[OPEN] i am shell and i am bone

[coerthantorment]

WHO: Brainwashed Estinien and YOU
WHAT: Having been dissipated during the Innocence's execution, Estinien returns very much changed.
WHERE: The Citadel, Achamoth
WHEN: Early Sekiseri
WARNINGS: Torture, abuse, brainwashing, public humiliation. The forecast for Estinien is extremely miserable and depressing at the moment.

I➔ Of the Abyss

He had been born into this world empty, with a body misshapen and unfit for survival. There had been no reason for it, no meaning to existing... he'd simply been formed, drawn from the abyss in the service of another. It was only at that master's touch that he was provided with a means and purpose to act. Only at their call that he had regained hazy memories of hatred and torment and remembered that there was something out there to blame for what he was.

His was a miserable existence, after all. Since the moment he had been pulled from his chrysalis, utterly helpless and blind, wracked with spiritual pain, he'd known that much. At first, living had been nothing but aimless suffering. With nothing inside of him besides a sense of devastating loss that he had no means to understand, he had eagerly latched on to whatever was given to him. To know that he had some use to his keepers, the ones that had gifted back his sight, gifted him the legs to stand on and hands to touch... he'd do whatever they wanted with the strength they had afforded him. Even if they saw him as a wretched creature worthy primarily of disgust, it didn't matter. Not when the alternative was unending, meaningless pain.

He's been told he'll have an opportunity to strike back against the forces that reduced him to this state, that destroyed whatever he was before. He had no memory of it. He's the spectral remains of something that once lived, and now there is only vengeance to look forward to. He'd like to hurt someone else, he thinks. To drag the enemies that he touched closer to himself, to what he had been made into. To make them experience it for as long as he can.

It's in that state of mind that he is first let loose into the Citadel, craving to inflict pain, but having been taught that no one within the tower's walls was to be harmed or struggled against. Instead, the people of the Citadel, the Aions in particular, were his objective superiors. His presence there was a mercy to him, and he was to accept whatever he was given by the others, whether it be torment or aid. His role was to act in their service, by whatever means his feeble mind could manage.

Any Kenoma who come upon him may recognize Estinien Wyrmblood, but only in some aspects of his form. To those with the Sight, he is attuned to the Kenoma and of the Firebrand. Physically, he is a mess. His torso and head still reflect the snow white of the Innocence, though with crimson, draconic eyes. The one on his left side is severely scarred, its sclera darkened with void. Each limb is similarly blackened, looking less like a natural extension of his body and more like foreign flesh that has been grafted on, scaled and clawed and monstrous.

His gait is unnatural, as if not quite accustomed to the idea of walking, as if his limbs are confusing to him. He's dressed in nothing but what appears as a rag-like loincloth, his long white hair unkempt and hanging in ragged chunks. Restraining him is a thick collar and muzzle. Around his darkened, greyed-out shard a sigil is carved - one that might be familiar to some. It's the very same mark of disfavour that Emet-Selch had briefly worn, all those months ago.

There is no recognition in his eyes.

II➔ Walking in Shame

While the Regent's mark on his chest has caused many of the Citadel's inhabitants to give him a wide berth, that hasn't been enough for some of them. Either having heard the rumours of who and what he is, or having seen him themself in the sky of Achamoth, some are unable to contain their spite for him. Though he's been made to heel already, a few of the Citadel's non-Aion residents may be seen heaping additional scorn on him, spitting cruel words and accusations that he has no context for.

Sometimes the abuse turns physical. You may witness Achamite soldiers berating him in the halls, shoving, tripping, or manhandling him. For his part, he has little reaction, taking whatever he is given as rightful and purposeful. At some point, a gaggle of Citadel neophytes assigned to cleaning duty dump a bucket of dirty wash water over him. Others hurl rocks.

[Feel free to invent other scenarios with Citadel NPCs if you want, I'm open.]

III➔ In the End

When he isn't aimlessly wandering the Citadel, he is caged for the night. While that first day Dionys is there to lock him up, from that point on she visits only intermittently to let him in and out, and much of his time is spent alone. His prison is something more befitting of a zoo animal, kept to a distant corner of the Citadel, nearby the tables where the mounts are kept. There are guards on patrol nearby, but Kenoma will be allowed to pass through, provided they don't do anything suspect.

There is nothing in way of comfort or adornment to its interior, just bars and a cold floor to pass out against. He lays still most of the time, nothing to devote his thoughts to, nowhere else to be. He almost looks forward to when one of his keepers return... anything for a moment of respite and meaning. It's possible that the one visiting him now has been given permission to unlock him for some purpose. He is unlikely to complain.

[OOC: Estinien has been 'trained' to go along with whatever the Kenoma subject him to (besides outright killing him) and he can be freely taken anywhere in the Citadel. For the most part he's been wandering around common areas. I've been told that Kenoma won't get in trouble for interacting with him/feeding him/dressing him as long as they aren't excessively compassionate about it. The Kenoma can also specifically request his use for whatever tasks they might need done, though he will be incompetent at anything that isn't straightforward.

