#◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος β: descensus in regnum tenebram┊kingdom of khaenri’ah.┊

[reginrokkr]

Dáinsleif has never been one to let his knights do everything on their own, from doing simple tasks of guardianship within the kingdom's borders and recurrent training all of them are expected to perform in a regular basis down to being on the frontlines against the forces of the Abyss. As the captain of the Black Serpent Knights, he's expected to take more administrative duties personal affairs when someone from high social spheres require his presence in certain events as the maximum exponent within the royal guards.

Everyone agrees on the fact that he does more than he's expected, and he takes these susurrations with pride. For in his mind, nothing is too little or too much in the face of the undying struggle Khaenri'ah is bound to face against the Abyss.

Its increase of activity sufficed to make Twilight Sword suspicious that something is amiss, their efforts to keep it at bay from the populace nigh existent when so many outbreaks have been occurring in a brief time. Thunders roar in the distance to demand everyone's attention like a king marching in the middle of his people would, what would be otherwise harmless zephyrs now howling winds bringing the pestilence and illness of the Abyss. And an even more intimate sentience of his own warns him of a disturbance within the Ley Lines that permeate even these parts of this world in all their mercy.

Reason why he has made it a personal mission to oversee his knights' training for the past weeks in person, causing an uprise in their motivation to come more often than it's demanded of them in order to keep their position. The strict requirements are far from an unfair method to weed out from their numbers with unreachable expectations despite what some of them may believe. In reality, and the main reason why Dáinsleif is there is for the sole motif of perceiving those who aren't cut out from being on the frontlines against the Abyss as a result of any indisposition they may have as a result of its heightened influence.

Surely, Khaenri'ah counts with advanced medicine to palliate most of the signs and symptoms may bring as a means to combat the impeding corruption that people may experience if not treated properly or due to extended periods of time within abyssal clutches. But even so... as of lately, the lunarescent knight had felt a feeling of unrest hard to shake off that makes him doubt how genuine is the will to hold themselves far from the chaotic influence and not do the exact opposite.

◜I believe that many of you have been wondering why I'm spending more time overseeing your training regime than what's believed to be necessary.◞ As he wouldn't have it any other way, the necessity to be sincere with his knights has come. Strong arms cross over his chest as glacial sapphires look at each of them with an air of solemnity, the corners of his eyes soften minutely. ◜It is a reality that the Abyss has become more vicious lately, and with there has been a rise of illnesses that we cannot afford to ignore. For that reason, I took it a personal mission to study all your medical condition and how you fare under harsher extremes. Those who cannot be up to the challenge will no longer fight on the frontlines.◞ For everyone knows that the Abyss forgives no one.

His arms fall by his sides as he walks to one side, stellar gaze fixed on the unknown beyond the smoke of darkness. ◜Know that this is no punishment nor your title as Black Serpent Knights will be lost. It's merely for the sake of not risking the safety of those of you who needn't struggle more than the others, no matter your origins. In our endless fight against the Abyss, victory belongs to both the weak and the strong.◞ And it's precisely because they are the strongest within the army that they have to defend the weak, even if they're currently standing against them. Ultimately, Dáinsleif lifts his closed hand to the spot over his heart, the Black Serpent Knight salute. ◜May glory be with us.◞

The other knights' reciprocated salute marks the conclusion of the Twilight Sword's speech, punctuated by his leave from everyone else's spotlight. Nevertheless, he lingers in the usual spot from where he oversees his men's training until the end of today's course to be at the service of anyone who desires to ask him any questions or may need help.

@guhamun ✧

[reginrokkr]

✧ @apocryphis asked: "I know you're exhausted and upset, and so am I. But there has to be some other explanation." (from capitano!)

Pain like none other he has felt subsides, screams only reverberating within the confines of his mind had quietened down after inmemorable months of suffering etched in his very soul. Even after the source has been alleviated, forsaken seraph can still feel a phantom pain combined with a crippling sensation hard to describe as anything different than the cries of the world and the incessant abyss gnawing at its roots. Not without reason: it was difficult enough to push through the pain in order to decipher that the origins stemmed from Irminsul itself, even harder it was to see that the precursor of this was none other than the late King Irmin.

Physical pain wasn't the only thing that deteriorated Dáinsleif's vitality, leading to the aftermath of what it was caused by. It's the disbelief in the face of betrayal that hit his chest at the sight of inaction from other individuals who carry the hopes and dreams of the kingdom's citizens, and the most painful of it all— his brother's. A betrayal he still has hope that it will die in the quiescence that followed thereafter, when it was obvious that he was the only one who stood up against the former king in his craze for the abyss and for engulfing the entire world in it. Hope that if things were to go to worse than they eventually were when Khaenri'ah was enveloped by a surge of calamity, they will wake up and stand for what they have been fighting for all these years.

This event should've sufficed for the citizens to know better. To make a turn in their belief that the abyss is some manner of savior to them, or an avenger in their stead of the gods above. But now, even after the rule of another regent, he's forced to witness this—

◜You don't understand.◞ An air of solemnity fills him as he watches blankly the coronation of the outlander that's been summoned and descended from the abyss. Indeed, he is too exhausted and now upset by this turn of events. Had none of them learn anything? He of Alberich descent, a clan dating all the way back since the Crimson Moon Dynasty... how does he dare to coronate her as the princess of Khaenri'ah when the royalty had fallen with King Irmin? ◜Buying that whom they believe to be the personification of the Abyss is hope is a mistake. That's false hope— despair.◞

There has to be some other explanation. Roseate lips press in a thin line, gaze shadowed by pale golden locks as his head lowers, hands beside him balling into tight fists at the reminiscence of his brother and the other four whom had his deep respect turning to the Abyss. ◜We of all people who have been coexisting with it should know.◞ Sicknesses, the lack of natural life through flora and fauna, people dying if touched by it flash in brief images before his eyes, causing him to narrow them. ◜Know that nothing justifies glorifying the abyss.◞ Dejected that Eldgrim would have a conciliatory-like stance in all of this despite his experience in battle and his preoccupation that his family is never tainted by the abyss in any shape or form, Dáinsleif turns on his heels and leaves.

