[ Emet-Selch had known it the moment that the Warrior of Light had entered his sanctuary. Actually he had known the moment that she had entered the Tempest, a swirl of waves and brine that had turned the sea to a hollowed out bubble underneath. Ah, he had to applaud the ingenuity of the Scions and perhaps he would-- that is if he was focused on anything but her sheer presence. It had been unmistakable, and once she had entered the game board; that was when he almost nearly flipped sides without a care. His brethren was quite used to him going rogue; he'd done it several times through-out history. A flippant disregard for what was good for the rejoining-- in lieu of his own wants and desires.
His tempering to Zodiark had always been the most powerful but it had also been the most unstable for it's magnitude.
If he had been godless, perhaps there would've been another primal that could've arisen from his tempering-- and thus she would've been made whole again. But no, it was Zodiark that had been there it had been Zodiark that he had called out to in his anguish. Instead over and over he had to see throughout the annals of time, her being placed on the board over and over again as if she was a divine test to his devotion for His Most Mighty Name.
Often it was said that a man could not be tempered to two different gods-- but they did not know Emet-Selch.
Flowers on the sea floor-- he could almost smell the brine carry them to his highest tower. There was a strange inevitability to this, to her presence and while he knew the outcome, it didn't stop him from thirsting for this moment between them where everything was stripped away and nothing remained. Oh but he knew that she had her pride, and he did too. But in every time there was a moment shared between them, an acknowledgement between them-- a small frisson that pointed to a red thread of fate that connected her to him.
And yet he waited.
Emet-Selch did not dare go to her, not yet. He wanted her to walk his city; this twilight dreamscape that in and of it's core was a love song written solely for her and only her. Idly, he wondered if she would recognize it for what it was ]
sorry, might have gotten away with myself here
[ Emet-Selch had known it the moment that the Warrior of Light had entered his sanctuary. Actually he had known the moment that she had entered the Tempest, a swirl of waves and brine that had turned the sea to a hollowed out bubble underneath. Ah, he had to applaud the ingenuity of the Scions and perhaps he would-- that is if he was focused on anything but her sheer presence. It had been unmistakable, and once she had entered the game board; that was when he almost nearly flipped sides without a care. His brethren was quite used to him going rogue; he'd done it several times through-out history. A flippant disregard for what was good for the rejoining-- in lieu of his own wants and desires.
His tempering to Zodiark had always been the most powerful but it had also been the most unstable for it's magnitude.
If he had been godless, perhaps there would've been another primal that could've arisen from his tempering-- and thus she would've been made whole again. But no, it was Zodiark that had been there it had been Zodiark that he had called out to in his anguish. Instead over and over he had to see throughout the annals of time, her being placed on the board over and over again as if she was a divine test to his devotion for His Most Mighty Name.
Often it was said that a man could not be tempered to two different gods-- but they did not know Emet-Selch.
Flowers on the sea floor-- he could almost smell the brine carry them to his highest tower. There was a strange inevitability to this, to her presence and while he knew the outcome, it didn't stop him from thirsting for this moment between them where everything was stripped away and nothing remained. Oh but he knew that she had her pride, and he did too. But in every time there was a moment shared between them, an acknowledgement between them-- a small frisson that pointed to a red thread of fate that connected her to him.
And yet he waited.
Emet-Selch did not dare go to her, not yet. He wanted her to walk his city; this twilight dreamscape that in and of it's core was a love song written solely for her and only her. Idly, he wondered if she would recognize it for what it was ]