Fantasy 【𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞】

[neon reverie]

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

芒种

—

音阙诗听

intro

r.name

(zaoxi) shizenya

origin

shizu clan

c. clan

qiura clan

role

qiura clan leader

age

176

goal

power & prosperity

intelligent

liberal

caring

virtues

cunning

arrogant

ruthless

vices

 

[triples]

issei

血の誓い

—

vindu

intro

r.name

enyo shizuku

age

twenty-four

origin

iryu union

clan

qiura clan

role

guard (spy)

goal

kill shizenya

disciplined

strong

cautious

virtues

taciturn

cynical

inflexible

vices

 

[neon reverie]

命運

. . . when our roads connect somewhere upon the bend

. . . it is not goodbye
until we meet again.

chapter 1

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

Stories twist and mingle as narrators change and intentions alter. People say you have tales, rumours and the truth. All battling to be whispered, all wanting to be heard.

A tale has it, spoken in the hopeless but longing kind of reverence, that the leader of the Qiúra clan is one of divinity, birthed by the heart of Umei and mind of Umyeo. Rumours travel, out of skepticism, dislike or knowledge, that her eternity is sacred, but not her being. Whether one speaks of a gift or a depraved exchange of the soul is dependent on a history people only can recount in shades of their own. Truth is, Shizenya is both and none; she is nothing but a woman whose original demise was shaped by the sins of man. A woman who lived because death was something she wished to escape, no matter the cost. Shizenya is a woman with ashes of multiple eras staining her skin and a heart that knows, all too well, the nature of true gods. Knows with gritted teeth and wounded soul that they will always bring fate, just because they said so -- just because that's what was promised.

It always begins like this too; on a day too mundane to be touched by that celestial kismet. Sunlight enters the windows of Drakenya's palace in woven strands, free and united. The halls still hold vestiges of winter as the cold lingers around, not yet exiled by the golden rays. It won't be till few hours into the afternoon that the inhabitants can shed the additional layers of clothing and bask in the warmth of spring again. Shizenya, though immortal, is no exception. Enveloped in numerous levels of red silk, she walks through the many halls, trailed by her usual trio of maidens and, strangely enough, a dressed up chicken.

A gentle noise of chatter flows through the air as the maidens idly chatter with one another, the atmosphere friendly and open. Most clan leaders would prefer those under them to be obedient and silent, but Shizenya knows that in that silence, whispers are born. And it is not shouts, but those words, faint and secret, that defines thoughts and motives. It is those brand of distant whispers that can make truth a wound that festers, rotting in the filth of lies. So she allows everyone to talk in her clan, criticism or not, to avoid secrecy that kills bleeds.

But even now, sometimes, in some corner, she can catch those hushed syllables. Oh so clandestine. Oh so interesting.

"General Aytan-" the voices barely carry through the walls, but Shizenya hears nonetheless. Hears them speak of the wicked harbinger of fate, "-- dismissed soldiers from the Iryu union.." Silence falls with the drop of a spirit. The maidens do not need to see the face of Shizenya to know; the abrupt stop tells enough.

Iryu Union is a nation of blood and shadows, and perhaps the only adversary the congregation might want to get rid of more than her. But it is not only that, not to her. Iryu union is a symbol, one lost to everyone but herself; a symbol of love -- the kind she would perhaps die for to earn again -- of a future she denied, and of fate she wishes to escape.

She curses, because the heart betrays her so with its quickening beat. Curses because the memories slip in so easily, as does the myriad of emotions she can't afford.

[ gazes collided like seas, heartbeats synched alongside the drum of war, moonlight whispers of love alike to a mountain stream; quiet, persistent, continuous, sapphire sorrows of a tragedy, silver spectres of a thousand flowers grave.]

The gossip ends in cacophonous surprise as the doors suddenly slam open, revealing the striking appearance of Qiúra's leader. The flock of servants immediately bow in greeting, a gesture that conveniently hides the faces and lasts a bit too long for normalcy. Shizenya notices, but does not comment. There was something of greater importance needing attention.

"What is it that I hear about general Aytan?"

✧✦✧✦✧

​

General Aytan does not bother to hide the surprise when he catches her barging into his office, forehead creasing as his eyebrows are lifted up. Shizenya's presence at the military grounds, while not rare, is certainly not too common either-- especially unannounced. The startlement on the man's face, while present, is fleeting, and his eyebrows furrow in subsequent concern.

" Lady Shizenya, what brings you here?" is the question, wrapped in a conscious, reposeful tone. Never in the twenty years the two have worked together has Shizenya ever put up a formal mask around him - perhaps because she is too old to care and he too stark to mind - she doesn't do so now either.

"I heard something very interesting today Aytan," she slowly walks closer to the man behind the desk. "Whispers have it that you dismissed two Iryu soldiers and barred them from the personal guard candidacy." her gaze rests upon his. " Is that true?" Fury and vengeance is what led the general to the Qiúra clan, but liberty and honor is what made him stay despite having a home back in the dark mountains. General Aytan pledged loyalty to the Qiúra clan, to Shizenya, and one could say that he might even treat the leader as a daughter [even when his hairs grow grey and hers never do.] And like many in her close circle, Aytan and her have an unspoken pact of honesty. It is why he can't lie, why he doesn't dare to.

"Yes..." his admittance is accompanied with a heavy sigh, one that tells her he'd hoped to keep this a secret.

"And you have deemed it a just one, because...?" the question flows, despite the answer already residing in the depth of both minds. General Aytan has never been one to hide his opinion on many things, including Qiúra's stance on welcoming people from the Iryu union.

"You know why. It's because they are from that...clan." the disdain is so palpable, so potent, she could taste the bitterness in her own mouth. It's hatred sprung from souls lost and bodies buried. It's one Shizenya can't take away from him, but also not something she can completely excuse either.

"You are condemning people because of their origins Aytan... Applying that same logic, should I not do the same with you?" the confusion etching in on his face beckons for an elaboration, one she gives bluntly. " You are from the Dülaan clan, are you not? One previously known to ransack cities under the guise of war, sparing no woman or child- "

​

Aytan immediately rises up from his seat, an indignant fire in his eyes. He might be a general of Qiúra, but his pride will always remain partly in his roots.

"That's different. That was eons ago, but those from the fallen Yūrei clan still-"

" And I appreciate your concern, general Aytan, but I did not establish this clan to be like others. The Qiúra clan thrives and prospers, and do you know why? It is because of the people. It is thanks to trading insight of those from the Daeya clan, the strength and smithing of those from the Dülaan Clan , the healing and warfare knowledge of the Shízu clan, the artistry from those of the Shinsora clan, the scholar wisdom from those of the Hyeon clan, and yes, even thanks to the infiltration skills of those previously from the Yūrei clan. It is because we, the Qiúra clan, gave them an even chance to start anew. I won't have that sullied by anyone." the harsh words bring a swift ending to the building argument, and while Shizenya can see the disagreement in his eyes, she knows he wouldn't defy them. Her lips curve into a small smile, content with the outcome. "Good. Now, please bring the soldiers you dismissed. I think I want to judge for myself if they are suited or not."

Shizenya might be immortal, but mortal traits have yet to completely escape her; she is still fickle, flawed and fallible.

[ She still looks at the fallen past, even with an eternal future]

―

三生三世十里桃花

by 古筝

mood :

curious . . .

location :

Military grounds, Drakenya

outfit:

interactions :

servants, general Aytan

tags:

triples

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[triples]

issei

【

ii

He is standing there, sword drawn, the howling wind stinging his fresh wounds. He takes a deep breath, and the frigid air cuts at his tired lungs. Behind him, he can hear her footsteps, straying further still as he awaits his reckoning. He is glad to hear them fade away; this is not a betrayal or an act of cowardice, but the fulfillment of his last wish. He is truly glad, yet a treacherous tear spills, quickly tainted by the blood splattered across his face, an echoing duet of his deplorable affections and their wretched fate.

He is alone. And this is the end.

ii

】

Except it isn't. He opens his eyes and feels this terrible ache in his chest, something heavy and cold weighing down on his heart like chains. Something almost real. He knows, of course, that it isn't. He knows the images in his head are nothing but just that, images, inconsequential and illusory. But knowing doesn't stop his hands from trembling, or his breaths from growing uneven, or shudders from wreaking his body, in memory of some visceral pain.

Issei didn't often fall into deep enough sleep for dreams — but once he did, they never let him go, dragging him further into an endless abyss each time they sunk their abhorrent claws in his skin. Sometimes, he wonders if perhaps their old caretaker was right, about his nightmares being a curse. Perhaps one day, he'll finally be dragged down to the bottom, and never come back up.

But he has no time to mull on such eventualities; there was a mission to be completed. Issei glances out of the wood-pane window by his bedside, at the dark outlines of the quiet capital and at the sky where the first hint of a sunrise threatens to show, as the stars return to heaven's vault. Most of the barracks were still clinging on to the last dredges of their sleep, some quietly stirring awake. Only one bed was neatly empty; Rua must've left first. With a soundless sigh, he brings himself to his feet.

There is no room for last night's terrors in his thoughts, when today has already begun.

✧✦✧✦✧​

"There aren't as many as we estimated,"

he remarks, studying the gathering of men, as they await further instruction — all they knew was that they had been recommended by their commanders for the post. The lack of numbers fails to give him any ease of mind, when all of them here are clueless on what the selection requirements could be.

"It doesn't matter,"

Rua declares, in his hushed, slightly rasping timbre, his gaze flicking to the group behind them to ensure that they aren't being paid attention to and then continuing,

"we are Enyo. There's not a military unit on this continent we aren't skilled enough for."

The memory of their first meeting with General Aytan, the way he had stared them down, distrust ringing in those sharp eyes, makes Issei wonder if it will be so simple. The test of skill is not the one he worries they stand to fail.

