TIMESTAMP: Wither 1, Ash 122
NOTES: Direct follow-up to Spiritwalker
~open me~
NOTES: Direct follow-up to Spiritwalker
~open me~
► Show Spoiler
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Once the eldritch woman had vanished from sight, the trio of souls left in her wake lingered there in silence for some time as the sun began to rise on the horizon. The Aidolon was silent, as it had fully endorsed the decision that Hector had made…but with the amount of time it had spent in the presence of Hector and thus Vergil, he had watched the two interact and grow close over the few years he’d been bound to the elven boy’s soul. The spirit was not without his own sense of empathy and attachment to those around him, those who helped him.
Callous as the being of dark fog might actually be, the nature of the bond it had with Hector had almost compelled it to care over time. And for whatever reason, he admired Vergil for the man’s convictions, skills and knowledge, things he found impressive for a man who was still well within the life span for a mortal. And while the Aidolon held no runes on his soul, he was a perceptive creature. He could tell that Hector’s willingness to throw all of those memories away had broken him in one way or another. For while there was wisdom in the boy’s choice from a pragmatic perspective, from the perspective of the pursuit of his goals…from a sentimental one? From an emotional one? He had essentially just tossed away a decade of the twelve years the two had known one another, almost all of it. And so the spirit held back its voice. For the enthusiasm that it held regarding the deal that had been struck would only rub salt in the older one vampyr’s wounds, fresh as they were.
Vergil’s body was incredibly tense as he sat in the cool fog of the morning air. His grip around Hector was a tight one, as if letting go would mean the boy would fall to pieces in an instant. That being the case, he was wordless and stone still. The little elf had leaned into him at first, falling into his grip willingly, but arguably, now he was trapped. Albeit, it did not feel that way, confusing as current reality was now that his memories were gone.
None of them had even realized how much time had actually passed, given that they had been sequestered from the world with dark magic and darker fog. And now, they barely remembered what time it had been when they initially sat down. Both men were surrounded now by a malaise of exhaustion, though neither of them quite knew why. It was not as if the interaction had been a particularly active one on their part. Perhaps it was the æether that had surrounded them, perhaps the woman had used some of their own in her casting. Whatever the case, there was really rather little that either man could do about and as such, there wasn’t much of a solution beyond returning to where they were quartered.
Of course, in so doing, the intention was to sleep. But could they, really? Could they, right away? With no discussion of what had just transpired?
The answer, dear reader, is no.
In actuality, Hector would have been able to nest himself into the bed, curl up into a little ball and drift off to sleep as a form of emotional escapism from the choice he’d just made. It was not because he felt any semblance of regret, no, it was just that what had just happened was quite a lot for his mind to process. The transferral of her gift unto him and the loss of his memories left him feeling strange and exhausted. On his end, the elven boy wanted to rest and move forward when his mind was far clearer.
The spirit, swirling ‘round his ankles yet still, had no stake in this discussion because he was bound by an ætheric contract that bridged their very souls. It did not matter how he felt at all, he had to stay at Hector’s side regardless of what decisions the young man made. He has made this decision twice now, too. Lyrielle had offered to cut their ties and free him…and he had declined. The Aidolon did not know how to exist or what he would do or where he would go if he were to be unbound. He still was an incomplete being, too. Feeding was something that he and Hector had done in tandem since he was plucked from the ætherium and he didn’t want to break from that pattern just yet. Perhaps, in the future, he would ask of his primordial ancestor to cut their bond…but for now, he really did not see the benefit thereof.
The least stable of the three, emotionally, was Vergil. Funny, that. Hector was unstable almost by default. His emotions were a force to be reckoned with and he often had trouble processing them. The spirit, for a while, barely understood emotions in concept as he had not felt much beyond despair, tumbling through the ætherium as long as he had. Of these three, Vergil was the calmest…in any scenario. It was hard to shake him, sturdy as his foundations were. It was difficult to upset him and even then, he was quite good at winding his emotions down or reining them in.
But how was he really supposed to deal with a problem that sent a force so seismic that it rocked one of those very foundations on which he relied? Over the last twelve years, he and his companion had grown quite close. A lot of their memories scattered throughout that time held great sentiment to the both of them. It was through those experiences that Hector had even grown close to him in the first place. The younger one’s initiation was a thing that both of them had come to cherish. For one thing, because it was successful at all. The mortality rate for a fledgling vampyr was markedly poor and he had never walked anyone through that before. For another, the trauma of it all had wound the two tightly ‘round one another in a way that was provably impossible to unravel.
And now? All of that was gone. It wasn’t as if Hector had lost his memories by accident or had them stolen from him by a malady or a malicious force. No, his memories had been traded away, granted to a stranger in exchange for a modicum of power. He had willingly given away experiences held so dear for something so…from Vergil’s perspective, small. The fact that he had done that at all was painful. It hurt him. It really did, and this pain was made manifest even while Vergil remained in the dark about the innumerable repercussions the boy now faced, robbed of memories of every shade or color.
