#constellatory

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃.   ( accepting. )  

  ❛   I   know!   I   know   I’m   s   -   I’m   sorry   I   --   ❜

The   pizzaplex   was   in   ruins,   there   was   little   to   no   animatronics   in   sight.   𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍   𝙃𝙊𝙈𝙀   𝙄𝙎   𝘽𝙐𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂.   𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍   𝙃𝙊𝙈𝙀   𝙄𝙎   𝘽𝙐𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂!   How   could   they   turn   and   run   when   their   family   was   inside?   They   had   an   exit,   a   way   out,   running   up   and   down   the   empty   halls   in   the   early   hours   of   morning.   The   places   they   laughed,   the   places   they   played   and   shared   their   bleeding   heart.   The   home   where   they   rebuilt   all   they   had   lost   to   make   up   for   past   wounds   that   still   ached   raw.   And   now   here   it   was   again,   crumbling   around   them.

𝘼   𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙈𝙄𝙎𝙀   𝙒𝘼𝙎   𝙈𝘼𝘿𝙀:   they   have   to   protect   them.   Animatronics   or   no,   the   Glamrocks,   the   Daycare   Attendants.   They   were   all   their   friends.   Their   family.   Maybe   it   was   clever   programming.   But   when   Monty   let   them   sleep   in   his   room   after   another   late   shift,   he   cared.   When   Chica   stopped   them   to   ensure   they   had   lunch,   she   cared.   When   Freddy   called   them   his   Superstar   on   the   long,   busy   days,   he   cared.   When   Roxanne   sang   their   praises   in   her   own   funny   way,   she   cared.   Even   the   bunny   in   the   basement   had   been   kind   to   them!

𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙔   𝘼𝙇𝙇   𝘾𝘼𝙍𝙀𝘿.   so   how   could   they,   now,   turn   tail   and   run   at   the   first   sign   of   trouble?   It   was   their   JOB   to   take   care   of   the   animatronics,   but   it   was   their   duty   to   protect   their   family.   Now,   the   escape   was   gone,   the   building   was   in   ruin.   There   was   no   way   out   and   they   were   lucky   to   be   alive   as   they   wept   into   his   arms.

❛   I   just   couldn’t   leave   you   all   here!   ❜

          @constellatory —          

Could he truly do it? Defeat the Song of Creation’s End, survive through the touch of Destruction which awaits him after this. That he and his friends have lain all to bear and still it did not suffice. Battered and broken he was under Her hold and his companions fallen. All strength beginning to desert him now. Tears threatened to surface as he basked upon Her, the light in every touch warm and exuded of boundless safety.

It might be best for him to stay here, to fall here and never look back, stars be damned. Live their remaining days, choosing ignorance and weakness as a response to the incoming tragedy. How could he ever hope to stand a chance when this alone had won him over, rendering all the struggles in life he had conquered, triumphed against? He tried to remember it, forced himself to recall what made him come out victorious against Venat in the past. In the fields of Elpis where he had proved himself worthy of Argos’ back.

The answer should’ve been simple. It’s only because he did everything but surrender. For when one has aught to protect, he’ll never taste defeat in his tongue. This battle is merely a prelude for what awaits him at Creation’s End. He closed his eyes serenely. He understood. What they came here to prove, what they came here to fight for. The promise he made to Her will surely find means to be fulfilled, for he is Her Champion, Her Warrior of Light.

He’d smile at Her were it not for the pain which sank in his every bone. In one desperate attempt, he clutched his blade close and forcefully buried it in Her heart, seared deeply and with all the strength he could muster, all the courage She had believed him to possess. A wave of emptiness clutched and gnawed from within ere long, the silence of it all ever deafening. It has to end here. Hesitation will not save him and the people that they love and fought to protect. They cannot afford to tally any longer. Meteion awaits.

Even if it meant losing Her.

Even if it meant never seeing Her on the morrow.

Even if...

Even if he has to move forward without Her ever again.

Light has never lost.

It never did.

𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑺 // always accepting memes!

“ My friend, ” Such simple words, made vivid through the fondness that colors them. He loved her, wholeheartedly, in a way there is only one other he loved so ( ’tis a faithful reflection, the one she speaks to ). And for them, he would give everything ( had given everything ); all that he had and all that he was, so long as it allowed them to reach what they wanted most.

It had been the reasoning for that final decision, regardless of how opposed to it Azem and Emet-Selch both would be. Though it was for them, decision was not theirs. It was his and his alone, and nothing would have dissuaded Hythlodaeus from doing what was within his power to do for them, even if that was only to lay down his life for their world.

A choice embraced by those who have lived their lives to the fullest, in service to our world. Thus had he described it, once, the moment one elected to return to the star. His goal had always been them, to live in their service, as had been his prediction that ‘twould only be together they would embrace that final departure. That he opted to leave them sooner was but a change in schedule created by direst of circumstances. One day they would be together again; he would wait for them, he had said in his goodbyes -- even if, in the end, ‘twas not to the star he had returned.

