Aeolian — Roleplayer Guild

[Location] Landow, Estren (Food Stands) to Harbor
[Time] Sunday, 08:30 AM
[Interactions] In collaboration with @CaliforniaState

A torrent of chaos littered the field with the metamorphosis of the small militia of Dominants. The rest of the regalia were quick to deploy once others started the frayed fighting. Shiva’s icy dam was quick to impede the churning of waves and deployment of the small monstrous army. Scuttling legs snapped off from inertia or screeched on ice like nails on a chalkboard. A plume of smoke swallowed the sky, conjoining and mingling with the strata of Shiva’s. Titan and Bahamut smashed into the sea monster with vile evisceration. Shiva continued to swoop through the air looking to aid in the destruction of the beast. 

Of all the Dominants, Shiva recognized herself up there with Gaia and Ultima in terms of sympathy and persuasion with their devotees and followers. She answered the calls and prayers for her when others would fall short. Attuned to the sound of the soul she could hear a faint glimmer of trepidation eminanting off the shores of the beach. Unlike a normal follower, she felt the familiarity of one touched by the crystals and residue of gods ring out to her. Her eyes shifted and peered through meters in an instant, finding a limp body in the embrace of another. 

Lithe in stride and appearance, Shiva departed from the field knowing the fate would rest well in the hands of the other. Ice shimmered and caught what little light that peaked through the skies, cracking the air in front of them with iridescent light. Their skin would bump and prickle the tips of their hair at the cool breeze ushered upon her landing. Her naked feet kissed the marred limestone and quickly birthed a sheet of ice. Shiva didn’t utter a word but looked down at the unconscious regalia and kneeled down to face Bastion in his time of need.

Bastion nearly recoiled at the closeness of the Regalia. Not out of disgust, no, never that, but of reverence, that somehow being so close to such an entity was a degradation of her majesty and divinity. These people, Regalia, were the closest things to Gods, to the Celestials he had been taught to revere since childhood. Though he felt wholly unworthy of her frosty presence, he could see the humanity in her countenance, somehow, when she knelt before him, though she uttered not a word. 

"He won't wake." Bastion began after breaking from his revelry, "I don't know what to do. Anima...did not heed his call. I need your help. Please, Oh Holy One."

While her lips did not move even in the slightest, her eyes twinkled, an eerie distorted hymn reverberated out with each swaying movement. Her fingers ran across his head, freezing any beads of perspiration that might sit on his head. A tinge of anxiety flooded her fingertips, slipping off, curling back to her side. Floating backward, one hand cupped the air and motioned up, levitating the body of the regalia. Her free hand circled around, sucking the water molecules in the area a small luge formed that later grew into a small bowl big enough to resemble a cobbled bathtub. 

Water circled the bottom, ebbing and flowing until enough filled the bath to fully submerge an average adult. Shards of ice lay dormant on the surface. In the most graceful attempt to drop someone, Shiva broke the concentration in her hands leaving his lifeless body to free fall down, slowing his stop inches from surface tension before again lowering him into the ice bath. The immediate shock to his system would jolt him awake and force his bloodstream to pump through his system: 

In the abyss of his mind, time lost meaning. Days—or what felt like them—had unraveled into an endless march of torment. Cécile wandered the void, his legs weak, his resolve frayed, the beast’s voice a relentless tide of malice. The words it spoke—if they could be called words—were formless things, jagged shards that embedded themselves into his psyche: You are mine. You will break. There is no light, no life, no escape.

But then, as if answering some unspoken prayer, the darkness began to change. A chill rolled in, first faint and teasing, then cutting and pervasive, sweeping away the suffocating heat of the void. Frost crept across the nothingness like a delicate lace of stars, its crystalline touch banishing the black. Cécile exhaled, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, his breath became visible, a pale mist curling in the icy air.

The frost deepened, tightening around him until it felt as though he were being submerged. The ground vanished beneath his feet, and he was pulled down—down into a freezing abyss, his body sinking as if he had been cast into an unfathomable lake of ice.

The cold stabbed through him, sharp and insistent, and in a single, searing moment, he gasped—

And awoke.

The mystical waters surged around him, Shiva’s ice bath a shimmering cauldron of frost and magic. Cécile’s chest heaved as he was yanked back to life, his lungs burning with each desperate breath. But the awakening was not merely one of body—it was as though the touch of Shiva’s power had reached into his soul, stirring something long dormant.

Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, his body lifted from the waters, propelled not by his own strength but by something new, something other. A radiant fluttering filled the air, and when he looked behind him, his breath caught. Wings—vast, ethereal, and shimmering blue with an iridescent glow—had unfurled from his back.

He hovered unsteadily, the motion of the wings strange and unfamiliar, like a newborn bird testing its flight. He wobbled, dipping awkwardly before regaining balance, his feet brushing the ground before lifting again. His wide eyes turned to Shiva and Bastion, awe-struck.

“By Anima's grace…” Cécile murmured, his voice trembling. His gaze flicked to Shiva, her form still luminous and otherworldly. “And yours, Mistress of Ice. I… I am reborn, I think. Thank you.”

Shiva offered no words, only a serene nod, before she turned away. The frost-wreathed Dominant strode back toward the carnage, her figure disappearing into a blizzard of her own making.

Cécile fluttered forward, his wings trembling with each beat. Determination flickered in his expression as he resolved to join her, to fight for those who could not fight for themselves. But as he moved to follow, a hand closed gently around his arm.

Bastion.

The stoic soldier’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the harsh lines of his face seemed less severe. “Cécile,” he said quietly, almost as if the name were a prayer. “I’m glad you’re okay. I… I was concerned for you.”

The words caught Cécile off guard, and warmth bloomed in his chest, a small, bright ember amidst the chaos. He turned to Bastion, his wings still beating softly, and with only a moment of hesitation, he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck. The embrace was familial, intimate, and fleeting, but it carried a depth that words could not convey.

“Thank you,” Cécile whispered, his voice soft and full of gratitude.

When he pulled back, his wings gave an elegant flutter, and he rose into the air, his resolve renewed. “Be safe, Bastion. I will return for you.”

And with that, Cécile turned, his wings carrying him toward the heart of the battle, the radiant azure light of his transformation a beacon against the gathering dark—a return of witchlight in his eyes.

Bastion
Aeolian Member

Someone's Bookish Flower Bride

Status

Recent Statuses

Bio

Most Recent Posts