He has a very bad feeling about all of this.

[reginrokkr]

Suspicion runs rampant at its highest within Twilight Sword's mind since the arrival of an outworlder that people wasted no time to revere as the kingdom's princess when, in reality, royalty has fallen with King Irmin as the last king. It was sufficiently bad when awareness that he was rocking the foundations of this world with his deeds made itself manifest, and ultimately it fell into Dáinsleif's hands to do something to remedy it when the other five carriers of Khaenri'ah's hope didn't lift a finger for the cause. Let alone when the primary reason of crowning that girl that came like a fallen star as a princess out of a sick belief that she embodies the abyss.

Reason why Dáinsleif has always made everything in his power to stay away from her, for he's never wanted to partake in anything remotely dangerous that is interwoven with the Abyss— as many seem to have forgotten, it's their enemy that has been breathing at their neck and lurking at their doorstep since the very foundation of Khaenri'ah. So in view of the reasoning of the nobility turning her into the kingdom's princess, it is the easiest to believe that she would agree with their ways.

Or perhaps that is his own prejudice speaking and the reality is different.

His maneuvers could bring him so far until he was appointed as her personal guard —mainly for events, thankfully— by the regent. Such as tonight's, in which he was pushed to start as early as he was told by visiting the residence she inhabits to guide her towards the royal palace, where the event is bound to take place. And so he dips his head, his hand balled in a weak fist over the spot of his heart as per the Black Serpent Knight chosen salute to show respect —perhaps he could've shown more than that, he has seen many kneel before her presence—. ◜Regent Alberich has appointed me as your personal guard effective immediately. So from now on, I may protect you as the Twilight Sword.◞

@lunaetis ✧

[reginrokkr]

For every step forward there was a spasm that shook his muscles, making out of walking a nigh impossible task. Dáinsleif's body should no longer be in pain after Irminsul's interference to prevent him from falling to insanity and thus being thrown into the abyss of corruption, but the overwhelming pain remained registered into his brain. His face has seen better days, all dirtied with stains of black and blue and red, of tears and a mess of drenched light blonde locks sticking to his face that serve as a canvas for the other colors. Trails of scarlet blood and cyan resin imprint on the ground, sometimes intersecting together to purple as he goes with each labored breath to keep himself grounded.

Where was he heading to exactly? He could feel it, the holy aura that gods transmit to him. That was what he had felt earlier before, and so Asmoday confirmed for him upon reminding him that he, too, once belonged to the kingdom of the heavens. Each step drew him closer to what he hoped to be her, to ask why everything had to spiral into this destruction. The denizens of Khaenri'ah had their good and their wrongs as every individual in another country would— was it so wrong to stray from the divine's reign and shelter oneself into this dark isolation where nearly nobody dared to reach? At long last he reaches to the destination, that where his senses warned him of a divine presence and against his best judgement he headed for— she is not there. In her stead, there was the presence of another whom he fails to recognize at once due to the whirl of emotions that coils in his stomach. And thus he remains in a stupor, icy sapphires looking towards the other's general direction albeit never focusing until they do and Dáinsleif forces himself to move once again towards the vulnerable figure.

The Twilight Sword falls defeated onto his knees atop the pitch black mud that surrounded the only divine being that remains alive in this place. It takes him a few moments to recompose himself to the best of his ability and look upwards, frozen astrals ultimately registering whom this man is— it was hard not to recognize him after connecting his physical appearance to that of the Statues of the Seven that litter the land of Geo and whose visage is imprinted in books concealed in the depths of the royal library— Morax. ◜It will be a matter of time… until their safety is jeopardized, too.◞

What are mortals to do in the face of a calamity of such magnitude when even the most skilled of individuals in the art of combat struggle against these creatures without their god? His words lack the malice that several people whom he has failed to protect had as they turned into unsightly creatures before his very eyes. The spiral of sentiments he had felt all of a sudden was big, but the pain he felt with every crack of his skin to make room for the Ley Lines to occupy his corruption that he feels numb to it all. With naught but the ringing of his ears of screams that no longer exist.

Before he knew it or could do something to avoid it —not that he would do anything, at the moment simply giving in sounded more tempting, less painful—, Dáinsleif passes out on the spot, thus effectively shutting down all the dark whispers within the confines of his mind.

Kill him.

He ignores how much time has passed since he fell from the brink of consciousness, albeit it is a sharp pain as a result of the still ongoing process of muting the corruption within him that forces him awake. Azure eyes look upwards again and for the first time since his gaze laid upon Morax he takes notice of the deplorable state he is in. He looks to his close surroundings next, observing immediately the black mud that he's kneeling on that perhaps it must've taken a toll on the god before him.

