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

[twilightichor]

Pouring rain falls like a balm to soothe raging flames that will never die. Labored breaths return to normalcy as Twilight straightens himself to look over his head, his palm open to watch sapphire drops fall atop the onyx leather that covers his hand. ◜...◞ Astral gaze falls upon the snow-haired man thereafter, narrowing in quiescent acknowledgement. It's been a while since Dáinsleif had realized the nature of this man —or as he would rather say, superior being— ever since the beginning when they joined forces to purify the Weeping Willow in Fontaine. Now, after a voyage to Ochkanatlan and what Natlanese would say the end of the world where they were caught by an unpleasant surprise, it's all the more clearer. ◜You did what must be done.◞ Not necessarily to Natlan— but to him. The suffering soul caged within the abyssal shell that had fallen before them.

✧ @seraphicus liked for a mini-starter!

[reginrokkr]

✧ @selenorites asked: Dain kisses Luna so softly it almost doesn’t feel real. “…I’ve wanted to do that since forever.”

Long ago has it been since Dáinsleif has given up on love, or so he thought. Contrary to what many would think were he verbalize this openly, it is not out of a bad experience from which he has not healed yet or if he did, that it touched him forevermore in such way that he doesn't want to subject himself to it. Nor it is not because from some ill belief in love either as a result of bad experiences that did not exist to begin with or because of however his character is. In fact, to this day, he is struck with longing which then morphs into melancholia in few moments when he is witness of the love shared betwixt other couples.

Unlike his peers whom have long since forsaken attributes that makes them human like love, believing themselves to be above it, he is not immune to the yearning of the warmth of a gentle hand in his. Of an embrace to share a sad or happy moment. Of lips dancing with his own for minutes that feel like hours. Of tender touches that lead to gentle love-making. No— to the positive surprise of some or the disappointment of others, he is not above these.

Alas, these acts pale in comparison to a bigger desire yet that was never fulfilled: intimacy. Physical intimacy is soothing and gratifying in more ways than one, but it all ends in the superfluous surface of the waters at best. That which he found out with time that he lacked all along is the growing necessity to speak up his mind unbound by the shackles of the societal context they live in, muted and frozen with the passage of time out of reluctant resignation. To be the safe haven of another who can do the same. To connect sentimentally and spiritually with. To not be ashamed when moments of vulnerability rear their ugly head neither him or his partner.

When he believed he has given up on love, then she came to bring light to his dark night.

Like the moon that no longer hangs in the abyssal sky, she showed him the way to a path he did not consider once to be necessary. One of self-acceptance, of ceasing to look up to others above himself when he, too, shines with a light he's still in disbelief he has —he has been doing better on believing more in himself, he truly has—. Amidst that way, he took notice of the selfless care she poured on him. It was unsolicited, but much eye-opening and needed when thinking about it in hindsight. Lunafreya shared her pale light with him, but just as the moon reflects the light it absorbs from the sun in essence, so, too, she was in need of light. A light that emerged from the humble mote of light he began to believe himself to be in times of need of serious reflection, of finding herself in moments of doubt, of seeking answers to understand her place in this world. A light that, to his own surprise, was more than enough to her.

Upon realizing that he's found in her what he used to long in the yesteryear, he did not pursue her love. Instead, gathering a habit that should've been discarded long ago and in direct opposition with the foundational belief of this kingdom, he became more than her knight— he became her silent devout. Dáinsleif was happy of standing in this position, looking for her closely, being her guide when she needed one. Until one night, that contentedness has begotten something else, fuelled further still with a courage he didn't think he would dare act upon.

Moments of silence are sometimes regarded as moments to be avoided, as they may breed discomfort and awkwardness. It was never so between them, rather finding comfort in it and their mutual company when there is naught to say at that time. Cornflower eyes are locked to the eclipse that now reigns supreme the Khaenri'ahn skies, her semblance neither betraying any thought or sentiment she might feel. Sometimes, when she does that, he wonders if she seeks to find answers that only the moon would give her. Under the dim light that now illuminates the slumbering kingdom and whatever little light reaches from behind them, he marvels in her beauty, star-shaped pupils quivering within sapphire depths.

