[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/su1oRzt.jpeg[/img][/center] [center] [color=cecece] [sub] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Kw24vWE.png[/img][/center] [b][Location][/b] ?, ? [b][Time][/b] ?, ??:?? ?? [b][Interactions][/b] @[url=https://i.ibb.co/d6GGs7D/Ifrit.jpg]?[/url] [/sub] [/color] [/center] [indent][indent][indent][indent] [color=808080] [i]The world was bathed in muted shades of grey, the air still simmering with the heat of fading embers. There was a charred lump beneath him, it may have been once a rock, or a stump, or even an engine, it mattered not. Now it was little more than a convenient seat. He sat quietly, a bloodied eye closed as his hand ran a whetstone down the length of his sword, his movements methodical and precise as he traced the battered edge. At his feet, there lay a burned man looking at the smog-filled sky, his body broken and his gaze dazed and vacant but there was an undeniable spark of life within, flickering and persistent. Silence stretched between them like a sanctuary, a strange peace that almost made the violence of mere moments ago feel like a dream. The particles drifting down from above gave the scene a surreal, almost sacred air, the battlefield seeming more reverent than any temple could. "You always come back for that sword, don’t you?" The burned man's voice was soft, with a faint rasp. His eyes had changed course, fixing themselves on the weapon in his hands. He didn't look up, all his attention focused on the task "A blade" He began "isn't just steel. It’s a reflection. A reminder" "A reminder...?" "Of its purpose" "I see" The burned man nodded and returned his gaze to the sky "Like us, I suppose. Our path is never really done, is it? Always in need of… sharpening" The way he intoned the last word was slow, almost like he was savoring it. Scrape, scrape, scrape. He said nothing, his whetstone moved in the same steady rhythm, scraping softly against the blade. The man seemed to find comfort in it, as though the sharpening of the sword was a prayer in itself. "I wonder" The man continued "If this is what He intended. Every time we rise against you, it feels like another step closer to something… higher. I feel it, even in our failures" "Perhaps" He mused absently "Failure is just another form of progress" Scrape, scrape, scrape. The burned man chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it "Failure sharpens faith, doesn’t it? Makes us more resolute" He paused, his expression growing more introspective "I've always believed that each battle, irrelevant of victory or defeat, brings us closer to understanding His will. And through you, we commune with the divine" His hands never faltered, his eyes still focusing on the sword "You look for meaning in every strike, in the outcome, that is the nature of faith" The burned man closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the residue seep into his skin "Sometimes" he said softly "I wonder if I’ve misunderstood. If maybe it’s not about the battles at all, but about the waiting in between. About the quiet moments like this" Scrape, scrape, scrape. For a moment he didn't say anything, his hands pausing and bringing the sword closer to his face, his good eye examining the edge before finding a flaw and renewing his efforts "Waiting can be more difficult than fighting, it’s where you find the true test, only when you truly understand the hunger is that you finally learn to savor the feast" The burned man lay still, absorbing the words, his thoughts heavy with contemplation. The fire within him had burned fiercely for so long, but in this quiet moment, in the aftermath of defeat, there was only reflection -no anger, no bitterness. Just the persistent question of what lay ahead. The burned man turned his head slightly, his gaze settling back on him "Tell me..." he hesitated, the question appearing to catch in his throat before he could give voice to it "Do you ever wonder... if this is the right path?" Scrape, scrape..., scrape. His hands slowed before eventually coming to a stop, again he brought the sword to inspection but this time he nodded at what he saw, then with a smooth movement he sheathed the sword on the scabbard at his side before getting to his feet and showing the burned man his back. He took a single step then froze before half-turning and looking at the man for the first time "My apologies, I wasn't talking to you" He gave the man a slight bow in apology then resumed his walk without looking back. "Until we meet again, Aiden" The Burned Man watched The Regalia's retreating figure, his presence fading into the swirling ash. His body felt heavy, worn from the battle, but his mind was oddly light, as if the weight of certainty had lifted, if only for a moment. The question he had voiced lingered in the air, unanswered. He closed his eyes, listening to the echoes of The Regalia's words, the scrape of the whetstone lingering in his mind, rhythmic and purposeful. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, The Burned Man wondered if, perhaps, this conversation wasn’t between the two of them at all. Maybe the questions had never been Aiden's, nor the answers Mathias's[/i] [Center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ujuweo1.png[/img] [i]Aiden 'The Burned Man' Halloway Scorched Warden of The Ashen Disciples[/i] [/center] [/color] [/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent] [hr] [center] [color=cecece] [sub] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/a4bUwBv.jpeg[/img][/center] [b][Location][/b] Landow, Estren [b][Time][/b] Sunday, 06:30 AM [b][Interactions][/b] [@Mirandae][@vietmyke] [/sub] [/color] [/center] [indent][indent][indent][indent] [color=808080] He followed her instructions and sat down beside her, the grass was comfortable and he briefly wondered if this was some sort of blessing inherent to her station or if the organizers had just prepared everything in advance. Before he could start talking she asked him to wait, which he did with curiosity. His reward was the boom of laughter and the stroking of the embers in his chest. The man was tall, tanned, and ripped, his muscles resembled stone with their firmness and he was sure that the earth would shake the moment he wished for it to happen. He was Akamu Lafaele - Regalia of Titan. He watched as the two countrymen interacted, it was rare for him to listen to any news, usually he learned most of the happenings in the world through gossip between locals but even with his lack of intention, he was well aware of the relation between his fellow Regalia. But even then something caught his attention, in the large figure's grasp lay a stuffed doll, pristine and admittedly cute but there was a detail that required his focus. It was charred. Was it a coincidence or a signal? And if so from whom? After a few spins and some light conversations, both figures turned toward him, sharing their apologies but he waved them away [color=ff2400]"Do not worry, I am not vexed"[/color] He shook his head [color=ff2400]"Quite the contrary, actually. It’s not every day one gets to talk with both the Earth Mother and the Landshaker himself"[/color] He imagined it was a rare privilege to get such an honor. [color=ff2400]"I originally approached Miss. Genevieve to ask her a few questions, but may I ask you to hear your answer too Mr. Lafaele?"[/color] He waited for a signal of approval before continuing [color=ff2400]"Very well, my first question is thus: What do you think is your purpose as a Regalia?"[/color] [color=ff2400]"Did you see THEM? When you drew THEIR Gaze?"[/color][/color] [/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]