#◟༺✦༻◞ Angelus dracōnem nancīscitur. ┊Aria of the Celestials┊

[reginrokkr]

But what if in a few decades down the river of time, something causes the remnants of defilement yet to dissolve completely in the fountain of all waters flare again? As if reacting to his sliver of doubt, images that don't match with the scenery before him play within sapphire irises. People who seek to manifest Elynas back to life again, a fight within a dimension he cannot describe as another thing but the beast's interior— far from one would expect if they were to imagine directly a monster's bowels. Not to his surprise, truth be said, for Rhinedottir's creations proved to be magnificent in their own right and bizarre all the same.

Dáinsleif snaps out of his brief reverie in time to offer gratitude in ways that a noble man would as a result of a successful cooperation. Tokens of gratitude that to the other's misfortune, would go to waste if projected to his person. These exact thoughts manifest through a gentle shake of his head first, not without feeling gratitude for his sentiment, regardless. ◜I am undeserving of your kindness.◞ Since when did the Dragon show compassion to him, when it all started as reasonable skepticism and lingering doubts that what he said to initiate their cooperation would play out that way? ◜But if it helps, know that the trust you deposited on me that I do not seek to be hostile to your very existence and that I would commit to my part of the cooperation is more than enough.◞

Sovereign's next words leave Twilight Sword at a loss that reflects in quivering star-shaped pupils. Is that the impression he's gotten of him? That he's some savior confronting the threats that jeopardize this world's safety? For a moment, Dáinsleif finds the necessity to pause and reflect, to rouse from his shocked stance that hardly betrays his visage if not for his eyes and a slight arch of fair eyebrows, deep in thought as he is. ◜...◞ And so celestial azures drop from the dragon. If he felt he's undeserving for the kindness extended to him for his assistance in Fontaine, now he feels even more for giving off an image that doesn't correspond to himself.

For he's naught but a sinner. A man tasked to protect his people in a kingdom that is no more. A failure forced to live on for gods know how long with the weight of guilt for surviving where he should've passed.

◜As you correctly guessed, it was no coincidence that I appeared at the most opportune of times to help solve Fontaine's crisis. Nevertheless... I am afraid you got the wrong impression of me. What I did until now, with Fontaine as the last place touched by the Cataclysm that erupted from Khaenri'ah first, was righting the wrongs of the people I was supposed to protect so that those who chose to live under the protection of the Seven don't have to face their wrath, to go through in some manner or form the same as my people did unjustly. Now that mission is complete, so I...◞

I don't know what to do.

Light brows knit in a frown as albescent lashes flutter to a close, covered with starlit bangs. Dáinsleif's face turns slightly away from the dragon to conceal himself. ◜I have nothing left to do but go away. For want as I may, I cannot pass away— no matter how undeserving to keep living I am; no homeland to return.◞ A pause. ◜Unlike most people of this world, I am untouched by fate too. So if I have no other choice but live with this curse that plagues me and keep moving forward, perhaps... I should search for my destiny.◞

If those Khaenri'ahns who boasted about being pure-blooded and untainted by fate like him were to listen to him now, they would revel in his misery. In actuality, he can almost hear their laughter ring in his ears— while many more, now cursed to be hilichurls, might be offended for throwing away what they'd call a blessing he has.

Tired of sinking in his own misery and aware that he shouldn't drag someone whose interest is far from watching this petty scene, Dáinsleif straightens himself as his eyes open to take once more in the beautiful and sorrowful scenario before him. In due time, even the core of all waters in this world shall be purified again. He can take as much. ◜Not without giving you one last word of advice, Hydro Dragon: come years to pass, maybe decades, there will be those who will seek to bring Elynas back to life. If you understand the repercussions of such event, I suggest you exercise caution and interfere at the earliest sign of danger you encounter.◞

Ultimately does Bough Keeper pivot with the intention to leave. A few steps in, he finds it in his heart to stop and glance at the dragon one last time. ◜Thank you. For bringing me to safety and protecting me.◞

May we never cross paths again— it will be for the best.

