#◟༺✦༻◞ may one day the oceans know the joy of your return; o' léviathan ┊neuvillette → seraphicus.┊

[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]

Something is amiss. To the logic-driven individuals such as Dáinsleif, relying on gut feeling is opposite to their rationale-bound modus operandi. It goes against justifying in a analytical manner what is happening around them, and thus finding a solution to fix the problem. But letting oneself be driven by their instinct is akin to drifting in the sea on a raft with no destination in mind, it bears no ounce of explanation to why feels such way or why they're moved to do what they are.

But something is amiss, he can feel it. The excruciating pain he felt was no laughing matter, ever consuming to the point of being nigh incapacitating. He didn't outperform in his duty of protection in any fight to warrant this, nor there was any abyssal wave that might've brought a new kind of disease that wasn't discovered yet —even so, long ago had he found out about himself that he possesses cleansing properties that negate the abyss—. So, what was happening?

Dáinsleif doesn't use to take at heart his brother's arguments of why he mustn't rely solely on logic, but allow himself to be betwixt both roads if he wants to transcend beyond the limits he's shackling himself in. Perhaps it is seeing how Vedrfolnir performs as an oracle that pushed him to this decision, or perhaps his want for finding an explanation of his sickness that ultimately made him embark on a journey outside of Khaenri'ah that led him to the outskirts of an incipient nation.

Thus his instinct drew him towards a willow amidst a lake that surrounds it, its colors so dull and lifeless that would make anyone wonder if it's standing on its last legs. His logical mind calls nonsense, that it is unlikely that a single tree would be calling to him through a pain that only now he discovers that it must be just an extension of its own— it is crying. And so his investigation began on the vicinities of the tree first, on the depths of the lake thereafter for as long as his lung could get, unbeknownst that a majestic entity is observing him from afar.

It took him three days: one of which he could use to unveil the mysteries behind a mechanism somewhere on the other end of the lake and the next two to realize that the pain is growing deeper the closer he gets somewhere, as if it were telling him that he's on the right track. Alas, no matter how much he pushed the amount of time he can spend without breathing, it is insufficient for investigating farther— he isn't as rash as to risk being unable to return to the surface and pass away for lack of oxygen.

Twilight Sword is surprised when he's approached by a man whose presence sends all the alarms haywire that there is something about him that he must not neglige, that for now, he chooses to push back until the other shows hostility towards him. ◜I am not seeking any treasure.◞ What does he mean by inciting the waters' wrath? Are his actions worsening this place's condition? Unless... the willow is connected to these waters beyond extending its roots in order to get enough of it for its self-preservation.

Glacial sapphire irises move to the willow, then to its crown of leaves glowing with faint gold. ◜This tree isn't presenting itself as it would usually do, right?◞ His gloved hand rises to grasp the wet clothes over his chest, right over the spot of his heart. ◜Its life is declining, and so is the vitality that surrounds it in this lake. I''m looking for a way to stop that.◞

The Weeping Willow is in pain, its lament loud and clear submerged within the waters that surround it, unlike the luster it had lost and the blue it was stripped away from to crown it with muted gold. Léviathan could feel it all the way from the distant waters of northern Fontaine he came from in order to trace the source of sorrow. Its Ley Lines are losing their power gradually as a consequence of the sudden filth that has been building within, ever devouring their vitality. And ever since, rain fell over the area— a manifestation of the crownless sovereign's sadness for his inability to do anything about it. What little he can count with are a set of vague memories that inform him of the importance of these spirit veins, but no solution as to alleviate their pain whatsoever.

To make matters worse, it's been three days since the coming of a human from unknown lands. From his observations from afar he could tell that he does not belong to the barbarians living in nearby areas nor those that live well underwater in that golden kingdom of music. Every day at dawn, he would waken from the base of the willow and dive underwater for a limited amount of time before he resurfaced, visibly spent from the lack of oxygen (humans can spend as much time without breathing in the depths of the waters, he knows). This process would repeat over and over until night falls and he rests by the tree. Léviathan, meanwhile, would scan the waters to see if there is any disturbances to no avail: nothing changed.