To clarify what "excessively compassionate" means: it's really just not doing stuff that portrays what the Regent did to him as wrong or acting like he deserves better. Part of the humiliation is him having to rely on what Kenoma give him, so they may deign to help him, it would just be bad look to do it from a place of moral objection that would undermine the Regent's decisions.]

Comments

ii

[semicharmed]

Matt is relieved to see Estinien alive in the halls of the Citadel, though perhaps he shouldn't be. Is he pleased because Estinien's survival shows the Regent's mercy, their canny retention of resources? Should he wish Estinien were dead because the Kenoma's final embrace would be kinder to him than living like this? Is a sliver of him happy to see the person who tried to kill him put in this position? Matt's thoughts and emotions begin to tangle, so he leaves them alone.

For a long moment, he watches Estinien: the fresh darkness at his center, a soothing shadow set against the ravages of his physical form. But then that bucket of water cascades over him. Matt's gaze snaps to the gaggle of neophytes. He finds the behavior pretty irreverent, but he supposes he can't blame them. Estinien and the Sanctifier put their home in a lot of danger--danger for no purpose but replication of the status quo. And showing disdain for their enemies is only what they've been taught. Still, he doesn't have to like it. Summoning the ghost of his mother, Matt squares his shoulders and gestures with his right hand.

"You guys missed a spot back there," he notes, voice cool and even. "Work before play, right?"

One of the young Achamites flushes, in senpai-noticed-me fashion. Another looks sullen. But all three depart, scuttling their buckets and mops along with them.

So now Matt's alone with Estinien.

He didn't really have a plan for this part.

"... Hey." SOLID. "Do you remember me?"

[coerthantorment]

He's dropped down to his knees, startled enough by the shock of cold water that his balance has wavered. It's not that he is incapable of feeling, or recognizing the disgust in the way he is being treated. He feels... uncomfortable, that that just happened to him. The main difference is that he also feels as if they are entitled to it, that he isn't above their scorn, that he doesn't deserve any better. His discomfort is expected. Everything is discomfort, to him.

He still feels cornered and alone, but at least there's no pride left to wound.

His long, tangled hair is doused in dirty water now, though, and he finds himself vacantly pulling it back with his hands, trying to get it out of his face. It smells, and what little clothes he had been given had been left even more inhospitable than before. He almost doesn't notice that Matt is there until he's spoken to directly.

He looks up, one crimson eye peaking from behind his overlong bangs. The silence drags on as he stares, Matt's question a difficult one for him.

"No..." he eventually murmurs. His voice is soft and gravelly as if his vocal cords have been damaged. Is he supposed to remember them?

[semicharmed]

Matt watches Estinien's fingers move in his hair, working vainly against its tangles. He's on the verge of intervening, just because--well, tangles can feel intractable when your fingers are in the thick of them, and it's not like Estinien has a mirror or a comb or anything. But then Estinien looks up at him, and seems to take a long time to answer what struck Matt as a straightforward, nearly foundational question.

"... Oh," Matt says slowly. He frowns down at him. Estinien looks and sounds genuinely confused--which on a personal level is a lot nicer than actively hostile. Even the wounded timbre to his voice is sort of nice, in that way where you just wanna soothe him.

"Well ... that's okay," he decides after a moment. "We can, uh, get off to a fresh start. I'm Matt."

He's not entirely sure how safe it is to offer Estinien a hand up. Pardon his paranoia, but the last man he approached who was kneeling in what appeared to be utter defeat subsequently murdered him. And that muzzle doesn't exactly inspire confidence. Matt gestures with his right hand, a sort of up, up motion, and hopes Estinien only needs prompting rather than physical support.

[coerthantorment]

Even something as simple as an introduction feels complicated and overwhelming to him at the moment, in the sense that he had no recollection of having done so before. He'd only ever seen the Regent and Dionys before being let loose out here, and they both had the kind of presence that outpaced exchanges of names.

He does stand when Matt gestures for him to, though, mostly because he takes it as an order. He slowly pushes himself back up, leaving his hair alone for the moment. Once he's on his feet, he continues staring in a way that seems like it might be habitual. He certainly isn't going to speak unless he's invited to do so. What should he expect of 'Matt'? He has no idea.

As for names? He doesn't have one to give in return.

i

[entsetzt]

Crane had been told that powers would manifest eventually; that those powers would likely depend upon his own nature and inclinations. Thus, he had an idea of what to expect, if not when to expect them.

What Crane got, was beyond his wildest dreams. But super powers or not, Crane was still a man of science. Twisted science, but science nevertheless. It was not enough to simply have these powers, but to know the extent of them, the limits. When he had looked for subjects among Achamoth's people, several citizens had almost come to blows for the privilege of an Aion of the Regent's "blessing". Crane had ended up using all of them, and found his stamina not overly taxed by the effort.

And through the tears, and the shaking, and once the screaming had subsided, they had thanked him when it was over. Thanked him.

Every day, Achamoth got a little better for Crane.