The dragon sovereign blinks slowly upon hearing a voice rise behind him, thoughts gently pulled back from the depths to which they had come to simmer. A very light turn of his head is the only indication he gives of acknowledging his guest, attentive to the grogginess in his voice. He sounds worn, exhausted, but otherwise, on a safe road to recovery from their ordeal. Good. Sacrifices are needed to save what can be saved from the black tide, but the safekeeping of Fontaine is a duty that befalls him. Even though what this duty entails remains... elusive and fuzzy at best -- Neuvillette has no plan of watching another fall because of his own shortcomings.

"We did." He confirms, low and quiet while the Bough Keeper rises from his bedrest. He waits, patiently, listening to the shuffle of his steps as he joins him before the windows, and turns his gaze back to the cloudy skies outside. Indeed, they did make it. Neuvillette can feel the waters of Fontaine and the soil they seep into breathe again, healed from a sickness that had just begun to take root and fortunately been uprooted at the right time before it had been too late. Neuvillette, attentive, watches, present in every one of those sapphire droplets raining from the skies, dissolving into every inch of land, appeasing every wounded living things fallen victim to the darkness. This feat, he would not have been able to accomplish on his own.

This awareness makes him equal parts grateful for his companion's assistance, and resentful to the heavens above. It is only because they amputated him, that he had needed assistance to rescue the world they had stolen, usurped, defiled. What a mockery - what a ridiculous farce.

The Bough Keeper speaks again, and Neuvillette at last fully turns his gaze to him (is this joy and relief, faint and distant as they are, that he beholds upon masked features?). "Yes, indeed. But there is no reason to worry. Though the land may take time to heal, I can guarantee you that the corruption will not be spreading any further. With your assistance, we have ensured this at the very least - and my own power will be sufficient in containing it, before it will dissolve entirely." A promise, from one keeper to another. He has, at the very least, earned that privilege of him.

"The nation of Fontaine owes you a great debt - although I do feel, based on our short cooperation, that you will deny and refuse all and any necessity of such." Few are the people bound by honour that he has met in his short dive into human society - as though the whole concept belonged to the world of yore only. A hint of satisfaction, and curiosity, glimmers in the depths of his eyes; as if content to have been perhaps proven wrong. "Still, if there is anything I may, in turn, offer to assist you or otherwise thank you for your help, know that this door remains open."

The dragon marks a short pause, thoughtful, before he decides to lift the lid of his contained curiosity. Now that the worst of the crisis is over, now that he can feel, in the deepest recesses of his soul, Fontaine healing and recovering, what necessity is there to push it back? "You appeared at the most opportune of times, and it is clear to me that you know more of this world's inner workings than most do." He says, pondering. "You are a man on a mission, that much is clear. Is that how your steps led you to Fontaine and to Elynas? And what is the next step, now that this threat has been dealt with?"

[reginrokkr]

Tag dump #?:

◟༺✦༻◞ immortality won't last forever to gods nor humans┊yìng xīng → seraphicus.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ tears of life; chasers of withering death┊dáinsleif × yìng xīng.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ lunarescent lyratum. ┊aria of the swords┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ rubescent impermanence. ┊aria of the swords┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ solarescent lycoris. ┊aria of the swords┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ lapis tranquility. ┊aria of the swords┊

◟༺✦༻◞ may one day the oceans know the joy of your return; o' léviathan ┊neuvillette → seraphicus.┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ o σεραφείμ συναντά αρχέγονες ηχώ.┊aria of the primordial┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ ηχώ της αναγέννησης.┊aria of the primordial┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ το φως λάμπει πάνω στον ευγενή.┊aria of the primordial┊

[reginrokkr]

Tag dump #?