Still, he hums a vague agreement and does not voice his concerns. No doubt, Rua had considered these matters, too. But, he supposes, there is no harm in keeping their own spirits high, for now. Bringing the gourd to his lips, Issei takes a quiet sip, and tries to douse his pessimism with the cool freshwater.

He barely manages to hang it back on his belt when the call of his name comes from the entrance of the dignified building, with Rua's name swiftly following. Issei pushes back a frown. So much for stamping down his wariness; something was already wrong. Sharing a look with each other, they head up the steps to the retainer, an old man with a bent back, waiting for them with pursed lips.

"The two of you are dismissed,"

are the first words they are greeted with,

"you may leave and rejoin your troop."

The retainer does not look into their eyes, as if willing them not to ask questions, and they don't. They acknowledge the command, they salute, and they turn to leave. The silence continues even on their walk back to a more familiar courtyard, and despite their casual gait, Issei could feel the frustration resonating from Rua. The disappointment. Their step forward, cut off in one sentence.

He refrains, once again, from commenting. He knew his partner felt guilt for the stagnancy of their mission. If Issei had infiltrated alone, he would have entered under the guise of a different clan's disgruntled member. Unfortunately, that was not a sustainable idea for others, whose stolen power could only last so long. Strong as Rua was, he wasn't Blessed.

It doesn't matter, Issei tells himself. The position of personal guard to the infamous immortal was definitely a boost to the speed at which they could gather information, but they can make do regardless. They were able enough. And nothing stops them from being a part of her larger entourage for the Gathering, even if they could not get within stabbing distance just yet.

"Bastard,"

the youth finally spits, breaking the tension,

"so much for harmony amongst the clans."

Amusing words to come from men whose purpose was to break that very harmony; both of them scoff at the irony.

Oh. Something clicks in his mind, a faint possibility.

"Why don't we tell them about it?"

He suggests, with a head tilt toward the group of warriors sparring in the distance — their unit and, more recently, friends. Rua's expression shifts from surprise to realization, and finally to agreement as he continues,

"About the discrimination and the General's unreasonableness, to as many people as we can."

"And,"

Rua adds with some laughter in his voice,

"of course, with our best impressions of a victim."

✧✦✧✦✧​

Dull-edged swords made such awful noises, a screeching imitation of the whistling of true blades. As the weapons clash, Issei feels the cramp in his shoulders protest a little louder. He ignores it in favor of pushing his strength into the blow, forcing his opponent's balance into disarray and creating an opening for his next swing to land. He shifts his feet and wastes no time in lifting his arms, ready to strike -

"Sei!"

An obnoxiously loud voice cuts through the training grounds, dragging with it everyone's attention. The sparring freezes. He turns to look at the source of disruption and finds it is an oddly excited comrade, heading towards him.

"You've been asked to General Aytan's study,"

the man proclaims, patting him on the back, an action which should not have stung so much if not for the sweat that drenched his skin,

"he must've changed his mind about you and Rua."

"Right now? What about Rua?"

He questions, taken aback by how fast the response to their little bout of rumor-mongering came — it has only been a full day. The first thing he feels is not relief or happiness, but a sudden anxiety at not knowing what this unforeseen meeting was about.

"Yes, him too, I've passed him the message,"

comes the marginally reassuring answer. Right. This was their intention. He has nothing to worry about. Life truly is difficult as a spy, that he must remind himself of this so often.

✧✦✧✦✧​

Issei had not been prepared to see who he would behind the thick doors of the General's office. Neither had Rua, because he can see, in the periphery of his sight, the tiniest bit of fidgeting from the other man. He, too, is growing helplessly and rapidly tense, conscious even of his own breathing.

Nobody had bothered to warn them they would be meeting the Immortal of Qiúra, their assassination target, the source of folktales, a rumored goddess, right now, on this nondescript morning. After months of barely being able to get glimpses of her, no less.

Up close, she looks no different and yet like entirely separate entity from the woman he otherwise knew. So ordinary, but with such a sense of otherness that he couldn't quite place; beautiful and eerie in the same breath. Indeed, sitting there, in a flowing red dress that only made it harder to draw your gaze away, she looked almost human.

Still, through his flawless salute, though his eyes struggle not to linger, his face remains expressionless. He straightens, and waits to be spoken to.

―

赤竜の国

by vindu

mood :

👁👁

location :

general aytan's office

outfit:

training uniform

interactions :

general aytan, rua (npcs) | shizenya

tags:

neon reverie

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

Fate has never come in one face, that Shizenya knows. The eyes that used to collide with hers like seas, holding lagoons of emotions beautiful and treacherous, weren't the same that glared inferno, hoping she'd burn. Their features, sculpted by celestial hands and tuned to mortality, held no repetition, only immaterial resonance. All of skin and bones, creases and cuts, were nothing but a vessel of a soul fated and tragic. And Shizenya, with a heart heavy but foolishly longing, wonders, wonders what kind of face might greet her this time. Will it be one of love and bittersweet lies, or one of blood and betrayal? It is a conundrum only the gods and time can answer. Shizenya also knows which one not to bother with.

A pair of footsteps announce the imminent rendezvous with fate, the opening of the doors quickly following suit.

The Qiúra leader had been a player in the grand game of politics long enough to express peace even with a war of hearts. Disguised beneath layers ever so seamless, sewn together with intricate pattern, was the trembling of a timeless soul as two men entered the study. Judging from the training uniforms, both were freshly beckoned from the training grounds. Iryunian features with expressions so characteristically stoic it half bemused her; it was evident they hadn't been here since long.

An inkling of nerves slipping past one's mask tells that they weren't expecting her presence. It would've been nice, she thinks, to toy with them a little bit. To color those monochrome shades and chip away some of those sharp edges. Alas, this is not the time or place for that. Fate, in all its wretched glory, is what Shizenya wants to see.

Show me the face destined to live and die before me.

It happens then, with a pause in the wandering gaze and the allegro of a heartbeat. A hollowness drills in dull drumbeats, in the pitter-patter of beaded drops; though annums have passed, veneered in healing, there is still a chill only loss can give. To know a soul mortal and obliviate of past memories is a heart tear that never quite mends. Shizenya knows why Umei and Umyeo smiled that day, when immortality was a gift and its price fair ― has learned by now how frightened gods are of pain. There is nothing more foreign to them, and so nothing they ache more deeply to see.

Oh how tragically mortal he looks, just as he did in his two lifetimes before. His eyes harbor no burden of memories, no flicker of recognition that melts his heart with hers. Even so, Shizenya is no more a stranger to the whispers of fate lingering about. A piece of the cosmos, of stars born anew, glimmers in that soul. Like a constellation only meant to be witnessed by her, she sees him, knows him, even when he does not. Heartstrings tug and tremble, weaving a symphony of deific destinies endless, beautiful, agonizing.

Shizenya knows, but can't help wonder.

Is this real?

Is this truly him?

Murmurs of doubt, or perhaps denial, flit across the mind. They seek attention, seek to be answered ― both of which she can not give at the time. Fated or not, both her and him have their own roles to play right now. And so she speaks up, as the leader of the Quira clan, tone collected and impersonal;

"So these are the Iryu soldiers..." the silent nod from the general confirms so, a needless response but one Aytan gives nonetheless. Shizenya takes a step closer to the two soldiers, noting their frigid stance and tension in their shoulders.

"Rest easy. I've not come here for punishment." she adds, hoping to assuage the overwrought. "I understood that you have experienced acts of prejudice against you?" she slowly shakes her head. "For that, I apologize on the general's behalf. He does mean well, as there has been an incident of Iryu espionage and attempted assassination in the past-"

【 Trampled flowers in a midnight meadow, booming chants in the square spelling death, a sinner's gaze that hates and burns. Tears that cannot be spilled form at the edges of her eyes as a mirthless laugh echoes in the distant of the mind. How cruel this is. How utterly god-like. Another end, another death. For an immortal like her, it is unbecoming how much the inevitable strikes her. It is a fate she chose, and she knows, painstakingly, how fragile life is. His decades will always clash with her centuries; she will always lose him somewhere in the aeons.

But if only it wasn't like this.

The sword swings. And Shizenya closes her eyes. 】

"- of course, that does not excuse his actions and I have reminded him so, but I do hope you can understand his, albeit unjust, wariness. As for the solution to this issue" there are warnings behind the general's stone-like gaze, pressing reminders of idealistic futures and their ripples of reality. Shizenya heeds them. "I, unfortunately, can not give away two free spots in the personal guard. It will look as favoritism and create an environment uncomfortable for both of us. But," the edges of her lips tugs into a ghost of a smile, "you two do deserve a fair chance."

Her gaze wanders over to the swords on the wall, an idea springing to mind.

"So I hereby propose a duel. Whoever wins shall be welcomed into my personal guard." tilting her head back to the soldiers, she lets her eyes rest upon fate once more.

"Will that be fair enough for you?"

―

三生三世十里桃花

by 古筝

mood :

what do you say?

location :

General's study, Drakenya

outfit:

interactions :

general Aytan, Issei & Rua

tags:

triples

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[triples]

issei

There is a certain frustration only felt when you have forgotten that which should not be forgotten. When a gaze resonates so deeply within you that you feel the tremors down to your core. When a voice hits you like a stone hits still water and the ripples seem only to grow bigger, but never to stop. When there is something discarnate yet of such significance, sewn into the threads of your soul and etched into the kernel of your being, which you can hardly perceive but know, by the whispers that haunt the back of your mind, that you will never unsee, or unhear, or unfeel.

Few know of this frustration, much less its meaning. Issei, too, does not know; he writes off the sudden knot in his stomach when her eyes fall on him as anxiety and the hollowness he feels when they leave as relief.

"I understood that you have experienced acts of prejudice against you,"

the Immortal declares, and her words finally break him out of the spell his nerves cast upon him. He glances, so briefly it is barely visible, at General Aytan, who looks as unhappy as one could without being ill-mannered. It seems there is only one person in this room who considers injustice to have taken place — they are fortunate that it is the person they need.

