[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/nVkgMCRF/Banner.png[/img] [h3] Fractured Reflections Part 3 [/h3][/center][hr][right][sub][color=royalblue]Location[/color]: Elara's Home---> Seluna Temple [color=goldenrod]Collab Between[/color]: ([@Dark Light] & [@Qia]) [/sub][/right][hr] [indent] Aliseth quickly cleared his throat and regained his composure as he turned away, standing tall once again. [color=goldenrod]"Sorry m'lady, I deviate from your question. I'm not sure exactly what I expected, but it certainly wasn't you."[/color] His words, although mysterious, held an unmistakable compliment hidden within, said with a soft admiration. She ought to have brushed past the words—ought to have turned the conversation elsewhere. And yet, without glancing at him, Elara found herself wondering… what exactly had he expected? What had he seen in her before? What had [i]changed[/i]? And why, against her better judgment, had these words nearly slipped from her lips? But another thought surfaced before she could bury it: [right][i]“[color=#d15e5e]But what about your survival?[/color][/i]”[/right] Elara had left before answering. She had stepped away, pulled herself back into the silence because she hadn’t known what to say—because she had not wanted to be seen. Not like that. Not as something fragile, something to be cared for. And now, here was Aliseth, staring at her in a way that felt entirely too familiar. Amaya's scrutiny still burned within her memories, coupled with Flynn’s words that had encroached upon spaces she had once confidently occupied. Amaya had permitted it, had yielded ground willingly, and now—was Aliseth similarly reshaping her identity, encasing her within confines she had neither created nor consented to? Elara compelled herself forward, her fingers shifting against the cloak's fabric in rejection of these silent implications. [i]“You mistake me, Sir Aliseth,”[/i] she might have said, her tone poised, carrying just the faintest hint of distance to make it all seem like nothing at all. But she held her tongue. Instead, she walked on, gazing forward, as though the moment had already passed. “[color=royalblue]We are almost there,[/color]” Elara said after some time, her voice restored to what it was before. Although near imperceivable, Aliseth felt it, more than he could physically rationalize, the mood had changed. A new regret layering itself upon the many he already wore. He gave a pleasant nod, its meaning obscure, as in his mind he saw the many choices, the many possible words, splintering off from his every step. In the end, he followed a familiar path and remained silent. Allowing his thoughts to focus on the road ahead as a tension slowly began to infiltrate his muscles. Slowly the town started to fade away behind them as they reached an all too familiar stretch of road leading to the temple. A single long path encroached on either side by a shadowed forest where even the sporadic lantern light dared not tread. It was hours later but the air still had an unnatural feel to it, as if tainted by the lingering effect of both death and magic. Despite the eerie silence, Aliseth felt as though he could still hear the screams and commotion echoing off the nearby trees. The snow had long covered the blood and footsteps but in his mind, he saw through the soft coating and bore witness to the carnage that was no more. He did his best to keep stride, to be a pillar of support for Elara, but also he did not hide from his face the myriad of emotions that plagued him. Then he saw it, or what remained. The ice sculpture, its jagged edges dulled, a soft snow covering its wilted form, but there it was, standing like a grave marker, a stark reminder. “[color=royalblue]It hasn’t melted.[/color]” The words emerged involuntarily, slipping softly past Elara’s lips without her conscious bidding. For a moment, she wondered if she had spoken aloud at all, the snowfall’s hush swallowing the syllables whole. But no—the tension that coiled subtly in Aliseth’s stance confirmed he had heard her. And yet, the fact remained. Why hasn't it melted? Why hasn’t time erased this, as it erases all things? Intellectually, Elara understood the rational explanation. Merely a day had elapsed since the incident, and the air retained its bitter edge, the frost relentless in its hold upon the land. Practically, logically, the frozen figure had no cause to have diminished, no reason for her anticipation of its disappearance. But logic held little sway over hope. It was magic. A thing summoned into existence, shaped by will and intent. Not natural. Not real. And if it wasn’t real, then surely it should have faded, dissipated like a half-remembered dream upon waking. It should not still be here, standing in defiant, crystalline silence. It should not retain power over them still. She understood that time eroded all things eventually, smoothing and washing away memory like sediment. Yet, she still detested that this remained defiantly intact. Because, with it, so did the weight of that moment. She felt, with acute certainty, that Aliseth carried the memory too—probably in the exact visceral manner she did, etched deeply into sinew and breath, woven into the fabric of his presence. A thought flickered at the edge of her mind: What does he see when he looks at it? Elara’s fingers flexed around the handle of her basket. Then, without turning, she spoke again. “[color=royalblue]Strange, isn’t it?