[ From beginning to end, he does not look away—the enforcer's salute (veneration for the dead), the bright arc of the flare (a guiding light in its shape), and the inferno which gives rise in their wake bleeding together into a nightmare that eclipses his vision, and still... still he stands, commending the dead with a stance which is proud, and eyes which will never forget the image seared into them—
(The fire burns, flesh blistering over to black, its heat immense, and in the flames Sion glimpses a landscape which can only be worlds away: the color of the sky shifting from green to grey, he recognizes the place as a battlefield, fraught with bodies, good men and women who still lived, still breathed, but were maligned by a curse, twisted into some grotesque shape.)
—nor the magnitude of the loss.
There are no more words, no prayers to say, only tears which streak down the Director's cheeks as he staggers, sways much too close to the flame, his golden eyes reflecting only the great blaze.
(And as the curse spread indiscriminately throughout enemy and allied ranks, a King recognized the need to erase them, those humans who had been made into sacrifices, carriers for the curse and its plague. Rather than lose more to its clutches, the King then decreed that all those who lost the ability to reason, their minds gone and their bodies forfeit, be burned by his flame.
Because the had been such a need.
Because it had been something which must be done in order to progress.
The King «Sion Astal» he--... )
]
They did not die meaninglessly. [ Blinking the waking dream back from his eyes, he turns to Julius with tear-trails upon his cheeks, saline collected along his jawline. Shattered, he may have been for a moment, but in being so, he has found his strength; strength, for those who no longer could rally for themselves or the loved ones they'd left behind. ] Someone will answer for this.
no subject
(The fire burns, flesh blistering over to black, its heat immense, and in the flames Sion glimpses a landscape which can only be worlds away: the color of the sky shifting from green to grey, he recognizes the place as a battlefield, fraught with bodies, good men and women who still lived, still breathed, but were maligned by a curse, twisted into some grotesque shape.)
—nor the magnitude of the loss.
There are no more words, no prayers to say, only tears which streak down the Director's cheeks as he staggers, sways much too close to the flame, his golden eyes reflecting only the great blaze.
(And as the curse spread indiscriminately throughout enemy and allied ranks, a King recognized the need to erase them, those humans who had been made into sacrifices, carriers for the curse and its plague. Rather than lose more to its clutches, the King then decreed that all those who lost the ability to reason, their minds gone and their bodies forfeit, be burned by his flame.
]Because the had been such a need.
Because it had been something which must be done in order to progress.
The King «Sion Astal» he--... )
They did not die meaninglessly. [ Blinking the waking dream back from his eyes, he turns to Julius with tear-trails upon his cheeks, saline collected along his jawline. Shattered, he may have been for a moment, but in being so, he has found his strength; strength, for those who no longer could rally for themselves or the loved ones they'd left behind. ] Someone will answer for this.
Justice will be done.