It is odd to Issei, and he suspects for Rua as well, that a clan leader would find the need to apologize to lowly soldiers for any offense, let alone one so negligible in the grand scheme. It is almost uncomfortable, yet not quite unpleasant, like much of the culture in Qiúra they have experienced in the past months. It is impressive, he thinks, that within this woman and her every move, he could so clearly see the structure of her people.

The commanders were right. Her death is essential to the destruction of the Congregation.

"But, you two do deserve a fair chance."

She smiles a mysterious smile as she arrives to her conclusion,

"So I hereby propose a duel. Whoever wins shall be welcomed into my personal guard."

Issei blinks. He isn't sure what he expected from her, or from this day when it first began, but it isn't this.

"Will that be fair enough for you?"

It was more than fair. It was a situation where they couldn't possibly lose — or so he thinks to himself, but the engraved instinct for victory inside him stirs — a perfect outcome. Glancing over at Rua, he finds his partner looking back in similar surprise, but a silent understanding passes between them. They shift once more into a respectful salute.

"We are honored by your kindness,"

he speaks on both their behalves. His gaze locks with hers, and that unsettling current flows through him again, like her dark eyes were a flame and his attention a hapless moth.

"And glad for the chance to serve you, Lady Shizenya."

✧✦✧✦✧​

The duel is quick but not quick enough. Despite the guarantee of success, they do not take it lightly. They cannot take it lightly, for the sake of appearances to be kept and impressions to be made. So the shrill whistles and rapid clangs of blades cutting through air to meet each other echo in the square arena like a song of war, until silence abruptly arrives with a thud.

In the end, it is Rua who stands weaponless, with a sword leveled at his neck, and Issei who leaves triumphant, as the final member of the personal guard.

✧✦✧✦✧​

Every time he looks down the corridor, it seems to stretch on a little longer. The palace is full of people, yet this hallway feels perpetually empty. Solitary, like the night always is, even when a million stars twinkle and sing across its expanse. The bustle outside seeps in through the bamboo walls, muted and echoing like ghostly murmurs, and when the torches flicker, the shadows seem to dance to their abnormal rhythm.

But Issei does not feel a chill when he stands here. He does not feel the silence crawling under his skin or the darkness's glacial caress, like most claim to on this dreaded shift. Instead, there is an odd sort of comfort, a sense of familiarity to the loneliness.

Perhaps it was because he knew he was not the only one drenched in this solitude. Because the Immortal — the Lady — was there, too, inside her study, accompanied by her servants and yet without any real company. It comes to him like an undeniable truth, that in the same way the sun always rises from the east, Shizenya was always so utterly alone. It is almost as if he could, if he tried hard enough, see through those tall, heavy doors and catch...

【

ii

A glimpse of her slight figure, staring out the window at the falling snow, open book forgotten by the candlelight. Her eyes are searching the shivering trees and the traveling clouds, searching for an incorporeal creature hiding in the mist. He follows her gaze like an instinct and his fingers stutter on the strings. His melody stops, but she doesn't notice. Of course, she doesn't notice. This is how it is. It is a fate he chose, to be tormented by the sight of a dream lingering ever just out of reach. He will never find what she is looking for in the shifting seasons, and she will never find him, standing in front of her.

ii

】

The doors creak open under his stare, as if they can hear his intentions. A maid, too petite to be much older than just a girl, slips out of the room and clears her throat. She wants to talk to him, it seems. Issei gives her a nod and she approaches his side to whisper into his ears, though there was no one else to listen.

"The Lady hopes to take a walk,"

she tells him, in a high-pitched voice reminiscent of a songbird,

"and she hopes you will accompany her."

Again, he simply nods. This is not an unusual task; the guards and servants escort the Immortal wherever she goes, and at times she tires of an entourage. So Issei follows the girl's steps until he is at the entrance of the study, and waits for the clan leader to walk out, so he can take his place a step behind. He wonders if he will ever get used to this odd feeling — the one of being within reach of a woman his life's mission had been built around and not reaching.

―

赤竜の国

by vindu

mood :

ready for some guardin' and spyin'

location :

shizenya's study

outfit:

interactions :

general aytan, rua (npcs) | shizenya

tags:

neon reverie

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

And just like that, a mind touched by fate becomes utterly beguiled by the cosmic tapestry those deities, immortal and illusive, have weaved. It is the kind of fate that feeds on tears and glistening shatters of the heart. Destiny falls upon her like light does upon her skin, and she, eternal in age yet fickle in soul, falls for it a thousand times more.

The one she has loved and will lose as morality has decided so is one not too unlike those she met in the past. His background always brings similar nostalgic echoes of a ghost, all bearing the marking of ancient shadows and lethal lies. A deserter, like many of ex Iryunians in her clan, or so that is what his citizen report tells.

All documents and first impressions paint a picture of a soul ordinary and true, but Shizenya knows better than to trust that kind of normalcy. Despite a hope grander than the eons in her bones, she knows, deep down, of the darker and divine elements that melted into his existence. He is but a hollow shell governed by winds fated and furtive ― a trembling of time, which passes between the falling light and the darkening sky. Enchanting, fleeting, and oh so uncertain.

His soul sings to her in ways only euphonies composed by gods could, and yet....Shizenya still harbors part hesitance in believing so, may that be doubt or denial. Even with the stars aligned, she still searches for other hidden constellations, still scours this material world for the thread leading her elsewhere. As a prisoner to the will of those celestials weaving serendipity and misfortunes like it's a song that makes man sing, this immortal can't help but seek for the poem that breaks her free.

Nevertheless, it has to be him, doesn't it? It is hard to ignore the twinkling fragments in his being, the similarities in his movements that bring trembling memories.

Shizenya had watched him duel and win. And she hated every second of it, for that all she could see was...

【 Twilight drips like gentle strokes and under a chapel of ice-cold stars, her heart leaps. Draped in silence and vivid moonlight, his bare muscles tense as the sword extends from his silhouette. He hasn't noticed her yet, and a voice tells her to leave before he does.

Her breathe moves, but her feet stay.

She is not unfamiliar to the sight of men training, so this view should not capture her like it does. And yet, her eyes watch with awe how much determination and vehemence drips from his being in drops telling and translucent. His form, silver and rippling, stirs something unexplainable. Something treacherous. She quickly turns around, cheeks burning. Her figure disappears then, within the tall trees, back to the camp that slumbers. Afraid of what this means, and oblivious to the eyes following her retreat. 】

A sigh escapes her, and Shizenya closes her eyes, her fingers massaging the slight throb in her temple. Despite having been here since dawn, most of the documents remain scattered across her desk, pressing but unprocessed. It annoys her more than the burning presence outside her study does. Shizenya opens her eyes again and her gaze slowly falls on the doors as a reminder seeps into the mind.

Right, he's there.

Her lips curve into a small smile.

Perhaps this day doesn't have to end on a completely unproductive note.

"Sena," her voice makes a girl appear in front of her, strands of hair falling down the sides of her face as she bows.

"Could you notify our new guard outside that I wish to take a walk and need him to accompany me?"

Sena whispers a small acknowledgement, before disappearing into the hallway. Shizenya rises up from her seat, decides that tidying up her documents can wait another dawn, and departs from her study.

His face greets her, and this moment feels achingly familiar. But she says nothing as she passes him. Nothing when he follows.

Her walk is silent, save for the twinkling of souls and shiver of a heartbeat. A distance appropriate is kept, but it feels too cold to be comfortable. It is in these moments, alone with a vessel endlessly wandering through memories obliterated by gods, that vices mortal entangle her. Desires selfish trickle down like nightfall on glass, before getting crystallized by moonbeams. The evening aids it and the stars witnesses it; the spilling of words coated in fragility.

"You do not need to stay behind me."

"But Lady Shizenya --" His protest does not come unanticipated; Iryu soldiers have always been frightened of breaking protocol and order. This is not the Iryu Union, however, and this immortal does not mind a bit of chaos. After all, what else is time, if not long-lasting eons of gloom, beauty and craze?

" What? Do you find yourself such an inadequate guard that you can't offer protection unless you are behind me?" It is manipulative of her, she knows. Still, her heart soothes the crinkles in her conscience when he slowly appears beside her. Her fingers touch the lips threatening to break into a smile, and the leader of Qiúra lowers her gaze to the stoned pathway.

"How do you find your life here, in this clan?" comes the next inquiry. Her gaze lifts from the ground and she regards his face as he takes a pause, perhaps out of nerves or something else, to answer.

"It is different, but I feel grateful to be here and to serve you, Lady Shizenya." His answer is so utterly diplomatic, a small laughter escapes her. She doesn't know whether to feel flattered or cautious about it. Perhaps both.

"Right . . And I feel fortunate to have gained such a talented soldier." Her eyes travel up towards the dark heavens. " But, I do wish to let you know -- and forgive me if this comes off as offensive, I mean it well -- that just because you were a soldier in the Iryu Union, does not mean a soldier is all you can be. " Her gaze returns back to him, expression meaningful. " If I have learned anything as a leader of this clan, it is that you Iryunians can be so much more than warriors, spies and assassins. So, please do not be afraid to leave this position if you so desire. "

She allows a faint smile to grow.

"Of course, you are free to serve me the way you are right now. Just know you are not shackled by your past here. You are free to begin again, always."

And with those words decorating the space in between, Shizenya turns left to a grand entrance. It is one seldom walked through by anyone but herself, save for the selective few tasked with nurturing a place as precious to the heart as it is. Her steps slow down as a wind breeze touches her skin, and she comes to notice the lingering of a person. Her head turns to catch her guard a couple of steps behind.

"Is there something?" she asks, 'innocently' ― because there is nothing to beseech a man to hesitate, is there?

In the end, it is only a thousand flowers grave . . .

