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Forsaken, are you well?

[ A newly familiar mental presence; the Ironeye, it seemed, had tabled his earlier reservations about using the Murmur. ]

I wonder if I might impose upon your time.

[ The Forsaken finds he knows the presence, but doesn't place it until he hears the voice. His own presence grows lighter for the recognition, a faint smile in his tone. He sounds tired, still, but almost a different sort of tired. A productive one, if such can be read only from a voice. ]

Ironeye. Far better than I was, thank you.

You are not imposing at all. What might I do for you?

Are you still interested in that walk on the beach?

[ Ah -- a positive sort of tired, perhaps. Maybe something good happened. ]

I've seen a few seagulls around the city. I feel compelled to investigate their source. [ Ironeye's smile was without question audible. ]

[ Something light fluttered across the Murmur: surprise, although pleased surprise.

He hadn't intended to renege on the offer but somehow... he hadn't expected the man to remember, either. He didn't question his own doubt, not in the moment. ]

Of course.

We are surrounded by channels on the east and west, but, the best views of the ocean might be to the south. Although as for the source of the seagulls... I wouldn't know, precisely. [ It might be a long walk! ]

Then perhaps that mystery will have to wait for another day.

[ A sort of warm amusement suffused these words. One day, his jokes were going to land!! ]

South it is, then. I've been staying near Central Park, in a building called The Dakota. But I'd be happy to meet you where you are.

[ Perhaps it was inevitable that someone like Ironeye would prefer the biggest spot of green in Manhattan. Either way. He felt most at home in the overgrown park, where the slightly claustrophobic shadows of the buildings around them held a little less sway. ]

[ One day! ]

I know of the park, but not the building. [ And while some buildings certainly stood out, many of them looked identical to the Forsaken. Who knew how long he would be strolling the numerous blocks around Central Park to find it? ]

I'm further east than would be convenient... oh - there's a pond in the southeast corner of the park, shaped like an uppercase gamma - ah, that's a letter, you don't know that, sorry - [ No, he wasn't poking fun at that message that came across the Murmur, the Forsaken couldn't read the languages here, either. (But the blunt 'I can't read.' had made him smile.) ]

It's strangely angular, in any case. We could meet there, at the outside point?

I can point it out to you the next time we're in the area. It's near the lake with the boathouse. [ Ah, prime real estate. ] The architecture is more similar to what you'd find in my world. More embellishments and less... glass.

[ He'd be diplomatic about that, at least, but the perfectly smooth modern constructions of some of these Manhattan buildings were a little too minimalist at times. It felt a little alien. ]

I know which one you mean. I'll be there.

[ And so he would, by the bank overlooking the water made gray-green by the morning. Here, he sometimes spotted waterfowl of a type he'd never seen before -- a patchwork of vivid patterns and colors. They were his favorite so far. Today, however, native species were the only ones gliding about. ]

The residents seem to enjoy scraps. Maybe they still remember being fed.

I shall set out anon.

[ The Forsaken was slower to the lake than the Ironeye for distance. True to his word, though, he looked far better than he had their first meeting outside of the dream. His sweater was new, the robes beneath still worn and a bit tattered but clean, bruises faded to an unappealing yellow but clearly healing. He looked tired, still, a bit underslept, but there was a strength in his slender frame more akin to the dream they shared.

He turned to watch the birds across the water; not so distorted as some of their land-faring brethren, but not untouched, either. ] Perhaps so. I wonder how long it has been since they were fed by the people that once lived here.

[ The god turned his gaze up towards his companion, offering a small smile. ] It's good to see you again.

Not so long that they've forgotten how to beg. We should get moving before they start waddling up the bank. The black-and-white ones can be insistent. [ And, in fact, a few of them had changed course, quacking and carrying on as they saw another biped approaching. Honk honk, feed us! ]

...It's good to see you, too. [ The Forsaken looked better. Sounded better, which lightened his heart a little. ]

[ Ironeye closed the distance between them, turning southward. He looked much the same as he had before, though with the marked reappearance of a bow and quiver. It seemed he'd been able to find one since their last meeting. ]

Have you been well? You seemed a little surprised, earlier.

[ The god watches the birds for a brief stretch of silence, gaze soft in a quiet wonder. These are not pests to him as they are the Ironeye; creatures that come to demand food are altogether different than creatures that come to demand life or limb.

He cannot remember when he last saw an animal so close.

The assassin pulls the Forsaken from his thoughts as he broaches the distance between them, and he too turns to the south to begin their trek. His gaze settles on the quiver briefly, a slight smile curving his mouth.

It suits him, he thinks. ]

Better, yes. [ His brows lift again in surprise, and his gaze slides askance, avoidant. Self-deprecating humor creeps into his tone. ] I- hadn't expected you to remember, I suppose.

