A kind endeavor. Both for the d-dogs and the families who received them.
[ There is a well in him still, of sadness, of anger, of hurt and fear, so deep as to be near impossible to plumb, so cold near the bottom it threatens to freeze his blood. But he is not the hot-headed boy who'd left behind Vilja to be Viktor all those years ago. He is not the green adventurer, all too ready to take up arms and meet violence with violence. He knows now that nothing is simple. Black and white, Good and Evil are not the clean cut concepts of fairy tales and folk stories. There is nuance to every situation, every tale.
Nuance makes it no easier to digest the horrors and harm he has witnessed. In some ways, it makes it worse. All he can do is face the waves of grief, of old anger, as they come, and embrace whatever is left after. Here, a glimpse of good, of order, of balance from a man who'd made a nation with the intent of tearing down the entire world. Silence settles over Viktor, a still, heavy, thinking quiet.
There was a time when Viktor could not look at the man sat beside him without seeing blood. Countless lives lost in his name, by his hand. Ruins of families, of whole nations, piled before him. Nuance had, of course, complicated that very simple vision. He could not overlook the madnesses of loss, of tempering, of too much time and an altered memory. Faced with the loss of his own loved ones, has he not brought half a world to another near ruined star? Tasked countless people with holding hope for what must feel to many a pointless endeavor?
And look at who is here beside him, shoring up walls, banking fires, building roads instead of ruin. Forgiveness had not come easily, but it had come. Looking at Hades now, Viktor does not see blood, hate, hurt. He does not see Solus zos Galvus, not anymore.
A strange smile settles across his features, dim, foggy, nearly wistful. It is an odd look, he knows, and unmistakably unusual. He could blame it on lingering weakness, but that would, he thinks, do both of them a disservice. As a rule, he has been careful not to bring up those parts of Emet-Selch's past, but they are right there in front of the both of them now. So, he reaches out, slides fingers over Emet-Selch's palm and squeezes, tight as he can. ]
It- it means the world to me that you've chosen kinder endeavors here. On the First. For our people.
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[ There is a well in him still, of sadness, of anger, of hurt and fear, so deep as to be near impossible to plumb, so cold near the bottom it threatens to freeze his blood. But he is not the hot-headed boy who'd left behind Vilja to be Viktor all those years ago. He is not the green adventurer, all too ready to take up arms and meet violence with violence. He knows now that nothing is simple. Black and white, Good and Evil are not the clean cut concepts of fairy tales and folk stories. There is nuance to every situation, every tale.
Nuance makes it no easier to digest the horrors and harm he has witnessed. In some ways, it makes it worse. All he can do is face the waves of grief, of old anger, as they come, and embrace whatever is left after. Here, a glimpse of good, of order, of balance from a man who'd made a nation with the intent of tearing down the entire world. Silence settles over Viktor, a still, heavy, thinking quiet.
There was a time when Viktor could not look at the man sat beside him without seeing blood. Countless lives lost in his name, by his hand. Ruins of families, of whole nations, piled before him. Nuance had, of course, complicated that very simple vision. He could not overlook the madnesses of loss, of tempering, of too much time and an altered memory. Faced with the loss of his own loved ones, has he not brought half a world to another near ruined star? Tasked countless people with holding hope for what must feel to many a pointless endeavor?
And look at who is here beside him, shoring up walls, banking fires, building roads instead of ruin. Forgiveness had not come easily, but it had come. Looking at Hades now, Viktor does not see blood, hate, hurt. He does not see Solus zos Galvus, not anymore.
A strange smile settles across his features, dim, foggy, nearly wistful. It is an odd look, he knows, and unmistakably unusual. He could blame it on lingering weakness, but that would, he thinks, do both of them a disservice. As a rule, he has been careful not to bring up those parts of Emet-Selch's past, but they are right there in front of the both of them now. So, he reaches out, slides fingers over Emet-Selch's palm and squeezes, tight as he can. ]
It- it means the world to me that you've chosen kinder endeavors here. On the First. For our people.