―

butterfly lullaby

by tenno

mood :

something wrong? te e h e e

location :

at the meadow's entrance

outfit:

interactions :

Sena [npc] & Issei

tags:

triples

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[triples]

issei

It is a great gift as well as a fatal flaw, how quickly one adapts to his circumstance. A sense of familiarity sets in from barely any time spent together; their footsteps begin to align, and the sound of her laughter feels not so strange in his ears. But Issei is nothing if not consistent. He is wary still of what he may say that he shouldn't, and very alert of what she, perhaps, may say that she shouldn't — it is a phenomenon he's noticed often, how even men who stand unfaltering against the seductions of wine and beauty fall prey to the quiet night.

"Right... and I feel fortunate to have gained such a talented soldier,"

she replies customarily to his customary statement, seeming to find amusement in the stiff exchange. He glances over at her relaxed figure with some contemplation — he could not claim to understand what he had done to put her in a good mood, but he knows he isn't about to take her out of it.

"But, I do wish to let you know..."

her tone veers down a more serious, oddly heartfelt lane. Her eyes meet his, and he feels it once more: the shift in the balance of the world around them, like there was a hidden meaning in this moment that only the gods could see. He almost forgets to pay attention to her words, until she tells him:

"Iryunians can be so much more than warriors, spies and assassins. So, please do not be afraid to leave this position if you so desire."

Issei tenses, this time the first to look away. Now, here is a hidden message that even he can decipher — but whether she, too, is aware its presence is what gives him pause. Does she know? Is she suggesting that he leave his position as her guard, or his true position? And, then, become what?

He allows himself to study her quietly, and sees that she is smiling, ever so slightly. A guilty conscience projects itself onto others so strongly, and he could almost see a hint of something sinister across her clear features or in the lift of her painted lips. But he breathes, he blinks, and he looks again to see things for what they really were. There is no threat behind her voice or any vigilance in her demeanor, at least none that isn't merely a figment of his paranoid imagination. Right. She does not know.

"You are free to begin again,"

her innocuous advise slips into the darkness,

"always."

Not everyone has an always, Issei thinks to himself, but he lets the sentiment pass him by, as they turn the corner and step into a grand building. He brings his focus instead to the garden they are entering, that is steeped in rumors of the celestial and tragic legends; a meadow with a thousand flowers, isolated and treasured. Should this be called luck, to have the chance to go where so few men have gone?

He does not have much time to mull on it, because the next sight that greets him steals his attention. It seemed as though, in one careless step, he had arrived in the world of the gods. The garden is ethereal, indeed, startlingly gorgeous. Petals and butterfly wings cut through an emerald canvas with graceful colors, painting a sweet, serene picture. A picture like a fresh breath of air.

So why couldn't he breath?

He barely stops himself from stumbling back. He feels it in his bones, that this is not a place for him to be. This is a place of endings. He knows this, he can feel...

【 The sharpened blade hovering above his head, ready to fall. It is true what they say, that a man is wisest in the last minutes of his life. As he takes in his final moment, kneeling there on the cold wooden stage, the bustle of the observing crowd fades away, the fog of hatred dissipates; his mind is sharper than ever before. He can almost grasp the rules of this divine game. Perhaps that is why he hears it so clearly.

It is getting closer, the sound of Death's heavy drums. 】

Lady Shinzenya steps into the viridescent world on her own, and her figure, draped in crimson, is stark against the calm colors of the meadow. Her steps slow to a halt, as she notices her lack of company. She turns around and...

【 There are tears in her eyes, when she looks down at him, and they tell a story he has longed for. A story he would have gone against the whole world just to hear. But it comes too late. Perhaps to her, it was only a speck amidst an expanse worth centuries, but in that time, he had crossed the border of sanity and crawled into hell. Her sadness brings no more comfort to him.

But it does bring a bitter smile to his face. He was wrong. This story has come just in time. He has succeeded after all. He has taken something precious from her, wounded her in a way that matters. A terrible, twisted way. What an eloquent ending to this chaotic play, he thought. Yes, the ending he had wanted all along. 】

Her lips move, but he cannot hear the words she speaks. The memory of heartbreak on her face is impossible to overcome, because...

【 Because he will never forgive her — not in his eternity. 】

Issei releases a shaky breath, feeling abruptly hollow. His eyes refocus, at last, onto the present, but the sentiments of those flashing images do not leave him. He had thought that his nightmares could not harm him if he did not sleep well enough for them, but it seems he was naive.

Enough. He is at the garden, he reminds himself, and Lady Shizenya is waiting. Realizing that he has shown an inordinate amount of shock for this trivial moment, he avoids her stare and forces himself to move, finally entering the meadow.

"My apologies, Lady Shizenya,"

he tells her, pretending that his mind wasn't scrambling to regroup itself,

"it is just that I've heard this is a sacred place."

He pauses, taking another gulp of air as subtly as possible to slow the rapid rhythm of his heart.

"I wasn't sure I could have the honor to enter,"

he excuses. That much was true. Even now, he feels this weird conviction that he did not belong here. With each second spent here, he becomes surer that it was some force of this place that brought his ghosts to life.

And, yet, he wants to understand this place.

"I also hear... that this is a shrine,"

he continues, for the first time starting a genuine conversation with her on his own initiative,

"is that true?"

He checks her expression for any sign of wariness, or defensiveness, or any sign at all that there were things she did not want him asking. None. He continues:

"If it is not out of manners to ask, why is this garden so precious?"

―

神聖な木

by karasu

mood :

shook

location :

the thousand flowers grave

outfit:

interactions :

shizenya

tags:

neon reverie

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

The meadow meanders in all ways that are soft to the breeze, vivid greenery flowing in capturing ways. Trees hovered around the edges, stretching over the verdant carpets like tame clouds promising petal rain. Blossoms hold memories broken and beautiful in their petal-silk, its wild hues telling a story of eons passed; it tells of a time where hearts crossed their purposed bounds and exploded like the sun,, burning and devouring everything in its wake.

All the flourish, grand and enchanting as it may be, symbolizes a loss Shizenya still feels in her bones.

She has come here for a reason, that much is true. Call it a test of the sorts, a small peek into the soul this new figure harbors. See if the starry night sky and moonlight garden reveal any treasure, or if the jewels she witnessed in his eyes are just obsidian. Shizenya regards him calmly, waits with hands behind her back and slight tilt of the head till the gods show their cards. Last time, she was not ready to face the truth till it was too late. This time, however, she dares fate, the inevitable, to meet her where souls collide once again.

Shizenya looks for a beginning, hoping it will grant her enough time to weave a better ending. Her eyes trace his face, drinks in those Iryunian features speaking to her of olden times. He is handsome, just as all of them were, and a bitter smile tugs at the edges of her lips. It is cruel of the gods, she thinks, to craft a soul with such intricate detail and rawness, only to give him a life he'll never have.

His eyes widen, perhaps because of the garden, or maybe something else.. His shaky breathe is enough to maintain the suspicion, but not to confirm it. He can still be someone else entirely, and Shizenya hopes for him that's true.

His voice carries a tone wise but careful, almost like he is aware of the divine push but isn't quite sure how to act on it. A shrine... Well, she supposes that is one way you could describe this place ― though there isn't any worship done here. Perhaps a sanctuary is a better term, a place where she can be away from reality for a little while. It's a world of its own, a pocket of the past and present immortalized in nature's hues. It is where silence brings peace and weight ― a beautiful graveyard for a beautiful but ill-fated soul.

"If it is not out of manners to ask, why is this garden so precious?" he asks, and Shizenya smiles in ways an old, melancholic soul would.

"Getting a bit bold, aren't we?" the teasing lilt tells that she isn't bothered by the question. It does take her a moment to consider her answer.

"Why is this place precious...." she hums, eyes travelling across the scenery. "wouldn't it be the same as to what makes most things special?" Her fingers brush against one of the pink blossoms as she continues to walk down the main path.

Her stature takes another halt, fingers pausing at a flower small and crimson. It is the kind of flower your eyes easily pass over, especially under the dark night sky. But Shizenya doesn't: she gazes down, fingers against the edges of the petals --

"Memories." it was all because of memories; memories that enamor her, sustain her, haunt her ― memories she wish she could bury underneath this very soil.

Memories she wants to never recall again, because one brings her right back to . . .

【 The treatment of a traitor comes in chains and cuts, her sins seeping out in crimson. Many would deem it a befitting image for someone who tried to escape their punishment, and it's true that she ran away from her fate. But what else is one supposed to do when it's an ending unjust? All she wanted was to live, to hold onto a love rare yet radiant.

Was that such a sin?

They move quickly, but not too quickly for her not to notice. It's a regret she will come to have in the upcoming ages, an image that will haunt her for evermore. It is the lure of lullabies, the song that melted their hearts together, and it pulls her gaze across the meadow, right to the figure laying there. Bloodied, lifeless, wearing a crown of flowers.

Feverish realizations settle, and the soul breaks. Tears bestirs the moon while the heart dangles. The willow weeps, as if she has witnessed it all;

the dismantlement of an union at sunrise. 】

"That and to fulfill a wish of someone I hold dear." her gaze finds him again as her figure turns to face him. It is true that she can share the memory with the hope to spark a memory of his own, but while Shizenya is selfish, she isn't cruel. Not to him. "It's a bit vague, I know, and perhaps I will tell you the whole story an other time. But let's enjoy this walk for tonight. Our upcoming trip to Shízu will lend us plenty of time to share memories after all. " a glint sparkles in her dark eyes.

"Unless you want to share one now?"

―

butterfly lullaby

by tenno

mood :

tell me c;

location :

in the garden/meadow

outfit:

interactions :

Issei

tags:

triples

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[triples]

issei

"What makes this place special,"

she pauses, and in her hands stretches to brush softly against a fragile petal,

"wouldn't it be the same as to what makes most things special?"

Issei stares at her back in silence. He does not have the answer. He couldn't, for he didn't have such things. He was never allowed to; important places, precious people, treasured items — they only tie you down, away from what you must achieve. Or so they say.

