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"You're kinda weird. You know that right?" "Hah, yes. A dear friend would often say so."

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Hey the Vana'diel raids are going to kill me.

-> Short context, my ff14 WoL is literally my ff11 character; lore wrangled through the 11 alt timeline of 'failing to beat Promathia' - but the emptyness wiggled a little bit to be The flood of Darkness of the 13th \o/ happening at the same time as the Contrememoria on a different continent, Thus Silvaire [The Warrior of Crystal] becoming an archfiend voidsent who claims San d'Oria as his domain for millennia+ even though the beast doesn't remember why. ((There's literally a 60page document that explains it and more, but also is hyper condensed info/skimming over things cause its too much lore. Been developing this fool since 2003/2004)) -> he eventually goes from side villain foil of the WoL, to actually being part of the team (and earning a WoL title) and post Dawntrail he's just trying to recover some pieces of himself with genuine friendships and a support network.

but yeah. Love Silvaire. Love Prishe. I'm emotionally compromised so fucking much and it's not even november yet.

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Added proper Tags for Silvaire Content that will split all posted [non-thread content, they will get their own unique tags past the first posts/starters]- copied from the Verses/Tags page;;;;;;

Silvaire’s Narrative is REALLY. REALLY LONG. (Hence having a whole novel about that history) but I have sorted each of these ‘Arcs’ into different tags, as each one can be treated as a different ‘characterization’ he had at the time. (All the same person of course, but they vary drastically in personality or tone due to the events around him.)

[Arc - Odysseus] ;;; Silvaire’s Ancient self. This is not largely explained on the blog, but it is fully explored and he is an ally of Azim - Originally held the seat of Deudalaphon ((Appraiser of architecture and patron of invention)) within the convocation; However once they prompted the summoning of Zodiark, he left his seat in disagreement to the choice. 

[Arc - Warrior of Crystal] ;;; This is set within FF11, before the Flood of Darkness ((Do note all Sil Lore was written a literal decade+ ago before the 14 Raid Series)). His lore is a mix of canons that most likely don’t match with 14 version [as of time of writing raid is not out yet] so some reading would be needed for interactions.

[Arc - Voidsent] ;;; Mephistopheles within the Void. This is set wholly in the 13th and is fully primal-voidsent form. ‘The worst he can be’ is at this time.

[Arc - The Hound] ;;; Argenti van Nullus, This is set during his time as The Hound of Garlemald as he was in service to Solus/Emet as an instrument of war in a Voidsent Contract (This lasts from the founding of the empire to ARR)

[Arc - Mephistopheles] ;;; The Longest stretch of his narrative and most content written with him thus far. After his banishment/escape from Garlemald the voidsent creates a place for himself within Ul'Dah and pretends to be mortal - eventually 'assisting’ the WoL/Scions for his own hidden agenda (As well as assisting enemy factions/Ascians in the background to further that selfish need) This covers all MSQ content from ARR > Start of Shadowbringers. He is not a good person.

[Arc - Guilt] ;;; From events within Shadowbringers (Emet-Selch pulls back the curtain of Silvaire’s lies and deeds to the Scions and thus breaks their trust as well as them learning his voidsent affliction/Ascian knowledge that could have helped/saved people in the past) He has to contend with the fact he has started to care about them and what he’s done to them (this is due to multiple factors but can be summarized as his 'Balance of Aether’ is no longer purely umbral/Voidsent. He starts he road to recovery here lasting from Shadowbringers > Post Endwalker

[Arc - Recovery] ;;; This is Current Narrative Silvaire! Dawntrail onward! He is making active changes to be 'a person again’. Thus far only the WoL and Krile [due to her echo knowing he’s honest] have offered an olive branch. Personality wise he is growing far closer to the person he was originally (in Arc-WoC) and he is recovering at a nice healthy pace! [Due to DT Spoilers this will not be fully explained for some time! But do know, Good!! Healthy!! Love it for him] -- Within this Arc he has gained more control over his own aetherwell, compared to it being connected to the voidsent/Sins of Promathia/Mephistopheles, thus his visual design within that state changes!

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Short hand; Going to be resorting some info around for clarity [[Such as putting Tags with Verses, and some more clarification info on his About that is deemed important but I'm not sure where to put it yet]].

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I've reworked Silvaire's History/Info Pages! Trying to make it a bit clearer and easier to find things.

He's a complicated character with far too much information! Basically 3 different characters and that's hell to try and explain. Hopefully that helps some!

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-> Post Endwalker, Silvaire constantly has a piece of crystal around his neck. This crystal will be swapped out every so often with a new one, as it's purpose is not for looks - but function. With the Scion's awareness of his Umbral Affliction, it's a starting point they suggested to begin absorbing that ambient aether and attempt to slowly purify the near endless amount of voidly condemnation that he has. While these crystals won't fully cure his aetherical imbalance, it does go ways to give him peace of mind - a physical proof that progress is being made, even if it's only a pindrop at a time.

