The day is a great sweep of things. At first, nothing, but then, suddenly, everything.
Ravus wakes with the sun, as per usual, but on his morning patrol (one can never be too careful, especially after the walking, exploding brains incident) he notices something off. A man tuned to rigid routine like himself sees the lack of smoke plumes from the neighboring chimney as odd. Ignis rises at about the same time he does, and typically, by his first full loop of their area, it's billowing. Not today. Ravus stares at the empty space above the chimney spout with a strange sense of dread filling the space between his ribs. It's oppressive how quickly it weighs heavy, but he tells himself it's nothing. It's certainly not the familiar ache he might have once felt when he and Lunafreya occasionally shared the strange, disturbing sensations of fate weaving around them. He hasn't felt those pangs since he lived under his mother's roof, yet the eerie nostalgia remains. Something is amiss.
But this isn't their world. He's no longer steeped in the power of the Oracle's blood. It's just a late morning for his dear friend, that's all.
Until it isn't.
The blur of it all sweeps him up, and one moment he's tending to his stock of herbs, and the next they're all ushering an older, but so much more familiar to him, Ignis back home. Ravus knows exactly the moment he's been ripped from. It's all burned into his memory like a blazing brand. And he knows the haunted look Ignis wears. And he knows the bruises on his body. And he knows the salt-sting on his face from the whip of the wind and rain. He knows. And he wishes he could just keep the man still long enough to wipe the salt and sweat from his brow, and apologize for everything they have and would suffer that day. But he's furious as a blaze, always moving, unwilling to waste the adrenaline, shouldering his burdens and bowing his back over plates of food.
Ravus can only hover, and gingerly stroke his thumb over the gouge in his arm where Ignis’ knife had ended their fight.
So he waits, watches, does as he's told. He helps the others settle into bed. Brings furs and blankets, extra pillows and cups of water. He fusses over them all, but especially Ignis, until everything feels as settled as it can be. Which leaves him... Standing there. Ravus swallows hard, awkwardly backing away from the bed as the others shift and settle. This feels... So intimate. These people, they love Ignis so much, and he knows how much he loves them too. He shouldn't intrude. He's done his duty in being helpful and out of the way. There's little else to do now but let them rest. If anyone knows how exhausting that day in Altissia was, it's Ravus.
Yet his heart hurts too much to just leave. To go back to his empty home, to leave all those things unsaid. Well, maybe he can keep being useful. They're all exhausted, if not physically, then emotionally. It'd do them all well for someone to be on guard. Ravus is a perfect choice. So he's gone briefly to form a quick perimeter, then back again with one of the big, comfortable chairs from his home. He sets it down near enough to the bed to feel close, but not enough to be intrusive. Once he's double checked that all the doors are locked and no drafts come through the windows, he seats himself down, and simply guards them all. Like any attentive hound, he keeps his focus on his sleeping flock, but listens out for any disturbances.
Ravus’ vision has fully adjusted to the dark by the time Ignis twitches, and the silver raises his head slightly. For a long moment, he waits to see if he will simply drift back to sleep, but no, Ravus senses that same leaded weight in his gut again.
“I did not have the chance to speak with you about it that day... I felt Pryna there. I felt her die. But she... She showed you, didn't she? How much did she impart you with?” His voice is a whisper. Half to not disturb the others, but more so in sympathetic anguish. Fate is a cruel thing to carry.
What terrible burden did she lay on your head like a crown of thorns?
Our sky darkens, and the world appears.
Ravus wakes with the sun, as per usual, but on his morning patrol (one can never be too careful, especially after the walking, exploding brains incident) he notices something off. A man tuned to rigid routine like himself sees the lack of smoke plumes from the neighboring chimney as odd. Ignis rises at about the same time he does, and typically, by his first full loop of their area, it's billowing. Not today. Ravus stares at the empty space above the chimney spout with a strange sense of dread filling the space between his ribs. It's oppressive how quickly it weighs heavy, but he tells himself it's nothing. It's certainly not the familiar ache he might have once felt when he and Lunafreya occasionally shared the strange, disturbing sensations of fate weaving around them. He hasn't felt those pangs since he lived under his mother's roof, yet the eerie nostalgia remains. Something is amiss.
But this isn't their world. He's no longer steeped in the power of the Oracle's blood. It's just a late morning for his dear friend, that's all.
Until it isn't.
The blur of it all sweeps him up, and one moment he's tending to his stock of herbs, and the next they're all ushering an older, but so much more familiar to him, Ignis back home. Ravus knows exactly the moment he's been ripped from. It's all burned into his memory like a blazing brand. And he knows the haunted look Ignis wears. And he knows the bruises on his body. And he knows the salt-sting on his face from the whip of the wind and rain. He knows. And he wishes he could just keep the man still long enough to wipe the salt and sweat from his brow, and apologize for everything they have and would suffer that day. But he's furious as a blaze, always moving, unwilling to waste the adrenaline, shouldering his burdens and bowing his back over plates of food.
Ravus can only hover, and gingerly stroke his thumb over the gouge in his arm where Ignis’ knife had ended their fight.
So he waits, watches, does as he's told. He helps the others settle into bed. Brings furs and blankets, extra pillows and cups of water. He fusses over them all, but especially Ignis, until everything feels as settled as it can be. Which leaves him... Standing there. Ravus swallows hard, awkwardly backing away from the bed as the others shift and settle. This feels... So intimate. These people, they love Ignis so much, and he knows how much he loves them too. He shouldn't intrude. He's done his duty in being helpful and out of the way. There's little else to do now but let them rest. If anyone knows how exhausting that day in Altissia was, it's Ravus.
Yet his heart hurts too much to just leave. To go back to his empty home, to leave all those things unsaid. Well, maybe he can keep being useful. They're all exhausted, if not physically, then emotionally. It'd do them all well for someone to be on guard. Ravus is a perfect choice. So he's gone briefly to form a quick perimeter, then back again with one of the big, comfortable chairs from his home. He sets it down near enough to the bed to feel close, but not enough to be intrusive. Once he's double checked that all the doors are locked and no drafts come through the windows, he seats himself down, and simply guards them all. Like any attentive hound, he keeps his focus on his sleeping flock, but listens out for any disturbances.
Ravus’ vision has fully adjusted to the dark by the time Ignis twitches, and the silver raises his head slightly. For a long moment, he waits to see if he will simply drift back to sleep, but no, Ravus senses that same leaded weight in his gut again.
“I did not have the chance to speak with you about it that day... I felt Pryna there. I felt her die. But she... She showed you, didn't she? How much did she impart you with?” His voice is a whisper. Half to not disturb the others, but more so in sympathetic anguish. Fate is a cruel thing to carry.
What terrible burden did she lay on your head like a crown of thorns?