Shizenya comes to a stop, and his eyes follow where hers wander, to a blossom hidden amidst the pastel hues. Issei, too, pauses, not in melancholy as she does but in surprise. He recognizes this plant, and its familiar color of cooling lava, as one that grows near his homeland. Not one that could possibly grow here, naturally, unless held up by magic. It must be a purposeful part of this garden, he realizes, to go through so much for a small and dark flower.

"Memories,"

she breathes, as though the word itself brings to life something long ago lost. Her gaze is a faraway one, and it only returns when she speaks again, carrying with it a new layer of something indecipherable.

A wish, she tells him as she turns to face him, of someone I hold dear. Something in him perks up at those words, as if it wishes to hear more, or even just those words, one more time. It's because it sounds like useful information, he tells himself. Though her next words prevent him from asking any further, he sets himself a mental reminder to dig deeper.

"But let's enjoy this walk for tonight,"

she tells him, diverting the attention away from the topic,

"our upcoming trip to Shízu will lend us plenty of time to share memories after all."

In the fleeting moment of silence that follows, Issei thinks he sees a testing glint in her eyes, a confusing accompaniment to the question she poses,

"Unless you want to share one right now?"

He's not sure what story she hopes to hear from him; any he has would not, he is sure, be pleasant to her ears. Not even those odd flashes, though they do not seem to be his story at all. They all hold such sadness. Issei lets the timing to answer pass him by, that in itself a reply: No, I don't. Instead, he comments on a different, more useful statement she made,

"The trip to Shízu, I hear we will take the route through the Daeya settlements. Will we rest there?"

A breeze passes by them, carrying the dizzying scent of the thousand flowers. He turns his gaze politely downwards, using their difference in status once again to avoid letting her see too far into him.

"The guards are concerned,"

he alerts her, confident that she was tactful enough not to let others know she heard it from him,

"the retainers refuse to tell us enough, they claim it is not yet settled."

It is a good excuse to ask what he did, and an easy way to figure out the blueprint of the next few months. Issei still needs to get Rua into the guards; he cannot spy on all six clans on his lonesome.

―

神聖な木

by karasu

mood :

conversational

location :

the thousand flowers grave

outfit:

interactions :

shizenya

tags:

neon reverie

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

Silence carries the words Shizenya won't come to hear. It is not something she is disappointed by, the expectation of catching a memory already having died as soon as the question was posed. She knows, that, for now, walls is all he is; a husk with autonomic movements from dawn to dusk. Only Shizenya can see the past in those eyes of the present. Only her can hear his walls talk, its ancient and haunted tones painting her blue. It aches a little, to watch him live as a slave controlled by fate.

Born to die, in a nice cold grave.

"The trip to Shízu, I hear we will take the route through the Daeya settlements. Will we rest there?" he asks, earning a soft chuckle. Oh how their past echoes. Her heart feels light and heavy all the same; burdened by the wish of a traitor and lifted by the nescience of a guard. Is it fate whispering into her ears, or just the faint droplets of another promise left unfulfilled? Perhaps it is both. Memories tossed in the twelve seas always had the tendency to drift back to you, no matter how much you begged them to drown.

Shizenya wonders, selfishly, if those waters would do the same to him.

"The guards are concerned," his voice informs, gaze descended, "the retainers refuse to tell us enough, they claim it is not yet settled." It does not go without notice, how tactful that stream of information is. Like a trickle heavy enough to catch your attention, yet not so deep it seeps through. There is something deliberate about it; a purpose that can be touched but not caught. Whether it is out of care for his fellow guards or an individual want, the Qiura leader does not know. Nor does she bother quite to find out yet.

For now, there are other ripples she searches for.

Ripples of memories shattered and sunken.

Those walls around him may still stand against the flood for the moment, but she has enough time. Enough time to corrode those stones piece by piece, crumble by crumble. Water, she will be, finding her way no matter the barrier; she will refresh what withered away, nurture that barren land of old thoughts and feelings.

"Are you already using your position as personal guard to gather classified information from me?" the amused glint in her dark eyes shows she doesn't take offense to it. The fingers brushed against the red blossom drop as she goes to place her hands over each other on the stomach. "What you heard is true. We will take a few brief stops in Daeya territory on our way to Shizu. What is not completely settled yet is our return. " another smile, one telling of memories you can't decipher to be sentimental or somber.

A wind breezes through, whirling loose petals up and pulling blossoms from their branches.

For a moment, it rains colors, tinted in moonlight.

"But I'll say, I do have missed the sight of blue ocean waves . . ."

―

butterfly lullaby

by tenno

mood :

a stay on the beach? hmmmm

location :

thousand flowers grave

outfit:

interactions :

Issei

tags:

triples

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[triples]

rua

火影

—

gravybeats

intro

r.name

enyo haruya

age

twenty-six

origin

iryu union

clan

qiura clan

role

soldier (spy)

goal

kill shizenya

perceptive

loyal

optimistic

virtues

hard-headed

blunt

vengeful

vices

 

[neon reverie]

Aytan

a warrior's dream

—

tenno

intro

r.name

Aytan Kulug

origin

dulaan clan

c. clan

qiura clan

role

qiura clan general

age

48

goal

protect qiura

loyal

tenacious

honest

virtues

harsh

judgmental

dogmatic

vices

 

[triples]

祈り

a quiet plea,
words true and careful . . .

. . . a precious dream,
lost to the sky.

chapter 2

 

[triples]

issei

Even from the secluded yard, he can feel the buzzing excitement of the town, so tangible it seems to rattle the lines of streamers hanging above the streets. Days of ritual were met with solemnity and silence in the Union, but it is not so here. In Qiúra, they are livelier than ever. They celebrate, they have holidays and feasts; they smile as they pray. As a person of little enthusiasm for such sentiments — since young, he has lacked faith, in both gods and humans, and even he does not know the reason — Issei could not say which was a better approach.

He can only say that the idea of parading the leader, no matter how immortal, through the streets was an irksome one for her guards. Yes, he understands the importance, the symbolism. But it is dangerous, nonetheless. The irony does not miss him that he must worry about this at all, when they should be so lucky for her to be murdered by some helpful fool. The problem, which arises when one's soul will not travel the Passage but has a body just as vulnerable as mere mortals, comes when she does not die. Any injury would then be on the heads of those by her side.

"The roads on my end are clear,"

a voice reports, sounding just fatigued enough to support his musings,

"and the General has arrived."

His partner for the day, Zeni, had returned from her end of the reconnaissance, beads of sweat dripping down her temple. Issei had been wondering whether it was the blistering weather turning his mood for the worse, or his bad mood giving the day an illusion of such dry heat. Now he has his answer.

"Then the Lady must not be far behind,"

he remarks, passing his bottle to her. Zeni's, he guesses from her chapped lips and the way she took a swig of water without much care for manners, was already empty. He pitied her for having the bad luck to be paired with him, and be assigned the worst job among the shifts. The General finds Issei a sour sight still, or perhaps even more so than before Shizenya had spoken out in his favor.

His gaze travels to the horses they'd prepared at the entrance, and then at the tactless sun above them, before a muted sigh leaves his lips in defeat.

"Shall we move to position?"

he questions, rhetorically, as he pulls himself to his feet and adjusts the sheathed sword on his hip. They will only continue with the procession after a break, but it does not ever hurt to be early.

✧✦✧✦✧​

"You,"

the captain calls to nobody in particular, and Issei urges his mount forward by two short steps to fall in line with the gorgeous black horse in front. Having lined up in order of arrival — they have trained enough not to be fussy about position — he is naturally the closest to the man. Not counting Zeni, of course, who he suspected feared the strict man to a much higher degree than the rest of them, or at least enough not to approach on her own will.

"Go to the Lady,"

the Daeya warrior tells him, a surprising but welcome command. They glance almost in unison at the gilded palanquin behind them, where an elegant figure sits behind translucent vermilion curtains. The captain continues,

"Confirm that we can set off."

With a wordless nod of acknowledgement, Issei steers his horse away from the ranks and towards his destination, weaving around guards, retainers and bearers. He stops right beside where a small window was carved, also veiled with thin fabric, and knocks on the mahogany wood, giving her a second to pull aside the curtains and speak to him.

"Lady Shizenya, are you well?"

He asks, as custom dictates, bending slightly so she could hear him clearly despite the height difference between them.

"All is ready, shall we set course for the next district?"

―

導く風

by tenno

mood :

maybe constant winter wasn't so bad after all.

location :

soldiers' stables, third district

outfit:

interactions :

shizenya

tags:

neon reverie

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

In this world, men live and die before gods.

Zenua is a realm of faith, its land carrying shrines and temples, its air prayers. To believe is as elementary as it is to breathe, for the proof of their existence lays in your very body and soul. In a way, the gods are like ancestors; they are your beginning and you have their presence just by living. They watch too, from their own realm, how you handle the gifts they have given you. Judge, as if your spirit wasn't woven from their hands. Faith runs through the people of Zenua like blood, their heart echoing the reverence right to the bone; Shizenya is no different.

But, faith is one thing, worship another.

People might have come to regard her alike to those divine, her immortality resonating a similarity whispers like to cling themselves to. In truth, however, she is nothing more than a soul shaped by a desperate prayer. If anything, she is alike a sculpture of an empire ancient; ages will have refined it with wisdom, empathy and clarity, but everything is also part broken and cracked. She is beautiful yet jaded. Renowned, but doomed.

Above all, she is human.

A human who can't fault the gods for giving what she wanted, but who can curse them for making a device of heart so easily spaced for fittings of love and pain. And she resents them, little but deeply, for their game of kismet. It must be fun, she would bitterly think, to riddle an immortal life with these kind of tragedies. To dig up those bones but not the heart, and breathe life into it again, and again, and again....

She might deserve worse;

He, however, deserves better.