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I don't know if I have this written anywhere, as it doesn't come up often, But Silvaire's Ancient is named Odysseus! (For obvious reasons if you know Sil's narrative.)

Perhaps I'll share more about that later.

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“I want everything back, the way it was. But there is no point to it, this wanting.”

— Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale (via thoughtkick)

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How they met; Krile + Silvaire

While Silvaire met the young woman known as Krile only in passing at the foray into tracking down the missing scions - as attentive as he was to skills of others, the man made it quite apparent that he had no interest in helping that situation, and left it to the Warrior of Light to handle. It wasn't until that same Warrior of Light requested his assistance with the plight of the Warring Triad that he was properly introduced - and strongarmed - into meeting the Lalafell on open terms.

She was clearly able to piece together his lies and half-truths, just as sure as she was aware of the guarded nature of their young companion Unukalhai; yet she unaware of how that the Elezen lord was actually quite similar to that displaced 13th resident. Through the events Krile kept her peace about picking into Silvaire's secrets, although not without a passing comment here and there at his expense; a type of pointedness that brought more questions to the minds of the Scions who'd - up to this point - held his lacking interest in their affairs as common sense. Krile was the first to properly point out the ease in which he would relent to the requests of the Warrior of Light alone; as if obligation demanded a polite hand. Silvaire for the most part found himself at odds; both in the Promethian curse of well controlled annoyance, as well as a genuine respect and admiration for the way the Lalafellan woman could handle him in almost all conversations. Krile and The Warrior of Light were the only two to properly notice the change in his demenor at the death of Regula; unknown to them, the history of a relationship of having raised the youth alongside Varis lingered in the history of this once-Garlean hound. A sorrow buried just as quickly behind the umbral dark of his voidsent affliction, brushed away as 'a waste of time'. After all is said and done, Krile and Silvaire leave these lengthy exchanges with the knowledge that the other is someone to keep an eye on - for good or bad, was yet to be seen.

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||-Lion's Share-|| (Silvaire x Krile Drabble)

[[[[A technically short drabble of a Silvaire and Krile interaction! It's set right before Shadowbrings \o/ ((They don't admit to feelings till Post Endwalker/Dawntrail start! It's a very long con)) So this is a good point of showing how they get along and interact at the mid point/before Silvaire deals with all his Shadowbringers(Emet) trauma+history confrontation --- sorry for the long preface! I'm a nervous nelly!]]]]

The quiet of Mor Dhona's dusk was always punctuated by those last few idle patrons coming too and fro below the balcony. It was never a nuisance, no, instead a common reminder of a living, breathing, world that was beyond the stone walls and wooden floorboards; A world where adventurers still braved the wilds, and the dangers that lurked within. A world where people - young and old alike - sought to better their lives through the honest work of their own hands.

A place that Silvaire often longed for - and a home he often missed when he lingered too long in the depths of memories.

It was a strange existence.

Twilight itself was peppered by those last few birdsong echoes that never seemed to die. As if there were some unseen nest somewhere within the cavities of old stonework - perhaps a pair of lovebirds continued to serenade each other in defiance of the oncoming night. The air was always cool with the distance from the lake - chilled winds pushed by the ghosts of war - that, even on a difficult day like this one, that temperate chill eased the burning hearts of many. Peppered rain had stopped a few hours ago, and the last traces of cloud cover now faded into the indigo sky, drifting wings of broken color.

Pages turned atop the table before him in the coming quiet, puddles had dried - soaked into the parched wood with greed - and now the gentle breeze left his mind calm and ready to continue the seemingly impossible task of studies; piles of tomes from his own collection brought to the Rising Stones in hopes to solve this unforeseen predicament of soulless husks-

Amber eyes flicked up below dark lashes when the sharp creak of unoiled hinges rang as an alarm to this broken isolation, snake slit pupils an empty black, now locked on the young woman who walked into the alcove (her expressive features crinkled with just as much disdain for the loud whine of the door as he), a faint dark hugging under bright blue as her gaze drifted across the way in her walk towards the railing - a tiredness clung to each part of the Lalafell as she came to rest against the cool granite with an obvious sigh of exhaustion.

For a few heartbeats, he said nothing. Stilled as the stone she leaned upon. Studying that peaceful quiet while the tippering of birdsong began to finally fade, watching how - even from the distance between them - the lord could feel the weight that burdened laxed shoulders.

“Any changes?”

The deep rumble of his voice snapped Krile from her solitary thoughts - a gentle gasp escaping with a clerical swear buried beneath decorum as she pushed herself from the lean - turning to the Elezen with bright eyes wide, yet settling with a visible lax of her posture as a gentle smile graced tired features. As if his presence held no threat to her weakened state.

