#literally was halfway through writing a cute cheerful birthday before i realized that CANON WANTS SETETH TO SUFFER

[aeipathic]

@endlesscacophony​​ says: It was the 27th of the Ethereal Moon, he would know this day moreso than any other, for it was the only day he ever dared to venture past the comforting waters of Lake Teutates. It was Cichol's birthday. He'd always been close to Cichol, far closer than any of his other relatives, much preferring the life of seclusion than one of grandeur - or teaching. Indech didn't know how he did it, how he managed to be around so many people, mostly mortal children, and teach them? It was beyond him.

Regardless, it was this closeness that lead him to venture far up to the mountain where Garreg Mach Monastery stood to visit his brother. It wasn't that he had any gifts or anything, no, but he supposed a nice long chat over tea would do the both of them some good. It had been some time since he saw Cichol last, the circumstances being less than ideal - hopefully things were looking up for his brother now.

Especially with Cethlean out of stasis.

That's how he found himself where he was now, a form much smaller than the one he frequented, resembling that of a small lizard, or baby wyvern, curled up on a desk. He knew it to be his desk, it sure did reek of his brother and his crest, he'd remember that smell anywhere. He curled up, half under a piece of paper, nearing the edges of sleep as he waited - he'd show up eventually ... Right? (You did this ... Indech @ Seteth)

    that it was his birthday was, by now, rarely more than a passing thought to seteth. or, rather, it had been his habit for many long years to note the date as another year gone and think little more of it—he had long since stopped bothering to count the years, and for a good while there had been very few to count them with. recent years had changed that, somewhat; cethleann, by his side again, celebrated sweetly and faithfully, and rhea too would invite him for a meal in her rooms if she was available.

     this year, however, left even less cause than usual for celebration. after the disaster that was yesterday’s battle—the loss of jeralt and those transformed students, the betrayal of monica, another imposter lurking right under their nose, and he hadn’t even seen it...no, seteth had been running about all day putting out fires, checking on the rescued students, putting together what preliminary reports he could manage for those students who had been lost to those damned beasts. heavy work for a heavy heart.

     when he returned to his rooms in the late afternoon for the first time since leaving that morning, it was, ironically, to avoid the one celebration of his birthday that was still ongoing. he had never felt particularly comfortable praying to an effigy of himself, beyond what was necessary to keep up appearances, and could think of little less appealing at the moment than listening to the population of garreg mach sing hymns of praise and prayer to saint cichol, who could not do half of what the songs said, least of all save them.

     he dropped onto his desk chair with a heavy sigh, propping his head on his hand that he could rub at the lingering headache at his temple. what a disaster. if they didn’t discover the identity and motivations of the group monica and tomas were a part of soon—

     —what was that?

     he’d blinked open tired eyes only to see a bit of shell and scale peaking out from under one of his reports. what sort of creature could have...? he lifted the paper carefully, only to suck in a breath at the sight of a figure that he would certainly recognize anywhere, despite being...much smaller than he was used to. “indech?”