◜One reason.◞ Twilight Sword mumbles under his own breath, a single tear streaming down his face the next time he looks upwards. Sapphire flames emerge from his hands, spreading all over the dark mud at a slow pace, ceaselessly. ◜Give me one good reason to think that not all of your kind is the same— that mortals on the other side won't be more damned if you make it safely out of here. That there is still hope for them… if you return to Liyue.◞ Steam rises skywards as the black mud recedes. Relentless as these flames may be, they don't seek to harm, no. They seek to consume that which is poisonous to this world— and so many other beings that are weak to its influence.

@daybreakrising ✦

[reginrokkr]

Roseate lips curl in a placid smile as sapphire irises ghost over the fruit Halfdan puts into his hand, oddly resembling a peach he cannot say to have ever seen before— or perhaps it is somewhere buried in his mind as he traversed the open markets of merchants from afar or newly-installed Khaenri'ahns that come from other nations. ◜What is it this time: a fruit from Sumeru? Or perhaps from the distant Natlan?◞ It is not the fruit in itself what brings a smile to his face, but the very notion of closeness cemented with the passing of good moments and others or hardship for the kingdom's defense and the lack of hesitance that would be otherwise visible in others whom, in their minds, even dare to disturb his work.

It seems that it is time for a break, Dáinsleif thinks to himself as he places the pen into its penwell and pivots on the chair to stand up after what feels like hours of stagnancy his legs are swift to complain about. Twilight Sword walks towards the wide window thereafter, from which he can oversee a great part of the capital from these heights. ◜Please, don't linger there on your own. Come join me.◞

Dáinsleif's placid disposition turns solemn when Halfdan poses his question, one hard to miss in view of what has been occurring as of lately in Khaenri'ah— something that most likely than not, he has perceived, too. The fruit is thrown lightly a couple of times before he brings it close to his nose to smell it first as a means to anticipate someway the kind of taste it'll have, seconds before he sinks his teeth in it. Juicy with a light hint of bitterness easily masked by its sweetness. ◜Tell me, Halfdan.◞ Dáinsleif talks at long last after swallowing what he chewed. ◜If you were to describe what Khaenri'ah is like, what would you say?◞

The question he poses is by no means a way to evade an answer Halfdan seeks for him, rather, an exercise to see where his sights are and his thoughts and calculate an answer accordingly thereafter. Khaenri'ah is revered as a golden kingdom with much pride to boast about that other nations may lack due to the lack of divine involvement in its making. Nevertheless... the bigger the light, the larger the shadow it casts behind. Dáinsleif has seen it, and so have those who aren't pure-blood Khaenri'ahns that feel unrest and, from his own observations, don't dare to speak their minds even if they were provided the reassurance that it won't affect them negatively.

@reginrokkr // STARTER CALL.

"Here try this..."

The fruit is put into the hand of the Twilight Sword without waiting for argument as Halfdan settles in beside him, eyes scanning the table before him to see what has been missed. The tension has been palpable as of late, and they all feel it. The Captain more than all, he suspects. One does not rise to such prestige without bearing far more weight than one might ordinarily carry. A swift shift of his gaze gives him time to at least take a cursory glance to check for signs of fatigue or malady, yet there are none to be found.

"What's troubling your mind? You seem quite preoccupied..."

[reginrokkr]

[ 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 ] ― sender brushes receiver’s hair :)

Sentiments of embarrassment seldom make homage in the abandoned seraph's heart, or any analogous emotions for that matter. Perhaps it is a result of the poor social life he has being the occupied man he is with more important tasks towards the kingdom, or perhaps because never once there was anything sufficiently strong to awaken feelings like these. Whatever the case may be, it is not the same in this moment when Aria's moonlight penetrates through nigh transparent and white curtains and illuminates the two figures standing in the middle of the room.

It is not usual to be summoned to lady Lunafreyja's abode unless higher orders make him stay by her side when certain dangers loom closer and protection is mandatory, so imagine the surprise upon finding out that he was called for nothing more than to spend tranquil time together.

Dáinsleif did not anticipate her insistence to brush his hair, either. In his mind, it should be the other way around, her silky and moonlight-kissed hair being the one to be tended with careful brushing. He takes great care of his hair, yes, albeit this... it's fluttering, to say the least. Even so, he does a great job staying still where he sits while she brushes her fingers on his hair, feeling it smoothness and length as it goes. Hair tending is a comforting self-indulgence of his own, but only now he discovers how vastly different it is when someone else touches his hair, let alone brush it as she does as soon as she takes the brush in her hand.

A wave of warmth permeates the luminary whole starting from his fluttering heart and he hums low and deep, albescent lashes fluttering close to focus on the nice feeling her hands and the brush give him as she goes. It must be that his senses are prepared for the touch when he does it to himself, he ponders. However, when it is someone else, even if he can see them through a mirror... there is an unknown variable that can manifest in any way that he cannot control. Maybe that is why the sensory information reaches to his brain differently than it does when he brushes his hair himself.

Part of him feels like slipping a small jest, something about him not expecting that his hair was in such a poor condition that it needed tending from a second person, or that he did not know that she liked his hair so much that she wanted to have a chance to touch it and brush it herself. But nothing comes, finding the silence that blankets them and the room they're in more comforting and meaningful than any poor attempt to say something to break the ice. Because truth be told... there is no need.

Instead, Dáinsleif's eyes open and he turns his head enough to meet her cornflower gaze without disturbing her hand motions to his hair. The edges of his eyes crinkle in a smile, serenity and joy reflecting in his own stellar eyes as a quiescent way to communicate non-verbally that he enjoys this, the moment— her company. His eyes close thereafter and so he returns to his initial position, praying to the great Irminsul that he doesn't fall asleep as a result of the sleep-inducing act uninvited. Praying that more moments such as this appear in the future, just the two of them.