◟༺✦༻◞ Angelus dracōnem nancīscitur. ┊Aria of the Celestials┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ Conflit d'identité. ┊Aria of the Celestials┊ ◟༺✦༻◞ When reason to be shines through. ┊Aria of the Celestials┊

[reginrokkr]

Being minimally cognizant of the importance of holding power over the Axis Mundi would suffice to make anyone mad from delusion, always seeking more and more in a moment where a folie de grandeur becomes prominent in themselves. Thus arrogance is born, a sense of superiority and pursuit of control of others whom in their mind are in a lower position is begotten. To Dáinsleif, nevertheless, it is different. Perhaps it is because he lived in Khaenri'ah long as he had to recognize these patterns immediately, starting from something as simple as the segregation of classes that was present in the kingdom betwixt pure-blooded and those who are not. The reason? Something admittedly grand to those who trust not the gods: to be spotless and untouched by fate in this world that everything is dictated by the Heavenly Principles.

Precisely because he holds this connection to Irminsul he has learned of some of the repercussions behind his actions and kept his capabilities muted to most in order to not rise suspicion or be commanded to commit irresponsibilities for a cause that he disagreed with. For no life is more precious than the other, aristocrat or otherwise. That is why in his final moments in Khaenri'ah, his orders to his entrusted were clear:

Protect everyone at all costs.

Glacial sapphires open with a start from that very memory after an undetermined time slumbering without halt, lungs begging for oxygen causing his chest to rise and fall frantically as if he stopped breathing sufficient time to warrant that reaction. Until at long last Dáinsleif stabilizes and realizes that he's laying atop a soft surface, a bed he recognizes through his hands. Twilight Sword sits on the bed and stares at the back of the Hydro Dragon, standing before a window. Right, the last thing they have done was defeat Elynas in a co-joined cooperation, and after that...

◜Did we... make it?◞ Were he hear himself as an observer of this scenario and not an active actor of it, he would find amusement in his own question. He whom had the trust in his own capabilities and those of the dragon's, even if he didn't know at which point of power he currently stood, was the one asking if they achieved what they joined strengths for. Astral pupils look towards the great window, skies darkened with clouds as they were when they met at the graveyard of ships before pursuing Elynas, albeit this time it's different. Instead of pouring dark rain, he would swear that the raindrops have a sapphire glimpse to them he has never seen before. Beautiful.

A muted wince escapes him as he tries to stand, his body aching from exertion still and depleted strength he used in that moment to enable the Hydro Dragon to purify the waters of this land. Dáinsleif persists nevertheless, walking barefoot towards the window to join the Iudex slow as his movements are.

From this view, he can ascertain his previous assumptions: the sapphire rain falls gently, the darkness offered by the ceiling of clouds none the worse than it was before— actually, he would dare to say that it feels different as he can perceive a few shy rays of moonlight piercing through the gaps betwixt the clouds. This is as much confirmation as he needed: they made it. And thus sapphire irises soften with cautious joy at the thought that the people of Fontaine hadn't suffered the irreparable pain those who became fiends of the Abyss sought from the rest of Teyvat, as per what the late King Irmin wished as well in his last moments of delirium. ◜It will take some time until the defilement is dissolved completely. Not nearly as much as it would've been the case, if this crisis was left unchecked.◞

The sovereign's gaze remains on the Bough Keeper's, unwavering, unmoved (or so he'd like to think - but caution still urges him to exercise restraint, to tread carefully around those any of his kin, had they survived, would doubtlessly dub an enemy) as he collects his strength, evidently in pain even as he rises back to his feet. Neuvillette takes no delight in his pain, and sympathy nestles in his chest, but his compassion is a privilege hard-earned. Foolish would one be to mistake him from the warm, gentle, innocent waters of the surface; the dragon sovereign embodies the cold and merciless currents of the depths just as well.

The Bough Keeper rises back to his feet, and Neuvillette keeps his eyes on him, cautiously curious. It is almost as though the man doesn't see him. Star-branded eyes are set on something that lies beyond him, a mission, a duty -- of course Neuvillette would recognise that determination wherever he'd look at it. The question that lingers on his mind, as he silently follows behind, like a shadow at the man's back, is: how far is he willing to go, to rectify that wrong he claims to chase?