[/color]” The ensuing silence stretched, one heartbeat, then another, elongating the interval until it bordered on discomfort. Finally, Elara shifted, turning just enough to cast a sidelong glance at Aliseth, waiting. [color=goldenrod]"I know it's white, but I see blood."[/color] He replied softly. His voice only audible because of the sheer silence that surrounded them. His breath was heavy as he stared at the unnatural monument that shouldn't exist. Its presence was an abomination, yet it was also a display of the princess's power. [color=goldenrod]"She did this."[/color] He added without explanation, eyes still glued to the structure. [color=goldenrod]"I see a body without a head, I see the ice breaking beneath my feet, I see futures changing and being taken away. I feel the cold of that magic permeating my very bones."[/color] [color=goldenrod]"I see all the 'choices' not taken."[/color] He walks forward slowly through the snow and tentatively raises an outstretched hand towards the ice. [color=goldenrod]"What about you, what do you see?"[/color] He asked in return, before adding another question. [color=goldenrod]"It is a personal question and you do not have to answer. What is your greatest regret?"[/color] His fingers slipped through the cover of snow as his palm pressed against the cold smooth ice. His eyes portray thoughts that were a million miles away, extending beyond the mere recent couple of days. Only Elara's voice would draw him back to the present. She did not immediately answer. Instead, she followed the movement of his outstretched hand, watching as his fingers pressed against the ice’s smooth surface. What did she see? “[color=royalblue]I see what remains,[/color]” she murmured, her gaze drifting across the ice’s surface. “[color=royalblue]I see the questions left unanswered. The things we were too late to change.[/color]” A quiet exhale, barely there. “[color=royalblue]I see permanence, where there should be none.[/color]” She turned her head just enough to glance at him. His hand still rested against the ice, the distant weight in his eyes betraying the question that lingered between them. An intensely personal question. Her greatest regret. Elara had never fully voiced it—never granted it the permanence of open acknowledgment, least of all to anyone who wasn’t Amaya. She could have easily deflected, smoothly diverting his attention as she had before. And yet... “[color=royalblue]My mother lay dying,[/color]” she began, her voice subdued. “[color=royalblue]We had all been summoned to her bedside, each of us aware that the end was imminent.[/color]” She paused—not from uncertainty, but to allow the gravity of remembrance its rightful place. “[color=royalblue]I found myself paralyzed outside the door,[/color]” she admitted. “[color=royalblue]Fearful of witnessing her decline, fearful of confronting a change I knew would fracture something fundamental within me.[/color]” Her lips pressed together, holding back the smallest tremor of sorrow. “[color=royalblue]I told myself I needed a moment. Just one. I remained outside the door, listening to my father’s voice, to the small talking of those who were already there. I believed—[/color]” She inhaled deeply, “[color=royalblue]—I genuinely believed that time would grant me mercy.[/color]” Her lashes lowered gently, shielding her gaze as it settled pensively upon her fingers lightly clasping the basket's chilled handle. “[color=royalblue]But death offers no patience for the timid or hesitant. I learned that the hard way. And grew from it.[/color]” An extended silence stretched gently between them, laden with a quiet acceptance she had borne privately for years, never entirely relinquished nor fully expressed. “[color=royalblue]I was too late.[/color]” Aliseth was taken aback by her reply, he was unprepared for such vulnerability and raw honesty. He felt the full weight of every word, every pause, every breath. The implication of her truth was unmistakable. With his hand still resting on the sculpture, he turned to face the handmaiden, giving her his undivided attention, hanging on to every word. That single moment had undoubtedly shaped her core, defining the woman she had become. He found himself at a loss for how to respond to such a monumental truth. It wasn’t something to fix or compete with, nor was it meant to draw attention or elicit sympathy, it was simply a fact of her life, as heavy and painful as it was, it was a glimpse into her soul. Instead of trying to fill the silence, he honored the weight of the moment and echoed her own words: [color=goldenrod]"Death offers no patience."[/color] Stepping away from the frozen sculpture, he left his handprint behind. The ice glistening and slick in the shape where it had melted to his touch. Clenching and unclenching his cold fingers he watched the warmth come back into them before looking up at the sky. [color=goldenrod]"Death offers no patience,"[/color] he muttered once more as if those words were tipping some invisible scales in his mind. Suddenly, a new question spills from his lips. [color=goldenrod]"Do you recall what it was like to gaze upon the rising sun? To witness the birth of a new day, its golden rays reflecting off dreamy white clouds against a brilliant sea of blue? I remember the idea, the concept, the words... but I can no longer envision those gorgeous hues of pink and blue in my mind."