abraxaslogs | EVENT #7: THE SIGHT

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EVENT #7: THE SIGHT

Event #7 - The Sight

go to the OOC event info and plotting post

The night before APRIL 18, your dreams are disrupted by a vivid image of the same eclipse that occurred last month. The black sun seems to be an endless void in the sky, growing ever darker - until it suddenly opens into an eye that stares straight at you.

When you wake up, much of your night seems a blur except for the vivid dream of that eye. Whether you find it unsettling or try to ignore it, the image is something you cannot get out of your mind. If you ask, you will discover that none of the locals of your faction saw another eclipse. Speak with your fellow Summoned, however, and you may learn that while there was no eclipse that formed over the world, you were not the only one who had this dream.

Of course, dreams don't need to mean anything. You can't feel or see any immediate effects, and nearly everyone around you is going about their day as usual. Maybe you should do the same.

The Awakening

It might happen that very morning or a day or two later. You could be discussing the dream with a fellow Summoned or perhaps you simply brush shoulders with them as you walk by. Whatever it is, as soon as you make brief physical contact, one of you is struck with a sharp pain in your temple that grows into a terrible headache. It's disorienting and painful as the world around you shifts to someplace you may or may not recognize. Like an old film reel, you watch the events of the past play out before you: the past of the other Summmoned. It might be something they would rather hide, a moment of failure or despair, or something they are immensely proud of and brings them great joy - or even a jumble of several images over the course of a person's life. But you see it as if it were real and right in front of you all the same. When you come to, you'll likely find yourself on the ground or bent over, possibly with one or more people around you to see if you're okay. It'll take you a bit to gather your bearings, and the subsequent pounding in your head could last from minutes to hours.

Or, maybe you aren't the one who receives the vision. Instead, as you watch, another Summoned might grasp their head and crumble in front of you. They may go silent or groan in pain. They'll be impossible to shake out of their stupor until it's over. If you ask what happened, they may be inclined to tell you the truth - that you, you were what happened to them.

Or, if your Arcana signs happen to line up in a specific way, you'll see each other in the shared memory itself. You may also find that for certain Summoned, you can help soothe the effects, calm their emotions, or help draw them out of the memory before it consumes them for too long. It's not entirely clear what determines which effect, but one thing is for certain - within each memory, every Summoned as they appear in the past seems to wear the mark of their Arcana somewhere on their person.

For some, they might experience this only once. For others, they might experience it multiple times: with the same person, with several other Summoned, or with a different memory each time. Over the next 7 days, you'll find the Summoned around you are all receiving a glimpse into each other's past, as if the Singularity has awoken an eye within each of you.

Flee for the safety of the Horizon if you want, but you'll find that in there, it's much the same. In fact, inside the Horizon, the other Summoned don't even need to be anywhere near you - just existing in the Horizon space itself together will be enough to possibly set off a headache-inducing vision.

The Factions

What has occurred between the Summoned will not go unnoticed within the factions. While it's difficult to say how faction officials have picked up what's happening, it'll be obvious they do know.

In THORNE, characters will be asked to remain in the castle walls until further notice. Characters will not be allowed to leave the castle grounds, not even to go into the surrounding city, and anyone who is already outside will be requested to not leave again as soon as they return. If asked, they will be told it's for their own safety, given the Singularity is behaving unpredictably and the Summoned have a unique connection to it. Soothing potions and healers are on hand to offer assistance, if anyone is particularly suffering from ill effects.

In the FREE CITIES, characters will find the army by the outposts show more activity than usual. A higher number of guards will patrol the streets throughout the event, particularly in areas frequented by the Summoned. Anyone who publicly and visibly experiences the effects of the memory share (pain, doubling over, etc.) will be offered assistance by the guards. They are generally there to help, but they are also there to maintain order and ensure anyone behaving erratically due to this incident is properly contained. This might include confinement for a day or two if anyone is especially posing a risk, but no one will be punished except in the most extreme cases, as the locals are aware this is not within the control of the Summoned.

In SOLVUNN, the locals will be watching what's happening with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Host families and neighbors will be on hand to help with charms meant to offer protection, as well as general care and assistance (soup, blankets, and so on) if your character seems to be especially under the weather or afflicted by the event. Towards the end of the event, more elders and mages will be out and about to check up on the Summoned to make sure they're doing okay. If asked, the mages will say they aren't sure what's going on, but that they are currently divining with the gods and hope to have a definitive answer soon in the upcoming days.