When they had arrived back in the room they shared, Hector looked at his companion and with eyes most innocent, posed a simple question: “How old am I? When is my nameday?”
Every reminder that he’d forgotten was like a spike in the other’s heart, yet he knew he would have to swallow that rather quickly going forward. Vergil blinked for a moment, biting the inside of his lip. “You…you’re twenty. Thirteenth Solace.” He spoke with a voice that betrayed the tautness of his throat.
Hector blinked, tilting his head a bit as if processing this. “Oh.” That’s all he responded, indicating little else on what that really meant or impacted, if anything. He had actually not forgotten that bit of information, he had just asked because he wasn't sure if it was the truth or if he was remembering it wrong.
He had many more questions than that he wanted to ask, in truth, but he could read the tension on the other man’s form well enough. Hector got the impression he was not normally good at reading body language at all, but he could do so on his companion because of how close they were. His own calm was actually rather eerie to Vergil, too. Hector was known to him to be quite reactive about any major choice he ever made whether the outcome was good or bad, so for him to be quiet like this? That was a very strange thing. A very strange portent, indeed.
In some ways, he felt a bit like a passenger in a body that wasn’t exactly his. His memories only extended back to a few months prior and yet he resided in the body of an adult and had the knowledge of such an individual…as if his soul were thrust into a form for whom he knew nothing about. Yet at the same time, he knew, very instinctually, that this body was and always had been his.
Hector looked downcast for a moment. “I..am exhausted. I’m going to rest, ah…join me when the desire strikes you.” It was the same soft voice he always spoke both, the same features he’d always emoted with, yet within his features there was a certain unfamiliarity when he regarded his lover.
And though he had moved to embrace and kiss the other man before he laid down, something about the gesture came across as oddly hollow to his partner. Something about it wasn’t quite the same and the change was not a welcome one.
Vergil did not have anything else to do, and so naturally, it was not long before he laid down beside his partner. Though the two had only been sharing a bed for a month of Searing and two of Ash, they had been quite close for quite a bit longer…and yet now, Vergil was painfully aware that it was only those three months plus one that he remembered.
As if he could feel the thrum of the older one’s anxiety, “Vergil…? I do still love you. That much is still there. I won’t let that fade.” And though he made this promise with sincerity, he could not be quite positive that he actually had control over that.
Upon hearing those words, the breath caught in Vergil’s throat. “...I love you…too…” And in the space between the last two words, his voice broke.
Callous as the being of dark fog might actually be, the nature of the bond it had with Hector had almost compelled it to care over time. And for whatever reason, he admired Vergil for the man’s convictions, skills and knowledge, things he found impressive for a man who was still well within the life span for a mortal. And while the Aidolon held no runes on his soul, he was a perceptive creature. He could tell that Hector’s willingness to throw all of those memories away had broken him in one way or another. For while there was wisdom in the boy’s choice from a pragmatic perspective, from the perspective of the pursuit of his goals…from a sentimental one? From an emotional one? He had essentially just tossed away a decade of the twelve years the two had known one another, almost all of it. And so the spirit held back its voice. For the enthusiasm that it held regarding the deal that had been struck would only rub salt in the older one vampyr’s wounds, fresh as they were.
Vergil’s body was incredibly tense as he sat in the cool fog of the morning air. His grip around Hector was a tight one, as if letting go would mean the boy would fall to pieces in an instant. That being the case, he was wordless and stone still. The little elf had leaned into him at first, falling into his grip willingly, but arguably, now he was trapped. Albeit, it did not feel that way, confusing as current reality was now that his memories were gone.
None of them had even realized how much time had actually passed, given that they had been sequestered from the world with dark magic and darker fog. And now, they barely remembered what time it had been when they initially sat down. Both men were surrounded now by a malaise of exhaustion, though neither of them quite knew why. It was not as if the interaction had been a particularly active one on their part. Perhaps it was the æether that had surrounded them, perhaps the woman had used some of their own in her casting. Whatever the case, there was really rather little that either man could do about and as such, there wasn’t much of a solution beyond returning to where they were quartered.
Of course, in so doing, the intention was to sleep. But could they, really? Could they, right away? With no discussion of what had just transpired?
The answer, dear reader, is no.
In actuality, Hector would have been able to nest himself into the bed, curl up into a little ball and drift off to sleep as a form of emotional escapism from the choice he’d just made. It was not because he felt any semblance of regret, no, it was just that what had just happened was quite a lot for his mind to process. The transferral of her gift unto him and the loss of his memories left him feeling strange and exhausted. On his end, the elven boy wanted to rest and move forward when his mind was far clearer.
