[ Each one of them would heed the call, he knows. Each would readily sacrifice themself to save their reflection, their star. And that is the last thing Viktor wants. Seeds, carried to distant soils, settled and sprouted into beautiful blooms all their own - they deserve better. Too many shards have already been spent to shape the soul of Azem into Viktor. Viktor is not sure he could find the same kindness for himself, but he can manage it, for them. ]
I would leave each of them where they are.
[ He trails off, fetches his fork, and helps himself to a hunk of meat, gaze going unfocused as does the mental math necessary to explain his ideas. ]
That first summoning spell, it relied on the fact that aether wishes to return to that from which it was separated. Remind it with a tug, and it will snap back to place. I've felt this, in using Azem's crystal. [ The fork, again, becomes a baton. ] The pull, the thrum, the snap. 'Tis the thrum I am most interested in, the moment of resonance before movement. The feeling- it is exactly like the moment I touched his- my- our mask... for the first time... again. It is my echo. And I know my echo.
[ Viktor angles his head, like a more solid idea might fall out of his ear. ]
If I can grasp that thrum, stretch it, and resonate with my reflections, 'tis my belief it would make a web of our power, our knowledge. [ And perhaps Aepymetes's memories. Viktor does not mention that. ] With the weight of it spread and shared, I could harness it properly. Search beyond the bounds of our star. Meteion is of Hermes. She is of Eitherys. I need but seek that missing piece of our home in the dark.
[ It feels insane when he says it out loud. Dream-like. But so too does it feel like knowledge etched into his barely seamed soul. And perhaps it was, in part. A note scrawled once long ago, a lead with no follow, 'til he had the means, the desire, to take it. Viktor does not notice how little his words catch and trip him in his explaining. ]
I would attempt it as soon as possible, but more pressing... [ Viktor's attention comes to focus on Emet-Selch once again. He'd said to leave it until tomorrow, but it troubles him, Viktor can tell. And so, it troubles Viktor, as well. ] You've children with no teacher and the threads of Creation at their fingertips. That seems the more urgent matter.
[ Viktor hangs, mouth still open. There is more to say. Emet-Selch still thinks himself a monolith, like his phantom Amaurot, standing apart, alone; all that is left of a lost time, enduring, unsullied by this new world. But not even Amaurotine stone could weather the weight of despair, not divided, not alone. ]
And you are allowed to need, you know. Whether it's- [ He snickers. ] -someone to understand the scope and scale of your achievements or...
[ Viktor picks through his stew, selects a chunk of meat, and pops it in his mouth - surprisingly high quality, given the lordling's penchant for keeping all for himself. It does not occur to Viktor that Emet-Selch might've adjusted what was served to them. ]
Someone to paddle for you when your arms are tired.
your bf just wants to turn himself into a quantum computer emet-selch nbd
[ Each one of them would heed the call, he knows. Each would readily sacrifice themself to save their reflection, their star. And that is the last thing Viktor wants. Seeds, carried to distant soils, settled and sprouted into beautiful blooms all their own - they deserve better. Too many shards have already been spent to shape the soul of Azem into Viktor. Viktor is not sure he could find the same kindness for himself, but he can manage it, for them. ]
I would leave each of them where they are.
[ He trails off, fetches his fork, and helps himself to a hunk of meat, gaze going unfocused as does the mental math necessary to explain his ideas. ]
That first summoning spell, it relied on the fact that aether wishes to return to that from which it was separated. Remind it with a tug, and it will snap back to place. I've felt this, in using Azem's crystal. [ The fork, again, becomes a baton. ] The pull, the thrum, the snap. 'Tis the thrum I am most interested in, the moment of resonance before movement. The feeling- it is exactly like the moment I touched his- my- our mask... for the first time... again. It is my echo. And I know my echo.
[ Viktor angles his head, like a more solid idea might fall out of his ear. ]
If I can grasp that thrum, stretch it, and resonate with my reflections, 'tis my belief it would make a web of our power, our knowledge. [ And perhaps Aepymetes's memories. Viktor does not mention that. ] With the weight of it spread and shared, I could harness it properly. Search beyond the bounds of our star. Meteion is of Hermes. She is of Eitherys. I need but seek that missing piece of our home in the dark.
[ It feels insane when he says it out loud. Dream-like. But so too does it feel like knowledge etched into his barely seamed soul. And perhaps it was, in part. A note scrawled once long ago, a lead with no follow, 'til he had the means, the desire, to take it. Viktor does not notice how little his words catch and trip him in his explaining. ]
I would attempt it as soon as possible, but more pressing... [ Viktor's attention comes to focus on Emet-Selch once again. He'd said to leave it until tomorrow, but it troubles him, Viktor can tell. And so, it troubles Viktor, as well. ] You've children with no teacher and the threads of Creation at their fingertips. That seems the more urgent matter.
[ Viktor hangs, mouth still open. There is more to say. Emet-Selch still thinks himself a monolith, like his phantom Amaurot, standing apart, alone; all that is left of a lost time, enduring, unsullied by this new world. But not even Amaurotine stone could weather the weight of despair, not divided, not alone. ]
And you are allowed to need, you know. Whether it's- [ He snickers. ] -someone to understand the scope and scale of your achievements or...
[ Viktor picks through his stew, selects a chunk of meat, and pops it in his mouth - surprisingly high quality, given the lordling's penchant for keeping all for himself. It does not occur to Viktor that Emet-Selch might've adjusted what was served to them. ]
Someone to paddle for you when your arms are tired.