None of the factions appear to be doing much more than keep a watchful eye on the situation - but as the week comes to a close, officials will start making a decision as to what they want to do and how to handle the Summoned who have demonstrated this unforeseen connection to the Singularity.

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He doesn't know these people, but he knows Ronan. He cares about Ronan. He feels the pain, both pressed into him from the effects of being trapped in this unraveling memory and inside his heart, which aches for the younger Ronan bent now on his knees over his dead friend.

It feels out of place to speak. It feels wrong to be here at all, living through this nightmare that doesn't belong to him. Rhy doesn't ask what happens next because he doesn't need to. He stifles his voice against the side of Ronan's chest (his Ronan, he thinks again, a selfish differentiation to help him keep track of reality). Rhy is a wordless witness, but Ronan has not asked him to look away.

Ronan looks at all of them in turn. These people are strangers to Rhy, but as he looks, Ronan realizes they're strangers to him, too. This had once been his entire world. They had been his entire world. The Ronan weeping over Gansey had believed that this moment would be where it all fell apart, the moment they would all be shattered into pieces and scattered and lost.

But he was wrong. It's not this moment. And it's only Ronan who ends up shattered and lost, because he's about to sacrifice more than his life, and he doesn't even understand what he's giving up.

"What about Cabeswater?" Adam asks.

Both Ronans look at him. The present Ronan tightens his hold on Rhy and braces himself. The past Ronan says, "What about it? It's not powerful enough to do anything anymore."

"I know," Adam replies. "But if you asked — it might die for him."

Ronan sucks in a breath like he's about to dive underwater. But then the blood-soaked road is gone, the hills of Henrietta are gone, the entire nightmare is gone. He and Rhy are back in the courtyard and the past returns to the past.

He can sense the building tension, the way it tightens its hold on Ronan and transfers into Ronan's grip on him. Instinctively, he follows suit, bracing himself because he can feel Ronan doing so, holding his breath as he waits with a muted sense of dread to see what happens next--

And then, it's over. Just as sudden, just as disorienting, and accompanied by a wave of throbbing migraine pressure in his head. Rhy blinks, finding tears clinging to his lashes out here in the real world too, sweat sticking his clothes to his skin. The tray of food nearby looks foreign, like it couldn't possibly still be there. The sun shouldn't be where it was in the sky before. None of it has the right to seem the same when Rhy still sees the rain and the corpse with every blink.

Maybe he should have pulled away from Ronan then. He should have put distance between them and between himself and everyone and tried to avoid going through anyone else's memories like that again. The thought crosses Rhy's mind in a panic, and is almost instantly rejected. The last thing he wants to do right now is leave.

Swallowing hard in an uncomfortable attempt to settle his lurching stomach, Rhy manages a ragged: "Ronan? Are you all right?"

Ronan doesn't look at Rhy. Not yet. He blinks hard, the sudden change in light adding to the splitting pain behind his eyes, but there aren't any tears threatening to fall. He appears far more irritated than shaken, a hard crease between his eyebrows and his mouth tugged into a deep frown.

This isn't unusual for him, being thrust into a bad memory and reliving it in gory detail. The only weird thing about it is that he somehow brought Rhy with him.

"That was fucked," he says, sounding more like someone just spat in his food than like he just flashed back to the worst day of his life.

He doesn't want to look at Rhy, doesn't want to see the effect this had on him. Because Rhy is a person with real feelings, tender-hearted and fragile — things Ronan loves about him, but which only prove a truth he doesn't want to admit: That he is bad for Rhy. That he will always cause more suffering than good. That Rhy will recognize this and abandon him, like every single person in that memory eventually did.

He forces himself to look at Rhy anyway, head hanging a little with an apology he doesn't know how to phrase beyond, "You okay?"

Rhy is only nodding against Ronan's shoulder, breathing shakily. He rubs his face with the back of one hand, smearing away the tears. He'd felt it, so deeply. Like it had been happening to him. And yet he'd also been there, and they'd watched it together, and he still feels so awful for witnessing a moment Ronan had surely wanted to keep private.

It takes a moment to wrangle his squirming thoughts and settle his turning stomach.

"I'm all right. I- I shouldn't have seen that. Intruded like that. I know it wasn't intentional, but... I'm sorry."

"You weren't intruding."

Ronan wraps an arm around Rhy and touches a knuckle to his cheek, gingerly soothing away the dampness of a tear.

