Part eight, chapter 1.
Jun. 23rd, 2021 04:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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volieredeatoriAnother two-chapter offering!
Senia's past starts getting some light shone on it here. Also, behold, Estinien.
"I can't believe this," I say slowly as I'm looking through the files I'm holding, pretending not to notice my hands are shaking, lifting my head after a few moments to give Estinien what I hope is an unreadable stare. "How did you find these?"
"Without even trying," Estinien deadpans, and while I might ordinarily be a bit annoyed with his laconic demeanour, right now it's actually a bit reassuring. "I thought to take a bit of a shortcut after destroying the prototype - those files were sitting out in plain sight, and caught my eye as I was passing through. What with that first one..." he inclines his head just a little, towards the sheaf of papers in my left hand, the ones I'm trying not to look at too closely - though the front page is seared into my memory anyway, just from the slightest of glances. "I suspected they might be of some importance. When I reviewed them after I made my escape, I was certain." Serious now, he folds his arms, eyeing me with what looks suspiciously like a tinge of sympathy. "...You may rest assured I will not breathe a word of this to anyone. In fact, I intend to promptly forget I saw anything, should that ease your mind further. 'Tis none of my business, after all."
I nod once, slowly, unable to meet his eyes; it's probably rude of me, but I can at least be assured that as detached from anything even resembling etiquette as he tends to be, Estinien won't find my behaviour the least bit insulting. "...Thank you," I say finally, quiet and a little hollow, and it's only through great force of will that I manage anything even resembling a smile, forcing my shoulders to relax a little and taking a deep breath. "I - I would take some time to look these over. I shan't keep you; certainly you have more important business than playing courier with ill-gotten information--" and when he lets out the expected snort of amusement, I do feel a little bit better, at least. "...I would tell you to stay out of trouble, but we all know that isn't going to happen. So at least try to drag yourself out of it in one piece, won't you?"
"No promises," Estinien responds drily, waves a hand and turns to go.
Once he's gone, I turn my attention slowly back to the files, finally letting myself sink into a nearby chair; it seems like it should be utterly impossible, really, but there is no doubt as to the relevance of these files, even without turning the first page to read what is contained within - the damning first page, with its faded photograph and smudged lines of text, the page that just by its very existence confirms everything that's come to light about me and my own past, a cold and callous proof that I would almost swear is mocking me just in being before my eyes. Yet, now that I've truly looked instead of just taking a passing glance in utter shock, I can't seem to look away, breaths shuddering in my chest with nervous anxiety as I touch a shaking fingertip to the page, tracing the lines of the face in the photograph and trying to pretend I don't feel as if the world has fallen out from underneath me.
A tousled fall of white-blonde hair. Eyes the colour of a brilliant summer's sky. Skin softly tanned, seeming more suited to the sands of Thanalan or the wilds of Amh Araeng than the stiff mechanical walls pictured in the background. A smile soft and impish - so familiar I feel as if I am looking into a mirror, sending my thoughts into a frantic whirl.
If only he wore the ears of a Miqo'te, I should nearly not be able to distinguish him from my own self--
I don't even realise my eyes have welled up until the first tears dampen the page, and I swipe an arm quickly across my face, taking a deep breath and shaking my head. I cannot give in yet; I cannot break, not until I've finished. Not until I know everything.
"Aeon lux Sideris," I whisper to myself unsteadily, tracing my finger now beneath the text alongside the photograph, thinking that perhaps if I say it out loud, it might sink in a little better. "Son of Claris mal Sideris and Leona cen Fulgens. Primus Medicus and Architectus Ordinum of the IXth Legion. Aged twenty-three, married a Hyuran woman named Saewynn Fiske. Aged twenty-five, sired a daughter, Amina Sideris..." my voice breaks there, and I'm forced to pause and take a few deep breaths, shaking my head hard in an attempt to regain control over my rampant emotions. "...Aged thirty-seven, vanished while researching ancient Allagan ruins, presumed dead despite no body ever being found...Allagan ruins? But what...what did he think to perhaps find there? Unless..." I pause again, a thread of something unpleasantly cold winding its way up my spine, as my traitorous mind finds its way back to everything we'd found reclaiming Ala Mhigo, to the research Aulus had been doing and the subsequent birth of the Resonants - and I realise with a sinking apprehension that, as distasteful as the thought is, I may know exactly what he had been looking for. Surely it cannot be, I try to tell myself, but...
After a few moments, slowly and reluctantly, I turn the page, and begin to immerse myself most unhappily into the records of my apparent great-grandfather's research.