He allowed it to happen for three days, until he could sense freight in the deep waters that pushed him to confront the stranger. The marine beings are agitated for reasons unknown that he could only attribute to this man's activity. But unbeknownst of him, this man's only fault was the discovery of an opening through which the void filters in. "Abandon these waters, lest you desire to incite their wrath." And by extension, his own. He's had enough of this man's fancies to come and go as he pleased, the concern that he would only aggravate the tree's situation alongside the water lines prevalent over anything else as his arms cross over his chest. "If it is treasure you seek, you will find none here." From his very limited and sparse observations of the humans, he had learned that they have a fascination for collecting treasures hidden in inauspicious places. But to this man's misfortune, this is no place to play.

[reginrokkr]

Tag dump repost #3

◟༺✧༻◞ immortality won't last forever to gods nor humans┊yìng xīng → seraphicus.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ tears of life; chasers of withering death┊dáinsleif × yìng xīng.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ may one day the oceans know the joy of your return; o' léviathan ┊neuvillette → seraphicus.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ scattered dreams will reunite— yours and mine┊dáinsleif × léviathan.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ may your flaming sacrifice bring lasting peace and prosperity┊chánglí → lunaetis.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ ruby and sapphire; suspended on torn wings┊dáinsleif × chánglí.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ spirit of verdant life and wisdom┊nahida → apocryphis.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ perpetual fighter of nocturne terrors┊xiao → apocryphis.┊

[reginrokkr]

Dáinsleif is no stranger to the dragons' wrath towards humanity as the creations of the same god that usurped the world they lived in until his arrival. Knowledge like this pertains only to those who have access to the forbidden section of the royal library that he only knows about because of his own brother, who usually tends to talk to him about everything that fascinates him. Nevertheless, caution has always been present in the younger brother's mind when a clear parallel was drawn betwixt the old dragons' wrath towards everything that is related to that god and that of Khaenri'ah towards other nations that bask under divine's gaze. For he was always a man to think that in this world there are no such concepts as entirely black or white, but an entire chromatic scale of grays on its own hard to determine when bias gets in between.

This one's, a shadow as it's crystal clear that it is moves itself with a viciousness and violence that he hadn't seen even in the most dangerous of abyssal foes. Its strong wings one more disadvantage as he lacks the mean to move in the air. Which ultimately led to him being pinned against the wall by the claws of a single hand, causing the noctilucent knight to cough blood. No matter how much resistance was exercised, it was futile.

Until by some stroke of light, a big current of water forced the dragon to move its hand away from him. Dáinsleif falls onto the ground and forces himself off it with his forearm enough to cough the water he nearly inhaled away from his lungs. Stellar gaze falls atop the responsible for the attack, a man... of rather, a creature? Looks down on him, if he weren't delirious by the recent turn of events, he would almost say that his eyes are split like that of the dragon he's been facing until his arrival. But whatever the origins of this man may be, there is one thing clear: they're both on the same side.

And that reinvigorated him to rouse onto his feet again to keep fighting.

Rain punctuates the end of the fight with the draconic shadow clad in night losing. Common logic would sustain that it would soon disappear, and it almost does. The night cloak its shadow is covered by disappears, letting a soul made of golden warmth be visible instead. ◜Now the remnants of my soul may rest at long last. And it's all thanks to you.◞ Dáinsleif's eyes narrow in quiescent answer, not too stranger to the concept of souls being put to rest via special means, not too dissimilar to what the Black Serpent Knights had to take care of sometimes, every time concluding with a good ending for restless souls that could then migrate to somewhere kinder where to rest.