@moonichor ✦

[reginrokkr]

Inteyvat anthers glow in the dead of the night, an announcement of their detachment from the shackles of their filaments to fly towards the nocturne dome specked with their companions-to-be: the stars, and the lonely moon that sheds its frigid, albescent light in the kingdom of darkness. Ever since his arrival to Khaenri'ah, this is the first time Dáinsleif has the opportunity to be on a vantage point like this with an even better company than his own solitude.

Glacial sapphires turn to look at the angelic figure beside him, what little and natural light that reaches Khaenri'ah imprinted on her like she's the source of this luminescence. ❝Many moons has it been since you witnessed this view, yes? Has it ever changed since then?❞

@moonichor ✦

[reginrokkr]

✧ @guhamun asked: “If I can be by your side, I will endure any hardship.” ( percival )

Flirting with the source of death cannot bring anything good. Long has it been since Dáinsleif had come with this realization: all the way back since the renowned alchemist Gold created rifthounds and they were used by the beastmasters to fight against the dangers of the Abyss to more recent times when the energy utilized from within the Ley Lines was switched for that of the void. This caused that the first line of defense of Khaenri'ah against the dark forces, the field tillers, went haywire when the abyssal presence grew stronger for reasons yet to be investigated and, rather than fighting the monsters of the abyss that dared to trespass the borders, they allowed them pass and began to attack Black Serpent Knights.

A kingdom like Khaenri'ah that borders the limits of the abyss and human activity should be prepared for any inconvenience that these lairs may pose for their survival, this fact stands true even now. Nevertheless, the unpredictable nature of the Abyss begets situations of emergency that require drastic decisions. With two foes of different natures but of equal lethality if ill-prepared, this urgency is higher than any others, for no one anticipated that it would take an extra protection for the Black Serpent Knights in order to defend the kingdom. But now... they're driven against the wall. Going back to retrieve the necessary protection against any abyssal effects that all of them may have if infected with it through battle wounds is a luxury they cannot afford. One wrong move suffices to let all these automatons and fiends of the Abyss to enter the cities and wreck havoc everything they have built for the past millennia. That's why...

◜Everyone.◞ All the Black Serpent Knights straighten themselves with an intoned yes, sir to make known that they have heard him as he turns on his heels to face them. ◜These circumstances are of exceptional gravity and we lack the proper means to defend our people as we usually would. For that reason...◞ Sapphire irises narrow, a sense of guilt pangs in his chest. But there is no other choice, no matter if he knows they won't like this. Thus does Dáinsleif steel himself back to his stoic self before waving his arm to retreat. ◜All of you, fall back! Now!◞ Shock is evident in everyone's startles voices at the order, causing some of them to look among themselves in confusion. One of them steps forward to voice the doubt that many of them have: ◜But sir! If we do that—◞ ◜It's an order.◞ Though turning his back to them would suppose the end of the conversation, Dáinsleif doesn't have the heart to send them off to retreat without some last words. ◜Who else will protect our people if you exhaust your lives in the face of unprecedented danger?◞ His sword materializes in his right hand, thus he waves it once more to insist, his voice much sterner and firmer. ◜Retreat, now! Defend the citizens from the automatons, I will take care of the rest.◞ And even softer still, almost like a prayer for reunion once everything is over. ◜May glory be with us.◞

When Twilight Sword is ready for battle, any army that may come his way would only be marching to their doom.

His men know this more than anyone, and so they retreat slowly one by one, throwing concerned gazes to their captain, some of them performing the Black Serpent Knight salute as a form of prayer of their own to see him again before doing as they were ordered. The reason why no one dares to question that he'd be as endangered as the rest should he be infected with the abyssal might by battle wounds is because it's common knowledge among them that Dáinsleif's manner of holiness, much like the other side of the coin to his brother's, is against the Abyss. Sensing that they have left, the lunarescent knight closes his eyes once more and breathes deeply a quivering exhale to steel his own nerves.

◜If I can be by your side, I will endure any hardship.◞ Dáinsleif's azure eyes snap open in shock, the magnitude of his surprise sufficiently big to permeate on his features as he turns to see Percival standing by his side. ◜This insubordination will cost you more than disciplinary punishment. You know that, right?◞ But he already knows the answer. Time and time again, Twilight Sword never tired of reminding his men the dangers of the Abyss. If any of them is severely wounded or spend a prolonged amount of time within it, it could be mortal to them and potentially dangerous to their loved ones if not treated in time which— is difficult to do. He will endure any hardship. Those words reverberate within Dáinsleif's mind, a certainty that he's here on his own volition and taking responsibility of what may happen to him regardless of the warnings. Bough Keeper's features soften minutely as his gaze turns away from Percival, silent. ◜Very well, then. So be it.◞ Until his free hand extends towards him to imbue him in protective, sapphire flames. They may not be as effective as they are innately on himself, but hopefully they will be sufficient to keep him alive, should anything happen.

Steps rushing towards them drum against the earth, causing Dáinsleif to turn on his heels, celestial eyes widened in shock as plenty of his men come to a halt and salute him. ◜We won't abandon you, sir!◞ ◜We joined your ranks knowing what could happen to us. So please... captain!◞ Star-shaped pupils quiver within their sapphire orbits, moved by his men's resolve to stay despite knowing fully well what being ill-prepared against the Abyss like this can lead them to. And, to Percival's credit despite the act of insubordination, Dáinsleif cannot ignore that this same deed must've served as an inspiration to the rest. Even if, in essence, it became a collective insubordination and disregard for their safety.