Indeed, Hythlodaeus had already departed, one of the many that allowed Zodiark to halt the Final Days, one of the many that would not be given rest, not for some time. It does not matter; the reflection she speaks to did not share that fate, not a soul but a shade, more a memory than a concrete being. “ There is little reason to be so dramatic. The memories of our friendship shall ever accompany you --- you do not need to give them up. ”

fury is a gentle shadow over soft features,  a slow trickle  --  small tells,  but not imperceptible.  the firming of her mouth,  the barest lift of her chin,  the tightening of her jaw.  eyes,  cast silver and dark in the low light,  flicker up to the ascian across from her,  and consider for a long moment.  there is a measure of control as she lays her own cards upon the table,  and then the illusion  (  for that’s what it truly is  )  shatters.

her hand hits the table with a resounding slap,  and she leans forward,  braced into it.  nails dig into wood,  her other hand landing dead center of his chest as she shoves him back into his chair.

assassins' creed valhalla prompts // accepting. @constellatory

❝ a warrior of me? do you really think so? ❞ a moot point; she was, after all, speaking to a bronze. there was an irony to be noted, however -- what with the fact that the half elf had barely reached adulthood and was currently sitting in the other's presence in armour that was far, far too big for her; a legacy to a man whom she both loved and, admittedly, had not really known.

could warriors be soft? the world was not particularly gentle; even the wyrmlings had a bite to them that she had to prepare herself for -- and there was much worse beyond the caverns. the ghouls that she had barely escaped from to get here, for example. yet there was worse still, and she had barely survived that altercation.

she pondered the concept all the same, however. she'd like to be soft, still. there were too many people who had been hardened by their battles. they'd forgotten how to live, she thought -- though it wasn't to say she had any idea how to, more that she had been considerably more at peace before war had come to her. not a war between factions, though, but a grander one; a more frightening one. she understood, in part, what the other was saying: she would have to be forged; she wished to be there.

❝ i'd rather like to keep my softness. ❞ she spoke her thoughts to the other, offering a smile. ❝ would you consider it an impossibility? can one be both soft and a warrior; a hero... and happy? I've yet to meet a soldier who is glad to be where he is, doing what he is doing. I don't ask to be happy to hurt others... but to have confidence that I am doing what is right; to hope for a better tomorrow. might I be forged this way? ❞

          @constellatory  —

“For what purpose do you ask this now?” 

It did not matter. The morality behind The Sundering aside, most would still find reason to condemn it, to define evil at the edge of Her blade. Who could tell them they’re wrong? It brought forth a great divide within the fold, gave birth to imperfections, marred the paradise they basked into. Such tragedy brought man low that he might have chosen to be extinguished instead than be fragmented, a mere shell of the person he once was.

What folly to seek absolution for a crime so heavy when there is no atonement road to travel. When both answers equaled a no small amount of loss. No alternative easier to swallow. In the end, it’s been done. She could beg and kneel to be spared from the cruel judgement of it all and still the fabric of the star remains frayed. Such is Her lot.

Do not seek forgiveness, for it will not ease the burden. It weighs as it should.

He remembered it clearly. 

The last encounter he’s had with the Mother Crystal before her soul dissipated into nothingness. Her light blinding yet warm, promising that in spite of her existence’s end, all of her will remain. In the coolness of water, the sharpness of breeze. The tender embers and the sturdy soils. While no longer around to shelter Eitherys as it were, her guidance will remain with them, remain with him.

As he sat against a tree and took comfort in the shade, he thought about the conversations he could’ve had with her. How he regretted being unable to answer the question she had asked way back then, failed to tell her how all the struggles and hardships weren’t enough to tarnish the greatness which followed. How much of his life was touched with burdens he didn’t think he could’ve survived carrying and still able to see it as a gift, a gift from her.

While the decision brought forth agony throughout and broke more than just lives and bonds, he ought to forgive her, but it was not his place to. The weight of her decision has always been hers to carry alone. Was it hard? He wanted to ask her. Wanted to apologize that it took this long for him to carry her hopes, to receive the mantle of her dreams and humble wishes. She can rest now. From here, he’ll continue her legacy, as Azem had done for her as Venat.

He clutched Azem’s crystal on his palm, remembering to carry on with the smiles of the people who once fought for the sake of their star and its people. The sacrifices they have made. The pain which lingered and divided them with no way of going back. All of it for the person who set aside her own feelings for the greater good, as ambitious and horrid the costs were. To tell the truth, even now he’s not sure if he’d succeed. But without her in his life now, there’s no try, only do. Will this world even need him anymore?

To carry onward... His gaze lifted to witness the brewing horizon, how every speck of life never fails to remind him of her. Her voice staying in his head in spite of knowing fully well that there’s no way for her to return. Was it worth it? Is this the future that she dreamed of? Waited long, long years to achieve? Such faith. The overwhelming trust is why they’ve won. This love, no matter how distant now... will embrace him wheresoever he goes.

history must have a taste for irony,  for she is certain they have been in this position before;  he,  looking woefully flushed  (  as if she cannot ascertain the difference between a blush for show and an honest one  ),  and her,  amused despite herself,  with her chin braced to fisted hand.  she watches only until he has well and truly made a fool out of himself,  and spluttering into silence,  she lets that drag out too.  an old song and dance,  her veins say.  this is muscle memory.  across all the years,  all the light,  all the void,  but she knows this.

“  it is a fine mouth.  “  she says,  in sweet-toned promise,  lush with laughter.  she has become talented at brushing aside the compelling warmth of history  --  it is always just beyond her reach anyway.  not worth grasping for,  like any other constellation in the sky.  if a star deigns to visit her,  she will not call it by name.  unmasking is a privilege.

still,  her brow wrinkles in consideration.  her mouth twists,  caught in a faint and faded half-smile.