#big cry emoji idk what im doing anymore ifuwqfuqjwlkfj

[fxrtunas]

five times meme! @etheirian​ asked:  five times watched for aion & asclepius!

i.

The very first of Asclepius’ visions happen while he daydreams atop the tallest building in Amaurot.

Oh, indeed, he is trespassing, yet how can he pass up such an opportunity to behold a city he loves at a viewpoint that most would be envious of? Of course, he imagines Eris only wishes him to be punished for leading her astray many years ago, but ‘tis an offer he thought would bear fruit larger than the labour to be had.

He dozes off there, bathed in the night sky, and the vision wraps him in its warm embrace.

Asclepius stands in a field. The sun beams down on him. It is astoundingly hot. One of the cities north, perhaps, somewhere he has not ventured before.

Voices nearby. None of which are familiar. Asclepius turns and sees two moving towards him. One wears attire beneficial for avoiding discomfort in this rigid heat, donning a hood. The other is clearly of the Convocation, judging by the mask. The Seat of… Azem?

Asclepius cannot perceive the words. It is as if they pass through water, indiscernible, the moment it reaches his ears. He waves to them, but they do not see him. How strange.  

He feels at ease, though, as if his purpose here is only to observe. The hooded one is largely uninteresting, considering how they hide so. Azem, however, talks with vibrant animation in their gestures and words, if the jovial tone of their incomprehensible voice is anything to go by. He thinks he will remember the colour of their soul.

Asclepius watches them for an unknown amount of time, familiarizing himself with their countenance. He’s certain the one that holds the seat of Azem is a woman. Venat, he thinks, though that thought is swiftly scoured by the heat.

Asclepius wakes suddenly. The night blankets him still. He sits up. Amaurot lays before him, beautiful and slow and shrouded.

A smile of wonder curves his lips. Oh, just wait until Eris hears this.

ii.

Asclepius has never bothered to hone his soul sight. Instead, the arts of healing and medicines took his fancy rather swiftly, fixating on it with a passion that often led him to lock himself many a time in libraries.

His visions have not bothered him since years past; indeed, they have only comprised of different aspects of Etheirys, unremarkably observing the landscapes absent of anyone in sight. Even the vestiges of his last vision, one of an erupting volcano, did not seem to indicate much importance.

And so, he had deemed them whimsical dreams despite how vividly such environments and emotions have painted themselves ‘pon his mind. Until…

A familiar visage, accompanied by two others. Asclepius recognizes Azem immediately, though it is still Venat. Rumours speak of her predecessor, Aether, though as Asclepius finds out, it is not the same person he saw in his first vision. That person, however, lingers with the first two, the colour of his soul vibrant and strangely… nice to Asclepius.

Asclepius blinks, letting his soul sight fade to the back of his mind. How automatically it rose from a dormant thought at the sight of the familiar stranger. He wonders what their name is.

Still, they are not currently Azem. Whatever his visions are, they are not prophetical after all. Well, at least he has these books to tide him over on the disappointing revelation. He rather doubts Eris will spare him of her teasing once she finds out.

Asclepius turns back to his books, mentally dismissing the matter and deciding not to worry over it again. He does not notice the stranger glance over at him.

iii.

Aion is his name.

Asclepius dreams of him more than a few times now. He denies still they are of the future, for they have shown him nothing of import, but upon catching wind of these visions, Eris feels more than happy to stage a first meeting. Now, somehow Asclepius is friends with him. He’s not had one other than Eris, as ever more recluse Asclepius has become through his obsessive endeavours in medicine and healing, but Aion seems to welcome him with open arms.

One of the few moments they share, when words are not yet needed, are on fields far from the city. Asclepius thinks he recognizes it from one of his visions, but he does not try to recall it. Instead, he’ll bask in the peace brought with simply watching Aion go through simple, striking movements with different weapons of choice. The literature on medicines lays on his lap, all but forgotten.

iv.

Eris returns to the star.

Aion takes the Seat of Azem.

The visions get stronger, weaving a tale of the end times.

He’s offered the Seat of Emmerololth. He avoids the responsibility and flees.

Asclepius does not know for certain what’s real or not sometimes. His foresight, as it turns out, is quite the burden, and very, very invasive of his rest. They scorch his senses, feel as real as if he lives in the falling sky, as if he is losing the world he loves, as if his brethren are truly dying around him.

But then sometimes there are quiet moments, which are what Asclepius clings to. Moments of Amaurot, where the city bustles, and he sits there idly with a book on swordsmanship. Smaller pockets, still, of happiness where he dreams of the past when Eris is still with him, still smiling and holding his hand through everything.

Then there are rarer dreams, ones of Aion. Travelling, seeing the world, excelling at being Azem. Asclepius likes these the most. At least when he wakes, he is not shaken with the grief from absence. No, instead he can feel as if he’s there with Aion, both watching but also experiencing the world through his eyes.

He’s envious, but he’s not sure exactly what of.

v.

This time, Aion watches him.

Asclepius falters, of course. This is not how things are meant to be. Aion shines much brighter, after all, and Asclepius has never been one to have any such attention on himself, no matter how confident he seems, no matter how forward he pushes himself to be to others.

So he tries to show off as best he can: the swordsmanship he has learned through the years, the effort he has put into this particular art. He weaves his sword through the air, breathing evenly, allowing his feet to guide a familiar path. It’s more calming than he thinks it is.

Asclepius finishes and bows. When Asclepius looks at Aion, the pleasure in Aion’s eyes is much clearer than it ever was in visions. The way he talks—praises—is not muffled. The smile curving his lips does not fade from Asclepius’ memory so easily.

He hopes, suddenly, Aion will take Asclepius on his next adventure. He thinks he would prefer seeing Aion in person rather than a muddled dream.