It is when she looks at him out of the corner of her eye and realizes that he's been staring all along that his heart skips a beat at the mesmerizing sight before him. Surprise melted into happiness, as if she herself is revelling at the notion that he was looking at him. The rosy glow on her pale cheeks and the smile sat upon her soft-looking lips make his own eyes soften in an indescribable look. At that moment, for reasons he didn't stop once to consider, she ceased to be the oracle, the saintess he devoted himself to from strict quiescence. At that moment, he knew: he belongs to her.

Driven by a kindled sentiment does he step forward, eyes unable to peel off from her to engrave that smile in his mind. He wants to protect it. Onyx-gloved hands reach out to cradle her face as delicate as he can get, —for he is just a warrior, after all— and, before confusion has an opportunity to cast its shadow, he allows himself to cave in that which his heart wished to fill in, to dispel the longing that has made home within him for many years. Thus he emboldens himself to lean his face closer still, dares to close his eyes until even more audaciously still, he kisses her. It is just a simple press of lips, lacking in ulterior intentions that aren't that of allowing himself to feel once more, to act upon his own desires as she had always encouraged him to do despite his fruitless denial that he has none.

His forehead presses against hers when the gentle kiss concludes, thumb tracing gently her cheekbone with newfound tenderness he had forgotten that existed in him. And ultimately does a confession slip past his lips, from a man who would sooner bite and swallow it before admitting it aloud not out of sense of pride, but of self-sabotaging thoughts of how worthy he is of her (were she know about this, he would get a scolding, he knows).

◜…I’ve wanted to do that since forever.◞

[twilightichor]

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 ✧

[twilightichor]

✧ @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.

[twilightichor]

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 ✧

[twilightichor]

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 ✦

[twilightichor]

Fair eyebrow rises with interest from where he stands, arms crossed over his strong chest. His silence indicative that he listens, his patience an encouragement to take his time to put his thoughts in order— for it is something he will need. The notion of faulty memories being everything he has to help him on the cause stirs intrigue within lunarescent knight, quietly making him wonder what must this man —young-looking as he is, not too older than him if he is such to begin with— have gone through in order to reach to that state.

Truth be said, for all the harshness he displayed to this man —and more than that he could've been, but he never gave him a reason to intensify that disposition—, never once he sensed a lie coming from him. If he were to rely on his instincts, on a sentience that he no longer reminisces if he had acquired with the passing of the years or if it was innate since his birth, the best descriptor that would suit him is broken. Fragmented.

Glacial sapphires descend upon the inteyvat the man holds betwixt his hands, so delicately that he would think that it holds special importance to the other. And so his words seem to confirm, albeit the reasons why that flower became so important to him are veiled in mystery about to be revealed.

A strong heartbeat paralyzes him momentarily, a call of his soul to recollect that which has already been lost to the natural course of the river of time. Stellar pupils quiver within celestial depths, roseate lips part in slight shock he doesn't bother to mask before fair features return to perfect stillness, unlike azure eyes that are still moved. As a rational individual Dáinsleif believes himself to be, it is hard to trust too much on that which has no reasonable explanation other than a gut feeling that proves to be more bothersome than it is helpful in moments when understanding evades him.

But something inside, very deep within calls for a paradoxical recognition that is possible to the Confluence Between Past and Future despite being unbeknownst of such fact or his stubborn logical mindset that sometimes gets in betwixt him and his real potential. There is a voice that reverberates with those exact words, as if he had already uttered them once— or at least, as if they fall in place like missing pieces joining together after a long time of absence from one another's union.