It is, I discover, exactly as I'd feared.
A Treatise on Garleans, and on Imbuing them with Aether to use Magicks, is the title of the dry and frankly boring document a few pages in, but I pore over it anyway in a most laborious manner, picking out the words and phrases I understand and quite misliking the story even those scattered bits are telling me. It isn't hard at all, if he'd only had access to these files (and I suspect he must have), to see where Aulus might have got some of the leads he'd been acting on; Aeon's research was so thorough, his thoughts explained in greatest detail, almost more of a blueprint than a mere collection of potential ideas - and even with as put off as I am, I do have to somewhat admire the obvious scientific genius of it all. No common mind would ever conceive of even a fraction of this, and I can only imagine how that would lead one to ever greater risk in the pursuit of knowledge, until they walked openly into their own death as a result of it...not so far, I think, from some of the things I myself have done, and then I promptly put that thought out of my head, turning the page with a self-directed sigh of irritation. I don't need to be taking the slide down that dark spiral right now, no matter how very tempting it might be.
(The answer: far too tempting, much to my annoyance.)
The next few pages are more dry reports, and I flick through these with disinterest - there's only so much scientific babble I can process and I'm fairly sure I reached my limit three and a half pages ago - but then the writing takes a turn from nearly incomprehensible to familiar and concise, and I realise with a start that these are letters, apparently written to his family as he traveled for his research. It does make sense, when I think about it - a man so clearly devoted to his work must have found his wife exceptional indeed to love her, his daughter precious above all to treasure her so - and these thoughts spark my interest somehow, hands stilling before they can once more turn the page. (Perhaps this is a chance to get to know the man himself, not just the work he'd done, though I don't honestly know why I'm so intrigued; but then again, do I truly need a reason to have an interest in family, even one I didn't know about until this very moment?)
A slow breath, closing my eyes briefly, and then I begin - ever so carefully, so closely - to read through, lingering long on the page marked with a footnote denoting it as 'the final missive received'.
Dearest Saewynn, sweet Amina--
It has been long I have lingered far from home, but I assure you both, I am well. My research progresses in leaps and bounds - every day I seem to discover something new, something that could change our lives - nay, the very world as we know it, could I only bring these ideas back to Garlemald very much alive! Alas, 'tis a sad truth that the technology required is not something so easily conveyed, and it is for that reason I remain here for so prolonged a time, wondering how I might bring it back with me upon my return. Every day, every hour, every minute brings us a step closer, and yet...and yet.
Ah, but I forget myself! I have promised to speak of the places I have gone, to paint you a storybook of pictures with my words that you might too see them - and this place I write to you from is indeed one worth the effort to describe. It is an endless expanse, undulating bright beneath the relentless sun; sands of white stretch in every direction as far as the eye can see, harsh and yet so beautiful, and the very land itself seems to be steeped in a ponderous loneliness, one that simply begs for the company of those who set foot within. This is a place that bears the scars of long, long ago, and here of all places has opened another door of opportunity before me - for here too are ruins, as dark and cold as the sands are brilliant and warm, and I mean to explore them until not one single ilm has escaped my notice. It is here, I am certain, that I will find answers to some of my deepest questions, solutions to my largest problems...I am utterly certain. This place holds a most important key, and I intend to find it ere long, so I may return home to you.
But this letter, my dears, grows long, and the day grows ever shorter; though there is so much I still want to say, time does not permit it, and so I must - with greatest regret - cease to tell my tale for a time. I do hope the both of you are well as can be, and that you, sweet Amina, are being a good girl - though of course you must be, I cannot doubt your steadfast kindness and compassion. Take care of your mother for me, my darling, and let not the both of you worry overmuch, for I will return as I always do, triumphant and bursting with ideas. Look forward to it as I do, and soon enough we shall be reunited!
All my love,
Aeon.
My head spinning a bit, I sit back and lower the papers, thinking over what I've just read - after the dull reports, the liveliness of the letter is nigh on overwhelming, and as I try to get it all straight, something is nudging insistently at the edges of my thoughts. Endless white sands...ruins... the words tumble through my head over and over again, and I let my eyes close in a faint frown, biting my lip absently. Sands and ruins. Why do I feel like I know...
Then it hits me, and I sit bolt upright, my eyes flying open.
"I know where you were," I whisper to the empty air, and my throat feels tight with the realisation. "Gods, I know exactly where you were at the end."
And I know I can't possibly go there alone - but who can I possibly ask to accompany me?
