#8')

41 days in, and I’m 8 feet tall! Despite the constant headaches of hitting my head on doorframes, it’s adorable when Evan tries to kiss me but can only get just above my tits.

"Oh... that must've taken longer than expected."

With their next destination upon the horizon, Dan Heng and Stelle had taken the time to explore new portions of the Divergent Universe that had been unlocked recently, a project the Archivist had been inexorably drawn to. It wasn't everyday one had access to the inner workings of the minds of no less than four Genius Society members, an occurrence that was too rare to pass up. Though Stelle had been the primary tester for the past few years, Herta had granted him permission to begin partaking in the simulation, too.

To Harmony, he flashed the cyborg an apologetic smile.

Wing Prompts! [Stare] : Receiver catches Sender staring at their wing(s)

Whispers echo through the opulent corridors of Hyrule Castle, emanating from two-faced Hylians of the royal court. They are adorned in the finest silks and cloth, their forms shrouded in despair, uncertainty, and gossip. These pious Hylians lament the failure of the ancient prophecy and question why the Princess's latent powers have yet to awaken. They wonder if the winged enigmatic figure, rumored to be an angelic savior, is truly capable of aiding them in their time of need. Doubt and desolation fill the air as they ponder whether the divine forces have genuinely abandoned them. No doubt King Rhoam heard; he had been extra demanding of Zelda these past few days.

Anybody who knows me at all knows that nobody knows me at all. I'm never ever gonna make friends again. What's the point when it's just gonna end? And by the way, they're annoying at best, and at worst, they're depressed. I'm surrounded by idiots... Who needs 'em?

Meanwhile, the distressed Princess, a beacon of last hope, perseveres in her tireless training, seeking to unlock the dormant potential within her. Yet, despite her relentless efforts, her powers remain frustratingly out of reach, casting a shadow of uncertainty over her destiny and the kingdom's fate.

And let's pretend that I care, which I don't-- I would help if I could, but I won't. Who Cares? Never gonna catch me acting scared. Don't cry, don't scream, cool as can be.

Amidst the pervasive unease, Captain Pit, a stalwart leader and confidant to many, which he knew was undeserving, grapples with his inner turmoil. With a heavy heart, he endeavors to buoy the spirits of those who look to him for guidance, yet he cannot shake the feeling of being complicit in perpetuating false hope and comforting lies.

Calm down; you're fine; this is all in your mind. They're not your friends; you don't care about them, and soon it's all gonna end.

Pit had carefully piled another batch of musky books on the worn wooden desk where Zelda sat, surrounded by towering bookshelves. At this late hour, only a few flickering candles provided a dim glow in the room. The Captain of Angels gracefully extended his wings to reach the furthest books as he and Zelda delved into their relentless search for knowledge. They sought alternative ways to defeat the Calamity or uncover answers to awaken Zelda's sacred power; even the Angel knew it was all for naught.

You've seen it happen again and again and again and again and again and again.

Hours of intense focus had taken their toll on Zelda, evident in the deep bags under her fatigued blue eyes. Despite her weariness, her gaze often wandered to Pit's wings, a silent curiosity he had noticed since his arrival. As they toiled through the night, Pit couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the Princess. While their efforts that night might have been fruitless, he gently extends his left-wing towards her with a small smile.

"Of course I'm not him. I'm just one of those vaunted counterparts, or whatever they're called. Su just happens to be living in my head. He does pay rent, so to speak."

Al-Haytham said that, yet the moment he did, he glanced away; a sign of dishonesty for disciples of body language. Maybe not of a malicious deception, but he didn't entirely believe it anymore, either. He didn't actually think he was Su, but rationally speaking, in the great game of counterparts, he was a facsimile. They were and weren't each other any more than a reflection could claim the reflected was them, but the lines blurred.

Rationally, he knew that this internal crisis he'd been in denial of was because of how he'd been exiled from Tayvet (Teyvat, as it'd been called before) and how having his identity erased from Irminsul had caused psychological issues he couldn't begin to fathom. Having Su in his mind had been a comfort, because the man genuinely did care for his lookalike, and sharing memories had stabilized him. Until the fractures came, dramatically and devastatingly. First, it had been falling in love with a dead man, those feelings hooked into him like intravenous fluid. He'd thought it was just his own vulnerability inventing love out of air as a distraction, until it became too real.

And now, this woman--this Herrscher(?)--was suggesting he should be rid of Su. Kevin had said that, too, hadn't he? That he was problematic. Maybe not by virtue of his character, but by recognizing the inherent danger of an empty vessel latching on to someone who was a mirror-image thousands of years older than him. How Al-Haytham had leeched and leeched until there was nothing left and the lines were blurring past the point of salvation.