“Unfortunately no, but they’ve gotten none worse either.” In the quiet din of the coming night Krile’s voice carried the obvious lilt of overburdened worry, tender fingers rising to brush aside a long strand of chestnut hair behind her ear - strands that had long come undone from the tail she’d pulled it into when the sun had first tasted the horizon. “Thancred seems a bit more pale than the others, but I hope it’s just my imagination…”

He hummed a note of acknowledgment, nodding in his farce of interest, before reaching for a teacup to drink; hiding behind the liquid in lieu of conversation as honeyed-amber glanced back to the pages he’d been skimming. Nothing here would undo the mystery of a hijacked soul, and neither would anything in this Eorzean language answer the question of aetherial rifts.

“Oh, you brewed tea?” Small footsteps neared and again he glanced towards her to watch the bobbing motion of those sewn cat-ears atop her hood. “What did you pick?”

Uninvited (No, he made no motion to stop her, or even hint at such discomfort) Krile moved to sit across from him, moving a stack of tomes to the side so she could better see him, tilting her head as she sometimes did while waiting for his answer.

He didn’t know. Taste had long dwindled in the mercy of a deadman’s tongue.

With a crooked brow and a half smile, he motioned towards the spare cup that had come with the set (He’d not expected company, yet he brought two) and gave his half truth.

“Feel free to indulge. I wasn’t quite attentive to the package.”

There came the slight furrow, her lips thinned as she studied his demeanor for a pause before beaming with that unabashed acceptance. No, from the glint of mischief across her stare it was a call of his bluff. A challenge to be toppled. A lie to catch.

Clinking porcelain paired with paper pages as they both went about their business. The woman’s mature voice offering comments here and there for the fact the temperature had long iced over of the tea he was drinking, the covered kettle itself being little more than lukewarm - though the warmth of her bright company seemed to ease the frigid winds that covered the balcony around him, enough so that as he tapped a forefinger to his temple he couldn’t help but glance anew to the Lalafell across from him as she settled into her seat with drink in hand-

Only for her expression to sour as she sputtered and coughed - careful and polite to place the teacup back to saucer despite the somewhat comical disgust.

“It’s so-!” Her lips were pinched as tight as her eyes, the locks of brown swaying in time with the reactionary shake of her head to and fro in abject denial. “-Bitter! By the gods Silvaire, how long did you let that steep?”

The Elezen’s palm slid down from his temple to rest his chin within it, tapping his pinky against his lip as he tried to deny the mirthful smile that pulled at it. He failed of course, as he often did whenever she caught him alone. “Too long it seems.”

“I’d think you a member of the forum with a dedication like that.” Small fingers pushed the offending cup from her side, obviously no longer interested in it as she sighed, silence once again draping between them as if the coming night.

He made no motion to break it this time, at least not at first, continuing his pretending attempt to study the novels he’d already memorized, content to let the calm lay in place of conversation as each page turned. Again, and again, and again.

Why hadn’t she left?

Turning his gaze from reading ink to reading her posture, he stared at his companion for a few seconds in study, glancing over the now more direct sight of her tired complexion - though this physical weariness was not the burden that the scholar seemed to hold. It was the way her own attention seemed find focus in the mirror of that discarded bitter poison.

As if answers to the unspoken lingered in her own image.

“I can find something else if you’d prefer.” A statement he’d not meant to speak. Compassion to ease the weight across her features.

Krile’s eyes darted to his own within a heartbeat, a flush rising across her features as the young woman forced a smile; pushing down the obvious debate that plagued her inner thoughts. “No, no it’s alright, I’m fine.”

She answered the unaired question without batting an eye. His lip rose with a halfhearted smile in turn; and once more spoke before instinct could bite his light-bound words.

“You don’t have to be.”

Why did he say such a thing?

Why did she look at him with that slight bafflement? Bright blues slowly caressing his features as he let her - allowed her to see the unspoken - that lingered feeling that made him swallow whatever words remained. Overstepping the boundaries of this limited companionship, that is what he was doing. Opening the door he doubted any would step through.

“…Ishgardian healers came by today. They’d come to offer their services for the Scions.” Her hands rested atop the oak, fingertips sliding across the cold porcelain. “Of course, I was thankful for their assistance, I can’t be the only one keeping our friend’s bodies intact - I’d be insane to think otherwise…”

“…And yet?”

Krile closed her eyes and inhaled a long slow breath, before exhaling sharply, now staring down to her own clasped grip as thumb ran along forefinger. “You might not understand this, but I can always tell when someone is looking down on me. Metaphorically of course - given my stature, nothing otherwise is expected.”

Her pause wasn’t long, but his silence was filled with patience, the tomes before him ignored in favor to watch those minute mannerisms as she continued;

“I’ve always had the disadvantage of being different, both from my blessing, and often in pair with not being seen as… ‘equal’ as it were. A child quite often in the eyes of others - and despite how many achievements I manage, how powerful I prove myself to be, I’ll never be completely free from the judgment of my heritage or what others believe they know of me.”

