He's died once before, after all - a death for a sword, a spirit, a deity, and not a human. There was no soft, golden light to embrace him after the flames of dismantlement faded. There was only a vast expanse of nothing. Silence. Loneliness. His fractured conscience, which could only recall glimmers of light and regret.
He finds that he doesn't terribly mind returning to this darkness that he's known so well and for so very, very long. After the agonies of the last few hours, it feels like a reprieve, somehow. ...But at the same time, as he perceives this bird, he can't help but feel a flare of anger.
"What does grief look like for you?"
"Like a dream you can't wake up from. ...No. I think it just looks like living."
He speaks with the mouth he doesn't have.]
Being alive is just like that. You struggle and you suffer. It's not in any sword's fate to meet a gentle end.
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He's died once before, after all - a death for a sword, a spirit, a deity, and not a human. There was no soft, golden light to embrace him after the flames of dismantlement faded. There was only a vast expanse of nothing. Silence. Loneliness. His fractured conscience, which could only recall glimmers of light and regret.
He finds that he doesn't terribly mind returning to this darkness that he's known so well and for so very, very long. After the agonies of the last few hours, it feels like a reprieve, somehow. ...But at the same time, as he perceives this bird, he can't help but feel a flare of anger.
"What does grief look like for you?"
"Like a dream you can't wake up from. ...No. I think it just looks like living."
He speaks with the mouth he doesn't have.]
Being alive is just like that. You struggle and you suffer. It's not in any sword's fate to meet a gentle end.
[He accepts this.]