◜Ah, so it seems that time has caught up with one of us, after all...◞ Despite the difficulty in making up the features of the auric silhouette, the blond knows that it's looking at the other man who fought by his side— the blue filaments he observed earlier now shorter, the fins on his sides gone. ◜I should be the one lamenting this turn of events, not you.◞

Distant echoes of the past beckon the hydro sovereign to visit an ancient city where one of his kin met his demise. As Léviathan would not have it any other way, he was compelled to answer the call. It was a means to learn more about a past he can only glimpse through fragments and about himself, if only to find his purpose in this world that stripped him from what he used to be, damned him to be alike to the creations of the Usurper King.

Curiosity shimmered in primordial eyes as soon as they landed atop a figure heading towards the same direction. Seething rage boiled underneath an otherwise calm surface, begging the question how does a human dare to profane these grounds, not dissimilar to once upon a time friend's grave. But he chooses to remain still for now and follow him to observe before his judgement opts for one outcome or another.

As a being that is no different than the heart of the primordial sea, where all life in Teyvat has spawned before the usurper attributed to himself and the subsequent gods close to him the quality of life-bringers, it's saddening the sight of a calcined Irminsul offshoot to dust— the point of interest of the human, apparently. He watches the other gather a white leaf in his hand and bury it by the trunk of the former tree with interest. Is this person meaning to make a new tree grow? Now, that piqued his interest.

But before any of the man's actions showed any result, a shadow of the past that should be no more assaults them. The dragon's figure opens a new door of memories to come, bygone times when dragon sovereigns spent time together in rare reunions. And among them, Léviathan himself in a shape he currently lacks. The former sovereign's roar makes him snap out of his senses, coupled with a grunt of a man. The hood that concealed his features is now down, revealing the face of a blond man with striking blue eyes. His body trapped by an enormous claw and the wall behind him. Léviathan knows that this is just a remnant of the other's soul, and even so he should perhaps leave things as is and let time run its natural course. However...

Forgive me, Xiuhcoatl.

However, he cannot let this simply pass. Not when he sensed in the other man a pure wish to see the Irminsul offshoot spring anew. Thus blue filaments enlarge with the might of hydro as ethereal fins of the same color grow from his sides, the power of hydro made manifest at the palm of his hand seconds prior the release of a large current of water from it. Equitable Judgement. And so his gaze, albeit fleetingly, locks into the other's before his head dips in a brief nod to let him know that he got him covered.

[reginrokkr]

There is something that unites them, Dáinsleif can feel it. For it is no mere coincidence for him to listen through something so crystal clear and akin to telepathy that he could interpret as emotions associated to a soul and a voice that cannot be heard for other reasons otherwise. In all his wisdom and experience through his own gift connected to Irminsul, Vedrfolnir has explained him once that being tied to the Axis Mundi may bring multiple benefits to one depending on how deep their spirits are aligned, in a myriad of ways hard to enumerate in their entirety. And the Ley Lines, carriers of this world's pulse, is known by very few that is also carrier of souls.

If it serves as some kind of catalyst of every living being in this world, then that may have a pass as to why this connection betwixt him and this odd man was established. Nevertheless, it doesn't explain why it is possible with him and not with other people— not even with his brother with whom he shares this bond with Irminsul. There must be something in this man that runs deeper than the rest, but what?

Lunarescent knight snaps out of his reverie the instant he feels the man grab his hand again, this time gentler and with a different intention than before. Dáinsleif tenses at first as soon as he realizes what the other wants him to see, perhaps out of nervousness of touching another that does little to assuage it due to his state of undress. His curiosity becomes the ultimate victor as his finger pads touch the spot of the skin he snow-haired wanted him to touch. It is not entirely smooth as human skin usually is, but not rough either. Perhaps something in between with a stronger lean towards softness in combination with the visuals of iridescence shimmering through.

These are no human characteristics. The man's voice —or will, perhaps?— is heard within the recesses of twilight's mind and he looks over at his eyes, then at the pointy ear that peeks through white strands he pushes slightly away to have a better view of it just for a moment. ◜I'm aware.◞ He confirms with a nod of his head as he gives the man space anew. ◜However, that doesn't alleviate much my concerns about fate's effect on you.◞ As far as he's concerned, through his very limited knowledge on these matters (his brother has a more extended knowledge about these topics, nonetheless), even enlightened beings are subjected to this world fate one way or another, imposed by the gods above.