But the citizenry were the citizenry. Knowing that he could torment them with only trifling exertion was, while a pleasant surprise, ultimately irrelevant to his main goal; how well could he torment another Aion?

Fortunately, he did not have to look far for a test subject. As Estinien slumps about the Citadel, in all his pathetic, wretched "glory", Crane steps out of a side passage, and turns to face him. A broken husk of an Aion to be sure, but an Aion nevertheless. This one...what was the name again? Something rather pretentious-sounding. Crane had mostly heard of him as the Innocent Entity, or at least its host, who was of less importance than the creature he carried like a parasite within him. Well, no matter. A broken thing like this does not need a name.

"You. Creature. Come here." He beckons Estinien forward. Yes, that would do. This was certainly no man, standing before him.

[coerthantorment]

He's already dully staring at Crane even before his presence is requested. He doesn't know much about this place or about the Kenoma - only that they are free to do as they will with him. Despite himself, there is a trace of wariness in his recognition of Crane's order, largely because he doesn't know what to expect.

It always seems to be a gamble, every time he interacts with someone. Dionys herself had been impossible to predict, and every time she'd visited him he didn't know whether she would help him or make him more miserable. The lesson behind it all was that he didn't get a choice in the matter, but being cooperative generally provided the best results.

And so, he approaches Crane as requested, waiting silently for the Kenoma to make his judgment.

[entsetzt]

"I am Doctor Crane." He introduces himself once Estinien draws near. "I require your assistance with an experiment. Follow me." There's a place he has in mind for this, the Citadel courtyard where the burnings were to take place. It's a well-traveled area, for both Citadel staff and other Aions of the Kenoma.

They might enjoy the show, if nothing else.

As they walk, Crane's head half-turns, the hood he always wears shifting to one side slightly. "And how are you feeling today?" He asks; there's an affected pleasantness to it, but it's more than simple small talk; he needs to know the creature's baseline emotional state before the experiment begins in earnest.

[coerthantorment]

He follows after Crane without any argument, though he feels like he's being led to somewhere he hasn't been before. At first, the only thing he knew was a single room, where he received his 'rehabilitation' after being pulled from almost nothing. Then, to the cage where he now sleeps, and then to the interior of the Citadel. He finds himself... curious? With such an empty soul, there was much space to fill.

The true depths of his cluelessness begin to show with Crane asking him how he feels. Such a simple thing that most people take for granted is filled with unknowns for him. He has no sense of social acceptability when it comes to the correct way to answer such a thing. Whenever he'd been asking something like that before, he usually just said the immediate truth.

He's hurting. He's sick.

He doesn't say either of those things right now. Dionys seemed to find his answers funny, or at least she was always chuckling about something, so he assumes that was why. Sometimes she would soothe him, but it was never a guarantee.

"I don't know," he finally says, his voice quiet and raw with the damage to his throat. He isn't physically hurting as much as he was a few days before. Being freed from his cage should be a good thing, but it's only left him more confused.

"Lost..." he murmurs after a few moments more.

III.

[vivificantem]

Paul arrives late at night; as it was with Abel and Himeka, it's somewhat evident that he's coming in from somewhere, as opposed to going out and happening to pass by - as always, his robes are long and dark, the sort that are good for obscuring both bloodstains and weaponry, and while he seems a bit jittery tonight he's more or less keeping it together.

(He's always jittery, when they do certain rituals at the church. He can't keep himself from feeling strangely elevated, like his brain is made of static; manic and uncomfortable, but bearable in the end. It's always bearable, if it's nothing else.)

He knows about the cage, because by now it's hard not to know about the cage; maybe that's why he came in this way. It's hard to say, whether he's doing this deliberately or whether it's just some sense of happenstance his brain managed to link together; either way, he's here, and Estinien isn't asleep yet, he's just...locked in there, and as such Paul greets him as he would anyone else while he's in his current state - a bit too brisk and more than a little distracted, but at least the greeting is, you know, there.

"Good evening," he says, like he's not talking to a man in a literal cage. "Do you need anything while I'm here?"

[coerthantorment]

While he doesn't usually spend much of his nights actually sleeping, he's surprised to receive a visitor. Usually, if someone appears, it's either Dionys checking on him or a soldier rattling the bars. His slit pupils focus on the Kenoma outside of his cage. Should... he know him?

(One of the others had asked if he recognized them, and he still doesn't know what it means. Had they met him before, when he was blind and ill? Or was it before all that?)

Ill-equipped to deal with things like greetings and formalities, he moves a bit closer to the bars, as if trying to see Paul better. One of his eyes isn't in the best shape, if its Kenoma-tinged colouring is any indication.

What question, though... What does he need?

No, in truth, the question is what he could possibly be justified in asking for. His quiet voice, wrought with cracks, comes from beneath a veil of white hair.

"I don't... need anything..."

Is this a test, some part of him wonders?

