it's breaking up my bones
It still feels strange, having magic - particularly one so different from the one he was born with.
He supposes Novus must be the cause of it. His magic had withered and died within him the day he lost his wings; there had been whispers of it at times, in other far off lands. But none of them had stuck, and neither had he. His life was one of wandering so far, of finding new worlds and deciding one by one that none of them were enough.
He had thought Novus would be the same - he’d been off to a terrible start, arriving in a storm and losing Eros. And yet it had been three years now, and here he was still. And as if as a reward, he had been gifted wings and magic, different than the ones he’d had as a boy yet inherently the same. It was as if Novus, as if the magic that stitched the land together and wove their fates into one, had claimed him as its own.
He wasn’t sure yet if he was particularly fond of that thought; but neither did he desire to change it.
So now the magic flows out of him, slowly yet surely, her subtle sigh of relief the only indication it was even working. Thank you.
Such a simple phrase, yet it unsettles him. Aion is not used to being thanked - he is not used to helping others, for that case. With a soft huff he cranes his head, bending over her wing. He prods softly with his telekinesis, eyes roving over the uneven structure where the wing bends unnaturally. Again the hairs along his spine raise, and he resists a shudder of revulsion. He makes himself keep going, forces himself to lift her wing - watching her face closely for signs of discomfort - and bend it as best he can along the joint without jostling the broken bone. And as he inspects her wing, he tilts an ear in her direction to listen as she speaks.
The plans of gods, he almost scoffs yet catches himself just in time. If the gods had plans, for every one of us… well he certainly had gotten the short end of the stick if they did, and she as well.
And yet if the gods didn’t give out gifts, if the gods didn’t care to involve themselves in the lives of mortals - how had he been given wings? Or magic? Or Eros?
“I’m not sure there can be one without the other,” he says, stepping away from her wing. “Either the gods cause all of it, or none of it.” It was a black and white way of looking at things, a cut and dry perspective. He had always been that way.
“…But I’m not sure which is better myself. I’d like to think I’ve made my life into what it is, but the evidence seems to disagree.”
He shakes his head, as if to clear it. “Whatever the case, it seems someone was looking out for you. The break isn’t as bad as it could be.” It wasn’t as bad as mine, he doesn’t say. You get to keep your wings today.
“We’re not too far from the Night Court, a city south of here. I can hold your wing on the way, but they’ll be able to do more for you than I can here.” He’d never carried much with him, after all. She needed bandages and braces, something to set the bones so that they could heal straight and true.
“- Can you walk?”
@ianthe !
walk. "talk."
figured we could wrap this up in the next few replies, with them heading to the court together if she agrees? I'm so sorry for how long this has been taking me!!
