[ Now it's Viktor's turn to hmm - a thoughtful sound, considering with no clear conclusion in sight. Rejoining, of course, he mislikes on instinct, but there is something lovely in the idea of souls splashing together, mingling, of beauty made in the chaos. Love finding itself beyond death, joining, trading pieces to cement what had been in life. A perpetual record, writ upon the soul, of all the people who mattered most.
He gives the fingers twined with his a squeeze. In word and in touch, Emet-Selch is a grounding presence, the earth to Viktor's sky. An anchor, keeping his thoughts focused, his body warm. Viktor is endlessly thankful for him.
Maybe his own ideas are too romantic. He can allow that much. Too much like poetry for reality - too fundamental a change to the make of their star. ]
I see. 'Tis something that would doubtless require extensive research, then. More than we've the time for.
[ Except, he supposes that if anyone should be a research subject for these overly romantic theories of his, it is him. The way he bumps up against the reflections of his own soul, it's almost meant to be. He and Ardbert had joined only when the both of them had willed it. Perhaps it will be the same with the shard that lingers upon this layer. Or maybe not. They will know soon, either way.
Green light flickers to life around them, and Viktor again is reminded of the Antitower, of the Palace of the Dead. Inbetween places, spots after living and before death. Emet-Selch speaks of Viktor's Mother, and one of his ears turns. He is quiet for a few paces, even his footsteps muffled by magic still.
Eventually, though, he speaks... ]
That was the point. [ Viktor runs his thumb over Emet-Selch's knuckles. ] Despite... everything, Venat knew her world to be a paradise. [ She had only glimpsed what Hermes, Hythlodaeus, and Aepymetes had lived. The imperfections, hidden by a society that demanded conformity, that drew stark lines around the shape a soul was allowed to take to still be considered a soul. ] And she thought... suffering was the key to defeating despair. [ He glances back at nothing. There is no smile on his face, no frown. He simply states what he knows, soul deep, to be true. ] Hydaelyn needed beacons. Light that gutters the moment darkness falls will be snuffed by Meteion's song. [ There is no judgment in his voice. No exhaustion. Just acceptance. ] 'Tis another test.
no subject
He gives the fingers twined with his a squeeze. In word and in touch, Emet-Selch is a grounding presence, the earth to Viktor's sky. An anchor, keeping his thoughts focused, his body warm. Viktor is endlessly thankful for him.
Maybe his own ideas are too romantic. He can allow that much. Too much like poetry for reality - too fundamental a change to the make of their star. ]
I see. 'Tis something that would doubtless require extensive research, then. More than we've the time for.
[ Except, he supposes that if anyone should be a research subject for these overly romantic theories of his, it is him. The way he bumps up against the reflections of his own soul, it's almost meant to be. He and Ardbert had joined only when the both of them had willed it. Perhaps it will be the same with the shard that lingers upon this layer. Or maybe not. They will know soon, either way.
Green light flickers to life around them, and Viktor again is reminded of the Antitower, of the Palace of the Dead. Inbetween places, spots after living and before death. Emet-Selch speaks of Viktor's Mother, and one of his ears turns. He is quiet for a few paces, even his footsteps muffled by magic still.
Eventually, though, he speaks... ]
That was the point. [ Viktor runs his thumb over Emet-Selch's knuckles. ] Despite... everything, Venat knew her world to be a paradise. [ She had only glimpsed what Hermes, Hythlodaeus, and Aepymetes had lived. The imperfections, hidden by a society that demanded conformity, that drew stark lines around the shape a soul was allowed to take to still be considered a soul. ] And she thought... suffering was the key to defeating despair. [ He glances back at nothing. There is no smile on his face, no frown. He simply states what he knows, soul deep, to be true. ] Hydaelyn needed beacons. Light that gutters the moment darkness falls will be snuffed by Meteion's song. [ There is no judgment in his voice. No exhaustion. Just acceptance. ] 'Tis another test.