[/color] Unable to conjure that image, greeted only by a blanket of snow and a backdrop of darkness, he turned his gaze back to Elara and stepped closer. [color=goldenrod]"Only now, I regret not spending enough time appreciating them while… well"[/color] His words trailed off, hanging in the chill air, not needing to be said. Then his thoughts resumed, heavy with memories and regret: [color=goldenrod]"I remember when oceans were blue, a thing I never imagined could be taken for granted."[/color] He let out a sigh. His thoughts slowly leading to a conclusion but getting stuck along the way. [color=goldenrod]"I have fought my whole life, Elara. I'm tired of fighting. I... I think I just want to enjoy what I have left while I still can."[/color] He hesitated, as if an apology hovered on his lips, before speaking again: [color=goldenrod]"They say she can fix this—that it is prophecy. If so, then why hasn't she? Why delay, dragging it out? People are suffering and dying... and for what? I will keep my word until my last breath, but... Elara, who am I serving? Our savior or...?"[/color] His voice failed to conceal his inner conflict. He was torn, divided—questioning those he served was not a quality of those in his line of duty, and he knew it was unfair to burden Elara, who was already suffering in her own way. Yet, he had to know, who it was that he, much like Elara, had forfeited their lives in service to. [color=goldenrod]“Is she worth it? Does she deserve it… All those paths not taken, the choices… All the choices never made?”[/color] There was a hint of sadness in his eyes as he looked upon her now. Elara had always perceived people like Aliseth as figures shaped irrevocably by conviction and duty— warriors whose strength, valour, and very essence were pledged unwaveringly to an ideal surpassing personal ambition. Yet now, he stood before her, voice tinged with vulnerability, questioning the merit of their collective sacrifices. A man who had spent a lifetime fighting was asking if it had been for nothing. A query neither posed lightly nor answered easily. “[color=royalblue]She is no deity, Aliseth. Nor has she ever aspired to be one,[/color]” Elara responded calmly, her voice clear and devoid of misplaced reverence. Her gaze ascended gently, meeting his, seeking meaning within the solemn depths of his troubled eyes. “[color=royalblue]Nevertheless, she remains our beacon of hope. Both of them do.[/color]” Yet, was hope alone sufficient? Could it possibly sustain them? Slowly, her attention returned to the sculpture before them—an unmelted relic of frozen anguish. The persistent preservation of the past was undeniable, resistant to forgetfulness or release. How many such reminders would they be forced to confront before the final chapter was etched into history’s cold annals? “[color=royalblue]I offer her my trust,[/color]” Elara continued quietly. “[color=royalblue]Not from blind obedience, nor obligation dictated by prophecy, but from witnessing the sorrow she carries—the torment embedded in her heart from the immense burden placed upon her.[/color]” She paused, throat tightening with restrained emotion. “[color=royalblue]You wonder if she merits such loyalty?[/color]” she queried rhetorically. “[color=royalblue]That answer eludes me. But consider this—never once has she demanded our lives, yet we willingly give them.[/color]” Another contemplative pause stretched gently between them. “[color=royalblue]If my faith does not rest with her, Aliseth, where else should it reside?[/color]” [i]'In yourself.'[/i] was his reactive thought, but the words never made it past his lips. "She might not demand our lives, but she holds them all in balance." He replied softly as he joined her one last time in looking at the pillar of ice. "And there are those that are giving it." [i]'How long until he too was counted amongst them?[/i]' Already Aliseth had started to close himself off from that sudden spill of vulnerability. He was backstepping, retreating. It was evident in his voice, that subtle change, composing itself as before. It was in his face, as it solidified once again chasing the emotion from its surface. His rigid posture returned as internally familiar walls fell back into their allotted places. However, it was always his eyes that betrayed him. In them, there was a tired sadness, a loss of identity, purpose and a lack of faith. He had been searching for an excuse but found nothing in Elara's words. He was about to say more, he looked ready to continue on to the temple when suddenly his head snapped to the side and his hand fell to the hilt of the sword on his hip. He stared intently out into the darkness of the forest, silent, alert, searching. Elara remained silent initially, carefully observing Aliseth as the burden of his unspoken thoughts visibly tightened around him, constricting him like invisible armour. When his head suddenly jerked aside, however, his hand swiftly grasping the familiar hilt of his sword, her breath momentarily halted in surprise. Elara possessed no weapon to draw; instead, her eyes intently tracked his gaze, peering warily into the shadowed reaches of the forest. “[color=royalblue]What is it?[/color]” she asked softly, voice edged with cautious tension. Instinctively he put her to his side and behind him, taking a step towards the sound that set him alert. The snow continued to rob sight and sound of his senses allowing whatever was out there, whatever was watching them, to get far closer than it should. [/indent]