"I was coerced," he confirmed, and left it at that. If she needed more information to keep this safer, he might give it, but he didn't want to bare his soul. He nodded about the troubles, as well. Perhaps someday she would offer more training, and he would offer more details. She had certainly taught him more already than anyone who had given him a Rune, or coerced him into two for the bargain price of a tortured mind.
The corner of his mouth perked up at her moment of warmth. He couldn't quite acknowledge it, but for once he wasn't smirking and deflecting with humor. Nodding seriously, he memorized how she would look to him in the terrible place that had nearly taken his boy from him. He could sense the magic in her voice, the magic in her symbols, and he could actually feel when the Rune began to activate and sear itself into him, deeper than flesh and bone.
He turned his head to look at his shoulder, but then there was too much, and everything was light.
Aurin was looking at himself in the mirror. His skin was blue or—he didn't know if there was a name for that color. His hair looked like burnished bronze. No, like fire. He was a living flame. He was cold as the heart of a star. He was sharp and angular; he shone like scar tissue.
But he wasn't alone. Valencia. He turned around, but instead, he saw an eldritch banquet. Some of the guests looked almost human, or almost humanoid. Others were decidedly not.
The Bronze Fox...
There was a clamor of voices, some audible and others... something else. He didn't know if he was meant to be a guest or a part of the meal. There were carcasses and delicacies, and he was naked and gleaming. They were watching him, and he felt naked in a way that clothes could never cover. His arm ached where his Rune was attempting to filter so much into his senses and not quite managing the feat.
His eyes sought Valencia's truer form, but he did not see her. She had said to wait for her and she would find him, but she hadn't actually said what to do if he was in danger. He was in danger, or so he believed. Trying to get his back to a wall, or what he thought of as walls, did not work. Aurin began to fall backward through the mirror. He fell forever, and then his hands caught the edge, and he was peering desperately up through the mirror.
He daren't look behind him, below.
The corner of his mouth perked up at her moment of warmth. He couldn't quite acknowledge it, but for once he wasn't smirking and deflecting with humor. Nodding seriously, he memorized how she would look to him in the terrible place that had nearly taken his boy from him. He could sense the magic in her voice, the magic in her symbols, and he could actually feel when the Rune began to activate and sear itself into him, deeper than flesh and bone.
He turned his head to look at his shoulder, but then there was too much, and everything was light.
Aurin was looking at himself in the mirror. His skin was blue or—he didn't know if there was a name for that color. His hair looked like burnished bronze. No, like fire. He was a living flame. He was cold as the heart of a star. He was sharp and angular; he shone like scar tissue.
But he wasn't alone. Valencia. He turned around, but instead, he saw an eldritch banquet. Some of the guests looked almost human, or almost humanoid. Others were decidedly not.
The Bronze Fox...
There was a clamor of voices, some audible and others... something else. He didn't know if he was meant to be a guest or a part of the meal. There were carcasses and delicacies, and he was naked and gleaming. They were watching him, and he felt naked in a way that clothes could never cover. His arm ached where his Rune was attempting to filter so much into his senses and not quite managing the feat.
His eyes sought Valencia's truer form, but he did not see her. She had said to wait for her and she would find him, but she hadn't actually said what to do if he was in danger. He was in danger, or so he believed. Trying to get his back to a wall, or what he thought of as walls, did not work. Aurin began to fall backward through the mirror. He fell forever, and then his hands caught the edge, and he was peering desperately up through the mirror.
He daren't look behind him, below.