When Twilight Sword is ready for battle, any army that may come his way would only be marching to their doom.

But one individual can go as far on its own. The greater the number, the greater the lengths they can reach.

Gloved fingers tense to create a bigger flame on Percival, eyes of the same color fall upon him. ◜Stay back with them.◞ It is no longer an order, but a plea, a favor asked from one man to another. This would cause the flame coating Percival to shrink in size as it's distributed to the rest of the soldiers that stayed, a protective layer to at least preserve their lives and not receive any critical damage or symptoms related to the abyss. Thus spectral, sapphire swords materialize around Dáinsleif as both fiends and automatons come their way and ultimately turns to face them. His head turns to the rest one last time to give them a nod of approval, causing an uproar of excited cheers for managing to stay despite his initial orders. And then, sapphire eyes meet Percival's one last time before looking forward to ready himself for battle.

Thank you.

[reginrokkr]

✦ @resolutepath asked: [ 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 ] : sender has gotten injured protecting the receiver. ( perhaps from halfdan if you like? )

Dangers of the Abyss forgive no one. Long has it been since this kingdom settled at the roots of the Axis Mundi and in contact with the land of night learned this hard lesson. From flora and fauna unborn due to conditions incompatible with life to creatures that spill from the everlasting darkness, every inhabitant of Khaenri'ah has grown aware of the trepidations of living far away from the divine's gaze.

By logic, automatons should be the ones in charge of vanquishing these hostile monsters at the earliest opportunity they have to perceive their presence within the kingdom's borders, for they serve as one layer of protection towards knights and citizens alike should they be affected by the noctilucent poison. But no matter how intelligent they may be, they have limitations which humankind can surpass with ease.

It isn't unlikely for knights to partake in cleansing operations, for that reason. They can warn their denizens of the dangers they must escape from, practise caution to not let bloodshed affect them unlike automatons. And Dáinsleif in particular is no different from his fellow knights regardless of the title he dons: he is one more of them.

And much to his regret, not everyone agrees fully with his perspective.

Glacial sapphires widen at the call of his name, prompting him to turn in time to see a beast manifest through a portal with the wits to ambush him. Its darkness-tainted claws should've cleaved through him, but pain never came. Instead, a cry of pain makes him snap out of his momentary shock at the sight of Halfdan shielding him from the attack. Dáinsleif immediately catches his body before it hits the ground as the amber beam of a Field Tiller makes it recoil and engage the automaton into the conflict first.

Seizing the opportunity that he was given, his attention remains on Halfdan as a dimly illuminated hand hovers over the wound on his torso in search of something, anything of corroding essence that alerts his senses. To Halfdan's misfortune, its signs make themselves manifest. Fair brows knit in response as he looks at the silver haired's suffering visage, resonating with the pain he's in. By normal account, this wound should heal with proper time and rest— but it is the essence of the Abyss that precipitates everything to death that concerns Dáinsleif the most.

Albescent lashes flutter close for a fraction, from dim light sapphire flames spring and worm their way into Halfdan's body to counter the abyssal energy and vanquish it entirely from him. This process ends before a medic comes rushing their way to examine him, not a single trace of grief on features school to perfect stillness could be seen as Dáinsleif rouses on his feet. He catches a glimpse of Halfdan's emerald eyes looking at him, quivering with unspoken cognizance.

It is said that Twilight Sword's features seldom betray a shred of sentimentalism, but should one take notice of his eyes, they would see profound emotion in quivering pupils. Lament for the unfortunate turn of events that should be his to shoulder, and supplication— that he doesn't jeopardize his life like that for him again.

Not when both of them are aware that being affected with abyssal energy is a worse punishment than death.

[reginrokkr]

Tag dump repost #2

◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος α: αναμνήσεις από μια χαμένη ζωή┊kingdom of celestia.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος β: descensus in regnum tenebram┊kingdom of khaenri’ah.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος γ: αγκασμένος στην αθανασία ┊aftermath of disaster.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος δ: ψάχνοντας τη χαμένη μοίρα┊to the journey’s end.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος ε: ανακαλύπτοντας την αλήθεια┊100 years of penance.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος ζ: ενδιάμεση της ανθοφορίας┊way of the prophet.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος η: μαρασμός της αφάνειας┊twilight’s prologue.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ τόμος θ: λυκόφως οι θεοί που πέφτουν┊advent of ragnarök.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ chasing luminous river of stars ┊noctilucent crossroads.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ rupture of the everlasting darkness ┊astral reverberations α.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ rupture of the everlasting darkness ┊astral reverberations β.┊

[reginrokkr]

Lunarescent knight is at the mercy of Blade's touch when he cups his face, tender and warm despite the sense of frivolity and distance it intends to be. No resistance is offered when he gently rises his face, when glacial sapphires meet aureate rubies, nor when his thumbs wipe his tears away. This is a touch that he had forgotten a very long time ago, his skin ceased being well-versed on amorous touched as it became for the first time— even if in a dream.

Albescent lashes flutter close when the midnight-haired kisses his forehead, trying to reminisce something— anything that could be remotely close to this across the centuries to no avail. This is something Dáinsleif laments deeply, something he could only remind himself that it happened through a diary he's written with the intention to record what had transpired in that beautiful dream. The biggest source of remorse in his heart is having forgotten to begin with, despite being his first love and a chapter in his life that he would hold dearly in his heart, no matter how fractured or bare it would become with the passage of time. Such is the nature of human mind when one lives for too long.

