[ It's no sooner than Kaeya finds himself back on the battlefield that he sees something he never thought he would ever encounter here at Horos. The abyssal cape billowing behind the monster that now occupies the skies along with the Sanctifier catches his full attention, its stars lost in a void that was never meant to be. Pitch-black but pinpricked with lights that won't die no matter what happens, and yet it almost feels as if one could get lost in them forever. This is an omen, he thinks. A warning to all those who dare try to fight against the abyss; a losing battle before it can flourish into something better.
It was never meant to become something better. Only worse— so much worse.
Once upon a time, when he was a boy no younger than eight, he was listening to his father recall stories once lost to time and the flames of a dying fire. There were heroes who met each other by chance and then traveled the world in search of excitement and better things. They fought, they bled, and they rejoiced together — every victory and loss conquered no matter how the odds were stacked against them. It remained like that for all of them, until it wasn't anymore. One fell into the abyss and came back a monster, no longer resembling the person they used to be. No warmth, no light, no love. Another followed and met the same fate, rinse and repeat. Devoid of everything, only nothingness remained.
It was one of those things that a child couldn't have made any sense of back then, regardless of whether or not it was explained. Now that he's following the abyss monster's every move, chasing after it despite the chaos that surrounds him — neither the Sanctifier's fall nor the Pleroma's escape even registers in his mind — he thinks he is beginning to understand what his father had been trying to tell him all that time: don't be foolish. Don't walk down a path that you know will only result in a bad ending just because someone else is hurting. Sometimes, it isn't your fight. Sometimes, it's best not to get involved.
And yet here he is, anyway, walking up to place himself in between Childe and whoever would have been unfortunate enough to be met with his despair and anger. Something must be wrong for the other to still be clad in the armor forged by the abyss. Whatever it is, he doesn't think he can help with, but at least he can prevent another tragic circumstance from happening. (He has to try.) The only expression he can muster is one of resolution, one that belongs to someone who understands what was lost and could never be brought back.
This isn't the first time he's had to stop someone who is on the verge of losing themselves to the anger, but that doesn't mean he is going to allow it to play the same way. No one else needs to die today. He won't let it come down to that. ]
... Tartaglia.
[ Not Childe, because he knows this is the name that means something. The Harbinger's title, the one that binds him to the Tsaritsa's will. A familiar enough connection that's sure to draw out a reaction that he can use. Whether it's met by indifference or ire barely matters, as long as he isn't outright ignored in favour of anyone else. Better for him to be the one to deal with the consequences that someone who wouldn't be able to fight back.
He's close enough that it would be so easy for the other Aion to stab him right through the heart. ]
Let's head back, shall we?
[ Rather than show resistance, he extends a hand towards the other. A dangerous gamble, but it's one he has to take. Fighting Amos didn't work at all so it's not like he has a lot of options left. ]
no subject
It was never meant to become something better. Only worse— so much worse.
Once upon a time, when he was a boy no younger than eight, he was listening to his father recall stories once lost to time and the flames of a dying fire. There were heroes who met each other by chance and then traveled the world in search of excitement and better things. They fought, they bled, and they rejoiced together — every victory and loss conquered no matter how the odds were stacked against them. It remained like that for all of them, until it wasn't anymore. One fell into the abyss and came back a monster, no longer resembling the person they used to be. No warmth, no light, no love. Another followed and met the same fate, rinse and repeat. Devoid of everything, only nothingness remained.
It was one of those things that a child couldn't have made any sense of back then, regardless of whether or not it was explained. Now that he's following the abyss monster's every move, chasing after it despite the chaos that surrounds him — neither the Sanctifier's fall nor the Pleroma's escape even registers in his mind — he thinks he is beginning to understand what his father had been trying to tell him all that time: don't be foolish. Don't walk down a path that you know will only result in a bad ending just because someone else is hurting. Sometimes, it isn't your fight. Sometimes, it's best not to get involved.
And yet here he is, anyway, walking up to place himself in between Childe and whoever would have been unfortunate enough to be met with his despair and anger. Something must be wrong for the other to still be clad in the armor forged by the abyss. Whatever it is, he doesn't think he can help with, but at least he can prevent another tragic circumstance from happening. (He has to try.) The only expression he can muster is one of resolution, one that belongs to someone who understands what was lost and could never be brought back.
This isn't the first time he's had to stop someone who is on the verge of losing themselves to the anger, but that doesn't mean he is going to allow it to play the same way. No one else needs to die today. He won't let it come down to that. ]
... Tartaglia.
[ Not Childe, because he knows this is the name that means something. The Harbinger's title, the one that binds him to the Tsaritsa's will. A familiar enough connection that's sure to draw out a reaction that he can use. Whether it's met by indifference or ire barely matters, as long as he isn't outright ignored in favour of anyone else. Better for him to be the one to deal with the consequences that someone who wouldn't be able to fight back.
He's close enough that it would be so easy for the other Aion to stab him right through the heart. ]
Let's head back, shall we?
[ Rather than show resistance, he extends a hand towards the other. A dangerous gamble, but it's one he has to take. Fighting Amos didn't work at all so it's not like he has a lot of options left. ]