Sapphire irises lock into the other's light amethyst ones, head tilted to one side out of curiosity. To who must he be referring to? Dáinsleif presumes it must be another species, perhaps one of the few he had considered this man could be or different ones he didn't think of or doesn't know about. His hand raises to hold his chin in a momentary pensiveness before looking back at him. Will it work if rather than speaking, he thinks and tries to communicate with him this way instead?

Those who descend to Khaenri'ah and decide to leave time after become monsters. Dáinsleif uncovers himself with the hoodie to show the other his eyes. But we have the belief those of us who have this pupil shape aren't subjected to the same fate, because we're untainted by it. Despite the fact that the scorching sun's rays don't bother him anymore due to the cloudy weather, he wastes no time in pulling the hoodie over his head again. I have resonated with your loneliness... I don't know why or how, and I wish to help. But I cannot risk bringing you with me somewhere that you may decide to leave afterwards one day and suffer the same fate as the others.

If the inconvenience that his presence must've been to the other wasn't enough to earn a more aggressive reaction towards him, this surely must've done it. That's what he believed until, to his surprise, he didn't do that. On the contrary, he seemed to try to reason with him something he was unable to understand yet, be it due to the lack of context or the language breach. What Léviathan could understand for the time being is that complicated feelings are present in the human's heart.

Draconic eyes widen in shock as the pull he had felt initially upon seeing him for the first time magnifies, bringing an understanding of what he says that he didn't have before. His gaze raises to look at the other as if he has grown a second head all of a sudden, trying to understand. Until then, every time he had encountered a human and tried to peek into their interactions, he never understood further than emotions. The words spoken made no sense to him, all of them in a language he never had the need to use nor that he can remember from the dreams he has of something he could only describe as another life.

But right now... it's as if he can understand what this human says completely, only the context he lacks as the breach that impedes him to understand in full what he means.

From what little he can gather for now, this human may seem troubled. If he wanted to leave, he could've done that anytime and ignore his own warning when he so recklessly reached out for his wrist to impede his movement. It is as if he, too, could understand his plight if only to some extent and wished to do something about it. But the solution seems far from ideal if he just allowed him to come along with him.

Fate's injustice?

Primordial eyes narrow at the prospect. What does fate have to do with any of this, let alone a negative repercussion? Try as he might, Léviathan finds no answer as of yet. The only thing that he can formulate, regardless, is that this man doesn't know what he is. Even less that his existence remains outside of the fate system that those usurper gods had established for this world. So how can he communicate that fate has no business in his life in a way that he may understand?

White eyelashes close momentarily to steel his racing heart when an idea manifests in his mind before they open again, his hand reaches out for the other's gentler and less restrictive than the first time so he may pull away whenever he sees fit to ultimately guide it towards the juncture between his neck and shoulder, where a patch of dragon scales shimmers through.

These are no human characteristics. He tries again to communicate, hoping that the connection they had for a moment was not lost and that he can understand him. At least, they are not from what he could observe of other passersby. I find myself at a crossroads, unable to determine what I am. For I am no human... nor one of them.

[reginrokkr]

It was only a matter of time until something happened if the man continued to pursue him. What Dáinsleif hadn't expected is the other's boldness at impeding his movement forward, careful as he was to not be in his way before. Albescent lashes flutter close as he exhales a silent sigh through his nose to relive some of the patience that is wearing thin. Sapphire irises open thereafter, and so he turns in time to see the man grunting as if he were trying to say something he possibly cannot communicate through normal means, perhaps out of understanding that there is a language breach between them.

But his understanding doesn't stop there, no. His understanding must've gone beyond for him to realize that where he was about to tread next was dangerous. And he's right: the path to Khaenri'ah is not without its dangers, as that implies abandoning the surface continent in order to wander in the abyss all the way to the kingdom. For those unskilled in battle it could be nothing short of a death sentence. For the understanding ones, something greater than just a possible loss in battle. The abyssal essence isn't one easy to get used to, being more a bringer of diseases to those sensitive enough or with an immunocompromised system.