[ Please, let it be better ]

Spirits of the faithful release devoted words and hopeful whispers, enveloping Drakenya in a bright yet spiritual ambience. Despite Shizenya's personal stance on gods, the Qiura clan lives and celebrates, just like the other clans, as worshippers. Days like these, drenched in rites, happen nonetheless. And even more extensively so, with its inhabitants originating from all over Zenua. What once served as a ritual for a singular god has become one serving all. It is why the parade travels through the entire capital, the leader visiting every community to collect offerings for each god.

It is how a scheme more got built.

A knock, followed by a voice Shizenya has come to anticipate. Pulling back the curtain, she allows herself to glance at the personal guard harboring secret histories. Memories trickle down like the moonlight that night in the meadow, and she feels it again; that wretched string of fate. For a moment, she thinks about abandoning those plans of her own, considers it maybe too similar to playing god. But how else will she write another ending? Who else, besides one like Umei and Umyeo themselves, can bend fate as one wishes? Especially when one's tattered soul's journey, always leads back to her.

A smile graces her lips.

"Please do," she responds.

A glimmer twinkles under the strip of sunlight, and more words follow:

"Oh, and please inform captain Je-ha that I wish for you to accompany me into the bakery."

✧✦✧✦✧
​

The afternoon sun burns Drakenya with its golden rays, offering little to no cooling to those roaming the streets. Shields against the heat are created by an array of colorful umbrellas as more and more people come to gather around the formation. In time, silver shifts to black and the streets become more narrow, the sunlight less ablaze. Shadows stretch across the streets from adjacent tall buildings, creating an aura cool but not cold.

Crowds are lined up, their backs pressed against the wall as to not hinder the moving formation, eyes watching the leader and her guards with a mix of excitement and admiration.

Eventually, the palanquin halts and Shizenya is escorted onto the street, in front of a building smelling like bread and pastries. A burst of noise greets the lady, the spectators all vying for a moment, a second, of attention. Shizenya merely acknowledges the community with a smile, entertains them briefly with a few waves, before entering the bakery.

There, a man dark and tall immediately greets her with a deep bow.

"Lady Shizenya. It is an honor to have you here again."

She smiles in return, one genuine.

"Please Kaege, you know by now I don't need such formalities."

The man rises at her gesture, his serious expression broken by a smile of his own. The diagonal scar on his right cheek crinkles slightly, its lighter shade telling of a battle in the past.

"' Yes, but you deserve them," he responds, folding his equally scarred arms.

Shizenya merely shakes her head.

"I hope you and your family is doing well." she expresses, before turning her head back to her personal guard.

"Ah, by the way, Issei, Kaege here is also from the Iryu Union." it is not entirely coincidence, both their presence here, but it can be.

Consider it chance.

Call it fate.

"And, as I recall correctly, also from the military," her smile widens just a bit, eyes sparkling with something, "maybe you even know each other?"

―

prophecy unfolds

by tenno

mood :

could it be?

location :

bakery in yūrei district of drakenya

outfit:

interactions :

Issei & Kaege [npc]

tags:

triples

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[triples]

issei

The bakery is unremarkable, just another stone-walled shop among others, most of its charm thanks to the appetizing smells of sugar and sweets that seeps even through its closed door. He finds no reason to be wary of it — though he is, of course, alert regardless — even when he notices that a familiar energy radiates from the baker, whose face is hidden to Issei by the respectful bow he is taking.

This must be a runaway from the Union, he realizes, yet no feelings of hatred or anger emerge. Issei is as little a fan of traitors as any other, but he understands they are often simple people, scared away by some tragedy or another. He has no desire to chase down or confront; that is not his mission. When the Union conquers Zenua, they will be back home in the end, no matter where they've ran.

"Lady Shizenya. It is an honor to have you here again,"

a familiar voice gives him pause. It is a timbre that reminds him of the most grueling years of his training; the common, aged tone of the old soldiers, those who have seen it all before. Issei's brow lifts in a slight arc, suddenly becoming far more curious as the baker, under Shizenya's friendly blessing, raises his head.

And just as abruptly, he becomes tense.

The scarred, smiling face that looks back at him triggers the instinct in him to hide his own; an instinct that Issei fights down as the two continue a pleasant conversation, unaware of his sinking heart. Leave, his mind whispered, you must leave here as soon as you can, and return with Rua. If it is this man, nothing will convince him that an Enyo ran from the Union. That the Union would have let him leave; they wouldn't, of all people, not Shizuku.

"Ah, by the way, Issei,"

Shizenya's voice is more jarring than usual to his ears,

"Kaege here is also from the Iryu Union."

The man looks at him finally at her mention, and the words that she says next fades in front of this unexpected reunion. This terrible reunion. Kaege's gaze widens upon the sight that greets him, and-

【 In it, he sees a reflection. The tall, lean figure, draped in black and crimson. Crimson, yes. A deep, harrowing shade. It dripped from his hands like ink on a brush, streaked his hair and clothes in chaotic pattern, and ran down his cheeks like hideous tears. And on that dark canvas, they lay, stark and glacial — the eyes of a monster.

It dawns on him slowly, like the falling snow; that is his reflection. Him, bathed in blood. Him, towering above the broken body of a man like an abhorrent giant. This is what he's become. Not an eighteen year old boy. Not just another soldier. An Enyo, at last.

He cannot rejoice in this realization; not when even his own trainer looks upon him like a ghastly beast. 】

"We don't, unfortunately. But it's nice to meet you,"

he cuts the silence before it grows too long and telling, as both men break their locked gazes in a purposefully nonchalant manner,

"I'm sorry, my Lady, but we must hurry, to keep to the scheduled ritual."

He turns back to the baker — yes, right now, Kaege is a simple baker from the streets of Qiura, and he is Issei, a personal guard of the Lady — and takes a calm step towards the man as he asks,

"May I take the goods?"

―

導く風

by tenno

mood :

big yikes

location :

bakery, third district of drakenya

outfit:

interactions :

shizenya, kaege

tags:

neon reverie

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

Shizenya has learned by the eons that history does not need words to live. Your soul is what already tells those tales of what came before; the beautiful moments you treasure and the ugly ones you want to bury. It is your body that speaks before you do as the past colors the skin and stains the eyes. And you can wish to burn it all, but the wind will always carry its ashes somewhere. They will travel, scattered and frail, meant to either touch land again or be carried high up to the heavens. Most die among the skies, but some survive, long enough to live, long enough to tell its story again.

It is that kind of burned history that unfolds itself, right before the immortal's eyes. Abandoned but not forgotten, the past seeps back into the mind, their expressions changing a bit too much to mean nothing. Shizenya knows how it is to stare back at faces of old memories, knows that despite pretending it isn't so, you can still feel its hands creeping to parts of the lungs left untouched. Both can try to hide everything, but the glare of the past spreads like rust, creating a telltale in daylight glow.

Maybe Issei knows that as well, and so he tries to keep this moment short. He isn't wrong per say; if they wish to reach the temple before sunset, they had to move on. Nevertheless, his demeanor garners curiosity she can't quite let go.

Who is Issei, now and before he came to Quira? Those questions swim around in the old pools of the mind, hoping to collide with answers. She has time though, to find what marks him this time around. Issei can keep his secrets a little while more ― maybe because she does feel slightly guilty for playing with those strings of fate herself. Maybe because she wants to ignore the possibilities a tad longer, too.

Either way, Shizenya nods in understanding, before turning her gaze to Kaege, apologetic smile on her face.

"Ah, my guard is right. I'm sorry to not linger a bit longer like I always do, but as you know, we do need to be at the temple before sundown. Please do give Ira and the kids my greetings and hope to see soon again."

Kaege returns the smile and bows deeply.

"There is no need to apologize, we are blessed enough to have your presence grace our bakery. May the gods be with you, lady Shizenya." he then turns to Issei, expression falling into neutrality. "Of course, I will grab it at once."

Knowing Issei would be handling the goods, Shizenya takes a step back.

"I will be returning to the palanquin so we can depart promptly." she tells him, before turning around.

Her figure leaves the bakery then, but her mind lingers, wondering about the things she won't hear but they will.

Wondering just how Issei bears fate.

―

prophecy unfolds

by tenno

mood :

see u

location :

bakery in yūrei district of drakenya

outfit:

interactions :

Issei & Kaege [npc]

tags:

triples

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[triples]

issei

The sweet, comforting scent of baked goods wove through the room, wrapping them in warmth. And yet a chill settles, the frozen landscape of Iryu blooming once more beneath their feet, as each finds in the other a disquieting echo of home. His once-respected instructor gingerly adjusts the final line of assorted pastries with the focus of a man on a tightrope. He watches from the other side of the counter, one bag of fresh bread already hanging from his tense grip.

Finally, Kaege demands, low and restrained,

“Why have you come?”

“I’ve run away,”

Issei answers, lightly, casually, as he gathers the tray into his arms. False and real, white lies and black truths, they all come out as words in the end, rolling off the tongue so easily. His voice is tranquil yet spilling with meaning, and he looks upon the familiar face once more when he reminds,

“Just like you.”

They stand, unmoving, and he expects to be locked in some intangible impasse, some unspoken battle. But it never comes.

“I understand,”

arrives the hushed reply instead, as a cautious gaze breaks away to flicker up the stairs where his family rested. Though his tone is steady, his frame seems to shiver, and the pale light of a plea gleams like dust under a midday sun. Suddenly, they were clear and distinct, the wrinkles of age and worry that spread like web-thin fractures across his scarred skin — the memory that once was splinters into what he now is: an old baker, haunted by the past. In mere seconds, right before his eyes, Issei sees Kaege crumble; an icon of strength shattered by one fragile sentiment.

And he whispers again, as though sincerity might dye the fabric of reality a different shade,

“I understand."

Issei says nothing more, for there was too much left to say. The waiting entourage and the lively crowds clamber outside, intent on rushing their parting, and so they regard each other a final time in sombre acknowledgement. Without a farewell, he turns and heads for the door, footsteps heavy but composed.