That, too, I quickly realise I know...and I'm not at all sure I like the answer.
Senia's past starts getting some light shone on it here. Also, behold, Estinien.
"I can't believe this," I say slowly as I'm looking through the files I'm holding, pretending not to notice my hands are shaking, lifting my head after a few moments to give Estinien what I hope is an unreadable stare. "How did you find these?"
"Without even trying," Estinien deadpans, and while I might ordinarily be a bit annoyed with his laconic demeanour, right now it's actually a bit reassuring. "I thought to take a bit of a shortcut after destroying the prototype - those files were sitting out in plain sight, and caught my eye as I was passing through. What with that first one..." he inclines his head just a little, towards the sheaf of papers in my left hand, the ones I'm trying not to look at too closely - though the front page is seared into my memory anyway, just from the slightest of glances. "I suspected they might be of some importance. When I reviewed them after I made my escape, I was certain." Serious now, he folds his arms, eyeing me with what looks suspiciously like a tinge of sympathy. "...You may rest assured I will not breathe a word of this to anyone. In fact, I intend to promptly forget I saw anything, should that ease your mind further. 'Tis none of my business, after all."
I nod once, slowly, unable to meet his eyes; it's probably rude of me, but I can at least be assured that as detached from anything even resembling etiquette as he tends to be, Estinien won't find my behaviour the least bit insulting. "...Thank you," I say finally, quiet and a little hollow, and it's only through great force of will that I manage anything even resembling a smile, forcing my shoulders to relax a little and taking a deep breath. "I - I would take some time to look these over. I shan't keep you; certainly you have more important business than playing courier with ill-gotten information--" and when he lets out the expected snort of amusement, I do feel a little bit better, at least. "...I would tell you to stay out of trouble, but we all know that isn't going to happen. So at least try to drag yourself out of it in one piece, won't you?"
"No promises," Estinien responds drily, waves a hand and turns to go.
Once he's gone, I turn my attention slowly back to the files, finally letting myself sink into a nearby chair; it seems like it should be utterly impossible, really, but there is no doubt as to the relevance of these files, even without turning the first page to read what is contained within - the damning first page, with its faded photograph and smudged lines of text, the page that just by its very existence confirms everything that's come to light about me and my own past, a cold and callous proof that I would almost swear is mocking me just in being before my eyes. Yet, now that I've truly looked instead of just taking a passing glance in utter shock, I can't seem to look away, breaths shuddering in my chest with nervous anxiety as I touch a shaking fingertip to the page, tracing the lines of the face in the photograph and trying to pretend I don't feel as if the world has fallen out from underneath me.
A tousled fall of white-blonde hair. Eyes the colour of a brilliant summer's sky. Skin softly tanned, seeming more suited to the sands of Thanalan or the wilds of Amh Araeng than the stiff mechanical walls pictured in the background. A smile soft and impish - so familiar I feel as if I am looking into a mirror, sending my thoughts into a frantic whirl.
If only he wore the ears of a Miqo'te, I should nearly not be able to distinguish him from my own self--
I don't even realise my eyes have welled up until the first tears dampen the page, and I swipe an arm quickly across my face, taking a deep breath and shaking my head. I cannot give in yet; I cannot break, not until I've finished. Not until I know everything.
"Aeon lux Sideris," I whisper to myself unsteadily, tracing my finger now beneath the text alongside the photograph, thinking that perhaps if I say it out loud, it might sink in a little better. "Son of Claris mal Sideris and Leona cen Fulgens. Primus Medicus and Architectus Ordinum of the IXth Legion. Aged twenty-three, married a Hyuran woman named Saewynn Fiske. Aged twenty-five, sired a daughter, Amina Sideris..." my voice breaks there, and I'm forced to pause and take a few deep breaths, shaking my head hard in an attempt to regain control over my rampant emotions. "...Aged thirty-seven, vanished while researching ancient Allagan ruins, presumed dead despite no body ever being found...Allagan ruins? But what...what did he think to perhaps find there? Unless..." I pause again, a thread of something unpleasantly cold winding its way up my spine, as my traitorous mind finds its way back to everything we'd found reclaiming Ala Mhigo, to the research Aulus had been doing and the subsequent birth of the Resonants - and I realise with a sinking apprehension that, as distasteful as the thought is, I may know exactly what he had been looking for. Surely it cannot be, I try to tell myself, but...
After a few moments, slowly and reluctantly, I turn the page, and begin to immerse myself most unhappily into the records of my apparent great-grandfather's research.
It is, I discover, exactly as I'd feared.