Pale eyelids open anew to reveal quivering azure irises and within him does a spark of warmth sets alight, one he can only observe in the reflection of Blade's eyes, shimmering like a feeble candle amidst the darkness: longing.

Twilight's rationale demands logic, claiming that things shouldn't go as easy as they are after having forgotten him. For what right does he have to claim him again as his under such circumstances? Even so, his heart weeps in all its sentimentality of joy, of unexpected reunion that could be deemed no higher than a dream come true which he would never think could be real. Dáinsleif's own hands rise to cup Blade's face, to hold him holy as if he has encountered his most precious treasure right then and there— a statement not any less truer.

Astral pupils fall upon the other's lips, gauging the closeness betwixt them at a mere inch, and then back into his eyes. Another pang of remorse cleaves into his heart, like a thorn hard to remove once it claimed its space. He should not— there is much to learn about him, about what he considers that might be akin to a new him after rejecting his past name, who knows if his past self too. But for all the contradiction that can be felt from both him and himself, Dáinsleif reminds himself of a fact: Blade sought him and he holds tender feelings for him still.

Just this once... he can afford to think about it later, and act on his feelings.

So roseate lips press atop the other's, gentle and genuine— lacking the experience he once had. But not lacking the magnitude of the sentiments poured in this tender touch and closeness.

One thousand years. Reality dawns on Blade with the strength of a ton of bricks falling upon him, followed by the widening of crimson eyes out of shock. Nothing of what he remembers or the memories he had recovered from the times he spent with Dáinsleif revealed the possibility that he was a long living human like most of the Xianzhou is, but knowing this and how long it's been to the blond and to him... a few centuries less, although still significant enough to draw the line from one human life to the next, it is perfectly possible.

How must it have been for him, to come to terms with the fact that they wouldn't see each other ever again, only to come by his doorstep again as a different person? Blade cannot begin to comprehend how hard it must be to Dáinsleif, moved by hope as he was in his illogical belief that his dreams had to mean something in all his delirium.

No matter how torn Dáinsleif's heart must be at the current moment, there is one thing that doesn't escape Blade's perception. And that is the gentle kiss on his knuckles, loving and tender as he remembers.

It's time for Blade to shed tears as he bites at his bottom lip, his hands free themselves from the weak grip of the other so he can use them to cup the blond's face and kiss his forehead before he presses his forehead next. His thumbs wipe Dáinsleif's tears away with utmost care as he looks into his eyes. This— this is the man he had fallen in love with once in his previous life, the man he has fallen in love with again when memories of the past began to come to him again. And still... "I'm sorry." He mumbles, for coming uninvited, even less without a warning.

His heart finds relief in the fact that he's still alive and that he still remembers him— that he saw it in him to recognize Yìng Xīng in him despite how vastly different he looks from what he knew. At the same time, it weeps from sorrow. For there is more he would've wanted to do, having Dáinsleif at just an inch of distance like this, knowing that there is still some form or shape of love for him in order to kiss his knuckles tenderly as he did. But he can't. He can't—

And so, wish as he does, he refuses to kiss him on the lips. For his crimes are too great for even being deserving of a respite like this in his now unwanted life. For it is unacceptable that he had all forgotten about him in the first place, no matter how broken and shattered he is.

[reginrokkr]

■    ■    ■    Being the Twilight Sword as the maximum exponent of Khaenri’ah’s military doesn’t limit Dáinsleif’s duties to such important branch of this kingdom alone. It extends to affairs that not even the highest individuals of the noble society can have access to, namely royal matters as the captain of the royal guards— pinnacle to the human division of the army. What he’s less accustomed to, nevertheless, is to receive guests from afar with no intent to establish boundaries with this godless nation via the king. Even less to be anointed as their custodian.

The Bough Keeper was instructed of the meeting point to meet this person without further information other than you will know who it is once you see this person. And so it was as soon as Dáinsleif arrived at the entrance of Khaenri’ah’s main library. Judging by the man’s attire alone, he can deduce that he’s a foreigner from afar. Inazuma and Liyue are promptly removed from his mental guess list, soon to be followed by Mondstadt. Before the knight allowed such intruding thoughts to take much of his time and the other’s after coming all the way here, he clears his throat to garner the grey haired’s attention. ❝You must be the scholar whom came to document Khaenri’ah, is that correct? I am Dáinsleif, pleased to make your acquaintance.❞ A gloved hand surges upward in a weak fist to bump gently with his left breast, a respectful salute mimicked by the width of the army at large. ❝From now on, I shall be your custodian for as long as your stay lasts here. At your service.❞

@alhaqiqah​ ♥︎ed for a starter!

[reginrokkr]

Khaenri’ah is a kingdom known by name to everyone, albeit shrouded in utmost mystery that begets curiosity by those whom seek to understand their prosperity far from the divine’s reign. Not the same can be said about this isolated nation that is at any information’s reach at the tip of its fingers. It is part of their survival, so it is part of their drive to protect themselves from any threat that may come this far end of the world’s way. Reason why the presence of faraway visitors stirs anxiety and an imperative necessity to guard at all costs.