◜I've warned you that it would be dangerous if you continue to follow me.◞ Although he didn't do anything to this man to feel this way, he feels bad for seeing him crestfallen like that. Doesn't he have family? Someone to belong with? Now that he's paying attention at his bare body, he can see glimpses of something shimmering he can't put his finger as to what it is yet. A pointy ear peeks from snow-like hair, drowning the lunarescent knight in a pool of contemplation. Perhaps the reason why he isn't wearing any clothes is because he didn't need any to begin with, wherever he grew up. But what does that make him? An adeptus? A yokai? A god? Dáinsleif sombers at the last thought, but he's soon to discard that possibility immediately. No, if he were a good he'd be capable of speech. He, on the other side, isn't.

I do not want to be alone.

Glacial azures widen in surprise, then he turns his head left and right to see where the source of that voice comes from. No, that doesn't sound right— it was more as if it was some kind of... telepathy? An enhanced sentience of something he was unaware of until now? It is true that in his travels through the abyss or the Kingdom of Night, he has heard voices before, voices pertaining to other beings... their souls. But in this place, at this moment, there is nothing that suggests the presence of any— other than his.

But if that feeling came from him, why could he sense it?

Dáinsleif's eyes narrow in thought as he looks back at him, the man unable to look at him in the eye yet as if he has done something unpardonable. ◜You could feel it, didn't you? Then, why do you insist in following me still?◞ Another sigh follows, not out of lack of patience as he believed himself earlier, but out of frustration. Such is his heart, full of kindness for others that won't allow him to just leave and abandon him. Even less when there are suspicions about him feeling lonely. If his conjecture stands true and he isn't human, there is a possibility that those who he thinks are of his kin may have rejected him before. And yet he looks uncannily human, but he lacks the civilized factor that would allow him to blend in among other people. It must be sad, to feel like he doesn't belong anywhere.

◜What am I supposed to do with you?◞ He whispers next, thin eyebrows knitting in a visible frown. ◜Is it really worth it to risk your life to fate's injustice just to heal your heart from loneliness?◞ To a kingdom's civilization that may not be his cup of tea, at that. No matter how much he's grown to love Khaenri'ah, he is also aware that their way of living is vastly different than the one on the surface.

Never once was Léviathan interested in partake in human activity despite his passing observations when they got close enough to raise interest and curiosity in what they did. Part of him feels strangely saddened, the repeated rejection he felt from part of some of the vishaps too strong to ignore as the catalyst of what's making him follow this peculiar human. The longer the time within his vicinity, the stronger he feels the pull of closeness, of home that he doesn't quite understand. From what his memories inform him as well as his observations, humans are feeble, incompatible to holding a power of such caliber within them. But for reasons he ignores, this one human does— no, not only that. He could almost swear that he might be able to understand him in a similar manner that he can communicate with marine creatures.

It was a matter of time until he was spotted, yet another reason to believe this human isn't like any other. Despite his own perceptions of him, he's met with something he doesn't quite understand, but not all too unfamiliar all the same. The language he speaks somehow reminiscent of that which remains engraved in his memories, as if he has lived another life in the past— or perhaps these memories belong to someone else entirely, he doesn't know.

What little he can see from his mannerisms and demeanor, however, is that he's met with rejection to be followed. Again. But still, hope that he's accepted and that he wasn't as aggressive as those vishaps were leads him to continue following him.

I do not want to be alone.

Wherever the man goes, so does he to lands he hasn't seen before in this life, having spent most of it (if not the entirety of it) underwater. Fear of being rejected again permeates his heart, and so it manifests in darkened clouds hiding the sun. A chill runs down his spine, causing him to stop on his tracks as a dark feeling comes to his senses. Wherever this man is going, it is no place where survival can be expected. This isn't something he has lived personally, but vivid dreams of destruction and death still remain present in his heart and so that moves him to reach out his hand to grasp the other by the wrist.