"I don't mind you seeing me," he murmurs. "I just didn't want you to have to feel it, too."

The demon had been a creature of pure loathing. Even though it's long gone, the hateful things it had whispered into Ronan's soul still follow him to this day. It had shown him all the reasons he would always be alone, and the worst part about it was... it was right. He's alone even with Rhy right beside him.

Rhy leans into his touch, closing his eyes.

"It's not your fault."

The experience has clearly left him shaken, but it's nothing that Ronan did. Everything he'd felt in that vision was for him only transient, a discomfort in the moment-- but it is Ronan's past, Ronan's friends. That thing hurting Ronan, the shock of the nightmare over and over again. Rhy shakes his head a little, as if to clear it, and reaches for his cup near the abandoned try.

"Did... did you make it out of there?" he asks, haltingly. "...Alive?"

"Most of me."

But this is the part he'd had trouble explaining before, when the nightwash was gripping him. If there are words to adequately describe this decidedly un-human aspect of his life, Ronan hasn't worked them out yet. The more he tries, the more he's reminded that there is no place for him among people.

"We sacrificed my forest. Cabeswater. It was... I don't know. I don't know if it came from me or I came from it. It was just always there, until I told it to die. Then it wasn't anymore."

"It was a part of you."

Rhy is trying to understand. The bits and pieces of Ronan's life before this, the things he's suffered-- Rhy wants to help him carry them in any way he can, if that's what Ronan wants. If he needs to talk to someone. Even if he can never be truly what Ronan needs, surely that is something.

"Did it... bring your friend back?" he asks next, very quietly.

It's strange to be talking about this. It hasn't been a secret, exactly, but no one who was there that day ever felt the need to rehash it. Even Adam, who'd felt Cabeswater's loss as heavily as Ronan, only ever wanted to talk about how his power had disappeared with it. Either he hadn't noticed Ronan's vitality fading in the wake of Cabeswater's death or he'd judged it best to avoid confronting that truth.

All of them. All of them were so eager to leave it behind. Cabeswater had loved them — Ronan had loved them — but by the end of summer, they'd left and never looked back.

"Yes," Ronan answers very quietly, very carefully. "They're all okay."

There's something he's not saying. Rhy hesitates, unsure if he should ask -- what he should ask -- or why Ronan's voice has gone so quiet, why he steps through the answer like he's walking on glass.

But Rhy doesn't end up getting the chance. Not then.

He'd sat up a little more, trying to get a better look at Ronan's face, and perhaps it is the movement or simply an inevitability, but the world cracks again with another painful heave, and suddenly, they're somewhere else.

This time, they are in Rhy's room. Rhy's London room, in his home in Arnes, and Ronan is still there beside him.

It is an enormous, lavishly furnished set of rooms that sprawls into two parts, half bedroom with metal four-poster bed and half sitting room with sofa, chairs and fireplace. The drapes are the color of a golden dawn; the floor is inlaid marble cushioned with jewel-toned rugs as fine as any found in Castle Thorne.

Through the open door is visible a balcony, where a young woman in a black mask and coat stands (whom Ronan may recognize as Lila, despite her short stay and lack of clothing that had suited her in Thorne). In the middle of the room opposite the balcony are Kell and Rhy -- past Rhy -- facing one another, with the crumpled bodies of two helmeted guards unconscious somewhere near the bed.

The present Rhy, clinging to Ronan, his face a rictus of shock and horror, lets out a choked sound.

"N-no-- No, this can't be happening again," he gasps, nonsensically. Apparently, it can.

Ronan is becoming used to this. The mechanics of it, at least. He instantly understands what's happening when his head splits open and he finds himself staggering into another memory. For a selfish moment, he's grateful he doesn't recognize what he's seeing, that this can't possibly be one of his.

Then he registers Rhy's horror.

"I'm here," Ronan assures him, arms wrapped around him. Though there's nothing here that can touch them, he turns slightly to shield Rhy from the memory. "You're okay."

He doesn't look away from it, however. His curiosity is too strong, and no matter what he sees, he doubts it will be the worst thing he's ever seen.

It is... surreal, looking at himself outside of himself. Knowing, at the time, he'd been on the opposite end: trapped inside his own body, unable to do anything to stop himself, with someone else's expressions flitting across his face. Someone else's words in his mouth, taunting his brother.

