[P] Dew in the Valley

[Eik]

Never trust the story teller.

They heave against the rubble with body and mind, the scent of their emotions (fear and anger, mostly) first mingling with the smell of sweat, then overcome by it as the regimes toil away.

The futility of the situation is not lost on him. Even magic does not seem to help them. Po's request goes apparently unnoticed by the dense wall of trees, and Florentine's window only bakes the rocks. An odd hush falls over the prison, broken only by the huff of strained breathing and the sound of rocks tumbling over each other. As they labor, Eik tries not to think about who will die first, and other dire things of that nature-- but morbidity still slips into his thoughtstream here and there.

In the end, of course, it is all for naught.

The gods, or at least one of them, open the way for them without much ceremony other than the glowing of some stones. Sweat-soaked and weary of another trick, he doesn't much feel like celebrating. He returns Seraphina's stare, and in that way they communicate without words. Before he follows her, he turns to the other regimes and offers a small, weary smile. Perhaps one day they'll all get together and laugh about the events that unfolded at the summit. Perhaps.

Eik follows Seraphina through the thicket and back to their people. He merely nods his head to the statue as they leave. It is a gesture of acknowledgement, if not gratitude. 

He hopes this is his last encounter with the gods of Novus, but he fears it is just the beginning.

Only trust the story.

Eik out <3