Silvaire spoke now with a quietness that rumbled the lower notes of his voice, as if speaking his question too loudly would scare her from an answer. “And these healers thought you lesser?”

A hesitant nod followed, and she sighed audibly before resting her head atop the table, her cheek atop crossed arms as she looked out to the painted horizon. “Perhaps I’m just overly tired. Or the way they all but pushed me from the room with that overly-sweet tone just… rubbed me the wrong way.” Frustration dripped across her words as thin brows furrowed with her frown.

It was an expression he didn’t often get to see on her face, and just as quickly as it had come, it was gone - replaced with another long inhale, exhale, and those bright blues were back to sitting straight and staring at him.

That tender smile easy on her lips.

“Sorry, sorry. I know you’re not the kind to listen to the woes of others.” There was a drift to her attention as those unruly strands were once more tucked away. “I’ll be alright. It’s something of a personal gripe.”

He hummed, glancing down to the pages under his palm (The words blank in black ink, the more interesting topic sat before him) he gave a moment of pause before amber rose again - then back down, as if to deny himself a thought. The lord’s tongue darted across his lip as he gave in to that clawing light and spoke;

“Actually I’m fairly good at listening.”

Curiosity danced across the sky of her eyes, that same tilt she’d once more used in their talks alone as Krile hummed almost a mirror of one of his own. “Really? That’s a trait I’ve not seen yet.”

Silvaire bowed his head as a soft laugh broke free, the silken black of his hair drifting across his shoulders as it pooled atop the novel - pulled back to curtain his eyes from the sunset as he straightened only enough to remain at an easy level for his shorter companion.

“There’s many things you’ve not seen of me.”

Now it was her turn to laugh - a bright sound, light and airy despite the exhaustion that plagued her - a musical lilt that felt keenly familiar within the memories locked in the dark.

Would he tempt to open that door again? Honesty for she who could read his lies?

Pulling his hair back across his shoulders as it had been, he inhaled (A false breath for a deadman) feeling the warmth of once stiff air fill his lungs before he spoke, a tone seemingly different than the short motes of conversation. A change that Krile caught with an academic’s attention;

“While I… personally, cannot relate to such a thing, I know someone who could.” Mannerisms long hidden attempted to surface, idle fingers running flat along knuckle, a sorrowful smile begging as the heart tightened in thought. “A young woman who, for her entire life, had been looked down on for her weaker stature, as well as the lacking weight of the ties of blood.”

In a world forgotten, those traits held as much importance as the kings who ruled them.

The wind drifted across the table to flitter pages across one another, and it was only with the patience prompting of his companion that he found the drive to continue.

“By all accounts, she could fell beasts far larger - and far more dangerous - than even those trained for a lifetime. Swift as a bow, with daggers sharper than any arrow.” That hollow lord didn’t realize his smile had escaped, nor the joy that painted his words as he spoke of this buried memory. “And, just as you, she was quick witted, kind, and very prone to playful conversation.”

The Lalafell leaned forward to rest atop interlaced fingers, cocking her head to the side with a bemused smirk. “And did you suffer that same judgment when you first met?”

Dark brows raised as pale features flushed, only for a moment before he nodded - not in shame, but in earnest openness. “Yes, I did, I thought her loud, brash, and somewhat invasive to my personal space. That she was immature, and the first few times we crossed paths I assumed she was out of her depth.”

“What changed?” The undertone of her words wasn’t lost on him. If she was similar to the woman he spoke of, did he feel the same towards her?

He answered. “I spent more time with her. Firstly only a few jobs here and there, but soon enough… my solitude turned into a group.” Those idle fingers moved to toy with the edge of that half-empty cup, similar to her own a few minutes ago. “I learned that beneath it all, behind that bravado, she was constantly comparing herself to what others thought she should be. That should she ever fail to measure up to the expectations - she’d failed her father, and all he sacrificed in taking her in. That no matter how much she did, she would never be enough.”

At this, any motion of brevity was swept with the cold, and Krile’s posture stiffened, hiding her frown behind those clasped fingers as she looked down to the table between them. Her voice was quiet as his had been once before, as if she feared the answer to be lost.

“How did she deal with it?”

“She bit back. Hard.” His reply earned those glassy blues to flick up to him, studying the faint smile on his lips as Silvaire tilted his head to better look at the young woman across from him. “She spoke up anytime those feelings threatened her, and stood up for herself whenever others dared to challenge her confidence. She learned that the only person who’d fault her, was herself.”

Silence once more fell between them. Thick as the books that towered around her, cold as the wind that drifted ink black hair over his pale features. Yet, it was not a harsh quiet. Serene and still, calm as if the mirrored edge of the lake that crested just out of view - a reality known, yet unseen.

“It sounds like I could learn something from her, I’d love to meet her someday…” The woman’s voice and smile faded slowly as her mirth met gentle realization as she watched his passive tells. “…Though, something tells me that wouldn’t be possible.”