[vivificantem]

"You're sure?" Now that he's indoors, the gloves can come off, as can the mask he wears when he goes out; probably a bit easier to see if he's recognized without it, rather than just by voice alone. His movements are abrupt, straightforward; perhaps most importantly they're practiced, just kind of a part of life now that he lives here.

"You can have something if you want it. Food, water?" He glances over at Estinien, briefly. "Company?"

[coerthantorment]

In this short 'lifetime' he doesn't really get asked if he wants things. If he's given food or water it's just put in front of him or fed to him directly, a process that doesn't involve his personal wishes. Maybe sometimes it would be a reward for obedience, given at random. While his natural inclination was to say he needed nothing, Paul asking him again causes him to hesitate.

It takes him several moments to conjure a response, withdrawing eye contact as he turns it over in his mind. He looks down at the ground as he finally speaks, as if in deference.

"Food... and water..."

He hasn't spent much time thinking about his desires but, in this moment, he realizes he does actually want those things. Company, he'll have to think about a little longer.

ii.

[vapour]

Firaseri ended the same way Sekiseri has begun for Childe—in the silent dredges of a world back to relative complacency. With the Pleroma as good as non-existent to him without having to see any sign of them, Childe has gone back to his morning routine of waking before dawn to train only to adjust his hours to go from training to helping the citizens in their rebuilding efforts from the destruction caused. Honestly, Childe doesn't really care one bit about what's happened to Achamoth beyond the damage and hardship caused for the citizens. It's easy for rebels to disregard the common folk when they reside in places such as these, thinking they somehow suddenly deserve to be victims to the collateral brought by war because they support the designated villain but he's never seen it that way. That's why he sees the victims in Achamoth no less deserving than in Venera or anywhere else— it just helps immensely that the people of Achamoth are not actually prejudice against him. It's nice to be able to offer your assistance and not have your face spit in.

Perhaps the Pleroma have made him less tolerant — really, everything is their fault to him now after what occured here. If he could just make them all disappear he would do so in earnest especially if it prevented any further messes from breaking out because it's just easier at this point—

—and yet the fact he has to see the Pleroma poster child almost daily deals his best efforts to forget right into the trash, to the point he has to actively attempt and avoid seeing him because it all really rubs him the wrong way. This one, Abel, Himeka, Ryunosuke— they're the worst offenders he can think of, and while he's grateful to no longer has to pass Himeka and Abel often, he's not sure that this is all that much better. Honestly, what is the Regent doing? Are they so preoccupied with making Estinien suffer when he no longer even knows how to suffer that this is the result? Every day he considers there has to be a better place than Achamoth to go— somewhere he can just see normal people doing normal things and not— this shit.

This utter shit. This is exactly another reason why he hates all this, he reminds himself, as he feels the sudden splashing dirty residue of filthy water being haphazardly hurled in abuse towards the Regent's new pet as he attempts to slip on by unnoticed and unaffected. He isn't by any means in welldressed clothing, and he didn't make himself known, but he does expect morons taking advantage of being able to do stupid things to those in a victimizing position to be in better control of themselves, which includes not hitting passersby in the process. Inadvertently shielding his retainer, the girl lets out a loud exclamation all the same, poking her head around her master to glare daggers at the group harassing Estinien. They glance towards her before continuing to laugh and jeer at the focus of their abuse, the hated individual simply taking whatever it is they hurl.

The girl steps around Childe to defend both him and Estinien, he himself still not having moved (probably in means of attempting to control his temper), her scolding the group to move their filthy habits somewhere else like the clearly uncultured slobs they are if they can't keep it to the one it's directed at.

They don't seem to take kindly to her barking orders at them like she is somehow better than they are, but before they get a chance to act out against her, Childe steps forward to stare the group down. He says absolutely nothing, but his eyes apparently speak plenty as the group awkwardly shifts to move away quietly as if this encounter has suddenly never happened in the first place. Or perhaps his eyes say nothing and it's simply who he is by now.

Meanwhile, the retainer has moved over to Estinien, looking at him curiously with wide eyes like it's the first time she's seen some kind of cute lost animal she's just saved. Beaming, she waves to Estinien and makes cute noises at him like someone would try to get the attention of a scared little animal they want to be friendly with.

"Can I touch his ears?" She asks excitedly to the Kenoma aion. "Does he bite?? He's all wet now, but I can get him a towel!! I can give him a new bath, even! He'll come out more fluffy that way. Hoho! Don't worry ... eh... ...Sir, your hair will be back to being super pettable in no time!" She'll reach out to pat Estinien's head with a gloved hand, or at least try to, before Childe has stopped her by grabbing her wrist midaction. She stares up at him innocently like she can't understand what could be possibly be wrong with what she's doing.

The Kenoma aion sighs. Clearly he trained her to be too tolerant of Pleroma back when Abel and Himeka were here. "Please leave him alone, Svetlana... Can't you see he has that mark you were so scared of before?" The one that had her all nerved up when she saw Emet-Selch.

