resurrect the saint within the wretch
He does not expect Rhageor to reply quickly. The two are similar in the way they form their thoughts - they are calculated and pensive, more observant than others are due to their ever-watching third eyes. Warden is not uncomfortable in the pregnant silence between them and the great horns on his head cast shadows down his neck as he lifts his pale face to the sun, letting its rays soak into his sea-salted skin. The weight he bears is heavy - a constant, terrible thing - but somehow feels just a bit lighter in Rhageor’s presence and perhaps even lighter still, if Warlight were to join them. The Western King smiles faintly, his deep blue eyes closing momentarily as they walk steadily beside each other, wondering if it is possible to have all three of them together once more.
The thought feels a lot like hope and in an instant, it is squashed by his own bitterness.
Good things can happen, he thinks to himself (like Lilliana would tersely remind him if she were privy to this certain thought), but in the same breath there is that solemnity of knowing that most of the time, good things won’t happen.
Lowering his hardened face, Warden heaves a sigh as he turns his attention to the other winged stallion beside him.
Rhaegor’s understanding of his visions gives him little comfort in the reality of it all, but it is enough to warm the edges of his face, a slight admirable smile on Warden’s pale lips. Rhageor has seen his share of atrocities, no doubt, as it comes with the territory of their ability. The bay and white stallion’s brow furrows thoughtfully, unable to fathom seeing anything beyond the present that isn’t laced with death or destruction. He snorts softly, knowing he likely never will.
The laughter that falls from Rhaegor’s lips brings Warden’s soft smile into a sharp quirk which allows a bit of glimmer to flash in the depths of his ocean-colored eyes.
The future is coming no matter what.
The mantra has a bitter taste in the stallion’s mouth and he visibly retracts, his gaze falling downcast and away from Rhaegor’s warm eyes.
Whether it be to the slaughter or to paradise, the future always comes.
He swallows hard, hearing the truth in his companion’s words and agreeing with them wholeheartedly; there is good, Warden has lived it. He has seen it within Flower and her gentleness, in Lilliana when her hope rises against the dark of his mind, and even in his father, who still looks to the stars for guidance evermore. But agreeing and believing are two separate entities and Warden struggles with the latter profusely. Each vision weighs harder on him than the previous and it makes believing all the more difficult and impossible.
They have stopped walking but the horned stallion hadn’t noticed until Rhageor brings him to attention with the sound of his name, purposeful and sharp. Warden lifts his head, dark eyes shrouded by a darker brow with his mouth set into a thin line. The emotion in Rhageor’s voice strikes him and he feels the overwhelming intensity of guilt twist in his gut. The knowing is the worst, he had believed. But it’s the after, he had been scolded, that truly feels like hopelessness.
The Watcher brings his face close to Rhageor, touching his pale mouth to the tawny and white of the other’s cheek. The gesture is not meant to only comfort Rhageor but Warden as well, drawing strength from his nephew. The good does come, it has before, but Warden has been cursed from seeing or experiencing it - and it plagues him far deeper than even he understands himself. It is hard to hold onto hope when there is so little left.
So he does what he always does and clings tightly to the hope that burns brightly in Rhageor’s eyes.
“You make it sound so beautiful, Rhageor,” he comments softly before turning his face towards the volcano that looms in the distance before them, bold and brash against the bright blue of the Tephran sky behind it. “I wish I could see it for more than it is.” He pauses, the internal struggle visible on his pale face. “I only hope that what I see will somehow aid me in the coming seasons and help me lead Tephra in a way that brings peace and prosperity.” It felt wrong to say those words - peace and prosperity, when he is only able to see the opposite - but it is what he truly wished for his volcanic home.
@[Rhageor]