Answer comes to him soon enough, Elynas' carcass abandoned behind them to the sorrow of the earth he inadvertently poisoned and that will soon reclaim him all the same (the earth does not discriminate in what it welcomes in its bosom, kinder than people, dragons and gods), while they steps lead them to the weeping willow Neuvillette has not visited in what now seems like too long a time. How shriveled and sad it looks, slowly agonising while the world remains indifferent to its loss. Guilt seizes his heart (he should have done something to restore it earlier - why had he let his new duties distract him so?); but there is no time to dwell on the sentiment. Draconic eyes meet with the Bough Keeper, and he nods in return. He is ready.

His eyes are still on the Bough Keeper as elemental energy, pure and raw, runs through the Ley Lines and revitalises them; and it is as though the ancient dragon can hear them sing through every micro drop of humidity hanging in the air, on blades of grass, on dried up branches and dampened soil. Lips part in stunned silence, the dragon unable to remember when he last experienced such a surge of elemental power (if ever, in this broken, misshapen new form of his); bewildered by the sight of blue orbs and motes rising from a ground coming back to life. It is almost breathtaking. Who is this man, who is capable of conjuring such power that not even he expects from himself?

And thus Twilight Sword, expended in his exhaustion, falls to the ground; and the ancient dragon takes one urgent, instinctive step towards him, before he realises the aura that cradles him like an exhausted child welcome back to protective arms. Fascinating. Neuvillette's shoulders relax, and a sigh escapes his lips. Very well, then. Primordial eyes return to the willow, now bathed in glory anew, its energy responding to his like a distant echo found again. Slowly, the dragon of water approaches; and as he does, summons to him the power of hydro contained in every droplet of water within reach, within the land. Around him and Dainsleif, darkness grows and shrouds them; not akin to night, but rather, a perfect reminiscence of the still and quiet darkness of the depths of the sea. "Fontaine thanks you for your assistance, Bough Keeper." He murmurs as he walks past him, gloved hand briefly grazing the unconscious man's shoulder as he heads to the tree. And as ancient power is summoned, echoes of dragons of old materialise into the present, ghostly blue fins growing from a vessel that has not yet entirely forgotten where it came from. "Today is not yet the day that man's or gods' folly will bring the ruin they so deserve." With his hand does cane carved from brethren's bones rise; and a single hit into the ground, unleashes forth the full might of which this failed dragon is capable of, hydro resonance carried through the soil, amplified, propagated by the Ley Lines; and beneath all of Fontaine, does purification spread, igniting remnants of poisonous abyss, letting the land breathe like a dying creature miraculously revived.

A miracle he would never have accomplished alone. A miracle he knows he owes the man right behind him, who sacrificed his strength to save a land that is not his.

The skies of Teyvat weep once more; this time the rain carrying the soothing balm of an ancient dragon's power heal its plight. For now, Fontaine will be safe. Neuvillette turns on his heels, heads back to the unconscious man curled up on the damp grass. "And neither Fontaine, nor I, will forget it." He mutters, before letting his cane dissipate into a mist of hydro, and lowering himself to collect his unconscious associate. Healed as the land is, leaving him here would not be wise. He will not rest, until he has carried the Bough Keeper to safety.

[reginrokkr]

Indescribable is the overwhelming pain that acts up with the birth of a shockwave of colossal magnitude of gold and sapphire, one piercing against the other with Elynas in betwixt. Dáinsleif immediately grasps the fabric of clothes that cover the immediate area of his breast, his chest plate glowing in intensity never seen before as the piercing ache akin to thousands of needles leave him no room for rest. It must be the curse... no, maybe it is the incompatibility of his existence betwixt light and darkness that makes it so painful, as if they are battling for dominance. Such is the irremediable nature of these energies.

Twilight Sword lands on the grass on one knee and pants for air as if something removed the oxygen out of his lungs, one hand curling in a fist on the ground to steady himself and the other's fingers trembling byproduct of the strength used to squeeze the spot over his heart. Half-dazed does he feel some semblance to the creature of the Abyss they have just defeated, its presence beckoning him to look up in time to see a small creature that he hasn't seen before: a soul. His breath hitches in his throat momentarily as he sees the creature tilt its head to one side and hide its hands behind its back, a sad smile in its eyes as its voice reverberates within his mind.