[ As the god watched the birds, so too did the assassin take in the Forsaken's reaction, as if committing the image carefully to a memory that the rain had long since made unreliable record. Was the Forsaken partial to animals...?

The sunlight caught on the god's long hair, rendering his profile in soft silver and gold. The sight made Ironeye desire, impulsively, find out what it was to reach out and run those long strands through his fingers.

Yet he was not an impulsive man.

...usually.

By the time the god turned, the Ironeye had already swept his own gaze quietly toward their path. He turned back at the Forsaken's response. ]

You're not easy to forget, you know.

[ He walked just a little closer to his companion than he ordinarily would, his voice almost a murmur. ]

Even for a man like me.

[ The Forsaken glanced to his companion, brows lifted slightly in surprise. He smiled, something sad round the edges, and looked forward once more. ]

Most of the Lost who find their way to me convince themselves I was a fever dream, and eventually do forget me.

[ Not all of them, though. Some became worshipers, a rare few among a civilization that had long forgotten the gods. There were no temples or churches in his name as their once had been for the others, only private altars and whispered prayers. He did not mind it. ]

But I cannot fathom what you mean, 'a man like you.' Will you tell me? [ They had promised to keep each other's secrets, after all. ]

A Nightfarer fights until the Night is broken. But in so doing, we lose ourselves -- the memories that make us who we are.

[ Ironeye's answer was, strangely, without much regret. Perhaps some memories, once dissolved, lightened the spirit. Perhaps it was difficult to mourn something one could no longer recall. Or perhaps, after having fought so long, even his dreams had brimmed over with Night. ]

There were some things I never lost. For the rest... I made a habit of writing things down.

So you see, my memory is full of holes. But if I should forget a promise to you, perhaps you ought to try your dagger? It might jog something loose. [ Ah, assassin humor. ]

I think it may have less edge than your memory, [ he answered, humor in his tone. ] so I cannot promise it a worthwhile endeavor.

[ He lapsed into a silence for a time, the minutes stretching as they passed from Central Park into block upon block of steel megaliths. Finally, when the previous conversation might have been thought forgotten, the Forsaken spoke again, voice quiet. ]

I remember the Lost - all of them. Their names, what made them Lost, where they were and where they needed to go. If they find me again, I remember them, even if there are decades between.

[ His gaze lifted from the concrete beneath his feet to the path farther ahead. The only indication of his mood was a distant glimmer in his pale gaze. ] But I cannot remember the names nor faces of the gods who imprisoned me. The dreams shared between those here draw up memories I had forgotten of the time before my imprisonment.

[ He glanced to his companion, though not quite meeting his gaze. ] I suppose we have that in common, too.

The life you describe... is one of unbearable loneliness. [ There was something like anger coming off of the assassin -- not the roiling of the heat of battle, but a cold ache, felt in one's bones. It was mingled with something akin to regret. Even someone who loved his moments of quietude and seclusion, as the Ironeye did, recognized that there was value in joining with others.

The Raider would drink and laugh and boast, and he would listen. The Executor would paint his pictures, and he would look on. He looked into those pale eyes and wondered if this was why the god had longed for death. ]

[ His voice, when he spoke, was soft. ] What shall we do with ourselves, then? We who can neither properly remember, nor forget?

[ Perhaps there was no true answer. Ironeye could not return to what he had been. Neither, it seemed, could the Forsaken. ]

...before I left, I resolved to walk the path that I alone desired.

[ Without thought, the Forsaken's hand reached, finding the leather of the assassin's glove. It was only a brush of fingertips in passing, reassuring if not comforting. The god could not say that he had made peace with his life. He held enough fury and grief for himself, though. Often, like now, it was buried beneath centuries of apathy built out of self-preservation that he did not lose his mind entirely. But when it surfaced, it felt as raw as they day he had been judged.

Strange that he did not remember the gods that sentenced him, but he could remember his own anguish as if it had only just happened. ]

Then you should continue to do that. [ For a god who had a predestined purpose, who had been trapped for so long without say, to follow his own path seemed greater than any treasure. ] May I ask what path that is?

[ Or whether it could even be followed, here in Sleep's domain. ]

[ Ironeye came to a stop, studying the god briefly. It was something he had kept only between himself and his guardian; to relay his answer to an outsider to their world was to try and sum up a lifetime with succinctness. His fingertips caught at the Forsaken's, a loose tangle of circumstance that somehow held. ]

I once belonged to a mercenary outfit. It was they who decided on my course of work. Their tasks, I fulfilled. The lives they coveted, I took. I could refuse, technically, yet... [ He rolled his armored shoulders in a shrug that suggested complications. ] What is the use of a falcon that will not hunt?

At the time, all I desired was to be free of them.