*********

Their journey ends without much idling or distraction, and when the procession nears the sacred place, the people reverently fall away, leaving the Immortal alone with her guards. As they pass tall iron gates and a vast courtyard, they reach their final stretch on a long arched bridge.

The sight that greets them from beyond is majestic; a white-stone temple laced with exuberant scarlet, twin dragons climbing up gold-plated pillars on each side of colossal wooden doors that were swung open to welcome their arrival. All these frame a candle-lit interior, where offerings had already been lined up by the servants who rushed ahead before. Inscriptions fill hanging scrolls in exquisite calligraphy, paintings of legends coloured cloth screens that line the prayer hall and statues of Umei & Umyeo laugh side by side as they gaze down on the empty bamboo-tiled floor.

Issei’s gaze, however, lingers most on the veiled figure of Shizenya in the palanquin.

He had taken the place nearest to her so naturally it almost slipped his mind that the duty of following her past the bridge and guarding her during worship was the captain’s, and he should now be falling back. Silently, he tugged on the reign of his horse, bidding it to slow down. Right on time, the front of the entourage comes to a stop, and the warrior at its helm begins to turn. Just before their exchange could complete, however, a melodic voice rings in a surprising request.

“Captain Je-ha should take a rest, you have worked hard,”

the Immortal announces, as the palanquin doors open and a crimson-clad figure emerges,

“I will take Issei with me to pray.”

Her eyes meet with his for a fleeting second in a way that almost seemed meaningful — then again, every move she makes seems so under his paranoid gaze — and any protest the two may have died on her assured smile.

And so they go, as the heavy doors ease shut behind them, leaving them alone in the candlelight. Again, he thinks, as his eyes wander the vast and towering walls of the hollow temple, he has been dragged along with her into a different world.

―

導く風

by tenno

mood :

unsettled

location :

the temple, center of drakenya

outfit:

interactions :

shizenya, kaege

tags:

neon reverie

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

The bustling noise of worship mutes into a heavier but holy silence. Here, between dark wood and crimson jade, the gods whisper. They would tell you, smiles saturated with saturn and sagacious stars in the eyes, that you are composed of mortal silk but eternal shades. A glimpse of tragedy descends from above and lands right in the palm of your hand – wisdom, they call it. An ill-fated gift you choose to accept, trampled blossoms still clinging to your form and remnants of death still rattling your longs. Gossamer threads of gold and fate touch your cheeks, caresses them like a parent would do to a child; trails of care bruising your skin, you swallow those tragicomic teachings.

You knew, didn't you?

That chasing after dying stars will always end in ichor kisses and moonlit goodbyes.

Bitter irony rests between the ribs, the heart beating, twisting with a connection to both gods and men. Umei and Umyeo must revel greatly in the sight she has brought to them, the grand picture of fate coming to bow at their feet, offerings plenty. How these soul fragments must glimmer in this holy light, their hues reflecting the blood and tragedies that crystallized them. Vermillion hearts crack bones of ash, and maroon dust falls; who knew shades touched by divinity could get so dark… Stained hymns lay in the silence of it all, murmurs of old traveling through the walls and reaching out to those who are cursed to listen.

A shadow materialized before Shizenya’s eyes; a ghost pulled from memory and imprisoned in a skeleton of new. A soul so close and yet so far away. It is unfair, the Immortal silently complains, how his being awakens these memoirs, bringing back a past with no place in the present. It feels a bit like the cracking of bones, the tearing of mends, and the pulling of a carcass; melded from it, a macabre imitation of heart blossoms, crescent whispers and star-crossed skin brushes. Memories strangle even the strongest of souls, and yet, he stays to know nothing. Not even—

【 Crumbling walls and cold stone form a sanctum nestled in nature. An abandoned temple stands, covered with a thin layer of dust, colours seeping from their painted forms. Broken remnants of a statue greet those still willing to bow at its feet, its moss layered limbs beckoning for whispers of worship once more.

An absence treacherously mourned has led her here; gaze peeking through splintered wood, finding as much solace as quickened heartbeats in the figure kneeling before the statue. Her presence does not go undetected. She would have fled the scene, if not for the invitation extended in a voice low and soft; a piece of silk you wish to keep in a drawer and pull out only on the rare occasions, just to feel it between your fingers. She accepts, unable to say no despite knowing why. Her figure sits down beside him, not too close to be indecent but close enough to catch his warmth.

What he prays about, she will never come to know; he won’t say, even when she curiously asks. What she prays about, he will never come to know either; his face, details etched in the deepest corridors of the mind; his name, comfortable on the tip of a tongue and restless between lips — it will all stay between her and the statue. Between heaven and earth.

A sinful prayer crawls up towards the sky, hoping to reach the heavens, hoping to turn holy.

Please…

Can you listen to this selfish, pleading heart…. 】

Those hands, once so full of prayers, remain empty now. Shizenya does not dare to utter any more wishes, knowing what comes when the gods listen. Still, a duty must be performed as the leader of the Qiura clan. So, her figure kneels down before the grand altar, crimson fabrics encircling her. Eyes close, a deep breath traveling through the body.

It is here that the great Immortal bows before the gods once more. Aren’t you glad I brought him? She thinks to the skies, face close to the tiles, sardonic chuckle in the back of her throat. Is this not what you wished for? Another acidic bite. If they were listening, they didn’t show it. Or maybe, the tall presence behind her was an answer on its own. Umei and Umyeo have always had a penchant for silences drowned in fate and epiphany; it was wrong to think it would be different this time.

Somewhere, divine tinted laughter echoes in the mind.

“Do you pray?” the question shatters the quietude, voice evenly toned.

A bow.

“If it is of your convictions, you may do your worship here and now.” Palms against each other. Another breath. “Do not let these foundations shake you; this temple might have been built to honor Umei , but does house the devotion to others as well. All prayers are welcome here, no matter your beliefs.”

Eyes finally open; they travel to collide with her sole companion once more. Another smile that carries as much ease as unknown meanings.

“It has been a while since I prayed beside someone, too…”

―

prophecy unfolds

by tenno

mood :

thoughts & prayers?

location :

the grand temple in the center of drakenya

outfit:

interactions :

Issei

tags:

triples

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[triples]

issei

Stories are stitched on dark fabric in Iryu, where every tale the old wives tell is cautionary and burdened with lessons. Chronicles of gods and trials, of wolves and warriors, of how the skies came to be with a single breath — sprawling epics like pieces of a bright-colored tapestry, but in the Union they were too often dyed with tragedy for children to hold dear.

There is one he remembers, nonetheless.

A lowly songster saves a drowning princess, as the glimmer of beauty in the starlit night weaves a dastardly thread. Dizzied by a feverish passion, they pursued their forbidden affections and, like fools, they chased a calamitous end. Finally, as they lied amidst a field of broken dreams, the remnants of their will led fate to draw its grand finale.

Slowly, the princess's long hair grew into deep roots, her jewellery into flowers and her soft skin into bark. And then she stood, a lone silhouette at the edge of a lake: the weeping willow. Hidden in her branches was a blue-feathered creature that sang the most beautiful and most morose melodies. A wretched pair they had become, never to be separated, but never again to be truly together.

The legend warns of how unwise, how disastrous it is to abandon one’s duty for selfish desires. If the lovers had not loved, would they have suffered so?

But in truth, Issei had always pitied them. Secretly, he imagined that they knew of who they were, that they could feel warmth still — the tree, the bird, and the spirits within them. How naive he used to be.

He wonders why he thinks of it now, as he stands before the Twin Gods. Maybe it was her figure, kneeling in front of the altar, that reminds him of what inexplicable consequences last wishes may reap. At times a heavy curse, but at times the genesis of a clan, or so they say. The torches that paint her dark hair in crimson hues and the shadows that swim beneath her bring him a sudden musing: at times, perhaps, both.

Thoughts come too easily to the mind in this hall. The statues seem to trail his movements, though he tries his best to linger at a distance and avoid their ardent stare. The whispers that echo in the chilled air are silent and deafening, and they run down his spine like a shiver. Issei never liked temples. The breath of the gods, people call this odd sensation, but to him it sounded like laughter in the wind.

With his focus stolen, he fails to notice that Shizenya's worship had come to a stop, realizing just as a question cut through the haze.

"Do you pray?"

She asks, and the bare phrase seem to hold more meaning than he can understand. He blinked up towards her, only to find…

【 Silver, soft and pale, the full moon peeking through the gathered clouds, painting a metal gleam on the face of the water. The river ebbed and swelled like a sleeping dragon, and at its tail stood an unmarked shrine, simple yet graceful, a kindness for weary travellers who sought solace in prayer.

Two reflections quiver in the steady tides. A solemn back is turned away and a watchful gaze captures its every shift, terrified of losing even her faint outline to the night. A figure trembles under the weight of their own loneliness — it is difficult to tell which.

Blossoms of the willow cascade onto her like a flower-fall, mauve petals all the more vivid in the darkened shades, and every flutter of the hanging leaves fractures the sparse moonlight on her porcelain skin. Though the breeze sighs and the trees murmur, all he hears is her.

Pray for the one who will be with you. Such cruel advice, drenched in messages that go unsaid. She does not tell him what she wished for; in that way, he imagines she spares him sorrow. Though she will not face him, he can tell it is there, that painful melancholy in an onyx eyes. His heart aches, and ache is all it can do, when the depths she is lost in are too chasmic for him to follow.

Pray for the one who will be with you. Her counsel is wise, and to heed it would be saving himself. Yet if a lover does not love, then he is nothing at all, and only in her smile has he ever found the dawn. Between their forlorn breaths, his hushed words fall, gentle and rebellious.

And so he prays. 】

A sharp breath. He forces himself to see reality through the phantom visions, features twisting in a manner he struggles to hide. They are coming too close, these ghosts. They want to tell him a story but he does not want to listen. No longer was Issei a child under the covers, no longer did he hope for happy endings.

The tree and the bird, now he knew, suffered less to know nothing at all.

