Clair x Berkut… 🦋👑

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It requires grace. The ability to mirror the simultaneous hope, the lingering devastation. The broken hearts of an entire nation spanning generations where the steps are softer than any devout follower creeping through a sleepy hallway in hours before dawn. 

It demands fire. Truly, Seadall thinks that this must be a given. That the Divine Dragon’s legacy must reflect the ferocity of their strikes and the unflinching steel of their gaze. In this, there is a push and pull - certainty and uncertainty that passes from one partner to the next, though Seadall wears both with equal conviction. To do anything otherwise would be a specific sort of blasphemy for one who lived through such trials. 

More than anything, one must have speed. The ability to traverse the dancefloor with bounding steps, to twist around imagined obstacles, to leap over perceived mountains and desserts and an endless horde of vicious enemies alike. Seadall’s hands are like iron on Berkut’s arm, against his wrist, forcing the paces as if he were the general or director of their movement. 

He thinks he deserves this much, challenging his partner with a sharp, determined grin. “You can take it,” He promises, not unkind (but perhaps not kind, either) as they flow through one of the hardest dances that Seadall knows. He’s forced to stay silent for the more difficult stretches, grateful for the lull that he’s always imagined as the Somniel - slow and sweet and safe - so that he can give more instruction. “More, the dance isn’t half over. Will you make it, Berkut?”

Alm and Berkut, but they're in FE2

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