A Treatise on Garleans, and on Imbuing them with Aether to use Magicks, is the title of the dry and frankly boring document a few pages in, but I pore over it anyway in a most laborious manner, picking out the words and phrases I understand and quite misliking the story even those scattered bits are telling me. It isn't hard at all, if he'd only had access to these files (and I suspect he must have), to see where Aulus might have got some of the leads he'd been acting on; Aeon's research was so thorough, his thoughts explained in greatest detail, almost more of a blueprint than a mere collection of potential ideas - and even with as put off as I am, I do have to somewhat admire the obvious scientific genius of it all. No common mind would ever conceive of even a fraction of this, and I can only imagine how that would lead one to ever greater risk in the pursuit of knowledge, until they walked openly into their own death as a result of it...not so far, I think, from some of the things I myself have done, and then I promptly put that thought out of my head, turning the page with a self-directed sigh of irritation. I don't need to be taking the slide down that dark spiral right now, no matter how very tempting it might be.
(The answer: far too tempting, much to my annoyance.)
The next few pages are more dry reports, and I flick through these with disinterest - there's only so much scientific babble I can process and I'm fairly sure I reached my limit three and a half pages ago - but then the writing takes a turn from nearly incomprehensible to familiar and concise, and I realise with a start that these are letters, apparently written to his family as he traveled for his research. It does make sense, when I think about it - a man so clearly devoted to his work must have found his wife exceptional indeed to love her, his daughter precious above all to treasure her so - and these thoughts spark my interest somehow, hands stilling before they can once more turn the page. (Perhaps this is a chance to get to know the man himself, not just the work he'd done, though I don't honestly know why I'm so intrigued; but then again, do I truly need a reason to have an interest in family, even one I didn't know about until this very moment?)
A slow breath, closing my eyes briefly, and then I begin - ever so carefully, so closely - to read through, lingering long on the page marked with a footnote denoting it as 'the final missive received'.
Dearest Saewynn, sweet Amina--
It has been long I have lingered far from home, but I assure you both, I am well. My research progresses in leaps and bounds - every day I seem to discover something new, something that could change our lives - nay, the very world as we know it, could I only bring these ideas back to Garlemald very much alive! Alas, 'tis a sad truth that the technology required is not something so easily conveyed, and it is for that reason I remain here for so prolonged a time, wondering how I might bring it back with me upon my return. Every day, every hour, every minute brings us a step closer, and yet...and yet.
Ah, but I forget myself! I have promised to speak of the places I have gone, to paint you a storybook of pictures with my words that you might too see them - and this place I write to you from is indeed one worth the effort to describe. It is an endless expanse, undulating bright beneath the relentless sun; sands of white stretch in every direction as far as the eye can see, harsh and yet so beautiful, and the very land itself seems to be steeped in a ponderous loneliness, one that simply begs for the company of those who set foot within. This is a place that bears the scars of long, long ago, and here of all places has opened another door of opportunity before me - for here too are ruins, as dark and cold as the sands are brilliant and warm, and I mean to explore them until not one single ilm has escaped my notice. It is here, I am certain, that I will find answers to some of my deepest questions, solutions to my largest problems...I am utterly certain. This place holds a most important key, and I intend to find it ere long, so I may return home to you.
But this letter, my dears, grows long, and the day grows ever shorter; though there is so much I still want to say, time does not permit it, and so I must - with greatest regret - cease to tell my tale for a time. I do hope the both of you are well as can be, and that you, sweet Amina, are being a good girl - though of course you must be, I cannot doubt your steadfast kindness and compassion. Take care of your mother for me, my darling, and let not the both of you worry overmuch, for I will return as I always do, triumphant and bursting with ideas. Look forward to it as I do, and soon enough we shall be reunited!
All my love,
Aeon.
My head spinning a bit, I sit back and lower the papers, thinking over what I've just read - after the dull reports, the liveliness of the letter is nigh on overwhelming, and as I try to get it all straight, something is nudging insistently at the edges of my thoughts. Endless white sands...ruins... the words tumble through my head over and over again, and I let my eyes close in a faint frown, biting my lip absently. Sands and ruins. Why do I feel like I know...
Then it hits me, and I sit bolt upright, my eyes flying open.
"I know where you were," I whisper to the empty air, and my throat feels tight with the realisation. "Gods, I know exactly where you were at the end."
And I know I can't possibly go there alone - but who can I possibly ask to accompany me?
That, too, I quickly realise I know...and I'm not at all sure I like the answer.