For this, he should not relent yet in his logical stance when it comes to such a bizarre situation. But oh, behold as his arms fall by his sides and he walks towards the man. He lowers himself on one knee to be at eye level with the inteyvat, and so gloved hands reach out before they stop for a fraction. Sapphire irises make contact with the man's ruby-aureate ones to ask for consent— he wouldn't dare trample over something that seems so precious to him. Only when he offers his consent he nears long fingers to one of the flower's petals to graze it lightly with his finger pads. Indeed, they are soft as any other that has never left Khaenri'ah to begin with. ◜...◞ By all logic, if he carried it with him elsewhere that isn't the premises of this kingdom and returned, it should've softened and turned to dust.

◜At this point, there should be no flower at all.◞ He murmurs under his breath, more to himself than meant for the other, who already knows what it would've happened if it were a regular flower. An inteyvat that was left behind when his soul departed from the Xianzhou... is that really possible? If it is, then there is only one man who would've witnessed the sorrow of their parting. And so his heart drums against his chest once that realization dawns on him, holding back trembling lips at the prospect that this is him. But he doesn't give in, he does not yet— not until this man passes one last trial, one that only he himself would know the answer of.

Ultimately do celestial irises look up at the man through albescent eyelashes after he swallows thick, an attempt to not be rash and stay rational still. ◜...Your name. May I know your name?◞ His voice doesn't hold the firmness expected of Twilight Sword anymore, nor his question is a demand, but a request to know— and a silent prayer, foolish it may be.

Yìng Xīng... is that... Is that you—?

Since Blade embarked in this foolish journey, he knew that achieving as little as some piece of information of the man that indirectly helped him so much when his mind was broken wouldn't be easy. First he would have to find a world he had no knowledge about and, if by some miracle he did, he would have to find the kingdom he vaguely remembered the other had told him about. After seven centuries since their separation, finding the man in question would be even harder, but at least he could try— and even with the certainty that the man standing before him is the one and only, he knew that it would be none the easier to inspire recognition in him.

He doesn't blame Dáinsleif for the harshness he uses to address to him. The words he's spoken are heavy and highly incriminatory if one were to give them that tint. Nor he would blame him if he didn't remember him at all. For he didn't and he probably never would if it weren't for those dreams, dreams he still doesn't know the degree of reality engraved on them. Reason why his head hangs low, deep in thought to what to say.

"I admit that my memory is faulty at best." Crimson eyes focus on the delicate flower he holds in his hands, and so they narrow. Now that some pieces align with what he had dreamed, there is no way to believe that it was mere dream.

If you were to pluck one and take it out of Khaenri'ah, the petals would stop growing and turn hard. Only when it finally returned to its home soil would the petals grow soft once more, and finally turn to dust... So the Inteyvat is a symbol for a wanderer far from home, signifying the tenderness of the homeland.

Even so, he's no fool. Just because some of these pieces do indeed align, that doesn't mean that everything will. But what else can he do than rely on what he learned from them, when the information he has to base himself on stems from them? He has no other choice but do a leap of faith.

And hope that at least this time— if only this time... it'll match with reality.

"...But I will never forget what I learned about this flower after spending so much time with it not knowing what it is or where it comes from, helping me in my darkest times." Midnight lashes close as he takes a deep breath, a silent summon of those words that so perfectly align with Dáinsleif's voice to reconstruct the description he's learned about it and thus repeat it to him. "If you were to pluck one and take it out of Khaenri'ah, the petals would stop growing and turn hard. Only when it finally returned to its home soil would the petals grow soft once more, and finally turn to dust... So the Inteyvat is a symbol for a wanderer far from home, signifying the tenderness of the homeland."

His eyes open, this time to face Dáinsleif directly. "Let me ask you this if you allow me: if I claim that I come from another world and I have this flower in my possession, how do you justify that it is not a form of incorporeality?"

