Search Results
6/16/2025, 9:52:34 PM
>>6259385
# # # # # #
They have taken your armour away.
They have taken away the sword you won.
You had to give it to a Priestess of Flame who almost bent under its weight.
And you are now only dressed in veils of seaborne wind. Your clothes, the same Sandora Mirari gifted you, are burning in a pile behind you, just like the boat that brought you here.
At least they kept Master’s cloth… the half of it.
“That thing,” the next Priest demand, holding up a hand.
“It was a gift,” you say, putting Carnaval’s feather upon her palm. “So I would like to have it back.”
She does not reply, and falls back amidst the crowd, who marvels at Carnaval’s feather scattering the light.
The next Priest in line seems to look at the only thing you still have.
The thing that was just given back to you.
“That—”
“Not this,” you reply, grasping your cameo. “This is Master’s gift. It was given to him by the Sun-Birther, and it passed on to me. I shall not part with it!”
The crowd shares uncertain looks. The Priest does not seem moved by your words, and looms forward, his fingers grasping for your neck.
“No,” says the one who read the paper, holding up his arm. “Not that.”
“It is— it seems heretical.”
“She has but one word,” he replies, in a low whisper, and the Priest finally relents.
“She has but one word…” you repeat, walking forward. The crowd parts before you, casting their prayers before your steps, their curses in your wake.
Your heart is pierced with nails.
Rubida and Soralisa.
They are safe, at least… well, Soralisa will probably get scolded…
Willow is… not safe at all.
Wonder where she is now.
Does she miss you?
And what about Sandora?
You hope she found what she was looking for.
“Master, I’m coming back,” you whisper, finding at last your place at the helm of the ship. There you listen to the wind, and you reply with words of your own, with prayers, holding onto the cameo.
Onto the truth.
You saved them. You saved them from the Trial — your decision carried weight, it was thanks to—
You gulps, biting back the scream that’s been clawing its way up your throat ever since Willow cast off her sword, in the Temple.
The scream that’s scratching for an exit.
To scream, and scream, and scream, at the heavens.
[cont.]
# # # # # #
They have taken your armour away.
They have taken away the sword you won.
You had to give it to a Priestess of Flame who almost bent under its weight.
And you are now only dressed in veils of seaborne wind. Your clothes, the same Sandora Mirari gifted you, are burning in a pile behind you, just like the boat that brought you here.
At least they kept Master’s cloth… the half of it.
“That thing,” the next Priest demand, holding up a hand.
“It was a gift,” you say, putting Carnaval’s feather upon her palm. “So I would like to have it back.”
She does not reply, and falls back amidst the crowd, who marvels at Carnaval’s feather scattering the light.
The next Priest in line seems to look at the only thing you still have.
The thing that was just given back to you.
“That—”
“Not this,” you reply, grasping your cameo. “This is Master’s gift. It was given to him by the Sun-Birther, and it passed on to me. I shall not part with it!”
The crowd shares uncertain looks. The Priest does not seem moved by your words, and looms forward, his fingers grasping for your neck.
“No,” says the one who read the paper, holding up his arm. “Not that.”
“It is— it seems heretical.”
“She has but one word,” he replies, in a low whisper, and the Priest finally relents.
“She has but one word…” you repeat, walking forward. The crowd parts before you, casting their prayers before your steps, their curses in your wake.
Your heart is pierced with nails.
Rubida and Soralisa.
They are safe, at least… well, Soralisa will probably get scolded…
Willow is… not safe at all.
Wonder where she is now.
Does she miss you?
And what about Sandora?
You hope she found what she was looking for.
“Master, I’m coming back,” you whisper, finding at last your place at the helm of the ship. There you listen to the wind, and you reply with words of your own, with prayers, holding onto the cameo.
Onto the truth.
You saved them. You saved them from the Trial — your decision carried weight, it was thanks to—
You gulps, biting back the scream that’s been clawing its way up your throat ever since Willow cast off her sword, in the Temple.
The scream that’s scratching for an exit.
To scream, and scream, and scream, at the heavens.
[cont.]
Page 1