The teenager's eyes widen at that, doing a second take at Estinien before visibly paling and retreating behind Childe immediately to cling nervously to his back with a quiet, "O...oh... Uhm, can we still give him a biscuit or something? He looks really sad. Not... that I care about that or anything. I just hate when my cats look like that."

Childe glowers at Estinien, knowing full well her cats never look like that because she spoils all of them since he's the one who has given her every cat she owns. ".... Ugh. You, just... get up, and come on, already," Childe sighs at Estinien, looking entirely put out by this before trying to pry Svetlana off of him to go find Estinien some clothing so they don't have to stare so obviously at his shard and the marking for now. As soon as he's convinced his retainer to wander off to get what he's requested he looks at Estinien again before conjuring a large orb of clean water to dump over his head and hopefully get rid of all the dirty crap that was in the slop residue he was being harassed with earlier.

"Can't fucking believe this..." he growls in annoyance as he basically hoses down Estinien like he's a stinky mud-caked dog.

[coerthantorment]

The burst of activity is a lot for him to take in. First, in the form of the sudden cruelty inflicted by the servants. His first impulse is to just go still and wait for them to leave, and then to slink off into a corner somewhere for a while. However long he thinks he can get away with it. He wonders if he would be allowed to go back in his cage, or if they would turn him away.

It has been a bit dazzling to have the freedom to see these new places at first, but it's really just caused him a lot of new problems. Then again... he's pretty sure that was the point. He's here to serve, and it's by whatever means people want. If they want to dump water on him, then it's just the same as any other use, isn't it?

That isn't where it ends, though. While he's waiting in anticipation of the group has in store for him next, it's surprisingly interrupted by... another girl from the castle? And the man with her... he doesn't seem happy, but it's unclear who with.

The girl starts talking to him, and though his mouth half opens a few times like a word might escape, ultimately it doesn't. Instead, he looks at Svetlana with wide eyes, sent into a state of shock by how... friendly? She's being? Is this friendliness?

The man mentions his mark, and his hand falls over his shard, remembering it and what it means. He looks away, half expecting the mood to entirely change, but while it does seem to spook Svetlana into being less close, it doesn't eliminate her curiosity completely.

He looks really sad.

Having his emotions recognized by someone is the most jarring thing in the interaction so far. He feels things, of course, but he doesn't think about those feelings as something that anyone else could or would care to perceive. Why would it make any difference to them?

Then she's gone, and he kind of wishes she would come back. As pushy as it had been, her warmth and energy in the way she had interacted with him was startling and new. The man left behind with him is a lot harder to read at least. To the point that when he summons that ball of water, he honestly thinks he's being attacked.

It does succeed at rinsing away the worst of the dirty water he'd been dowsed with, but it does result in him doing the opposite of 'getting up and coming on'. Instead, he crumbles down further, covering his face like he fears he might drown, or like he feels like he has to try to grovel to make him stop.

He still doesn't talk, except to gasp and cough.

[vapour]

This isn't really what he was expecting as the response, and Childe is actually at a loss of what to do with it. Perhaps because he knows Estinien from back before all this that this is somehow feeling wrong no matter how he attempts to look at it.

Instead of forcing the other to get up and move, Childe takes a look around before sighing and coming to crouch down in front of Estinien. Rolling the towel he still has off his shoulder he leans in and offers out his arm in an attempt to gently make peace with Estinien in a nonthreatening manner before gently wiping at one of his cheeks. He's not... a master of dealing with animals, but he does recall having to coax some of the farm animals back home in the village out of hiding places that were ultimately detrimental to them even though it felt like the safest place to them and also them subjected them to momentarily worse states. A goat young goat that had fallen into the icy waters, for example, managed to find a cold damp place to ultimately freeze to death but felt safe in doing so. It didnt think being pulled back out into the open world was safe or good for it with the snow coming down and the wind blowing even though it meant Childe could get it to the barn and let it snuggle into the hay and care of other animals there, all kept warm by the central fire of the area while its injuries were tended to.

He remembers another time as a boy picking up injuried chickens that had been chased from their coop by snow foxes and wolves only to get themselves injured and hiding themselves in the snow. The exhausting effort it had been to get them okay with him carrying them back without poking his eyes out with their wings or making him bleed from their talons had been a real ongoing effort that left him barely able to eat dinner at the end of the day before crashing into bed.

This is... maybe not that different even though it really should be.

"Come on... " He tries again gently, that displeasure in his expression gone in favor of just a really troubled aura that he's attempting to keep to himself. It's obviously not towards Estinien, or at least, he does his best to make that obvious. "I'm not here to hurt you, promise. Sorry, I should have thought better of your situation before dumping more water on you like that."

No one in this world actually knows it, but Childe doesn't break his promises no matter what.

[coerthantorment]

The water stops and he's left with his arms wrapped around himself. Suddenly, the mood has changed. He'd been wary of Childe when he first arrived, mostly because he sounded annoyed and displeased, and it was hard to tell what about. But now... he looks up to meet his gaze, only to feel the brush of the towel against his cheek.