Rhy grips Ronan's arm painfully tight, his breathing gone panicked and shallow, but he doesn't move. Doesn't protest or try to say anything; he knows now it can't be stopped, that all he can do is watch. Even if he closes his eyes, he knows exactly what will happen.

Lila has her gun pointed at him in the memory, but Rhy is smiling -- a crooked, vicious smile that has no place on his lips. He holds a dagger to his own chest, pressed against his ribs just under his heart.

"You wouldn't kill him," Kell says, and it seems at first that he means Lila. Her bullet has already left one of Rhy's legs bloody, the stain spreading down his trousers.

But it is Rhy who answers, sneering: "Do you really believe that, flower boy, or do you only hope it's true?"

"You chose his body because he's part of your plan. You won't--"

"Never presume to know your enemy." The dagger sinks into flesh slowly, the tip sinking between his ribs. The blood begins to spread, a darker red on his red coat. "I have a closetful of kings."

Pressed against Ronan's side, Rhy flinches, and his hand goes without thinking to the same spot on his chest, where Ronan has often seen the raised line of a scar. It looks small now. A small knife can do a lot of damage.

Edited 2022-05-07 05:03 (UTC)

Threading his fingers through Rhy's hair as he cradles him close, Ronan whispers, "This isn't happening."

It may have happened once, but he's seen the evidence of Rhy's survival. The scar. The cut healed long ago, and though Rhy is obviously still wounded by it, the danger has passed. This is nothing but a memory.

An awful memory.

Ronan has seen possession before. It's the entire reason Adam had been bound and blindfolded in the earlier memory — his stolen hands had wanted nothing more than to hasten Ronan's demise and his stolen eyes had shown the demon the way. He can't think of a more terrible violation than being overtaken by an uninvited entity. Adam had begged Ronan to end it, but Ronan would have rather died than harm even a possessed Adam.

He understands why everyone in this memory is just watching this happen, because he would have been just as frozen. What can anyone do when the person they love is being held hostage in their own body?

Ronan doesn't take his eyes off the scene. He seems more awake than he's ever been, his muscles taut and ready for a fight even though there's no real enemy here. If the possessed Rhy suddenly had a mind to lunge at the present Rhy, he'd have to get through Ronan first.

Rhy shakes his head slightly, but his throat is too tight to speak. It is happening-- because it happened, and that is the worst of it. Seeing it again, from the outside looking in, is a nightmare even when he knows the outcome. Especially then.

"Stop," he hears Kell plead. Remembers hearing him from inside where he couldn't answer, far away, banging on the inside of his own mind to be let out while the pain spread from his leg and his chest and he bled on his own bedroom floor. He remembers feeling the struggle between Kell's magic and his invader's, the way Kell had tried to command the bones in his arm to hold still.

"How long can you stay my hand? What happens when your focus starts to slip?" The not-Rhy's borrowed eyes flit to Lila. "He doesn’t want me to hurt his brother. You best give me the stone before I do."

Lila hesitates, and Rhy's free hand curls around a necklace hanging from his throat, its pendant made of what looks to be frosted glass, its edges dipped in bright blood-red. "The stone, Lila," says Rhy's voice, drawing the pendant over the prince's head and balancing it in his palm.

Kell's continued protests go unheeded. His voice trembles. "Astrid, please."

At that, Rhy's mouth twisted into a cruel, triumphant smile.

"You are mine, Kell, and I will break you. Starting with your heart."

Rhy's body twists, throwing the pendant toward Lila with a final word -- catch! -- before Astrid makes him drive the dagger to the hilt in his own chest.

"No!" Kell screams, and Rhy screams too, wordlessly, a short noise ripped from his throat involuntarily as he watches his own body fall. Watches Kell fall to his knees, drawing the knife free and frantically trying a healing spell.

That is about the time the vision goes blurry. The guards, back on their feet, are attacking Lila (who had dodged the necklace), and trying to drag Kell away from Rhy. There is shouting. Screams. The sound of fighting, but everything is wobbly and watercolor, fading out at the edges with Rhy's scattered memories from the verge of death.

The scene shifts drunkenly, swaying and lilting. The darkness presses in, muffling at all.

"Stay with me," Kell keeps saying. He and Lila are on either side of Rhy now, dragging him from the room as someone tries to break in. They travel in a blink across the city, though Rhy's memories of this are fuzzy at best, difficult to see except the fact they've changed locations to a small, stone-walled room with barely more than a bare cot and a single candle on a desk inside. Throughout this, Rhy's responses grow weaker and weaker -- "Sure... all right... as you wish," he whispers until he can't anymore -- before the darkness smothers everything not like a soft blanket but like a sudden fall.