Hardly ever Dáinsleif has the chance to take a stroll down the city’s streets to his fancy, for oftentimes he is occupied with documents concerning the military management. However, it is not unbeknownst of that whenever this opportunity arises, he’s dragged into someone else’s responsibility. ❝Lord Dáinsleif. Please, over here if you may.❞ The guard’s facial features look more troubled for disturbing him than by the situation per se— whatever that may be, for apparently he is dealing with a red haired man at the city’s gates. He approaches the men nonetheless, sliding a quiescent glance to the guard before icy sapphires fall onto the elegant man waiting for a brief scrutiny. ❝Is there any problem?❞

❝Uh… You see, when I asked this gentleman his ID as per the usual protocol, he said that he lost it on his way here.❞ Frozen astrals peer into rubies as the man talks in an act of lessening whatever nervousness he may have for addressing such a trifle matter to him when his garb suggests that he is not currently on duty. ❝I was suggesting him to come back once he has an ID at his disposal, but…❞ ❝Send him back for such a triviality being cognizant of the hardship one must endure to arrive here, you mean.❞ Though his tone of voice is as monotonous as it always is, it suffices to make the poor man startle beside him and lower his head, eyebrows knitting in guilt.

❝I beg your pardon, but as you seem to lack an ID to identify you I have no chance but delay your rest for a moment to ask you a few questions.❞ A hand ascends to rest on his left breast. ❝It must’ve been a tedious journey for you, so I will make it as quick as possible.❞ His eyes regard the stranger with an innate kindness known by many, no matter that he is the top authority of the military branch of this kingdom. Regardless, there is a shift in the ambiance as his eyes harden a tad, preluding the beginning of his questions as per his indiscriminate duty. ❝State your name, origin and business here.❞

@gnaneisten​ ♥︎ed for a starter in Khaenri’ah!

[reginrokkr]

Comfort that al-Háitham has already caught on the fact that he has never been intimate with a man before washes all worries away, sending them ashore far where they cannot reach him again. Roseate lips curl in a relaxed smile that reaches his eyes, a small dip of his head is offered in understanding and acquiescence.

What the Sumerian scribe brings to the table next is nothing short of a reasonable necessity. If they are going to engage in this intimate act together, they must be cognisant of where each of them stands, what they can do and cannot, potential dislikes to avoid. Truth be said, Dáinsleif doesn't know how to touch a man in a way that awakens primal instincts to lead to a pleasurable experience beyond what he knows about himself and his own self-discoveries in solitude and with another, when he used to be more active in seeking a partner.

However, despite the silver haired man's question, Dáinsleif is not one to cower or feel intimidated.

❝No experience worth mentioning. But men and women don't differ as much anatomically, I know where they do and what must be done to spark pleasure.❞ Nomad hands uncoil from his arms' embrace to his neck to descend to his shoulders, down to his chest. Al-Háitham has a beautiful chest, well-trained to achieve the visual result it has. Judging his outfit predilection, he presumes pride stands high. As it should have. For being an active warrior no more, he has naught to envy to any of his Black Serpent Knights.

Icy sapphires look back into deep emeralds anew as a means to fight the urge to feel his chest. He will have time for that very soon. ❝However... I'm a firm believer that every person is a world irregardless of their gender. Sexual attraction cannot be measured and create groups with it to generalize all men. What one may like, the next one might dislike it.❞ A restless hand gives his chest a gentle pat. ❝Right now, I wish nothing more than to explore your body, to perceive what takes your breath away or makes you quiver. What makes you gasp and eager for more.❞

❝As I wish for you to guide me if you don't mind to engage in this with me, to show me where to draw lines to not touch, to know how to touch you the way you like... everything.❞ Albeit sincere, hearing himself be so vocal about something that in his mind comes naturally in a process of trial and error makes the tips of his ears burn. Not to say that he dislikes it, however. He finds it best to discuss things beforehand in order to know which buttons not to push, anything. ❝From my end, I can assure you there is naught to be careful about.❞

Difficulty to give in to the most primal temptations makes itself manifest when Dáinsleif makes it so easy for him to continue his endeavours, his neck baring itself open for him in such way that complicates his self-restraint to bare pearl teeth and sink them in his moon kissed skin. Not yet, he reminds himself. They are in the phase of testing the waters, to see what is of their liking and what not. Without mentioning the relevant factor that Dáinsleif has never been with a man before, he doesn't know how far he reached with the two women he's been with either.

A low hum of his own rumbles in his neck as soon as he feels his strong arms wrapping around his neck, as soon as he pulls him closer. He takes it as an invitation to proceed and go farther if he wishes and wish al-Háitham has. Dáinsleif's tremors are a delight, all of them tellers of the effect his kisses have on specifically located spots of his neck. He memorises them all, marks a hand in his mind to revisit and exploit those tender spots of his or make more additions if future occasions like this arise.

Dáinsleif's command is heeded and so he obliges minutely, stays rooted in place from continuing any further and looks into his eyes for signs that tell him if he did something wrong, of feelings he might be hesitant to share that can be gauged by mere observation alone. He finds out none of these are the subject of the blond's worry. Instead, it's the admittance that he never laid with a man before. "So I understood, yes. From your previous words." A punctuated nod is given to accentuate his acknowledgement on the matter, he started this already knowing that.

He appreciates immensely the Twilight Sword's consideration to let it be clear and direct if it already wasn't from before, a gesture al-Háitham repays with gentle brushes of his thumbs over cheekbones. "There is nothing you should worry about. It was my choice to initiate this being fully cognisant of that, after all. We can learn together." Yes, he wants this to be a learning experience for both. For Dáinsleif, to open himself to new possibilities in the sexual realm with men after he showed himself willing to engage in this with him. For himself, to be more loving and less wild— he had sex in previous times with other people... but no real attachment with them to have like he does with Dáinsleif in an intellectual and emotional manner.

