#[ guizhong: morax. ] when our eyes meet; eternity is defined. [ delusionaid. ]

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Guizhong (don't mind me re-dropping this with the fixed ones, shh)

[iniziare]

It was innate, this, the way her form when it was drawn to and into his own succumbed to every semblance of peace she had ever known in a life prior, and relished therein. The breath held within her lungs, as unsteady as it had become, soothed and released into the fabric of his attire instantly, and the warmth nestled within the palm of his hand, ever consistent as it had ever been, cradled the faltering contrast of her own. Warm, cool, warm, cold— the energy housed within this mortal form neared exhaustion, for even that which was borne of divinity could not persist without fatigue. Perhaps that lay at the cause of such wavering memories, this inability to tell a dream she had lived so oft before in death, from the reality of life before her now. And yet, it was this mortal form that would grant the mind of something celestial the reprieve that it so desperately sought. It was this, this manifestation of mortality, this body, that remembered that which had once become intrinsic to it, for it had recognized him: Morax. It recalled the way his breath caressed its cheek when he had drawn her near, the way all tension simply... dissipated the very instant that it felt the envelope of his embrace. He was steadfast, still, she felt it just as she once had; Morax, a beacon that had never faltered in any promise that he had ever made, whether they were uttered aloud or existent only in hushed whispers that could merely be felt, and never heard.

And so, when reassurance came in hushed warmth, a promise like all those that came before, her breath eased against the fabric at his shoulder, just as the weight of her sank into him in excruciating ease. It was intrinsic, and it would always remain so, this faith in him that had been cultivated and nurtured to exist throughout the eternity that lay ahead of them. And so, as her gaze of ashen grey softened amidst this reprieve, her eyes, aside the hand that rested to his chest, fluttered to a close against him. Peace.

And yet, it proved short-lived; these sounds of cascades would find a mind stumbling, and a breath to once more grow uncertain, unsteady. For a moment, this familiarity strayed not to peace, but to the recollection of turbulence, and a furor of waves that had drowned out even mortal screams, before all had grown still, into a deafening silence, one meant for perpetuity. And just as it once had, long ago, the hand at his chest tensed, its fingers curling to grasp at the fabric that clung to him. No, no, I don't want to go— but here, this time, her strength did not waver in the way that it had then, and though the sound of his breath had dulled much the same, it returned to her now. This wasn't a memory, it couldn't be. "Morax?" Her grip endured, proved itself as unwavering as the embrace in which he'd kept her still, even when her eyes reopened, and a gaze of ashen grey was met a sanguine sky that she had seen of countless times, much too long ago. Why did her grip on him tighten, when the rest of her seemed to have stilled into serenity? "This is—" Nothing in this mortal world or in its heavens could ever hold such a similar scene: a perpetual transition of day to night, a moment of utmost harmony between one and another, a cyclical nature of time, and the closest the sun could ever get to embracing its moon: her Realm of Clouds. But one question, nor one gaze could ever suffice to satiate this confusion for what surrounded them, and how it was even here, and yet, all withered at the curiosity that far surpassed all else in existence: him, and the warmth of him hidden beneath this foreign fabric, beneath the palm of her hand. It was this, that drew that gaze before all else, took it from the golden glow of the sunset that warmed them, and stole it from the countenance before him. But he held it ever firmly nonetheless, as it followed the trace of her fingers, those that ached to touch, to feel him, under the presence of her breath.

Standing so close, after all this time, and seeing her before him is surprisingly unlike every dream he's had of her on the nights he dared to sleep. It's not peaceful and serene - a quiet moment shared in familiar spaces under the warm embrace of the sun - but something sudden and disruptive; it touches things he hasn't felt in millennia, wakes thoughts and emotions from their slumber that he has fought to lay to rest. Her return was always a possibility - but after so long a time even a god such as him must waver in his hope. Her strength, though different from his, maintained the assembly alongside his and her death marked its end alongside his defeat. But even that strength is not enough to move a mountain once again and undo the choices that have been made in the space she left behind, not enough to rekindle a promise that was drowned in blood and tears. Though shaken, he remains, but for a moment that which once was is felt like a palpable thing.

He watches the dust collect and gather in her palm, perfecting the shape he remembers like his own hand, reforming from pure memory and her wish to live. Like a rebirth of something that always existed, its true essence displayed through its own cycle of reemergence. She looks at him and the moment she falters is the moment memory gives way to reality and the time that passed rises from the ground like a wall of glass between them. Though she my look and feel the same, he is not the one she remembers nor will he ever be again, and as gradual as change came to him over centuries, on her face he sees how radical it must be after all. He never fully envisioned this moment so no expectations were born that can be disappointed, but her confusion stands out as undesirable regardless, as natural as it is. Familiarity, he finds, is a greater good than anticipated.

He speaks only a few words that are taken away by the wind, taken like her memory of them and all that came before. They are irrelevant, for a moment later he might have said a different thing, a moment sooner nothing at all; but when she reaches out he doesn't make her wait a moment longer. His hand catches hers the moment it extends, his fingers curling around hers like they did long ago. He steps closer swiftly, his other arm wrapping around her shoulders to hold her against him. It's an instinct and a need, a decision made the moment her eyes flickered with a tinge of weakness, a measure against a risk he's not willing to take. "I'm taking you away from here," he promises, already conjuring up the energy to leave this place behind.

Re-emerging in a flicker of gold, they are greeted by the deafening sound of water falling around them, the air filled with a fine mist that clings to the hair and skin right away. With a glance towards the sky he creates a shield above the domain, sealing the entrance to keep out all forces - good or malicious - and blocking her essence from glowing like a beacon. As strange as he may seem to her, this place remained as she knew it. It will offer protection as well as peace of mind and before he can be certain of her state in both ways those two things remain a priority.

He takes her inside where it's quiet and peaceful, an everlasting setting sun over a sea of rose-gold clouds. A sanctuary, a workspace, a treasury of rarities; a place untouched by the troubles outside - that, he ensured. Underneath the golden tree he slows, on the highest isle, a place where he'd sometimes seen her sit. But he doesn't let go. His hold on her is not unbreakable but firm. He senses her, her qi, her breath, her skin against his body, and for the first time in a long time he wishes to feel without his gloves.