They didn't belong here. The freedom they gained here shouldn't belong to them.
Gharach couldn't help but wander the halls of Rata Novus far away from the rest of the group, restlessness born out of a sense of unworthiness. The tangle of wire and powerstones around their head felt like it was cutting deeper than usual. It stung worse than any sliver of glass or splinter of wood they had ever had lodged in them when their skin was still vulnerable to such breaches, but they tolerated the humming circlet. They needed it, though they didn't deserve it.
It should have gone to someone that had gone down fighting. Or at least someone in the Pact, someone actually here for the good of Tyria instead of themselves. But it had to be them, stumbling down the tunnels lined in ruined chak, first following that small group and then desperately drawn to the growing muffling of the cacophony in their head.
However, they didn't dare remove it. Their hands shook at the thought of being under Mordremoth's call again, at how the Dragon already pupeteered them. Detached and powerless as their hands cut red, venomous trails across throats. Standing by passively as they watched an arrow rip down a former hope.
The group that had came to Rata Novus was combat capable enough to stop them if it came to it, Gharach knew that at least. But Gharach desperately did not want to die either.
So they dealt with their impasse by hiding away from them out of shame. Gharach's sulking never went long unsupervised of course. They were the Mordrem, it was unwise to let them be out of sight for long. It was usually the medic who came and found them, giving a weary smile as they asked how they doing. Gharach could only stare in agony at the small slowly healing cuts in the sylvari's forehead. They should have kept the circlet on their head.
Gharach rounded a corner too sharply, their shoulder colliding with the wall. Gharach let out a hiss only to be taken aback by how guttural it sounded. Damned body, it was so out of proportion, so wrong, felt like a skritt pilotting a troll's body. Getting Mordremoth out of their head wasn't enough, the Elder Dragon had twisted their body so thoroughly Gharach still managed to cause destruction through mere uncoordination instead of being pulled by that monster's will. Combat was the only time they felt unhindered, a fact that frustrated Gharach to no end.
Hide, dig into the shadows like a clam into mud, it used to come so easy to them when they were below eye level of everyone except the asura. But now the narrow spaces they could once absentmindedly squeeze into barely allowed their forearms passage. Instinctively they had begun hunching over like a minotaur. Not much good it probably did, considering how covered in sharp edges they were with teeth in the wrong place regardless of posture. No matter how they curled over themselves Gharach was the wrong shape, wrong size. The only thing that reminded them that this body may have actually once belonged to them were the pieces of metal jewelry fused into what may have once been considered an ear.
Gharach rounded a corner, eyes watching the wall, and then met with a sudden and blunt stop as they collided face-first with something. Someone. Floating someone, Gharach realized as they turned to see who had to misfortune to run into them. Gharach felt their face empty and body go cold, the Exalted, they just rammed into the Exalted.
In truth, Gharach only knew of them through the Dragon. Golden and glowing, an uncorruptible opposition, Gharach felt like they were standing before a mountain.
"Oh- hey, sorry about that I didn't see you-"
The Exalted were human, once, remade into eternal guardians against the Elder Dragons and their minions. To especially exemplify this mission, the one before them was known as a Bastion. And yet this Exalted had given some of his own power to keep the circlet operational. An act of defiance against Mordremoth to be sure- but to risk it on a gain so small-
"-this place is really hard to navigate, you think the asura would have stuck a map somewhere? Maybe the chak ate it too... Anyways, I didn't bruise you or anything did I?"
Wait. Was the Exalted addressing them? Were they ok? Gharach opened their mouth for only a confused croak to emerge. At least one thing didn't change for them, the spoken word was always too damned unreliable.
"Well, you are all armored but I'm made of metal and-"
"I'M FINE." Gharach blurted out. Great follow up, excellent, what a great conversationalist.
"That's good, good." The Exalted hovered in silence for a bit and Gharach struggled to suppress a rising nervous urge to fidget with their hands. "So. You wouldn't happen to know what direction the main labs are?" Gharach nodded and pointed behind them towards the direction the mordrem had just came from. "Oh yeah. I was just down that hallway twenty minutes ago of course, good work Immal- wait."
Gharach froze, the Exalted had unfurled the hook that made up his forearm and was pointing a newly formed finger at the mordrem's forehead. "Looks like I may have caused you a bit of harm there. You're bleeding."
It was only then that Gharach noticed the sting of the circlet had intensified tenfold, and there was something wet running down their face. The collision must have briefly buried the device even further in their head.
"I could see about repairing that." The Exalted's face was close, inspecting the wounds. Why was his so near? "Although my usual methods of healing could possible cause more harm than good, for you." Was he offering to help him? Entirely unnecessary the cuts would heal on their own and yet-
The Exalted muttered to himself for a bit before looking at the sword in the mismatched scabbard they had tied around his waist. "That could work..." He faced Gharach again, "may I try something?"
The words came out of their mouth before their tongue had a proper grasp. "Go ahead."
An aura grew around the Exatled's hand, all soft edges and light blue. He pressed his hand against their forehead, and it was as if a cool breeze had been summoned and yet Gharach could feel the Immal's impossibly warm hand behind it. At his touch the stinging ebbed to a dull throb and then dissipated into a nothing that stayed there even after Immal had moved on to the next wound. He circled around their head, bringing up another softly glowing hand to expedite their work. How would those hands feel running down their spine, Gharach wondered.
Gharach's head snapped back so suddenly their neck ached. "Whoa! Sorry did I burn you? Or shock you, or sting- I'm not really sure how it would hurt but if I did I'm-"
"No! It's fine, it's fine. Just-" Your mouth is already open, chose your next words carefully, don't leave looking ungrateful, "I think you got everything. Thank you," they added in hastily.
"Looks like that's the case," Immal drew his hands back, folding them back into talons. They stood in the silence of the dead city for a few nervous seconds, Gharach slowly noticing that they were no longer slumping over. They were looking at eye level at Immal, if he had eyes, and Gharach could feel the Exalted looking back. Perhaps he was just as equally at a loss for words as they were.
"You could follow me," Gharach murmured, surprising themselves with their own breaking of the silence. "Back to the lab I mean. I just came from there."
"Oh!" Immal held their talons up in an expression of relief and gave a little jump- "endearing" came to Gharach's mind. "That would work perfectly, and save me some time getting lost again. Thank you, it was Gharach was it?"
If Gharach still had lips there surely would have been an unexplainable small smile creeping into the corners of it. "Yes, that would be it." Gharach hardly planned for having company beside them, or going back so soon, but as they silently slinked back through the halls with Immal beside them Gharach found themselves enigmatically please with this sudden change of plans.
"Incredible," Immal scoffed, "I was down this hallway at least three times."