[twilightichor]

✧ @guhamun asked: "What if they kissed?" ( i gently and tentatively place percival here )

Fiends of the Abyss scatter everywhere within Khaenri'ahn borders. By all accounts, they should have no place here as it was alleged oftentimes that they are to remain in the only sea they know of: the stars. Slashing them back to the void whence they came from is but one step closer to find out where his brother has been abducted first, where these monsters truly came from second. Deeper down still than where Khaenri'ah is located, there lies a maze that no one dares trespass for a reason. But the king did, and so the princess did alongside Vedrfolnir.

His noble act to gather every soldier in sight who can rise their weapon to fight and unite them under a single banner, irregardless of what their main mission may be was merely a means to reach towards his goal. But unbeknownst to Twilight Sword, breaking the shackles that tied every soldier to their own platoon gave them the freedom of action without thinking, without having to wait for the orders of others superiors to them in order to fight. Khaenri'ah was under siege, so it mattered not if their post was at the capital guarding the palace and the gentry living within its vicinities or sentinel knights guarding the borders of the kingdom. Everyone had a family of their own to protect, a homeland, an identity that were threatened.

Now that the path was cleared and the worst of it handled, all there was left for Dáinsleif to do was to venture in the vowels of this world. To the place that many in their delirium have described as something worse than hell, if the Abyss were to be ascribed such descriptor by those who feared it instead of offering worship. Common sense would dictate not to wander deeper without treating his injury —superficial in comparison to what his brother must be enduring now, ignorant still that he would forever lose his eyesight in this event—, even less spent as he is from the arduous battles against great foes they have never faced before. But right when he's about to delve into the depths of the Abyss, the call of his name alongside the title that precedes it stops him on his tracks and so he turns on his heels to see Percival.

A knowing silence befalls betwixt them, more understanding and cognizant of the gravity of the situation at hand as well as the emotional weight that would carry in their hearts if the root cause of this disaster than verbalizing it —Dáinsleif's would run deeper still, were he unable to save his older brother—. And yet, there is something about the other's gaze that fills his heart with unease.

I am not as noble or righteous as you make me be, so please don't—

Don't look at me like I am.

As if aware that he may break whatever illusion he has of him, the quasi-quiescence is silenced in an instant when Percival closes the remaining distance between them, his hands holding his face to bring him in for a kiss. Sapphire irises widen a fraction, his arms grow limp by his side paralyzed in shock and confusion as one more variable to consider materializes within his mind. But ah, how to ignore the moment of peace this offers to his now stilling heart, a fire giving rise to an inexplicable warmth where it shouldn't be under these circumstances. For a moment, Dáinsleif allows himself to close his eyes albeit briefly until Percival pulls away, the frown in his eye telling enough without need for words.

The lunarescent knight senses distress coming from him, but also hope. Hope that he may come back in one peace and that all of this stays as the nightmare it has become. His gloved hand rises to cup one side of his face, his thumb running over his fair eyebrow to smoothen the frown written in his face. Roseate lips press slightly to chase away the tingling he still feels. Strange, it's as if his lips never left his to begin with. Is this what it feels like to kiss someone? Azure eyes soften momentarily before the hand touching his face falls by his side. ◜We will talk about this later.◞

It was a bold move. A very bold move, Percival. You should know that us pure-blood Khaenri'ahns are expected to preserve our bloodline—

Nevertheless, be that as it may, Dáinseif finds himself uncaring about this aspect of their society. What should be a scandal to him no longer fazes him, perhaps as a result of his heartbreak to their king and to those who would follow him unconditionally, going as far as to plunge their own homeland into darkness. Twilight Sword turns and heads towards the hollow illuminated with a suspicious portal, then he turns his head one last time to look at Percival. A silent vow that he will return.

◜Take care of them.◞

Of our people, those who we've been fighting for all this time. Wait for me.