“…No.” Short, but gentle. A sadness best left buried.

And Krile respected that, it didn’t take the power of an echo to tell the finer details of the pain that wrapped so cleanly across the Elezen’s person. Instead she asked for a kindness, to share the weight of this unspoken ghost. “What was her name?”

He smiled, a small thing that prompted just as quick a hand to wipe it away, dragged across the dark of his facial hair as the man cleared his throat to chain away the emotion that followed his reply. “Lion. Her name was Lion.”

Sunlight dance over the Lalafell’s features as her own expression beamed, bringing a welcome warmth to the coming dark. With a quick hand she motioned to the two cups that still sat between them and grabbed her own with a praising lilt.

“To Lion then-“ With a quick sip of that bitter tea Krile was once more reminded of the reason it stay untouched for so long. “Oh gods- I forgot-“

Whether the plight of sputtering was on purpose, Silvaire would never know, but nonetheless it did the job to steal a genuine laugh from him, sealing away any bridled fears that came from clawing memories - and with that same bravado, took his own half-filled cup and did the same.

“To Lion.”

Only once the young woman had recovered from her short ordeal (a mischievous grin on her lips as she studied him, as if victorious in some unspoken goal) did she stand from the table - night had now come to shower the balcony in starlight, and it was with a renewed sense of confidence that the Lalafell turned to look back to her companion.

“Well, that’s enough of a break for me. I’m going to go shoo that Chirurgeon out of my spot and get back to it. You’ll keep to your studies then?”

Silvaire motioned towards the sky. “Worry not, I’ll rest when I need.”

He could see how her echo caught his lie, yet she said nothing of it beyond that specific tilt she did every time she did. “You better. Else I’ll come back out here and drag you to the extra bed we have.”

The conversation ended not with a goodbye, but a nod, that little motion of acknowledgment as he turned that slitted gaze to the papers he didn’t want to read. The brash creak of that unoiled hinge gave way to earthly silence, and the hollow lord was once more alone.

He’d forgotten how cold it was outside.

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I lied I'm drawing something properly for them I'm normal I swear I'm not normal I'm lying.

[come dawntrail I'll be even less normal]

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Have some unfinished things for Silvaire

An unfinished ref page with a more specific showing of how his scar curves and cute nose shape... I'll finish that soon enough!

annnd me being sad about how he looked originally before the thirteenth turned into the Void. (Aka FF11, he's originally the warrior of crystal in that universe, hence holding the name of 'Vana'diel' as a 'don't let this be forgotten' thing and I put it in the thirteenth on a different continent than Zero's blah blah me and my own large scale AU novels.)

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This probably won't be finished but here's a doodle comic of Krile and Silvaire things for between Endwalker > Dawntrail \o/ started re-sketching the first one and then realized it'd take me forever to do all of them so blah doodles it be! I'll learn to draw faster cause my fears be gone >:3c They're!! Lovely!!!! Bring me such joy!!!!!!!!!!

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I'm coming out of hiding about this cause I'm so fucking anxious about sharing this info about Silvaire Canon, but uh!! Sil's canon ship is with Krile!!

I'm anxious cause of the types of reactions that come with ships with lalafells and any race that isn't also a lalafell :( But! For a longstory short of my brainrot with them, Silvaire through most of the MSQ is still 'a voidsent' or technically a 'villain' type character, working behind the scenes to play multiple parties (reasons usually literally just to cause problems for the WoL to force them to grow as a person so they they'll be a 'better meal' down the line.) Though the longer he stays with the warrior of light the less atherical imbalance he has from his voidsent/darkness affliction and the original person he was (the warrior of crystal from ff11) comes through more as he is a good person deep down! Krile, is the first person to clock him on his behavior and see through the way he acts around people due to her Echo! She can read his intent and tell if he's lying, as well as see the unnatural traits (slitted eyes, sharp teeth etc etc) that are hidden from those unblessed. She's the main person who starts correcting his behaviour by giving him consequences for his attempts to distance himself from others by seeming 'untrustworthy' - as she can tell that he's never doing anything maliciously or to be cruel to the WoL or Scions. It's a very nice slowburn relationship! As Silvaire recovers his soul through the process of healing from his traumas (Shadowbringers is the main point he starts becoming a person again cause of his direct confrontation with Emet, and then post Endwalker dealing with the Thirteenth and the potential of fixing his original home) and Krile is a good support to that, as unlike the scions, she's not as quick to mistrust him (or in Thancred's case to fight him on most things) as said before she can sense his intent for what he does, and as he gets more of his 'soul' back, she's the first to offer that olive branch cause she believes him.