The spirit, swirling ‘round his ankles yet still, had no stake in this discussion because he was bound by an ætheric contract that bridged their very souls. It did not matter how he felt at all, he had to stay at Hector’s side regardless of what decisions the young man made. He has made this decision twice now, too. Lyrielle had offered to cut their ties and free him…and he had declined. The Aidolon did not know how to exist or what he would do or where he would go if he were to be unbound. He still was an incomplete being, too. Feeding was something that he and Hector had done in tandem since he was plucked from the ætherium and he didn’t want to break from that pattern just yet. Perhaps, in the future, he would ask of his primordial ancestor to cut their bond…but for now, he really did not see the benefit thereof.
The least stable of the three, emotionally, was Vergil. Funny, that. Hector was unstable almost by default. His emotions were a force to be reckoned with and he often had trouble processing them. The spirit, for a while, barely understood emotions in concept as he had not felt much beyond despair, tumbling through the ætherium as long as he had. Of these three, Vergil was the calmest…in any scenario. It was hard to shake him, sturdy as his foundations were. It was difficult to upset him and even then, he was quite good at winding his emotions down or reining them in.
But how was he really supposed to deal with a problem that sent a force so seismic that it rocked one of those very foundations on which he relied? Over the last twelve years, he and his companion had grown quite close. A lot of their memories scattered throughout that time held great sentiment to the both of them. It was through those experiences that Hector had even grown close to him in the first place. The younger one’s initiation was a thing that both of them had come to cherish. For one thing, because it was successful at all. The mortality rate for a fledgling vampyr was markedly poor and he had never walked anyone through that before. For another, the trauma of it all had wound the two tightly ‘round one another in a way that was provably impossible to unravel.
And now? All of that was gone. It wasn’t as if Hector had lost his memories by accident or had them stolen from him by a malady or a malicious force. No, his memories had been traded away, granted to a stranger in exchange for a modicum of power. He had willingly given away experiences held so dear for something so…from Vergil’s perspective, small. The fact that he had done that at all was painful. It hurt him. It really did, and this pain was made manifest even while Vergil remained in the dark about the innumerable repercussions the boy now faced, robbed of memories of every shade or color.
When they had arrived back in the room they shared, Hector looked at his companion and with eyes most innocent, posed a simple question: “How old am I? When is my nameday?”
Every reminder that he’d forgotten was like a spike in the other’s heart, yet he knew he would have to swallow that rather quickly going forward. Vergil blinked for a moment, biting the inside of his lip. “You…you’re twenty. Thirteenth Solace.” He spoke with a voice that betrayed the tautness of his throat.
Hector blinked, tilting his head a bit as if processing this. “Oh.” That’s all he responded, indicating little else on what that really meant or impacted, if anything. He had actually not forgotten that bit of information, he had just asked because he wasn't sure if it was the truth or if he was remembering it wrong.
He had many more questions than that he wanted to ask, in truth, but he could read the tension on the other man’s form well enough. Hector got the impression he was not normally good at reading body language at all, but he could do so on his companion because of how close they were. His own calm was actually rather eerie to Vergil, too. Hector was known to him to be quite reactive about any major choice he ever made whether the outcome was good or bad, so for him to be quiet like this? That was a very strange thing. A very strange portent, indeed.
In some ways, he felt a bit like a passenger in a body that wasn’t exactly his. His memories only extended back to a few months prior and yet he resided in the body of an adult and had the knowledge of such an individual…as if his soul were thrust into a form for whom he knew nothing about. Yet at the same time, he knew, very instinctually, that this body was and always had been his.
Hector looked downcast for a moment. “I..am exhausted. I’m going to rest, ah…join me when the desire strikes you.” It was the same soft voice he always spoke both, the same features he’d always emoted with, yet within his features there was a certain unfamiliarity when he regarded his lover.
And though he had moved to embrace and kiss the other man before he laid down, something about the gesture came across as oddly hollow to his partner. Something about it wasn’t quite the same and the change was not a welcome one.
Vergil did not have anything else to do, and so naturally, it was not long before he laid down beside his partner. Though the two had only been sharing a bed for a month of Searing and two of Ash, they had been quite close for quite a bit longer…and yet now, Vergil was painfully aware that it was only those three months plus one that he remembered.
As if he could feel the thrum of the older one’s anxiety, “Vergil…? I do still love you. That much is still there. I won’t let that fade.” And though he made this promise with sincerity, he could not be quite positive that he actually had control over that.
Upon hearing those words, the breath caught in Vergil’s throat. “...I love you…too…” And in the space between the last two words, his voice broke.
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Aidolon Speech
'Thoughts'
"Kathalan Tongue/Speech"
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Mythrasi Tongue/Speech"