#empyrator

a sweep of the lance, legs stanced apart & bent slightly at the knees as the mock duel enters its denouement. so scarce are these chances to observe foreign techniques close & away from the onslaught of the battlefield—the rumored ruthlessness of the Empire positively brimming from each blow against the Kingdom’s stalwart form ( unstoppable force meeting its immovable object ). ‘twas an opportunity he dared not permit to go fleetfoot. & when the dust settles a smile graces his lips, offering a friendly hand in proper showmanship, ❝excellent form. you did well today, Siste—❞

the realization settles long after palm clasps over the mouth. he looks quickly to make certain none were witness to his fatal slight, but apprehension races still, even when he lowers his hand. ‘twas a selfish slip: distant daydreams doomed to never bloom into fruition, a crime he ought to know better than to ever commit beneath the e’er-watchful eyes of the Goddess.

❝m-my apologies. p-please forget that I said anything.❞

   h*ck   

matters of another domain are not his to inquire ( the eagle & lion never once seeing eye to eye ), but the Empire is its own medley of complications—the fault of which lies on a grafted branch tied to his family tree. it’s by pure happenstance that he sees her standing alone on the bridge leading to the cathedral but a fortuitous one for Dimitri, quick survey suggesting that the serpent on her right shoulder is nowhere to be seen. ‘tis a strange sight, surely, for two of the house leaders to be conversing but reputation is a fast thing to cover with the right resources, or so he gathered from observing the horrid pit of old men in Fhirdiad bickering amongst one another over money & land. were anyone to question none will dare oppose a little half-truth ( he’s become particularly good at detouring around the truth ), if only to maintain the peace.

perhaps he is foolish to dream that enkindling a familial bond with a distant sister will yield peace between two long-clashed nations, but mankind does not embrace progress by refusing to dream. his aims, however, are twofold: altruistic & painted in broad brushtrokes / selfish yearning for what was lost in conflagration, for the lone boy still weeping in a chamber of fire. courage eventually finds him & he finally speaks his mind, clearing his throat before he begins, ❝you’ve been leaving the monastery rather often as of late. is everything well?❞

@empyrator

i will have you know that it has been said my karma is a charming trait.