And then it stays like that. Dark, heavy, suffocating. Rhy chokes, panicking. It's not ending. It's not letting him and Ronan out.

"Ronan!" he cries out, grabbing at him in the lightless nothingness, terrified of being left here alone.

Edited 2022-05-07 07:28 (UTC)

It's like having a nightmare, but so much worse. While Ronan always risks bringing a nightmare to life, he has the power to command them, to alter them until something deadly becomes harmless.

He has no such power over the waking world. He's wished a thousand times for the ability to change the past, yet all he can ever do is play back the memory. He's watched the worst moments of his life play out so often the images seem burned into his eyelids. Blink and there they are again.

Though it hurts Ronan to watch this, he isn't paralyzed by it. Trauma is an acquaintance that's visited him so often he is more wearied by the routine than destroyed by it. Not even the sudden plunge into the darkness of death is enough to shake him.

"I'm with you," he murmurs into Rhy's hair. It's the loneliness of death that's the worst part, isn't it? Everyone sinks into the darkness alone, with no one at their side to face what comes next. But Rhy isn't alone this time. Ronan's embrace is warm and strong. The closer the darkness presses in around them, the tighter he holds Rhy against him.

"It doesn't end here," Ronan promises. "You live through this. You live so long you end up in another world and you meet me. When the memory ends, I'll still be here, and so will you."

Rhy folds into him, shoulders heaving with each racking breath he struggles to draw. The world around them isn't real; their bodies are in the grass, waiting for their return, and none of this is really happening. But Rhy can feel his heart beating at his ribs so hard, he's sure Ronan can hear it in the silence of the nothing all around.

It's proof that what Ronan says is true. The words offer guard rails, guiding him to stay in what is real, pulling him back from the edge of panic that threatens to pull him too far into the past. Rhy clings to the reassurance, and to Ronan himself, muffling his shaky gasps against Ronan's chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't want... you to see this."

It feels like forever, but the scene shifts within half a minute. Something jolts through the darkness. A change felt, more than seen. The echo of a heartbeat cutting through.

Then, they are back in Rhy's room. It's been cleaned up, and so has Rhy: he sits propped up on large pillows in his four-poster bed, circles under his eyes, looking a little grey and worn but still vastly improved from the previous scene. He's frowning up at Kell, who stands over his bed, tugging his collar down to show the scar over his heart that mirrors Rhy's.

"I love you, Kell, but I had no interest in matching tattoos."

In Ronan's arms, Rhy shudders, and manages to pull one arm up between them without adding any distance, rubbing away tears with the back of his hand. His breathing's still uneven, but less frantic now that the sunlight is streaming through the large windows and glass balcony doors.

"You were dying, Rhy. I saved your life."

A choked sound escapes Rhy against the back of his hand, something between despair and scoffing. "I knew he was lying," he mumbles to Ronan, over the memory continuing as Kell explains what he's done.

"I bound your life to mine. As long as I live, so shall you."

"He really thought I didn't know. My foolish martyr brother."

The Rhy on the bed looks horrified, staring up at Kell. "You did what? I should get out of this bed and wring your neck."

"I wouldn't," Kell counters. "Your pain is mine and mine is yours."

Rhy watches them -- the two of them, himself and Kell -- when it had all been new. A bond borne of desperation, and of love. He watches, impossibly, the emotions flitting across his own face: shock and fear, regret, sadness. Resignation. He watches his own hands curl into fists as he looks away, remembers the tumbling-into-a-pit sensation in his stomach as realization settled in.

"How could you?" he hears himself whisper to Kell. "How could you carry that weight?"

Looking away, Rhy closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against Ronan as he takes a shaky breath. He knows what Kell says next.

"It is as it is, Rhy. It cannot be undone. So please, be grateful, and be done with it."

And with that-- the memory ends. It spits them out, both him and Ronan, reeling in the grass. Rhy slumps, rolling over onto his side away from Ronan, uncaring of anything spilled between them. His head falls into one forearm propping him up on the ground, hands clenched into fists; his breaths come staccato, too many in and not enough out, as he battles with the urge to vomit or maybe just pass out.