I am sorry. Goodbye.

Cold rain and the echo of another voice beckons Dáinsleif out of his trance in time to see the dragon has landed beside him. Teeth grit at the pain he temporarily ceased to feel, now flaring on his right arm which he holds as he sees his own trembling hand facing him. He curls it into a weak fist and closes his eyes to take a deep breath. It'll pass. It'll pass.

Solemn gaze turns towards the black waters before them that surround the entirety of the nation. Just like that, it can pour past the waterfalls to their descent to the rest of Teyvat— they cannot afford that. ◜Whether it did or not, it matters not.◞ For it certainly did not, too much has happened in so little time and he did not get used to the pain of the curse yet. However, he won't let it stop him from fulfilling his word. Thus Dáinsleif pushes himself to stand on his feet, fighting the exhaustion in his eye to look at the primordial dragon. ◜We are running out of time. Let's go.◞

So long as you can make it with what little assistance I can offer, it'll be alright.

The sight of the weeping willow is heartrending, devoid of life almost completely as it is and bereft of the blue that nearby spirit veins should give to it. Bough Keeper's steps are slow and steady as he stops right before it to look at the tree, the little life left it has emanating a faint golden glow as if telling that it hasn't given up. Nevertheless, there was truth in his previous words when he said that they don't have much time left.

Blue motes of light emerge at his feet as Dáinsleif pushes himself to walk closer to the bark of the tree, a gloved hand smoothes over its wood gentle as if it'd shatter under his touch if he was any harsher. Albescent lashes flutter close to make sure that there is sufficient energy in the willow to sustain the cleansing rite and, to their fortune, there is. His eyes open and his head turns slightly to make eye contact with the Hydro Dragon. A nod is offered to him, exhausted as he is— he can rest when all of this is over.

Let us begin.

Dáinsleif's head turns anew towards the tree and his eyes close in concentration, sapphire flames emanate from his hand to sustain the weeping willow. Its might is absorbed into itself, golden glow fades and what little light was around them disappears with it momentarily until all spirit veins at their feet glow and form a net the more Ley Lines are connected: from below the ground to the water veins within the surrounding lake. Several blue motes emerge from the earth and float skywards, the spirit veins that congregate in the glow within it and make it shine.

It is your turn now, Hydro Dragon.

So was the last thought that permeates the lunarescent seraph's mind before his consciousness departs, his body falling gently onto his knees as if cradled by the very aura he just imbued the suffering willow with.

This world needs not more individuals like him. It has made it unabashedly clear, throughout centuries of extermination, erasure, of open and gleeful hostility that would shed blood and extinguish an entire race before masking the bloodbath in innocent fairytales of heroism and children stories. The world does not need, and certainly does not want, more individuals like him. The hydro dragon watches on from his perch as Bough Keeper launches himself into battle, an ancient anger rising like the tide and rumbling right below the waves. By no fault of the Khaenri'ahn warrior, truly. But how can he look down at the situation they face, heed those words, and not want to laugh dryly at the terrible, cruel irony of their situation?

This world does not need or want more individuals like him. But for now, it is all this world has.

Elemental seal strengthens its hold on the beast as it seeks escape, lashing out on the Khaenri'ahn; whose every movement Neuvillette's sharp gaze follows attentively. Even at the distance he finds himself at, the shockwaves of power unleashed between both foes are overwhelming - but more surprising still, is the clash of nature between the two. Whatever unfolds below, should be something belonging to the realm of impossibility (what power does this man yield exactly? the Abyss' corruption reeks from all over him, yet the Ley Lines respond to his command, and those sapphire flaming swords radiate something light and pure). Whatever this man is, should not be possible either, not in the realm they tread, not in the world the Usurpers have shaped.

Just what is he, exactly?

