07-29-2022, 11:47 PM
T U M U L T
There was something strange about the storm that ravaged Beqanna, though he couldn’t quite place it.
He is learning that the magic in this land is more complex than he had initially thought. It is not just the flash of wings or even the simple manipulation of the elements, but rather, it is magic that goes back further than he could ever comprehend. Some of them are saturated with it, wielding a power that he had never thought possible: magic that made mountains shake, magic that could inspire such vivid dreams he could have sworn it was actually a memory and not something that only lived in his mind.
The tornados that sweep through, uprooting trees and crumbling kingdoms, that has a taste of magic, too, and he tries to not be envious of it.
His storms, no matter how magnificently crafted, were still not something he could actually control. He supposes there is beauty in that, too, in being able to create something and set it loose into the world and watch it choose its own path. But it would be a lie to say he doesn’t wish he could do something more than create.
When he catches sight of her—she is impossible to miss, a living storm in a way that he could never be—he could almost laugh at the irony, to have the very thing he wishes to be dangled before him.
He does not fault her for it, though.
He can’t, not when her presence seems to cause the ever-present flicker of lightning across his skin to surge in response, the storm-cloud of his wings seeming to darken.
“Aios,” he greets her as he relents to the magnetic pull that tugs him towards her, the gray of his eyes clouding the curiosity he cannot help but to feel as he looks at her. Afraid that she would see through it if he stared for too long, he shifts his gaze to the destruction around them. “Did you do this?” he asks, though his jesting tone is somewhat tempered by the low pitch of his voice. He does not think she actually did it, but he is no fool; he knows she is capable.
He is learning that the magic in this land is more complex than he had initially thought. It is not just the flash of wings or even the simple manipulation of the elements, but rather, it is magic that goes back further than he could ever comprehend. Some of them are saturated with it, wielding a power that he had never thought possible: magic that made mountains shake, magic that could inspire such vivid dreams he could have sworn it was actually a memory and not something that only lived in his mind.
The tornados that sweep through, uprooting trees and crumbling kingdoms, that has a taste of magic, too, and he tries to not be envious of it.
His storms, no matter how magnificently crafted, were still not something he could actually control. He supposes there is beauty in that, too, in being able to create something and set it loose into the world and watch it choose its own path. But it would be a lie to say he doesn’t wish he could do something more than create.
When he catches sight of her—she is impossible to miss, a living storm in a way that he could never be—he could almost laugh at the irony, to have the very thing he wishes to be dangled before him.
He does not fault her for it, though.
He can’t, not when her presence seems to cause the ever-present flicker of lightning across his skin to surge in response, the storm-cloud of his wings seeming to darken.
“Aios,” he greets her as he relents to the magnetic pull that tugs him towards her, the gray of his eyes clouding the curiosity he cannot help but to feel as he looks at her. Afraid that she would see through it if he stared for too long, he shifts his gaze to the destruction around them. “Did you do this?” he asks, though his jesting tone is somewhat tempered by the low pitch of his voice. He does not think she actually did it, but he is no fool; he knows she is capable.
CAN YOU TELL ME, WILL I BREAK OR WILL I BEND?
@aios