Do not go there. It is dangerous.

Realisation dawns on him like a ton of bricks burying his body in an instant when everything that escapes his mouth is an inelegant sound, in combination with the fact that he doesn't want to mess up to be rejected again. Crestfallen, his grip weakens completely and so his arm falls by his side, draconic gaze glued to the ground out of shame and fear.

[reginrokkr]

Out of the all six pillars of Khaenri'ah, Dáinsleif was the most hesitant to emerge from the kingdom in pursuit of his own view of perfection. For he needn't one to begin with, only to find ways to strengthen himself as the Twilight Sword in order to protect the people as they slowly become more adept in an otherwise hostile environment such as the territory where the kingdom was established. For all they're concerned, only those untainted by fate can come and go as they please, unscathed from any curses they have observed others bring attached to their person were they dare to leave the kingdom again. To the pure-blooded it is different, for reasons yet to determine through several studies that are undergoing.

Deep down, the knight suspects that he's one more of those studies, hence the insistence that he, too, leaves Khaenri'ah for some time. It is crystal clear that he would strike as a different kind of his own, even if the bond by blood he has with his brother should suffice to know that he won't suffer any grim destiny were he step outside the kingdom. But it is due to the certainty he has of his blood as well as a pull from something indescribable that lays somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind that nothing will happen to him what ultimately brought him outside of the kingdom for a momentary leave.

The scorching sun was the first element from the surface world that elicits a hiss from his lips, hand brought up to cover his head and sensitive eyesight with the dark hoodie as he traverses these lands. Quite rudimentary when compared to Khaenri'ah even at the current stage it is, nonetheless, but not surprising if one is aware of the history of this world and the black tides of darkness that swallowed it whole not too long ago. At this stage, it's still recuperating, human civilization growing accustomed to a new era that those who live in Khaenri'ah want nothing to do with.

Acute perception honed with a long career of experienced training even for his age warns him of the presence of another, sufficiently concealed to not stand in his way yet obvious enough for him to notice. It's to be expected. Were it human or otherwise, it would be only natural to arise curiosity in others when his garments alone are dissimilar enough to raise more than an eyebrow his way, at least compared to the people he has encountered in his brief stay here.

The other's concealed state only lasts as much until his presence is revealed, as if aware of his leave from this place. What caught Dáinsleif off guard isn't the lack of ill intent towards him, judging by the other's erratic demeanor— but his state of undress. And now of all times that he desires to return where he came from, it is abundantly clear that he wants something. Within his puzzled expression, a fair eyebrow frowns at the thought that he may want to follow him all the way through, unaware of what may happen to him. For the road to Khaenri'ah to those who aren't of pure blood is a road of no return, lest they meet their end tragically so.

And while Dáinsleif feels no obligation towards this bizarre man, a pang of guilt would easily make itself manifest if he didn't at least try something. Mainly to convince him to stay here. ◜You cannot come with me.◞ He's heavily cognizant of the language breach that must exist, perhaps not sufficiently wide to not understand the main point he wants to raise: to not continue to pursue him any further. For even those who currently live in Khaenri'ah were once part of a unified civilization on the surface where, for the most part, language was shared irregardless of where one would go. Maybe, only maybe, this civilization's language didn't evolve sufficiently as to not understand anything at all. ◜It's dangerous.◞ That is his final warning before he turns on his heels to leave, hoping that his lack of desire to indulge in the other's own will suffice to make his point clear.

What... am I? As far as his memory goes, comfort was always found in the depths of the water. It surrounds him like a second skin, it protects him as if it were his own armor. He breathes in its depths as if he were home, so unlike when he returns to the surface. Every marine creature turns to look at him with curiosity, or maybe out of some ancient pact he no longer remembers. Sooner than the belief that he's someone akin to a sovereign amongst its people, an entity that births life just how everything is born from water first, he believes that it's his peculiar physique that causes intrigue.

