feeling emotionally vulnerable so ill be walking around with a sword for the rest of the day

gift.

He was pacing.

Why was he even nervous to begin with? It was a gift. He had given Akeno plenty by now, this shouldn’t be any different. Except it was. He knew it was. Something about this one would have a bit of weight that the others lacked. Not for want of time taken or care given. Most things he’d gifted had been made with his own two hands. Bespoke scissors, the daggers and cards, if those could be counted. Each one made with careful consideration for the receiver, and he’d been glad for the smiles and little flushes they’d earned him.

He’d never second guessed his ability to make things people would be pleased with. Though, this wasn’t people. This was Ake, and he knew the Raen well enough by now to know, without a doubt, that he would be pleased with what he gave. Then, why was he pacing?

He forces his feet to stop and huffs out a breath. His next inhale is slower and the exhale that follows is less a huff, more measured. He turns towards his desk, tucked in a corner of his apartment and mostly surrounded by books. He managed to clear it off to make space for the delicate goldsmithing tools, looking like a proper workspace again. Kell moves to sit on the small stool and looks over his work.

It was simple, the blue crystal left somewhat intentionally rough looking. Though he was still sure to carefully buff out any overly sharp edges. It was longer than the piece he'd fashioned around his own neck, dangling nicely from a simple gold post. He lifts it carefully to eye level and hums quietly to himself. It would be a gift from him, sure. But more a gift from his mother, his only way to offer a tangible connection to a past he has little physical proof of outside of his own person, and maybe a few hammers now. Would she have parted with bits of the crystal by way of blessing? Or maybe she would have given some other type of gift. Food would have always gone over well, but surely, she would have wanted to give something more permanent. Right?

He carefully lowers the earing back to the padded work surface again as he lets himself get lost in his own thoughts. The what-ifs of his parents had been harder to avoid lately. Despite about a decade of managing to put them out of the front of his mind when he considered his future, this was different. He knew of the general traditions of Ishgardian courting. How could one not, even as removed from the city as he has been. With such grand displays from one noble house to the next, and the gossip that floated through taverns, even he could put it all together. What others did. He didn't find himself thinking of them because of that though, he wanted to know more details about how they had done things, beyond the single story he'd been told.

Were there little family traditions that they had each taken and carried with them? Would they have offered little bits of sage advice to him now? Would they be happy, or proud, or excited for him? For how far he'd come? For how little he fought with his fists now in favor of cautiously baring his heart to another?

He leans forward, elbows resting on the edge of the desk, and lets his right-hand push back through his hair with a sigh. Would any of it have mattered? Wouldn't he still have gone his own way, forged his own path? Not having the answers was bitter, but the two of them could still take from what they knew- make their own traditions. They would be fine. It would all be fine. They loved each other, and wanted to be together, that was really all that mattered, traditional or no. Right?

Kellent huffs out an amused breath, even reaching that resolution felt like something one of his parents could have said.

"You'll never be rid of us so easily..."

They'd sounded so sure then too.

He leans back in his seat, looking up at the ceiling. His eyes close for a moment and when they open again, he reaches for a soft looking cloth to cover his work for the time being.

Tea. And something sweet. That would be a good use of a break.

reflection.

Kellent had been careful not to look into it since they’d first dealt with the mirror. It had been easy enough to manage, small as it was, it only took up a small space on a side table at best. Not difficult to avert one’s gaze from such a small target. He’d been almost vigilant about it, the sting of what he’d seen before was a good motivator. Maybe that’s why rushing was his first mistake and complacency was his second. He moved through the space like normal, eyes scanning for something small he’d left behind. He knew where the mirror sat, how to keep himself in its blind spot. It seemed to have other plans, however, having.. moved itself?

It seemed like a silly thought to entertain and maybe he would have given it more thought if what he caught in his own reflection hadn’t frozen him there on the spot. He steps closer, almost not recognizing himself in the small pane of glass.

His eyes.

He’d never seen them like this before, whites visible instead of the black that usually surrounded the vibrant blue. His mouth hung open as his right hand lifts to carefully tug down his lower eyelid on that same side, as if he would catch a glimpse of the familiar dark hiding behind. That’s when he notices his own teeth next. No overly sharp points as he bares them at himself. He tests an approximation of a smile, and looks like any other unassuming, dark-haired Ishgardian. He blinks, lifting hand and wrist to be more visible in the reflection. No scales. A seemingly ‘normal’ reflection staring back at him. He seems caught up in it for a moment, in awe of a version of himself he never had a chance at. Slowly recovering from the shock, mouth closing, a frown works its way onto his face. He reflexively runs his tongue across the front of his teeth and of course nothing had actually changed there. He presses against one of those sharp points until he draws blood and the sting of it has him hissing quietly.

His hand lowers and his fists ball. He wants to hit it. To break it. Pick it up and shatter it. It would be so easy. Helpless little mirror can’t fight back and would stop showing him things like this. Things he can’t have. He breathes in and exhales harshly through his nose as he reaches for the mirror. He grabs it along the top edge and lowers it, face down against the counter with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. No sounds of cracking, it’s fine.

The elezen takes a moment to collect himself, eyes closing as he works on willing his hands to relax out of the fists they'd tightened into.

'...it shows you the things you want-'

At least it hadn't shown his parents this time. His hands flex, shoulders rolling back and down before his eyes open again and he looks away from the downed mirror with a huff. As if planned, his eyes land on the small bit of paper that had brought him back inside in the first place. He snatches it up roughly, crumpling it and shoving it into his pocket with a growl. Turning on a heel, he stalks back out as quickly as he'd arrived.

tears.