Draconic gaze shoots up, beholds the formation of one final sword - jaw slightly agape, only for attention to snap back in place as the Bough Keeper calls upon him to deliver the final blow. Resolve settles in primordial irises; and Neuvillette raises his cane, and hits the ground below once. Hydro responds to his command, echoes to his call, and the seal beneath Elynas shifts and morphs into golden light trickling upwards, forming a radiant golden sword of pure pneuma energy, twin to the one created by the Bough Keeper. "I am sorry, Elynas." He murmurs to himself as cane disintegrates in his hand and steps lead him to the edge of the precipice, closely followed by the sapphire blades shielding him. "This realm was not shaped for the likes of you either. I hope you can forgive us for this cruelty."

With a heavy heart, does the sovereign of water leap into the air, a powerful force shifting wind currents and rain-charged clouds above. There is none, today, to bear witness to the ancient dragon's manifestation; none, except the Bough Keeper and a monster to be slain, to commit to memory the formidable elemental torrent concentrated in his palm, the ancient glow of dragon form taking shape as legacy is called upon, or the diluvian waterfall conjured at his behest barrelling downwards to lend its strength and force to both golden swords.

Elynas' final cry as both blades stab through both body and soul reverberates across all of Fontaine - for all to hear, for all water to remember for centuries to come.

... Elynas moves no more. In the aftermath of battle, its carcass lies still and gigantic, an island in and of itself, a monstrous mountain oozing abyssal filth into the seas around. A shiver runs up the Iudex's spine, as he slowly lowers himself back to ground level. Above his and Dainsleif's heads, rain begins to weep from the skies. A sigh passes the threshold of his lips; and at last he touches ground, right at his new, unexpected, and now tested companion's side. "There would once have been a time when I could have turned this rain into a purifying force, and rid the seas of this poison around us." He admits, like a shameful, bitter confession to another sinner. "Alas, it is as I feared. My strength alone will not suffice. We must act quickly." Draconic gaze seeks out sapphire one, gauging, inspecting. " ... how are you faring? Did the battle spare enough of your own strength for the challenge ahead?"

[reginrokkr]

Twilight doesn't take offense in the rectification —which he claims that he needn't his concern and so Dáinsleif accepts it, for neither it is necessarily in his interest to interfere too much in affairs that the young dragon can solve on his own—, nor is he surprised at the notion of a creature outside the realm of creation of the Primordial One rejoicing at the sight of wayward humans falling even deeper in this world's darkness. Except he is taken by genuine surprise as soon as the draconic rex laments it instead, ponders on how irregardless if creation of the Saint, everyone is susceptible to be a target of divine's rage.

Ultimately, to add to the list of surprises this man brings, his mind is made up in regards of Elynas despite his own sorrow of such innocent creature having to endure a tragic fate without being at fault for its defilement. As the sovereign does, so does Dáinsleif look towards the general direction of the beast based on the tainted land it leaves behind as it proceeds, crystalline blues narrowing in silent pensiveness that lasts but a second until one last question is posed, one that he has an immediate answer for.

◜Not far from here, at the east of Fontaine lies an emanation of this world's Axis Mundi: Irminsul. I believe it takes the name of Weeping Willow among the natives.◞ Dáinsleif's gaze returns to looks at the draconic being before him, majestic and ethereal in standing alone, carrying a grace and dignity that have naught to envy that of the gods'. ◜Irminsul's roots carry the elements in order to nourish this world, and so it stands true that it can provide purification to the root of malice that seeks to precipitate everything to death in the same manner as Elynas does.◞

The lunarescent seraph turns fully towards the dragon, a hand extends towards him as a show of honesty. ◜But even such power is not devoid of susceptibility to become corrupted if not properly manipulated. For that reason, I propose thus: first, we defeat Elynas and ensure that it will not continue to spread defilement across your lands and then we use the purifying properties of the Ley Lines to cleanse the filth. In my role as Bough Keeper, I have command over the spirit veins at no cheap cost.◞