It's a surprisingly gentle gesture, and his surprise at having received it is obvious. He doesn't flinch or pull away, apparently convinced by Childe's promise. After all, Childe was free to dowse him in as much water as he wanted. He had little to gain from trying to lure him into a sense of security, unless he was more cruel than most.

His gut turns, even so. He remembers what Paul had said, what Matt had said, and it makes their kindness towards him more vexing than anything else.

"Do you know me?" he murmurs, averting his gaze but allowing Childe to stay close. His voice is still frayed from the wounds to his throat, but he can speak a little, at least.

i.

[subsist]

It's not long before Kaeya's path intersects with Estinien's.

The Citadel, regardless of how oppressive and towering it might be, often feels so much smaller than it should be when it comes to moments like this, impossible to avoid someone you wish you'd rather never have to deal with. Kaeya watches the Elezen wander around the halls of the Citadel mostly unimpeded, left alone to his devices as everyone gives him a wide berth, not wanting to be anywhere close to the one who had vehemently hunted down the Kenoma Aions whenever he could. Like this, muzzled and collared the way he is right now, Estinien is a far cry from the man he used to be, barely a former shell of who he once was but rather reborn and remade into something far more corrupted.

When Kaeya asked the Regent what would become of him, he wasn't expecting this outcome. He isn't really sure what he was expecting at all. Their words implied that there are crueler fates awaiting the Pleroma who refused conversion, but this... this is...

Abyssal ichor makes up the most of his limbs now, twisted black stretched into former flesh, digging into Estinien like parasites that want to eat him from the inside out. He's seen this before. Knows it so intimately that it's almost ironic it haunts him all the way here in a different cosmos. Then again, the abyss as an otherworldly force isn't unique to Teyvat, so maybe it shouldn't really surprise him that there are similarities to what he is witnessing now. It's just hard to tell how he feels about all of this. To be exposed to the same curse that haunted the entirety of his home nation, although justified, because Estinien is perhaps the worst of the Pleroma at the end of the day, leaves him feeling conflicted. That's the best way to describe his thoughts and feelings on the matter. Or so he thinks.

Regardless, he keeps his distance for the most part, content to walk the halls on the opposite of wherever Estinien is meandering at the time. At least, this was the plan until his retainer, who has remained silent throughout the stretch of time they needed to cross this hallway, makes a curious noise, feline ears perked up and twitching at the sight of the lost Aion. Violet eyes are focused on where Estinien is headed before he reaches to stop Kaeya from going too far. The Kenoma already looks unimpressed before the taller man has even said anything.

"Master Kaeya," he starts, with a lilt to his voice that tells Kaeya he isn't going to like where this is going. The amused smile isn't helping either. "Isn't he the one who..."

Before the words complete themselves, Kaeya gestures with his hand for the retainer to shut up, combined with a glare that might as well have been as sharp as daggers. His mood has already been soured ever since seeing Estinien like this for the first time, and now it's about to become worse. He keeps his voice low as he orders for his retainer to fetch something — what that might be isn't quite clear due to how hushed he keeps the details — but once he's left with Estinien alone, he finally turns to face the Elezen properly.

He didn't think he should approach him at first, but something seems to win over whatever moral quandry he might be having with himself and so he bridges the gap between them. Heeled boots click loudly against the Citadel's floor, announcing his advance if Estinien hadn't already noticed him to begin with. Wordlessly, and without a sliver of decipherable emotion on his face, he reaches for the Elezen's chin and roughly turns to make him look at Kaeya directly. He examines the collar that now restricts him, the muzzle that prevents him from inflicting further violence on some unwitting individual — there's a split-second where Kaeya considers what would happen if he were to remove it, but instead, his eye narrows.

"You're not so terrifying now, are you?" If there was an ounce of sympathy he must have felt due to being familiar with Estinien's fate with the abyss, they've all been stamped out and frosted over with a bitter cold apathy that prevents him from showing anything in his expression. "At least someone bothered to give you a bath."

He lets go of Estinien soon after. A cursory glance-over at this entire person, noting where else the abyss might pulse and breathe, while he continues to speak. "What was it that you were told, about your purpose now?"

Is he really meant to be a tool for the Kenoma to use as they please?

[coerthantorment]

He hears the retainer speaking, in the way one does when they've grown accustomed to muttering and scoffing behind your back. The details aren't important. He can just tell he's been observed and, like always, he feels like he'd rather disappear. Sometimes he wishes he could just... work... be given tasks like the servants here. But no. He supposes having that kind of security is above him.

He glances at Kaeya as he approaches, but averts his gaze again as he gets close. There's a certain intensity to this approach that gives him the impression that this is going to turn into something, whether good or bad. As much as he knows that avoiding it won't make it stop happening...

Suddenly, his face is being jerked to face the Kenoma before him, and his breath hitches in something like fearful anticipation. Terrifying? No... he wishes he could be terrifying. No matter how much each day here makes his urge to hurt another stronger, he knows it can't be any of these people. His only chance for release is to obey, and to keep that violence inside for the targets that have earned it.

