement at the sight of the cryophoenix. “Be nice,” Freydis chided the construct, giving it a little scratch between its hind legs as it took on a pouncing stance. It seemed her simple reminder tempered his excitement enough that it deterred him from becoming a nuisance. 

When she heard Sakkara’s voice, she turned to face her. Rather than a greeting, she was met with an ominous implication. This might have unnerved a younger version of the Shield Maiden, but by now she grew used to it. “What have you learned about the barrier on your journey here?” Freydis asked, her eyes examining the state of the Druid and asking through mere expression for an explanation of how Sakkara came to be there dressed in dust, dirt, and blood. “I sense the Arches again, like months ago in the Feywilds… what are they calling for?”

"I can only guess that old things once lost have returned, and it is not the duty or just one or two to face this... I came to warn you, Freydis, that if you return to your birthlands, it will not be as you remember. And you cannot go alone. Wait for other's to respond to the call. And once it is time... keep your heart open to who you are, and who you once were." She smiled, lightly though grimly. "The past is waking, yes, but it comes with more than foes."

The stones called for her from her place within her patron's estate in Eterna, a siren called that whistled on the wind as the rainfall poured down outside and the rain carried a message on it's rain drops, it spoke of the creature awakening in Caribella and Lily was drawn in. She was a primal druid, boarding a boat to the pirate's isle was worth it for her as the druidic stones cried out. It does not surprise her to see Sakkara standing along the shoreline. "You heard it's call too." It is not a question, a statement echoed and druids were needed.

Sakkara had no business being on Caribella, but the morning had come with signs of Fate, Fate beckoning her to these sandy shores. She had arrived on wings of a falcon and, now, stood beside another who had felt inclined to be here for this moment.

"The battlefield will be greater than bloodshed, it will live in the silence of our all the combined wills - of those faithful to the machination of Fate... Even those without a sword must prepare." Sakkara stood still, wet from the rain before but without a single shiver. "Your destiny, and that of all druids borne in this age, has always been greater than... that." She pointedly gazed behind Lily, at where the other druid had come from. The Game was small and petty in comparison to the forces at work now.

"You understand this?"

She keeps her hands busy, her gaze lowered and she nods. "I do like wild animals, Bojangles has been my best friend all my life." Stroking his beak and his top feathers. "Life has been hard enough, I couldn't imagine a second go of this. I find comfort in silence, darkness and the eternal slumber. Gothic as fuck but I don't believe I have the right type of good in me, I'm no savior."

"It is my honor to meet you, Bojangles," Sakkara greeted the creature briefly. Then she looked back at Raven. "You have a beautiful and intelligent companion. I will not speak for your goodness, but your heart is one that is truly attuned to the harmony and balance of this world - I can tell. Very few, even among the elvhen, can create such strong and loyal bonds with the denizens of the wild." She sighs. "I would be most surprised if the Wheel doesn't return you to speak for these creatures, and to become them. But I am not the omniscent voice of Fate. None of us can decide everything that becomes of our soul, not even yourself. Just know there are many in this world that find comfort in the darkness and silence. You would never be truly alone."

She smiled again and returned to her work, silent but satisfied and comfortable. The Keeper would not open her mouth again if not spoken to.

She, rather clumsily, finally stood. Sakkara then folded herself into her own embrace, fighting against the chill that came from the barest breeze on wet skin. "Lyklor," she repeated, acknowledging the man. "Renie," she greeted, doing the same for the pegasi, and with an additional incline of her head. "My name is Sakkara, Keeper of the druids. Thank you." A thoughtful pause, her brows furrowing. "I... I can hardly believe you found me. The ocean is large, and I must have been hardly a dot of color as you flew over the clouds." She acknowledged the shape of the man's ears. "You are of the elvhen... are you skilled in locating? And, if so, then what was that sensation of strong wind that I felt?"

Often Sakkara did not lend herself to saying much but within her silence said everything. To some degree, it was something he appreciated of the Keeper for he had never been one to assume the inner workings of her mind nor opinions and found it most appreciated when she did allow herself to speak up what her mind was revolving around. Casimir, too, felt great conflict over what had been done to his friend. Great pain, insurmountable torture, such to the point of her death which was to be granted as a mercy, was what inevitably freed her in the end. He'd come to understand that nothing was granted without the grueling sacrifices of facing what it took to become. Nothing was given freely, but that therein was where Casimir's conflict was created.

Juneau had faced great torture before her undoing, but was that enough to satiate the Mercy which had granted her this new breath of life? Casimir was not entirely convinced just yet, but he would wait for time to spell it out for them and face it when any new trouble arose.

The gratitude she felt now was to be alive. To see Casimir, and all others that she missed and loved. To hear their stories and share in their joy and sadnesses. Her mission in this final life was not done, and it had not felt remotely done when the ocean had threatened to swallow her. "It is true: nothing comes to us freely. In the light there was and continues to be dark, in the dark there was and continues to be light. This is the sacred balance of nature." Sakkara sniffed. She cradled her fist, bringing it up to the crook of her neck as though to quell the emotions that had balled up in her throat. "You become as wise as you are kind, little prince."

Her eyelids fluttered shut as she exhaled a slow sigh. "And now I have much rest to catch up on." Sakkara's hands fell back to her lap and she turned her gaze back towards Casimir. "As do you. Quell your worries, Casimir, get the rest that you have surely deprived yourself of. Your friend has proven that she will seek you out if she needs help... and, now, you know where you will find me. I will return to Trivia's Cove at first light, and to Anivia." She sent him a tired smile. These people had enough help with the generous volunteers, and Sakkara was loathe to remain long enough for an Agent to find and question her. "Perhaps in a fortnight, I will be brave enough to regale you of all that happened on that ship. My weakness is as emotional as it is physical, but we should never hide our stories of suffering and injustice. Cruelty is, if nothing else, an effective teacher."