There's so much more!!! Honestly!! It's a long goddamn narrative for him, hence him having an entire Google Doc Lore (Covering his original ff11 Lore + The Hound of Garlemald + post > Actual game lore) but someday I'll have it all written, and by that point it'll be a novel in itself. But uh! Yes! I've always seen @starrysnowdrop's content and it eases my heart of worries for the affection I have for the relationship and the development I've done behind the scenes \o/ Inspiration to overcome my phobia's to talk about it in general as it were! The Gposes and Writing that they do is always beautiful!!! And heartwarming!! \o/ Give them a looksie! Their work is wonderful! I wouldn't be confident to post this without seeing them on my feed. But ya! I'll be doing more content of them now that I'm not being fearful of it! Cause they're important!! And I'm a sap!

Thanks for reading and while it's none of most people's business I will say that the relationship itself is emotional attraction top of all, and sexual aspects are not the focus of this narrative >:( Lalafell are adults who can have fully established relationships and 'sex' isn't an end-all-be-all when exploring character dynamics. The deep emotional connection and trust of secrets and feelings, as well as providing comfort from so many trials!!! Sorry rambling again. I care them very much!

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Voidtouched-blue [prior]

"I see," Cyra leaned her head into her hand. Tired eyes opened to look back at the man in her kitchen. She had more questions to ask, but at this point, it would be nothing more than an interrogation at the rate she was going. For someone who was kind enough to offer to help her with her research, she had a lot of questions that did not return the appreciation. "Apologies, I didn't intend to make you uncomfortable." Her apology was genuine, even if it felt empty. She fell quiet, closing her eyes again to nurse the throbbing base of the horns with gentle rubbing circles to the cloth.

He was pushing her again.

Paled skin still weak from bloodloss, tired eyes from that draining sleep, an ache obvious to those kind hands now pressed near knuckle-white to her own bandages. Was she aware of the force she used? Unlikely. Numbed, another note for his observations.

A smile, paired with a soft gesture of wrapped fingers. “You’re worried, and that’s commendable.”

Had she made him uncomfortable? No, no her questions were well founded and his answers all the same. It was the expectation that had been long missing from their shared company - to ask the obvious things that any normal person would wonder given the reach of his information.

Did she think less of him? That thought came first as the missing lilt of her still lingered.

It didn’t matter.

Cyra was unraveling, and a famished hound could not be trusted around a bleeding kit.

The lord cleared his throat, clasping his hands together after a few beats of silence, as if untangling the words from his thoughts; As if they themselves were nails to be hammered - a seal within the unknown.

“…On the topic of my work, I believe I have neglected my obligations longer than they'd assumed my absence.” A truth. He’d given no warning to those who waited in pen and stone of his departure. “…Soon enough there may be consequences for my selfish whims”

Even he could hear the way his excuse felt weighted; a disappointment clear in his speech that spoke volumes for how the man himself wished the opposite. Desired that reality would allow him to stay within her light as any normal life.

A hollow memory of something buried.

“Not to say I wish to rob you of your material, but a short sabbatical for myself in matters of business are probably in order.” Silvaire gestured towards the tomes they’d spent days cataloguing and sorting - hard earned from multiple setbacks. “If you’d allow, I’d return to see your progress…though, I'm not sure when without knowing the state of affairs.”

Her home felt stifling. The air was thick, palpable on his pallet of the unseen stiffness between them.

A short set of problems within the last day; all stacking details from the start, leading to this inevitable contention. ‘Her secrets for his’, but as push had come to shove-

-He was a coward. Blinded by empathy.

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Voidtouched-blue [prior]

"It concerns me that you're able to continue functioning in almost full normality considering the amount of pain any other would be experiencing were they in your experience." Her worries were valid considering the level of pain she had been in herself. With blood loss, the aches in her skin from her unfortunate incident in the previous week, and the splitting headache that felt as though it had carved fissures in her face-- he should have been in far more pain than he showed.

Cyra’s voice was clear in her intent, spoken as bandaged hands came to feel the smooth ceramic against his fingertips. A cooling warmth, fading from the missing heat of the meal once prepared - and for a moment, the lord stilled, meeting the stark resolve of her gaze before pulling back with a mumbled reply;

“Often enough I suppose.” Omission was the easiest sin.

In all their time together - almost never apart within both day and night of her studies or injuries - the young woman had only briefly spoken with such a direct lead. Needed questions for some perceived mending, yet here it was different.

Those studious thoughts had finally begun to look behind the curtain of his puppetshow.

Low water was given to the dirty plate, nothing drastic for the minimal amount of things to clean from her meal; yet with the knowledge of her stare upon him (no longer distracted by a novel or tome atop the table), Silvaire pinned his sleeves only in part, conscious of her for the first time since her arrival to his manor.

As cloth met utensil her statement spoke anew, and the lord stilled again, listening to her with rapt attention despite the tasks that occupied his hands - though his answer came after a short pause, freeing his fingers to tap against the countertop as a moment was given. One both expected and earned for thoughts thus far unaired.

Long had it been since someone had given reality to the ‘concern’ of his mortal well being, and longer still had it been since he himself had missed the cue to lie.