Yes, because he's unlike any other creature whose home is underwater. It is as evident every time a specific kind of creature crosses paths with him is divided betwixt treating him like an enemy or confusion as if wondering: why does he look so different to us, yet so similar? Because the reality is... long ago has he realised that this kin resonates with him the strongest, as if he were of their species while at the same time not.

The answer is very clear: his appearance. That of other two-legged creatures that live on earth, that are incapable of breathing underwater lest they drown. There is a dissonance in his being, a discrepancy hard to grasp no matter how far and wide he wishes to search in memories that feel like they do not belong to him, but that he's their master somehow.

Recently his mood has been shifting more than it usually does, the change he had noticed is his interactions with these creatures— vishaps, he learned humans call them. Not because he understands their speech, but because of their thoughts engraved in waters that are easily coded into concepts he understands better. His first discovery of this kin causing the rush of his heartbeat and the marvel in shivering equally slit eyes as the others'. He has finally found his family, he almost believed. If it weren't for the adamant rejection some of them had towards his person. That, he understood very well.

So by the time his eyes fall on one of those people, he wonders: Could it be that he should accept that he's one of them, not one with these waters? Léviathan ignores what makes this one human more special than the rest other than his peculiar way of dressing: clad in black, head covered unlike the others who seemed to bask in the sun. This one, on the other side, seems to be shielding himself from it. Unbeknownst to him, echoes of the primordial sea from which he was born resonate with a power innate to this man. And so he follows him, single-minded like that to not hide himself nor the disparity it may cause to the other upon seeing him in a state of undress.

[reginrokkr]

Out of the all six pillars of Khaenri'ah, Dáinsleif was the most hesitant to emerge from the kingdom in pursuit of his own view of perfection. For he needn't one to begin with, only to find ways to strengthen himself as the Twilight Sword in order to protect the people as they slowly become more adept in an otherwise hostile environment such as the territory where the kingdom was established. For all they're concerned, only those untainted by fate can come and go as they please, unscathed from any curses they have observed others bring attached to their person were they dare to leave the kingdom again. To the pure-blooded it is different, for reasons yet to determine through several studies that are undergoing.

Deep down, the knight suspects that he's one more of those studies, hence the insistence that he, too, leaves Khaenri'ah for some time. It is crystal clear that he would strike as a different kind of his own, even if the bond by blood he has with his brother should suffice to know that he won't suffer any grim destiny were he step outside the kingdom. But it is due to the certainty he has of his blood as well as a pull from something indescribable that lays somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind that nothing will happen to him what ultimately brought him outside of the kingdom for a momentary leave.

And what was the destination of someone who didn't have the imperious necessity to leave his country to begin with? Somewhere born in him out of a gut feeling that required help after having been rocked and brought to nigh destruction by naught more than the very same he has gotten accustomed to fight even in his homeland: Otchkanatlan.

It was a pitiable sight to see one of the emanations of Irminsul buried deep in these ruins that no one in this age may know of, scorched and obliterated to completion. Except for one single white leaf with a faint glow that strikes the darkness of the ancient city, as if indicating that there is still hope even for a tree that should've been believed to be severed beyond redemption. The leaf lands on Dáinsleif's gloved hand, which he brings closer gently as if any movement would suffice to break it completely for a closer inspection.

Never has he done anything like this, nor he truly knows if what his mind tells him to do has any foundation at all. He moves on autopilot nonetheless, walking close to the base of the tree and digging a shallow hole where to bury the albescent leaf. Sapphire flames emanate from his hands thereafter, which he puts atop the ground to infuse it with its energy so it may reach the solitary remnant.

Before he could see the fruit of his actions, a distant roar caught his attention coupled with a presence right above him, its winged body gigantic just from its shadow alone. Dáinsleif looks up immediately in time to see a draconic figure veiled in colors of the night, speckled with stars. In that moment, he knew— a battle was about to begin.