Rhy may not want Ronan to see this, but he doesn't look away. He endures the dread of the darkness without flinching, and when they emerge in the sunlit room, he watches the exchange between the brothers with keen interest.

To Ronan, this is a good memory. Not the death, of course, but this resolution. The resurrection. Though Kell isn't his favorite person in the world, Ronan admires his sacrifice as deeply as he can admire any single act. Declan would never have saved his life like this. In fact, Declan had done his best to end it. So this is good, to remember that a love this powerful can exist between brothers. It's good that Rhy has this, even if it makes Ronan's heart ache with envy. It's good.

And then it's over.

Ronan waits for the first wave of nausea to pass, his eyes squeezed shut until the world stops swaying. Then he picks his head up and looks at Rhy. "Slower," he instructs, drawing closer. "Breathe slow and deep." He's not sure whether or not his touch is welcome at a time like this, so his fingers graze Rhy's arm in a tentative caress.

His pulse is roaring in his ears, erratic and too-loud, but Ronan's voice cuts through. Steady. An anchor.

Rhy does his best to obey. The way Tieren had taught him, after the awful night he'd just been forced to see again, when he'd wake gasping in the middle of the night unable to calm down or have the memory sneak up on him while he was trying to go about hid day and leave him staggering. He presses his hand to his chest, focusing on the breaths, the pressure of the movement against his palm.

When Ronan's fingers brush his arm, Rhy flinches. He doesn't mean to.

Ronan had thought he might. He withdraws immediately — not just his hand, but all of him — pulling back and dragging himself to his feet despite the unsteadiness of the ground beneath them. He blinks against the light of the sunny courtyard, a brightness that's all wrong for the solemn mood.

"Sorry," he says, because it feels like his fault they were even here in the first place. "I don't know what I should do. Is it better if I stay or should I go?"

"No--"

Rhy pushes himself up too fast, the sudden movement making his head spin. He is sitting up, squinting in the sun, but the sweat beading on his brow has nothing to do with its warmth. He wipes it with his sleeve and shaking fingers, trying to rein in his breathing once more when it slips into jagged gasps again.

"Please. Don't go. I'm sorry."

Ronan immediately kneels back down, assuring Rhy, "Hey, okay. I'm not going anywhere."

The movement is a little too fast for his own equilibrium and he squeezes his eyes shut until his stomach stops somersaulting. Then he leans in, placing himself close enough for Rhy to rest against him whenever he feels ready.

"I don't care if it happens again," Ronan tells him, in case that's what the apology was for. "I'm used to this shit. It just doesn't usually happen when I'm awake."

Torn between wanting to avoid a repeat of what had just happened (again), exhaustion and desperation for comfort, Rhy hesitates -- but only a little, before the need for a soothing touch overwhelms the fear. He hopes, after all that, they'll be spared another bad trip into someone's past.

Rhy leans against his shoulder. His heartbeat still feels too fast and too loud in his aching head, and he is still blinking away the urge to cry, but it is slowly fading.

"Is this what it's like for you? Dreaming?"

What he'd experienced in Ronan's past, too. It can't be that awful all of the time.

"Mostly," Ronan answers. "But it doesn't usually make me wanna hurl."

There are other differences, of course, but that's the one that's honestly bothering him the most right now. All the fun of a hangover without any of the partying.

He loops his arms around Rhy, heedless of the consequences now that they've both decided it's worth the risk. If they fall into another memory, Ronan will be here and they'll face it together and Rhy will remain safe in his embrace all the while.

"A lot of my nightmares are way worse than what you saw," he continues. "I'm better at controlling them and I can usually change them into something else, but it wasn't always like that. I mean, you've seen my scars."

The vast majority of the slashes covering his forearms are defensive wounds against razor-sharp claws, and there are the scattered few scars on his face and chest from those times when his defenses failed. He's lucky he's never lost an eye.

"It's one reason you shouldn't sleep near me. In case I bring one out."

"I didn't realize... that it was that awful." Or what the scars came from, honestly. He hadn't asked; he'd thought it private, considering what some of them looked like, and Ronan's own respect toward the scars Rhy never talks about.

"In your past, that memory--" He shudders. Is it always like that? He understands now, at least a little bit, why Ronan insists on sending him back to his own room at night, no matter how much Rhy had hinted or even outright asked about wanting to stay.

"I'm sorry that you have to contend with that sort of darkness in your dreams."

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EVENT #7: THE SIGHT

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