Once more the Elezen turned to lean against the counter, a towel to his hands to dry them for a moment as he gave his host his full attention - to do otherwise would only continue to prompt the ‘unnatural’ way he seemed to ignore the feelings that sparked across his skin.

Her secrets for his. Yet the man could not find an excuse to hide her from them.

All the more reason to leave, before she pulled the chain. Before command.

“…My work consists of a few things, one towards the sale of labour or property within Ul’dah. Another, a middle man to facilitate dealings of higher houses.” Those things within the normal sun, on paper and pen. The towel was placed to the side as he sighed, running a hand across his jaw before continuing - aether within his throat compelled the rest, even if he knew the clever woman would only take herself further with each breadcrumb offered.

“The other, as I touched on before, comes from the more… untraditional needs. Where Gil is worth less than the dirt beneath our heels.” His eyes glanced past her towards the tomes they’d brought from his library - as well as that newly brought case of crystal husks - nodding quietly as he crossed his arms in mortal habit. “Some of those clients have specific… wants. Wants that cannot be sated where the law condemns them.”

Though he stood apart from her, to that guilty soul, she felt too close all the same. How he loathed these feelings, this warmth - these memories - almost to the point of desiring her to tear those claws into his throat just to bleed the light away.

“Of course… that isn’t to say all of them are like that. Some just wish for knowledge. As you did.”

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue [Prior]

"Feeling better? How are your hands, and your eye?" How else was she to open up the realm for further questions than to inquire about his health? For him to be cooking a meal for her, with the state his hands had been in, it must have hurt quite a bit. The bruising on his eye would likely have caused some blurred vision, but with his experience in kitchen crafts it shouldn't have affected the quality of his work too much... but the injuries to each knuckle would have been enough for even the healer to avoid such meticulous tasks. "I can't imagine that cooking this for me would have been easy considering the pain you'd be in from those scuffed knuckles."

She smelled clean, yet the scent of voidsent rot lingered beneath. His own, or the parasite, he couldn’t say.

The rise of her compliment earned a hummed note of reactionary thanks, glancing gold across his shoulder before returning to post-meal cleaning, wiping down the counters, organizing utensils, the normal things he’d come to do each day.

Her voice was hollow, a missing lilt under each syllable despite the perfect mimicry of her. The man shook his head softly, no. She was tired, in both mind and bone; her conversations did not come in the morning while she ate.

No tail swept along the floor in idle music, that staccato rhythm a metronome memorized, now missing from his orchestra of clinking stovetop pans and wrapping extra ingredients. The sky bore onto his shoulders as she watched him, even on a passing glance of his own, those slitted blues held no shame in the curiosities storming within her thoughts.

Spices were capped and returned to the rack, label out, from common use to rare.

Civilized hands continued their meal, lax in pace in pair with his own - until her voice gave rise to new music.

A stiffness came over the Elezen's posture for only a flash of a second (a heartbeat ignored), and with a painted smile he turned halfway for a moment to see her, answering after clearing his throat to remind those stolen vocal cords of their purpose.

"Good, I'm ah, good."

Dismissed with the calm show of passive ability of flexed fingers before finishing the last of sorting countered items - leaving a basin to be filled with water for the dishes she still possessed - a methodical swiftness that came with experience, leaving his hands empty and surfaces cleaned. Evidently taskless till she was done.

For a moment he glanced towards her, watching her eating (and her watching him in turn) and contemplated the tightness in his chest. The dense feeling of that light’s anxiety that came from an unspoken pressure. A familiarity of eggshells. The morn between them had brought something new beyond the terrors of her dreams, a fact the man couldn't place - and with that mask he kept his distance, leaning his hip against the counter - in time for her second question to meet him.

No, not question. A statement.

She had seen the wounds across portions of his body from that unexplained night, even wrapped them herself with careful salve. A beautiful mind as hers already knew the damage done; and the expected result of human mortality.

A chuff of air escaped the man on a habit he didn't know, facing his host as he looked to those thin fingers ringed by careful medical whites, and only that single second of hesitation (the moment an actor could never replicate) he nodded with furrowed brows, waving the air softly before he crossed his arms loosely.

"Some pain here and there yes, but nothing I’ve not the time to adjust to." A half truth. Eyes cast away as the man continued. "By the portion missing from your meal I doubt a shivering hand had any ill effect." A tone of humor paired with a hummed chuckle.

Reality brought instead how that light gave him sensation; the stolen life of the woman before him serving to temper that primal greed into mortal sin. Thus was the pain earned for the imagined violence he dealt upon her. This guilt that weighed was only possible due to the aether that had slipped down his throat within the night. Pieces of her she’d not meant to give.

Although his answer was spoken, the air within that vibrant home felt stifling. Dark. The type of razor’s edge that had once been the warning of a lover's descent to madness. Reminiscent of the thick divide between the sundered and that umbral twisted ascian. Ignored then, as that hopeful man ignored it now.

