[The eager entrance is somewhat startling, and Dion still enters the makeshift office like he is on the edge of no man's land. Not that he expects Ramuh to invite him here to spring a trap on him; it is only his wary way of being. It is only when he sees the singular wyvern tail on the desk -- ignoring the rest crowding around them -- that something in him is released, bringing some measure of softness about his shoulders and expression.
It's still there. Dion created it, and he knows well that is the blossom he left behind. Though he cannot explain why some patches of his field have transplanted themselves across Ramuh's domain, he thinks he can even less express why that particular flower still stands.]
Your... workshop. [That's what the chunk of ruins was meant to be? At least one of them benefit from added color in this unwitting exchange, though he is polite enough to keep such a thought to himself.
However, he huffs a breath at his fellow Dominant's touch. It's hardly the first time, but the ghost of the wound remains even in the Horizon.] It is only another scar to add to a myriad of others. [He remains wary of Thorne's healers now, and once he was stabilized he allowed it to heal on its own. Now there is only an ache on particularly cold days, or when he trains with his lance for too long... which is hardly different from his past wounds, or the arching crawl of the curse.
As they walk, he is quiet for a moment, and it is clear he is ruminating deeply over something. Unsurprising it is exactly what Ramuh has brought up.] I did not thank you for ensuring I kept control. But know that I am grateful.
[It may have healed him in the moment had he given in, but once he started... after Twinside, he is no longer sure he can ever fully trust himself again. He would not make more victims, even of cutpurses, but the loss of his friends -- his family, once again -- it was the fastest way to reopen old wounds.
He did not wish to have a once-enemy learn of how broken he has become, either... but perhaps such a thing was inevitable, when he allowed himself moments of weakness. (Moments. He is fooling himself into believing it is only mere moments, when what he twisted himself into as a god is always hovering at the back of his mind.)] It was not a point representative of myself. It was... a low point.
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It's still there. Dion created it, and he knows well that is the blossom he left behind. Though he cannot explain why some patches of his field have transplanted themselves across Ramuh's domain, he thinks he can even less express why that particular flower still stands.]
Your... workshop. [That's what the chunk of ruins was meant to be? At least one of them benefit from added color in this unwitting exchange, though he is polite enough to keep such a thought to himself.
However, he huffs a breath at his fellow Dominant's touch. It's hardly the first time, but the ghost of the wound remains even in the Horizon.] It is only another scar to add to a myriad of others. [He remains wary of Thorne's healers now, and once he was stabilized he allowed it to heal on its own. Now there is only an ache on particularly cold days, or when he trains with his lance for too long... which is hardly different from his past wounds, or the arching crawl of the curse.
As they walk, he is quiet for a moment, and it is clear he is ruminating deeply over something. Unsurprising it is exactly what Ramuh has brought up.] I did not thank you for ensuring I kept control. But know that I am grateful.
[It may have healed him in the moment had he given in, but once he started... after Twinside, he is no longer sure he can ever fully trust himself again. He would not make more victims, even of cutpurses, but the loss of his friends -- his family, once again -- it was the fastest way to reopen old wounds.
He did not wish to have a once-enemy learn of how broken he has become, either... but perhaps such a thing was inevitable, when he allowed himself moments of weakness. (Moments. He is fooling himself into believing it is only mere moments, when what he twisted himself into as a god is always hovering at the back of his mind.)] It was not a point representative of myself. It was... a low point.
[That almost feels like a jest.]