It is too early to think of something deeper like love, but not too much to disregard this as nothing at all. They have their shared story, everything they encountered and built along the way culminated in this beautiful connection.

Al-Háitham can't ignore the prospect that something must be done about his lack of experience dealing with a man, however. "You said you know the theory, but let me ask: Do you know how to touch a man? Anything at all for the necessary build up to what you know? Presuming that by knowing the theory you mean what revolves around penetration." His hands fall from his cheeks to his shoulders, down to his arms before finding his sides to keep the motion going, to not lose the physical contact, albeit making it comfortable for him to loosen up. "If you're sure you want to do this, we must be open to one another in order to make this experience as enjoyable as we can."

[reginrokkr]

❝ one gets so used to one’s own horrors, one forgets how they must seem to other people. ❞ though Gold can hardly say that she's ever cared about what others think of her, the pointed looks and whispers behind her back don't escape her. Let them simmer in their own inability to grasp the importance of higher knowledge. It won't be long before they'll change their tune once she successfully completes her work.

■    ■    ■    Isolation is hardly different than venom to those whom desire most fervently to lead lives analogous to those who bask under the Seven’s reign. Khaenri’ah is the epitome of this phenomenon in varying degrees, Dáinsleif noticed. From those who daren’t set a foot outside the protection of this kingdom albeit would forfeit everything they possess in order to see what any other location outside these disastrous conditions byproduct of its proximity to the Abyss looks like to those documented to have fallen to madness— many of which follow an eminence’s steps blindly.

What people seek the perfection that gold symbolizes for? Long and hard as the Twilight Sword may think about it to find an answer, he cannot wrap his mind around it.

Which once upon a time begged the question as to whether Rhinedottir is cognizant of what she evokes to other alchemists only to find that perhaps not. This answer does naught to assuage whatever suspicions Dáinsleif has about her, about the highly plausible misconduct in the use of the Art of Khemia that he knows the king conceals from him. Turning one sector of the Khaenri’ahn population to another would pose a most troubling scenario, but the Bough Keeper isn’t one to believe in the notion that time will settle the waters of disquietude.

Not when Khemia is being used for such a range of matters, starting once from the dire necessity to create flora and fauna to serve mainly as nourishment for humans and then to medicine when this arcane art allowed for further sophistication. Accidental incidents regarding the malfunction of automatons powered by abyssal sources cannot be taken lightly when they have been recurrent. Khemia practitioners proved to be earnest in their wish to see this kingdom prosper, but he has also seen the dark part of it from the prism of individualism that many others seem to harbor. And Gold, judging by her lack of self-awareness in regards of other people’s perception of her, suggests that she’s part of the latter group of alchemists.

❝Perhaps you ought to consider socializing more, specially with those with the intent to follow your steps in the path of what they believe to be success.❞ Success from the prism of what concerns alchemy, yes. It remains to be seen if it applies to another field of interest to this country or, in fact, his suspicions about her person are confirmed. His word choice is tame at best, regardless, unwilling to rise any conflict betwixt the two maximum exponents of Khaenri’ah’s two fundamental pillars: military and alchemy. ❝Disconnection from one’s subordinate-like peers may result in negative consequences if perpetuated for too long.❞

Notwithstanding the way she regards herself like from a social standpoint and irregardless of whether her Khemia advances are purely individualistic or something else altogether, being a renowned figure like her ceases all singularity. Another accident were to arise, Dáinsleif cannot promise to be as courteous as he currently is with her.

@drolliic ✦

[reginrokkr]

✧ Al-Haitham

          How could he resist the urge to let his fingers weave through moonbathed locks of pale blond under these circumstances? There couldn’t be such a thing as ignoring the man resting on his lap, even less when it was him the one who prompted him to stay with him and relax. Gradually his attention was more and more monopolised by lord Dáinsleif even though he did almost nothing to purposefully attract his attention from reading to him. Until he closed the book and directed his full attention to him when his warm fingers trailed the warmth of his own skin. He put the book on the sofa’s armrest to reach out to reciprocate the affections to the knight in kind, gentle and earnest. “Dahri. That’s how we call the Khaenri’ahns that made it to Sumeru and live there. You are nothing short of fascinating.” And with you as their strongest protector, even more of a topic worth investing one’s interest.

Comfort and relaxation are odd occurrences in days of occupations as they would befit a man of Dáinsleif’s position within a kingdom’s workings. They lull him to close his eyes anew to welcome in earnest even rarer acts of affection so alien to him and for roseate lips to act on their own and release a semblance of low purring. Gloved hand rises to gently circle al-Háitham’s wrist, a quiescent message not to limit his caressing movements— to encourage him to continue for as long as he wishes. ❝Outlander presences en masse usually don’t bode well. I wish to think that our denizens’ signifies otherwise.❞ Let it be not the Twilight Sword of all people the man who speaks ill of Khaenri’ahn inhabitants, his service as oracle-priest and royal knight both suffice to tell book-worth stories of his love for this country. Nevertheless, emotions do not deter him from having a critical and realistic mind and so his thoughts are of the kingdom bathed in darkness. Moon-bathed lashes flutter open to reveal the immensity of icy sapphires specked with infinite stars in number, fond and tender for the one and only man whom he ever engaged into the similitude of a romantic relationship alone— if he so dares to call it so himself. ❝Tell me more about the origin of the word Dahri. Is it safe to assume that the presence of Khaenri’ahn citizens in Sumeru was noticeable enough to give them a name?❞