“If it is of your convictions, you may do your worship here and now,"

Shizenya continues, her voice lulls his senses back from the illusions. There is relief, at least, in the realization that time has barely passed and he has not been staring blankly like an imbecile.

“Do not let these foundations shake you; this temple might have been built to honor Umei, but does house the devotion to others as well. All prayers are welcome here, no matter your beliefs.”

Her gaze flickers towards him and holds his attention once more like it was wont to do, as she adds:

"It has been a while since I've prayed beside someone, too."

Worship was the last thing Issei wanted to do in the moment. He takes a step nonetheless, determined to keep his manners, and his knees touch the ground not far away from where she sat. The determination, however, does not carry him any further. A vague memory of grief still remains though the images are long faded, with it an odd sense of anger as he glances up at Umyeo.

"I..."

he breathes, invaded by a reluctance for pretense that was unlike him. Words build on the tip of his tongue, and something about her presence gives him the conviction to release them.

"My apologies,"

he speaks at last,

"I believe your gracious prayers are above being tainted by petty wishes."

A pause. Issei considers the merits of saying more — his roots inspired him to be cautious, though it has become evident that she had the patience, even a keenness, for his conversation. Finally, softly, he tells her,

"I have nothing to pray for."

Whether it was a true statement, even he could not decipher.

―

あいみ

by danisogen

mood :

confused

location :

the temple, center of drakenya

outfit:

interactions :

shizenya

tags:

neon reverie

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[neon reverie]

shizenya

“What is a prayer but a wish to the gods?” An utter of the heart, a scream of wine-dark desires. Pray earnestly, they say, and the gods will listen. In times of need, they will come. A truth it is, one that has come with a star-crossed fate sealed before the words have sunk.

Shizenya now knows the gods do not answer out of kindness; it is greed. Greed born from old kinds of hungers, ones they can never truly satisfy because creation does not mean comprehension. Cursed in their own way, they will never know how it is to love fervently, irrevocably, treacherously — they will never know to ache. Emotions are the true jewels of souls they created; all too beautiful not to watch. All too precious not to want. May it be given willingly or carved out of skin and bone, the gods will have it. Will have you, armor shattered, emotions bare.

But maybe Shizenya is not that different; for she can’t help but to dig her nails in, desperate to draw blood from the heart — greedy to see what colors his soul oozes.

“Forget the gods.” A blasphemous thing to state in this temple, right under Umyeo and Umyeo stone gazes, but there is no fear in her eyes.

“Is there not anything you wish for? Having started here anew…” Oh how the puppet twirls still for the puppeteer — how the fated can’t help but reach for destiny’s touch. Even if Shizenya wanted to, she could not let it go; his very presence is enough to break open those mended bones and pull out the carcass of a woman young and hopelessly in love from it. A sense of betrayal spills too, all slick tar, drowned in regrets and epiphany. He is there, alive and dying at the same time, over and over…

Her memories have become weapons, and yet, she still holds on. Maybe because she fears the opposite of it is forgetting. Maybe because she is still a fool, willing to tempt fate and dance with tragedy.

“Being here in Qiura and becoming a personal guard serving our lady Shizenya is all I dare to have wished for.” he responds, eliciting the start of a chuckle and the end of a breath. A little bit of hate flickers, bitter blood stuck behind teeth. It would have been unjust to nurture it — he has done nothing wrong after all, and she was the one looking to get burned — but she cradles the feeling nonetheless, cradles it how one cradles a dying flame. How awfully him, she ruefully thinks. Always so dutiful.

So—

【 Legs burn as adrenaline runs deeper and deeper; fear grips those on the run, chased by treason and death. Their hands are clasped together tightly, desperately, as if letting go means being swallowed by the dark. Faster— the heart beckons, urgently. The ground rumbles underneath their feet, the sound of galloping horses drawing nearer and nearer. Faster— it repeats, foolish in ambition. Foolish in false hope.

The end awaits them, and they both know it.

One slows down to a stop, a hand squeeze follows, alongside a selfless plea. Heartbreaking intentions shine under the silver moonlight; a certain death exchanged for the uncertain hope of a life. Fervent protests begin but break apart under the unyielding gaze of a man who has chosen his fate. Her begging becomes sobbing because how wretched is this— all they wanted was to live. All they did was love.

Calloused hands come to cradle her cheeks, thumb wiping away the tears. Look at me, he pleads, softly, achingly. She does, weepy eyes colliding with his once more. How much tragedy his smile holds, how much love his eyes speak. She hates it, hates him—

A kiss on the temple that lasts longer than the time they should have— a final selfish action from a selfless man. And then, a gentle yet urgent push, hands previously locked now leaving each other; the darkness doesn’t swallow, their hearts do.

This is how a couple falls apart, with unsaid words but telling gazes.

A whisper in both their minds.

Go. 】

— Selfless. Shizenya blinks away the memory, pushes back the ghost into his thousand flower grave. Anguish and anger are crushed under white knuckled fists, their glass shards falling into a broken mirror at her feet. A reflection steps out, centuries in her soul, heavy duties on her shoulders. A crown on her head. The leader of Qiura returns, lips drawn into a smile, though with edges a bit strained.

“It flatters me to attract such devotions as yours. I still hope you will come to find more wishes as time goes on. And may the gods fulfill those too.” Dark hues lift up to glance at the statues once more, a twist of something raw behind them. Her figure rises then, crimson pulling itself from the ground.

“We are done here. Let’s return.” she says, turning around. Steps take her back to the doors, decision made.

“Oh, and please come to the office later on. There is still something I have to give you—“

✧✦✧✦✧
​

A pin. Gold and Draconian; it is presented in an ornamental box, nestled in dark velvet. Shizenya allows him a closer look, before explaining;

“As you may have noticed, all of my personal guard wear one. It is the symbol of our clan and your rank. In normal circumstances, every personal guard receives the pin during the first initiation ceremony, but given that you were an unexpected addition and that these pins are handcrafted, yours had yet to be made. “ her hand picks up the pin, eyes watching how the last lights of the day catch its shape.

“Usually, it takes even longer, but you will need it for our upcoming trip so a special request was put in. May I?” she takes a step closer, close enough to catch his scent but not his warmth. Here, she tip-toes around the boundaries of distance and intimacy, fingers brushing against his armor as she attaches the pin. A voice continues, soft and layered with a hint of nostalgia.

“Now the people in Shizu know you are to be granted the special access to ‘ensure proper protection.’ Or, as I call it, a diplomatic gesture to say, we can’t possibly wish to harm you. Truly, a comforting feeling.” It is uncertain to discern whether the last sentence is murmured to him or more to herself. Something bitter creeps around in the dark pools of her gaze, before being chased away with another smile.

“It suits you.” She compliments, taking a step back again. Something else bottles up in her throat, and somewhere else, the gods are laughing.

Because even though Shizenya is looking at Issei, all she can see is him.

―

prophecy unfolds

by tenno

mood :

stuck in the past

location :

the office

outfit:

interactions :

Issei

tags:

triples

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩

 

[triples]

issei

As he lay there, he stares up at the empty sky. A sheet of dull black framed by crimson along the edges of his sight; the night reduced to a tainted canvas. The gods turn their backs in solemn silence, nothing to offer but their condolences, and the heavens dim their lights.

As he lay there, a twisted corpse, he laments their sympathy. As his blood melded into the sea of wildflowers, one last offering to her beloved Nuhua, he wishes their cruelty never wavered. He wishes, that despite it all, they still shined, ever so heartless and bright.

He would have liked to see the moon one last time.

Issei closes his eyes.

His thoughts are tangled and his heart heavy, burdened by the task they must complete tonight. Violence is etched on every inch of his skin and every sinew, every muscle, but its mark is faint on his soul. They told him it was only because he was young, and then that he was just yet unversed. He stopped showing his weakness before they ran out of excuses.

But the memory of Kaege's shaking voice still weighs like a stone in the river of his conscience.

"Where does the old man live?"

Rua steps into his vision, a prompt reminder.

"How old are his sons?"

Issei does not answer. The frown deepens between Rua's brows; their thoughts are heading to the same place, but the source of their displeasure is different.

"They don't know us,"

he finally speaks. His voice is firm, perhaps even a little harsh.

"Pointless actions will only bring us harm."

The fact that he is right is merely incidental to his purpose, but Issei pretends that is not the case.

"Aytan will jump at anything to take me off the Guards and you out of the procession. And the Immortal-"

The screech of a crow interrupts their tension, and he looks away, once again to the moonless sky.

Truly, a comforting feeling.

His lips purse, the echo of her voice turning one more of his beliefs into a lie. Issei's fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the golden pin, running over its ridges and curves.

It suits you.

But did it really? Did it suit him, or whoever it was she seems to see in his face? He could tell. That she keeps him too close. That her kindness for him is excessive and bleeds a little too far into fondness. That her eyes on him linger, but not in a way he can understand. That she thinks he is special, but not for anything he's done or said.

It makes him anxious in a way he can't explain.

"She will only take pity on us so many times,"

he whispers, though he does not quite believe it. Rua's eyes, too, land on the pin in his hand. He heaves a sigh.

"Even so, we can't just ignore this. Our most discreet option now is the powder, and that will be difficult to target only Kaege."

A pause, before his partner reminds him as if he might have forgotten:

"The procession leaves tomorrow."

"Kaege couldn't work with all his old wounds. The unit that hunted him when he deserted reported as much."

He put the pin away securely in his pouch.

"That is to say, he must be using some kind of balm or taking medicine."

Rua holds his gaze, just long enough to know he wouldn't give in. Another deep breath.

"And if he doesn't, or we can't find it?"

Then it had to be done. Yes, like it always did. A cold breeze brushes his cheek, signalling the coming rain. Issei lifts himself off the cold tiles of of the slanted rooftop. He keeps mute, but they both know.

―

あいみ

by danisogen

mood :

heavy

location :

unknown rooftop

outfit:

interactions :

shizenya

tags:

neon reverie

✩ coded by neon reverie ✩