He swallows. Most questions he's asked don't require full sentences, and his voice is particularly ragged as he tried to make his way through it.

"I'm... for you to use... whatever you would ask of me... or want from me..."

If he wants his fear or his pain he could take that too, as much as he would rather be given a task that feels remotely human. He speaks the words carefully like he's repeating what he's heard, and desperately wants to get it right.

[subsist]

That is exactly the answer Kaeya was expecting, and yet there's neither satisfaction nor sympathy that comes along with it. He's not entirely sure what to make of this. He didn't need Estinien to say anything to know that he was basically an empty husk of his former self, but this is just... A good reminder, just like he said. At least now he understands just how powerful the Regent is if they could take away everything that made Estinien as ardent and fierce as he is. Good to know.

"Alright, then," is all he has to say, weirdly deflated. There's nothing more for him to say because it isn't like whatever point he'll make will matter in the long run. This is completely different from the time Himeka and Abel were put up for public display because they were more or less still themselves despite the abuse they were put through. Estinien, on the other hand — to think that there would ever be a day that the Dragoon would be the one who is afraid of him.

"I don't have anything for you to do just yet," he admits, shrugging his shoulders casually. "Perhaps later, when I think of something."

It's up in the air whether or not he'll actually come up with something, but there's something else he'd like to know. Something that has been bothering him thanks to Estinien's initial reactions towards him.

"Do you even remember who you're supposed to be?"

iii

[galdorleod]

Word spreads quickly in the Citadel. The invader, who'd showered Achamoth in the Pleroma's light and caused untold damage in the process, is out. You can see him wandering the halls and courtyards, and better yet, treat him as you please. The Regent and Dionys have stripped him of his hubris, they say, and rendered him stupid and docile. It's evidence of their power, their strength, and the protection they provide to not just Achamoth, but all of Horos. To pass on abusing the muzzled Sanctifier — why, it would be disrespectful to them and all they have done. Thanks to the Regent and their Aions, the dragon has been brought to heel and converted. The Kenoma, and by extension the city and its people, have only become stronger.

In the first few days that the rumors start to circulate, Howl does everything he can to ignore them and push them out of his mind. He'd heard about Estinien's defeat soon after his rebirth, and seen his execution through another's shared memory. The wizard has thought about it all as little as possible since then, focusing instead on his usual frivolities. Clothing, women, luxuries, they've always been his bulwark against overwhelming despair, and they are in abundance in Achamoth. The task of reworking his entire wardrobe to fit with the changes to his body serves to occupy his mind for over two weeks, until finally, he can leave his room with some degree of dignity and self-confidence.

That's when it finally happens — when he first lays eyes on his former foe. In spite of everything, Estinien's condition is truly shocking. Although he is clearly being fed and sometimes bathed, he is nearly unrecognizable. The Elezen he remembers carried a convincing air of determination, spoke with authority, and took remarkable care of himself for a man of his background. This person, this thing, cannot even be called Estinien anymore. Not in Howl's mind.

These feelings settled in Howl's head during a five minute span of quiet observance one day, as he watched a group of soldiers heap abuse on the broken man. Howl left the scene when he became unable to watch it any longer, his chest filled to the brim with a mix of tangled, contradictory feelings. But the experience is enough to wipe away the avoidance that he's clung to since learning what happened. There is a commanding need within him now to throw away the rumors and look upon the leashed beast up close. Howl needs to know what happened, to try understand it, if only for himself.

The moon is high in the night sky when footsteps cross the stableyard and stop at the barred door of Estinien's cage. Howl is robed in a deep black cloak, the edges of his silhouette almost imperceptible in the darkness. Only his pale face, peppered with feathers and framed by two dangling emerald earrings, can be clearly seen in the moonlight.

"Are you awake?" Howl asks. Despite the question, he does not bother lowering his voice. If Estinien is sleeping, he means to interrupt that sleep.

[coerthantorment]

He doesn't sleep deeply very often, if at all. It's rare that he feels very restful or relaxed, and the cage does nothing to comfort him, and so he spends most nights drifting in and out of shallow sleep. If he lets himself delve in deeper, the nightmares become impossible to rescape. When asleep, he finds himself believing he is still imprisoned in the void, unable to move or even scream as the tatters of his soul ache and bleed with no release.

He opens his eyes, the soft red glow of them revealed in the dark. He continues to lay on his side, with no idea who the man speaking to him is. He could be being disturbed for all kinds of reasons, and he has no certainty that it's something he'll enjoy engaging with.

"Yes," he murmurs after a few moments, an answer that he gives verbally only because he takes direct questions as orders. The diminishing temperatures of Sekiseri means that the already cool temperates of the Citadel's stone architecture are increasingly hard to deal with. He is coiled around himself like a creature craving warmth.

[galdorleod]

Estinien's one word answer marks the beginning of a long period of silence. Howl does not speak again, instead stepping up close to the cage. He slides his hands between the bars, resting his wrists on the horizontal slat that holds the locking mechanism, and simply stands there, staring. It's dark, but he is close enough to get a good look at Estinien in the moonlight — the chalky pallor that still infects his skin, the obsidian limbs grafted onto the stumps of his original arms and legs, his mismatched eyes, the Mark engraved around his Shard...