[twilightichor]

✦ @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]

As a kingdom that converges with other civilizations, it isn't unknown that Khaenri'ah has a plethora of festivities local and imported from the homelands of those whom have come here. Nevertheless, there is one that is most anticipated than the rest by everyone, native to this country or otherwise and connected with two special weeks that graces this dark nation with their purity and light: the inteyvats in bloom. Dáinsleif's gloved hand rises slightly to cup gently one of the motes of light that emerge from the flowers as they open they petals one by one, as if to greet the only ocean that they know, the starry sky. ◜Did you know? Inteyvats are said to be a symbol for a wanderer far from home, signifying the tenderness of the homeland.◞ The corners of his lips lift in a gentle smile as sapphire irises seek cyan ones. ◜It makes even more sense when we come back home after a significant struggle on the frontlines, only to be greeted with this magnificent sight. Wouldn't you agree?◞

✦ @guhamun liked for a soft starter!

[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.┊

◟༺✦༻◞ where edges of eternity collapse ┊aetherial crisis.┊

[twilightichor]

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.┊

◟༺✧༻◞ where edges of eternity collapse ┊aetherial crisis.┊

[reginrokkr]

Indeed, what she says is cryptic— ominous even, as it speaks volumes of the knowledge she professes through what couldn't be considered less than an universal truth. For the long living such as them, this may look like the same sights as any other year's whenever the inteyvats bloom for two weeks before they find repose in the abode that is the stellar graveyard at their roots. Dáinsleif shakes his head slightly, meant to reassure and put the oracle's mind at ease. ◜Worry not. I may not be as profound as my brother is in the realm of spirituality, but I find truth in your words, nonetheless.◞ That's right, for he is far more detached than Vedrfolnir would be as the Visionary. Being a vessel for visions of the future to come to the present can do as much to a man, he can only hope that the sights he has of times to come aren't horrifying nor paralyzing enough to interfere in his daily life now. Only realizing now that he was back at admiring his older brother's prodigy and the traits he had gained from it thereafter, Twilight Sword proceeds to clear his throat awkwardly. ◜When you talked about the unchanging nature of a scenery for the long living, I mean. The ephemerality of these moments serve as a reminder that all must come to an end one day.◞

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 , 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.   astral and whimsy.  and wherever they’d go, they would belong.  for a seeress bereft of her home, unbelonging and still half-settled, tied to the arteries of time, the wonder arose frequently when those visions of dust would finally be realized to dust, when the dream of eternity consumed those who fled every passing day from its consumption.  beneath the faint moon-sheen she folded her hands and hummed out her pondering softly.  and even this, cradled within the security of khaenri’ahn walls, would be a state momentarily existing before it did no longer.  “ for the naked eye, it is an unchanging sight, but what seems eternal is, in fact, not.  i believe she wants to remind us about our own evanescence.  that, though we may last long, it shan’t be forever.  even the moon, will disappear one day. “  abruptly did she then acknowledge etiquette might not be appropriately applied to chatter nigh resembling ‘ small talk ‘, not at all the place for philosophies and spills of vague prognostics.   “ forgive me, kind dainsleif, cryptic remarks are a terrible habit i ought to unlearn for private conversations. ” // @reginrokkr

[twilightichor]

✧ @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.

[twilightichor]

[ 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 ✦

[twilightichor]

Paperwork is as inclement as ever, unforgiving of other obligations to be prioritized as per the Regent’s wishes. Alert and attentive of the Grand Scribe’s on the day, occupied on his office when the veil of night covers everything and the subject of his custody goes to slumber. It has been that way since it all started, thus surprise reflects in icy sapphires upon catching sight of al-Háitham sitting by the fireplace, book in hand and leg crossed over the other in a stance that denotes utmost elegance. ❝Should you not be asleep?❞ This time he returns to the Twilight Residence just a tad over midnight, symbolizing that today’s paperwork was fewer in number and in degree of concentration. Perfect to get a good night’s rest. Except the fact that concern begins to spring within his mind as the wooden door closes behind him and thus he makes a beeline to where the Sumerian scholar sits.

@samyavastha​ ✦