“Mère-”

He wakes in a sweat, sitting up abruptly, arms stretched out in front of him as if reaching for something.

For someone.

He chokes on the name lodged in his throat, a hoarse whisper is all that croaks out before he brings a hand up to cover his own mouth. There’s a tremor in them and he’s glad Akeno isn’t there to be disturbed by him.

He could see it so clearly, the small crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle of it. Like a twisted sort of mob justice. The sneer the Inquisitor wore as he held his mother by the arm too tightly. Her expression, on the other hand, was as calm as it always was. Meanwhile, his father beside him looked like he would be sick. He himself had been in silent tears the entire time, the lump lodged in his throat not allowing for the passage of sound.

He wanted to call out to her. Or to tell his father to do something, anything other than simply sit and watch. Not that we was much better, he could barely summon the strength to stand.

Funnily enough it’s tears the pull him from the memory of the dream now. The small drops running down one and landing against the back of his other hand. He closes his eyes and forces a slow, even breath, just like he’d seen Ake do plenty of times. He repeats this again and again until tremors cease. The hand at his mouth lifts to rubs at his eyes a few times before raking roughly back through his hair.

He breathes out an audible groan as he tosses himself back against his pillow and pulling at the sheets. “Just a dream. I’m not there. Oceans and years away..” He murmurs to himself before turning into his side with a huff. He closed his eyes and focuses on his breath, in and out until they slow with sleep again.

blood.

His heart is racing, eyes darting this way and that. Not that he can see clearly.

Panic. He's panicking.

He spits. That familiar metallic taste coats his tongue anyway. It's too much.

'It's not enough~'

That's a dangerous thought, one he hasn't had in months. His head shakes, attempting to will the thoughts away with it. Has more important things to worry about. Like not letting it get into his eyes and nose. He can’t properly wipe his face to get it off when his hands are covered.

It’s everywhere. And it’s absolutely in his eyes, muddying his vision. Tinting everything red, seeing red. Should he be able to feel his eyes dilating?

There's a scream, a fully unrestrained sound. It takes a moment for his mind to catch up with his body. It's coming from him. He's on the ground now, though he's unsure when his feet found their way out from under him. He's shaking, curled up into as much of a ball as he can manage. Then there's an audible snap and his limbs violently uncurl with it. He'd never broken a bone before, though he couldn't rightly claim that now. Somewhere through the haze of pain he knows that Akeno would not be pleased with the sound. Not that one or the ones that follow.

He's being broken, and put back together as something else.

Kellent kicks up dust as he writhes and a raw electric energy begins to crackle around him. Somewhere along the way those screams shift into something deeper, and more guttural. Then suddenly he is still. If it weren't for the sound of his heavy breathing it would be easy to guess he'd expired there. Maybe, even now, he had simply lost consciousness from the pain of it.

The piercing glow of blue eyes cutting through the settling dust says otherwise. The next exhale comes out on a growl, a wild sounding thing, as he begins to stand again. Put back together as something bigger, mostly covered in dark scales with bits of blue edging. Horns that match this dark motif sprout from his head. Maybe standing isn't the right word, he stalks forward on all fours, though bipedal movement still looks possible for his frame. A long, powerful looking tail lashes back and forth behind him and when he bares his teeth this time, more than his canines are sharp now.

The sound of scrambling catches his attention and his eyes dart in that direction. He breathes in slowly, sniffing. He can smell their fear. Can smell the blood on them too. In them. Heretics.

There is no further logical thought before he lunges for them

envoy. 01

It was late. Past his usual bedtime by bells. Usually his parents would have been scolding him for being up at this hour, for being out of the house at all, but tonight was different. Everything was different.

It hadn’t started that way, the day had begun like any other. His father had set off to the Skysteel Manufactory to work as always and he stayed inside with his mother, helping around the house with chores and earning small rewards in stolen sweets. She’d wag a finger at him when caught but grinned at the while. “Be sure to save some for your father.” 

Then came the knock. It was heavy handed and he’d stayed out of sight although he was curious. Visitors were not something they received very often, if at all. He didn’t not recognize the voice he heard, and it did not sound friendly. He braved peeking from a narrow window above. Official looking garb, tall hat. The man’s tone was cold and hard and accusatory? When the door was shut again and his mother returned, her normal lightheartedness was nowhere to be seen. Shaken, this visitor must have come with bad news. Perhaps there was an accident at the manufactory. “Mother, is everything-” A sharply raised hand gave him pause and she shook her head as if she already knew what he would ask. “Your father is fine.” Is all she said, and she remained quiet until he returned from work that evening. 

Their words were hushed in their room that night, not quite able to make out what they were saying, though not for lack of trying. When they emerged he tried to seem casual as he idled near the door. A rough hand finds his slim shoulder as his father leans in close, voice low but with an undercurrent of urgency. Was he spooked too? “Quickly, go and pack a bag. Nothing loud inside. Dress for the cold, we’re leaving.” Kellent blinked, head tilting as it filled with more questions. “What’s going on?” “Not now.” “But-” “K.. go pack a bag.” Kell breathes out a frustrated sound before turning, making no attempt to hide his frown. “Fine,” He murmurs under his breath, arms crossing over his chest. “I’ll pack the stupid bag..”