Casimir knew that Sakkara would be beholden to a more logical sense of what this tether to the dark truly was, but that she would also find deep belief in his claims. The dhampir truly could not understand it himself and the frown on his face towards Sakkara's own lack of knowledge on the subject was evident but he did not mean to brood so openly; there had been the faintest hope that Sakkara, as a Keeper of her kind, would have somehow heard of such miracles, however rare they were. "A vuldak often doesn't mean to grant their soul to the dark, their body in death was not respected, given the proper rites and so they come back.... as this creature gifted to the dark." Still, there was no need for the clarification, it merely came about as this protective stance to Juneau, knowing most of what she had endured to become such way.

Casimir did not need to explain the details of what had been for Juneau, but the vuldak was of equal importance to him as Sakkara was, and he vied for some lingering understanding for his friend when she could not present herself currently. "Sakkara," his eyes find the druid's, for even Casimir could not grasp the reality of what this meant, "Dead lungs now breathe, her heart beats - whispers from the Dark seem quieted, banished."

Had she been unwavering in her belief the Darkness' inescapable hold, even an orphaned dhampir would not have moved her heart to begin with. She had begun existential questions with the innocent dhampir before her, and might now be moved to consider a vuldak with more than just dark sympathy and contempt. But to erase centuries of belief and tradition against genasi? The consideration itself was too heavy to hold. She manifested it as the proverbial elephant in the room, and she would see to it later.

"A spirit... Órava..." Mercy. Bonfire danced in her eyes as Sakkara remained silent, silent for long enough that Casimir might have thought she had nothing more to share. But then she nodded, her head tilting upwards and her eyes searching Cas'. "You have given me much to think about, little prince. But if I have faith in the certainty of anything now it is that your friend... she had to have been truly, rarely, worthy. And once more... inconceivably lucky. For that I would only commend her now." Sakkara seemed to shake away some of the palpable uncertainty that she emitted. "I would love to speak with her one day. In fact... Casimir, please consider any close friend of your's invited to my hearth." She smiled lightly. "Your ability to have made this life well and truly your own... it inspires." A sigh. "Sometimes I still see the lost orphan pickpocket and I forget the man that you have truly become... one who inspires such love and loyalty. It is even more admirable than your confusing trinkets."

He followed behind the dragons faster than the ships below, but nowhere near the beautiful creatures' speeds. It was odd to contemplate that the smaller one was Talisa. Eventually his eyes spotted a survivor, the landing area was to small for a dragon and to rocky for a ship so it looked like it was up to them. And perhaps it helped that he could feel their despair in the face of death.

Her head kept being submerged under the water as the sea lashed the other body under its currents. Lyklor made sure she had breath in her lungs as air cradled her, directed her body to a shore. He watched patiently as she regained consciousness "I'm a friend, we are friendly," he accounted for Renie in the we.

If Fate had sent her this man for her survival, than she would take his presence as a gift. Even if there was still the possibility that luck had been on his side and, perhaps, there were ulterior motives on his mind. She could continue being wary, but she would at least be patient and gracious. "I would very much like to address my rescuer. What is your name?"

Raven nods once the boiled rags are dropped by her side and she picks them up to continue her work, the Woman in the Mountains had taught her a lot when she joined the Hidden ones. "Do you really think I'll come back? I always thought my life would be one and done once the curtain falls."

The young faiman's question makes her hum thoughtfully. "I know nothing for certainty, but I have both faith in your wild spirit and stubborn hope for the future of druids," she muses with a soft smile. Her hands pick up more rags, idly dropping them into the boiling water before her. If she noticed Raven's discomfort at all, she didn't show it. "Is the thought of returning troubling to you? Naturally, it would be overwhelming... But I hope it isn't distasteful."

Sakkara's creed was often tied to nature, where as Casimir's was heartily entwined with the technologies of the world; aetherium, arcana, even the shadows could be bent to the will and whim of science. He smiled, warmly enough despite his cold and tenebrous roots, at the way Sakkara practically brushed off his question; it was further confirmed how exhausted she truly was by her lack of urge to speak, allowing him to take the floor. Attachments, especially for the Keeper, seemed to be pure folly for one of her lifestyle, but Casimir felt content that within her pensive silence, she seemed to confirm a similar sentiment of his.

It would be in poor taste for the dhampir not to join Sakkara around the glow of the fire, inevitably sitting parallel to her. "Apparently even the divine work in strange ways," Casimir could not admit this theory with confidence, for even he was stumped as to how such a strange and discordant voice filled his mind with the knowledge of Juneau's last plea. Casimir could have assessed it as a mere trick, an enfeebled lie, but there was conviction in the message, tender truths which he could not be swayed from that allowed him to believe it so heartily.

Juneau, who was unknown to Sakkara, had been healthy and strong once she was not... 'deceased.' The vuldak had been of no concern to the druid afterwards, as she did not make a point to befriend those who had chosen to be promised to darkness. She had assumed the young vuldak had simply gone through some strange ordeal with the Kossith and had never been dead to begin with. Hopeful, naive thinking in the midst of other worries. Very unlike her, Sakkara mused, but the truth was a lot harder to swallow: that those who chose darkness could return from it. And, if that was true, then there might never have been reason to isolate the Genasi to begin with.

"So your friend was... truly dead? And, in this journey of death, she had found a way to send a message to you?" A pause. "I don't believe it is possible for the Dark One to let go of a soul that is deceased. That soul has been bargained for and given to Them. I had believed her... 'death' to be nothing more than unexplainable magic and technology from the Kossith - a trick in the making that they had failed with." But, then again, this unimaginably truth was supported by the idea that Juneau had, indeed, sent a message to Casimir.