A pregnant quiescence ensues thereafter, to give the draconic rex time to process and gauge the importance of this matter. Despite the cost it will take, Twilight Sword will concede full-heartedly to do his part of the duty on one single condition. ◜Of course, there is one requirement. As you may deduce, this is no risk to take lightly and I am highly cognizant of the dangers this will entail if done irresponsibly. You only need to accept to do your part for me to continue the plan. If on the contrary, you choose not to...◞ Stellar eyes turn towards the darkened sea, so different of what it should be, in true. ◜I am afraid that it will take longer until the defilement dissolves in these waters in the best case scenario. I ignore how detrimental it will be to a sovereign over all waters of this world.◞

Perhaps it is something of a test. Had the man asked the question, Neuvillette would not have denied the answer. The sovereign of water may hold many a reserve (many a grudge, still) against the very people whose form he was forced to be born into, the very people who look to him with a glimmer of fear and defiance in their eye still (they don't know what he is, but declare him alien, strange, possibly dangerous regardless -- he had not expected anything else from the creations of the usurper); but the land of Fontaine, its waters, the creatures living and breathing within its borders still all fall under his wing. Reborn as man as he may have been, a dragon's territoriality is not so easily discarded.

What concern could it be to an outsider who smells of abyss, heavens, and humanity all at once?

The hydro dragon listens, both hands resting atop the head of his cane, expression unwavering as the stranger tells his tale. The Cataclysm has been sweeping the lands for many more years than he cares to recount (as far as his memory can stretch, actually, fuzzy fabric that it is), unleashed by the greed of man and the wrath of the heavens combined, and were he more cynical (had he not barely just pledged himself to a most puzzling archon and her nation), he might even have found a strange semblance of ironic poetry to watching the heavens' lackeys latch onto the creations who had dared stray for their designs, all while the Abyss rises like the tide and rolls over everything in its path.

The hydro dragon is not that cynical. Nor does he wish to ignore the odd outliers in this catastrophe -- Egeria sacrificing herself in a foreign land (to protect the people and stop the dark tide, he heard), and now, people living free from the gaze of the gods, in peace, unshackled (now cursed or killed by their own protectors). And this man, branded but not dead yet, who chooses to leave the ruins of a nation of non-believers, to render assistance those who still hold faith and devotion to the gods who smote his people. Contradictions. Contradictions everywhere he looks. How perplexing.

The man brings his story to a close, and his final words draw a frown upon the dragon's until then impassive features. So are you. "I need not your concern." He is prompt to rectify, as proud as the rest of his kin no matter the shape he took at birth. His eyes still search for answers to unspoken questions in those star-branded pupils; before at last, the sovereign exhales a sigh. "As much as a part of me knows it should rejoice, in the name of my own kin, at the thought of Phanes' creations escaping their control so dramatically, I can only feel sorry for those who suffer the consequences of choices that were not theirs to make. Dragons or humans, it would seem the heavens and their hounds know only to destroy which that upset them."

As he speaks, he slowly approaches, draconic gaze still fixed upon his interlocutor. The rise of the black tide must explain the corruption, the corrosion he senses emanating from him (this Cataclysm must, at least -- how is he not writhing in pain and agony in this state?). What a strange and puzzling individual... alas, time is running out. Curiosity and caution must be sacrificed for the sake of tentative collaboration - as skeptical as the dragon may feel about it. He has made his decision. "Humanity is none of my concern, but I did take an oath to this land and its people. As confused and innocent this creature may be, it cannot be allowed to progress any further than it already has." A death sentence, declared for them alone to hear. At least, there is some sort of comfort in knowing neither of them seems to draw any joy from it. "To lay it to rest is the simple part. The fallout of the defilement is where the real danger lies." Neuvillette turns back to look to the horizon, where Elynas has been progressing. They must follow in stride, before it is too late. "Just as your people have been cursed to monstrosity, my own nature has been diminished and amputated. My power alone will not suffice to cleanse the entirety of it. You say you have witnessed similar poisoning before... what is our best course of action?"