[ Eternal Recurrence #185,492 is an attempt Khaslana hasn't tried before, but one he has figured would be worthy investing into.
With each cycle Phainon is born again, in the secluded village of Aedes Elysiae, where the sun is always warm, the wind is always refreshing, where the lakes and sea have fresh fish, where the wheat is favorably kissed by daylight, and the Titans do not concern themselves much with a side of Amphoreus that seems nigh untouchable.
Here, Khaslana becomes a presence in Phainon's life many years earlier. A voice that guides, a presence that looms, an existence that explains, at last, what it means to be the Deliverer. A path by no means easy, that there are times where they cannot save a single life — and yet they mustn't give up. Not now, not ever.
A path, he says, that relies on sacrifices, and oft not only their own. ]
... [ He guides Phainon's hand the first time.
A sword that weighs as it should, perfect on their hands, as it spares Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon of a meaningless, prolonged existence. Their golden blood paints a warm, melancholic picture that he knows will scar Phainon for nights to come.
The second time, Khaslana has to remind him what this is all for. That Deliverance had chosen them, that this, too, will pass. That he will not remember, if it's any solace. That Khaslana will. Castorice will be freed from her suffering.
The third, fourth, fifth time are not any easier. Phainon wavers still, and Khaslana feels for him. They will be born again, he reassures. Unharmed, unchanged, with no memories of this. It will pass.
The sixth time, Khaslana is not present. He knows well what Mydeimos means to Phainon, as his Mydeimos had, too, meant to him. It brings him no joy still, and Khaslana continues to feel for him. He knows, after all, the weight of lives on his hands, much too heavy for any person to bear. He knows how much heavier a friend's life weighs, too. ]
...
[ The skies above Castrum Kremnos are soothing, still. Khaslana knows the truth of the Dawn Device and that truly protects Okhema, but a lie is a lie, and for all of Amphoreus's true nature, the stars above still shine, day in day out. Lives that do not truly exist, but lives that do, for each of them acknowledge it so.
He waits right at the entrance of the Castrum, for however long Phainon needs to ensure their mission does not fail. He can hear in the distance the clash of steel against steel, nostalgic sounds that bring no true comfort. He waits, however long. A day, or two. A week, or three. Time, in part, nonexistent as Cyrene had made it, they have in abundance.
... ] It is done? [ Only at the very end of it does Khaslana ask, when footsteps are the only noise that can be heard late at night. He needs not look at Phainon yet to know he has emerged victorious, and decides instead to give him the comfort of privacy first. ]
>>> Eternal Recurrence #185492
With each cycle Phainon is born again, in the secluded village of Aedes Elysiae, where the sun is always warm, the wind is always refreshing, where the lakes and sea have fresh fish, where the wheat is favorably kissed by daylight, and the Titans do not concern themselves much with a side of Amphoreus that seems nigh untouchable.
Here, Khaslana becomes a presence in Phainon's life many years earlier. A voice that guides, a presence that looms, an existence that explains, at last, what it means to be the Deliverer. A path by no means easy, that there are times where they cannot save a single life — and yet they mustn't give up. Not now, not ever.
A path, he says, that relies on sacrifices, and oft not only their own. ]
... [ He guides Phainon's hand the first time.
A sword that weighs as it should, perfect on their hands, as it spares Tribbie, Trianne and Trinnon of a meaningless, prolonged existence. Their golden blood paints a warm, melancholic picture that he knows will scar Phainon for nights to come.
The second time, Khaslana has to remind him what this is all for. That Deliverance had chosen them, that this, too, will pass. That he will not remember, if it's any solace. That Khaslana will. Castorice will be freed from her suffering.
The third, fourth, fifth time are not any easier. Phainon wavers still, and Khaslana feels for him. They will be born again, he reassures. Unharmed, unchanged, with no memories of this. It will pass.
The sixth time, Khaslana is not present. He knows well what Mydeimos means to Phainon, as his Mydeimos had, too, meant to him. It brings him no joy still, and Khaslana continues to feel for him. He knows, after all, the weight of lives on his hands, much too heavy for any person to bear. He knows how much heavier a friend's life weighs, too. ]
...
[ The skies above Castrum Kremnos are soothing, still. Khaslana knows the truth of the Dawn Device and that truly protects Okhema, but a lie is a lie, and for all of Amphoreus's true nature, the stars above still shine, day in day out. Lives that do not truly exist, but lives that do, for each of them acknowledge it so.
He waits right at the entrance of the Castrum, for however long Phainon needs to ensure their mission does not fail. He can hear in the distance the clash of steel against steel, nostalgic sounds that bring no true comfort. He waits, however long. A day, or two. A week, or three. Time, in part, nonexistent as Cyrene had made it, they have in abundance.
... ] It is done? [ Only at the very end of it does Khaslana ask, when footsteps are the only noise that can be heard late at night. He needs not look at Phainon yet to know he has emerged victorious, and decides instead to give him the comfort of privacy first. ]