It was his imagination. Those innermost thoughts that tormented the shards of the man that remained. He had not stolen that from her, his teeth had not yet devoured such a blessing.

Her meal was finished. Take the plate.

[forgotten-contract]

Voidtouched-blue [Prior]

"I'm fine," she assured him. "I can manage." Finally able to steady her breathing, she shuffled past him. Using every surface available to aid in her path to the bathroom, she made it to the door by stubborn determination alone. It was ironic the way she refused help herself, but assured others that there was nothing wrong with seeking aid for themselves. The thought curled her paled lips into a sad smile. A healer has no need for assistance in healing her own hurts.

No sooner had he made toward the kitchen did his host once more find herself at odds with gravity. The whipping blue of her tail thudded in an uneven tempo against the floor, the bedding, her own legs - claws grasping for stability to the chair he’d brought over in the midst of yet another show of aetherical exertion within his presence. Something that seemed almost fated to bleed her.

“Careful, you’re still recovering… again.” His attempt at humor was met by a thick silence as he came to stand near her (Arms length once again), honeyed eyes studying the violent shiver that crossed white knuckles as the woman fought to keep her independence. “…Cyra-“

‘I’m fine.’ A breath. Eyes away. ‘I can manage.’

Her words were not sharp or spoken with bitten teeth, yet all the same Silvaire felt his fingers tighten around his wrist behind him, any offers he had for assistance clawed back as she moved beyond him - and unlike the past few times, those healer’s hands did not find his person for balance as she hobbled; walls and objects claimed more supportive.

She vanished behind the door, and he did not speak.

To his task he returned.

Idle hands began their focus of foodstuffs and dishes, heating water and dicing produce in a quiet that came naturally. By her own actions she knew something of the time within her soul, uncertain of it as an understood reality - a fact the man found himself thankful for, if only temporarily.

Yet, doubtlessly she blamed the unknown for the turn of her health - once thought recovered, now stolen without knowledge, without consent of the consequences.

Bandaged fingers drifted across his lips, the memory of her taste paired with the supple feast of blinding aether - of the swift snap of her collarbone between his teeth, the tightness of the flesh around him as bliss wrapped with devouring agony, willing on his pallet to sink wholly within that blind oblivion, his name on her tongue, her sweet sounds, heartfelt admittances-

‘Love?’ The emperor had spoken. Confusion with a laugh.

‘Of your family, or are they puppets as any other?’ His question continued as they’d looked to the cradle of the firstborn child.

Silence, thickly parted by honesty. ‘Husks of what they should be… Same as you.’

Garlean silks wrapped around the babe with care befitting truth as the child was picked up by the father to leave. A quiet whisper from the master’s teeth, hollow beneath the lights. ‘But… Yes. I love them… and you? You’ve earned your place with that devotion of yours.’

For a Hound, such praise had not been seen has the red mark it was, but instead prideful acceptance. Yet, even then as now, the beast ever was that broken toy. A past of bloodied teeth and wanton sins - escaping the violence that light loathed - paired within a present of easy lies, desperate isolation, and now…

The click of the heat dimmed the pan as Silvaire made to plate her meal. Already he’d learned her preferences, already he’d found the things the woman he served enjoyed the most. A dynamic unknown to her bright smiles - for she was the feast he so desired, the taste of her had become his favourite; and how sinful greed had become a lash to himself snapped taut in the memory of condemnation.

With a plate to cover to keep the heat, he brought it to the table; idle fingers drifting to rub along the bruises that choked him - but it was not the marks of that Contract that bothered him, but the remaining barbs of umbral iron; digging into the metaphorical at the way he’d hurt her. Devoured her. Bled her. Only a thimble of his earned punishment that waited were he to give into that seeping dark.

He would try again, wouldn’t he?

Of course. Thus had become the pattern. Even he was cognizant enough to see that.

Bruised features stared down to the bandages that wrapped his knuckles. Tapping against the table with an idle sting, earned with each growing thought. She’d started her questions. He’d started his honesty. That was the cause of losing the leash; the more she learned while the man saw her clever mind piece it together - the closer gnashing teeth came to her throat.

Then… it was time to leave. Return to the manor. Allow her to recover without his interference. If she’d not found fancy in an attempt to ease his eyes - if he’d not found such charity a selfish desire - then the dark would not be fed.

How kind was the light to wish her protected, knowing only the same fate waited for him.

Silvaire had not known how long he stood there in quiet contemplation until the audible noise of her return shook him from his thoughts; a master of masks he smiled as ever before, nodding to her with a motion towards the table - words locked within the bridled memories that woke his silence - turning after a moment to begin that habit to clean.

To avoid seeing the damage he’d wrought, or the reminders of her bandages upon his skin.

Apathy was easier, even if her presence pulled him from the cold.