"You look terrible," Howl finally says softly. There's pity and bitterness in his voice, but it isn't an insult. Something roils in the center of Howl's chest, behind his Shard; he's too busy trying to grasp it to be sarcastic. It doesn't feel right. This isn't something he wants to gloat over, he realizes, without knowing why.

"If the rumors are true, you don't remember anything at all," he continues with a sigh. "Don't remember what you did, how you got here... Don't remember me, or even yourself. Is that right?"

What a wretched, unenviable punishment. The proper punishment, of course, if only because the Regent determined it to be so. But why doesn't it sit right with him?

"Stars above. What's the point," Howl mutters, talking aloud to himself now. That knot in his chest is getting tighter. "I told you. I tried to tell you, you stupid fool, and you..."

II

[fightforthejoyofit]

Much as he had avoided Himeka at first, it takes some time for Zenos to approach Estinien - or the thing that bears some shadow of the dragoon's face, at least, for this is very obviously Not Estinien. Which should not surprise him, really; he had been there when the blade fell, felt the Regent's desire to Unmake and the Nothingness that came after it. The wonder is that anything survived beyond that, though of course it serves the Kenoma's purposes that something should linger, both as warning to the faithful and torment to the foe. Serves his own, too, hence why he's here at all; Meteion will contact him eventually (or he will her, or he will Himeka, the specifics are unimportant) and he will share what he has seen, and the glorious incandescent rage that will inspire when word reaches his First Friend will - even if not directed at him specifically - be a thing of Beauty.

That knowledge is almost enough to stop the bile rising in his throat. Almost. Zenos is not given to empathy of any sort, much less to actual pity, but the unmade Estinien speaks to some primal fear that might one day (in someone more person than weapon) become both, to the idea that I would rather be Nothing than That. Because he knows, doesn't he, what a thing it is to have been a God, and be reborn a Worm? And Estinien, or the thing that was Estinien, seems from the study Zenos has made of him (in passing, and in overheard gossip) to have none of the blessed Hunger and Struggle that made wormhood bearable.

It is after the wretched thing fails once again to evade an outstretched spearhaft (set to trip him with all the subtlety of gold-wrapped brick; even a child should have seen, and stepped away from, it) and stumbles, that Zenos actually approaches, his size and bearing and the shard sat at his throat sending the assembled tormentors scurrying away with downcast glances and mumbled My Lord's (though they linger nearby like vultures, hoping to see some greater cruelty inflicted). He kneels beside the wretched thing, regards it with disdainful curiosity, his tone impassive as he reaches to grasp the collar and drag the thing's face so their gazes can meet. Does it know, what was taken from it? Does it care?

"You. Creature. What are you?"

[coerthantorment]

He's already having a hard time making sense of things as he passes through the Citadel's halls. Most of his days are a meaningless haze, and he's found there is little purpose to paying keen attention to his surroundings. Harassment will come whether or not he pays attention, and focusing inward means that maybe he won't hear the bards they throw before they escalate to the physical.

It does mean that he trips on the butt of a spear though. He falls, except for a boot to follow, or a flask of liquor to be dumped on his head. Maybe some insult about how he should keep his tainted form away from the good, righteous followers of the Regent, lest he infects them with his curse. He's treated as an unlucky omen that must be banished from one's path.

It's someone new, though, who ends up hauling him up from his crumpled position. Zenos has his hand wrapped firmly around the collar finding his neck, tugging him up and forcing him to meet his gaze. It's inescapable, from his perspective. To struggle against this would be heresy, and so he tries to stay still and compliant. His red, draconic eyes flicker over Zenos's face. He doesn't know what to think, except that being kicked by him would probably hurt more than average.

He doesn't understand the question. A few of the Kenoma here have asked him if he knew who he was supposed to be, but never what. It's not the first time he's been called a creature, though. Maybe that's what he is.

"I..." he says, trying to speak past the pressure on his collar. What's really holding him up is not knowing what to say. "I don't know..."

[fightforthejoyofit]

"No?"

Unfortunately for Estinien, that pressure shows no sign of stopping - if anything, it increases, Zenos' fingers curling around the strap as he regards the creature (it has lost what scant right it had, to be considered man). To look on broken things is nothing new - though in the world before it was usually him that did the breaking, or at least commanded it - and neither is the disappointment he feels at finding no spark of resistance, however faint and faltering, still smouldering within the ruins.

What a waste, to give this thing talons but not (as far as he knows) the hunger to use them. If it is a joke, then it is a very dull one.

Still, he must be certain, if only (so he tells himself) to know whether Hope or Despair is the better seed to nurture, when cultivating what foes he still has amongst the Pleroma. He cannot afford to waste that harvest as he wasted Godsblood, and Achamoth; when they come again, he wants them Furious, not Playful.

"Why are you here?"