[ He gave the god a small bow, lifting the Forsaken's hand until it was within an inch of his lips. The glance of blue eyes through dark lashes. Something smoldered there, shaded and molten. ] Now, it seems, that alone is not enough.

[ Then he was straightening at the waist, loosing his hold. ]

...Does that satisfy?

[ The god halted as fingertips caught in his own. His gaze shifted between them, then lifted to eyes more vibrant than his own. Silent, he listened, lips parted. The chill breeze loosed stray wisps of white hair, brushing them against cheek and sweater.

Something hung in his chest, restlessly still; the heart that beat at Sleep's beckon, he supposed, now wretchedly human. His gaze flickered lower, the shape of lips behind an ever-present mask. And yet, bit by bit, he felt he was coming to know the man in a way cloth nor scale could not conceal.

The Forsaken's lips curved in a smile, placid but something apologetic hidden in the corners. ] Does it? [ He wondered aloud, the cadence of his voice rich with humor close to a tease. ]

I hope you take no offense at my prying, friend. [ His hand turned in the assassin's, slipping free to trail one fingertip along the other's jawline. His attention returned to the other's eyes, keen even as his voice remained soft. ]

I pray you find what might fulfill you.

[ The moment was fleeting; his hand returned to his side just as soon. ] At the least, you may breathe easier that you are free of them and free to hunt for yourself.

[ There was a flicker of surprise in Ironeye's gaze as he felt the Forsaken's touch along his jaw. Yet he did not move aside, save to lean slightly into it once he recognized the gesture. ]

...That is one thing. I always did enjoy the work.

[ When he'd seen his counterparts from other worlds, he could see it in their eyes, too, even cloaked as they were in the violet hues of the Night. They, too, sought the fierce joy of the hunt. He'd wondered, at the time, if his fellow Nightfarers recognized themselves in their own doppelgangers. What they thought when they saw their own selves, reflected.

When they resumed their walk, it was to lighter subject matter; it had not been the Ironeye's intention, after all, to bring up past grief. Particularly not on a clear day like this one. Yet the remembrance of that touch lingered.

The air changed, subtly, as they neared the waterfront. He spotted his first gull through a reflection in the window as he matched pace with the Forsaken -- blink and you'd miss it, a swift little thing with beady eyes that lit on a lamp post and assessed them with a loud cry. ]

[ Though he answered with nothing more than a smile, the Forsaken found his thoughts wandering as they walked, to the story the assassin had told him of the great, graceful creature that drifted in the sea. He imagined the lives his mercenary outfit coveted were mostly human, as humans were wont to do; beasts were not worth a mark - at least in Crownreach - lest they were a threat, or rare in some way.

Perhaps he would ask for more stories, another time.

The subject shifted, the god content mostly to listen or pass their trek in amenable silence. The ocean breeze from the east crept up on him, largely blocked by tall buildings until they gave way abruptly to a wooded area to the west, and harbor to the east.

The Forsaken's steps faltered. He came to a standstill, gaze not on the gull that had cried to them, but instead towards the direction of the wind. The scent of salt was surprisingly strong. ]

So this... is this what they call a sea breeze? [ He asked, voice small and distant, gaze unfocused on the land across the East River. ]

[ Ironeye smiled. ] Bracing, isn't it?

[ One might ask how he could even feel the breeze, covered as he was almost head to toe. But his senses had always been keen, and he never could forget the crisp touch of the sea air. He footsteps came to a stop at the Forsaken's side, where he looked out at the gray-green water. Across the river, remnants of a destroyed bridge, the far-off remains of the city that had once been. ]

...Shall we make our way to the water's edge? Though it's likely to be cooler there.

[ He would wait until the god was ready. He could wait, after all this time. ]

Edited 2025-10-30 00:50 (UTC)

Mm, [ he agreed, voice distant still. ] It smells of salt... [ And something else he couldn't put his finger on. Finally, with a small shake of his head, the Forsaken returned his attention to the other, more alert. He smiled, something lighter in the expression than usual. ]

Yes, let's.

[ While his slight frame made him perhaps more susceptible to the cold, and being cold at all was still new to the god, the month prior had been far colder. And though he had been both to the western and eastern edge of the island farther north, the smell of the ocean had not been so strong.

The sea gull taking off from its perch drew the Forsaken's attention. As they ventured closer to the waterfront, another gull circled above. ]

Are those the sea gulls you mentioned? [ He hadn't taken note of them before, and had seen few birds further inland - save a black bird with too many eyes, and a few birds of dun grey with moss in their feathers. ]

They are. Bold, inveterate opportunists. Clever, too. They'll follow boats and trail fishermen for scraps. I've never seen the sea without hearing their cries... save for in that dream.

[ He thought them rather handsome birds, though raucous. And here, there was no sand, but one could walk to the rail and peer over at the water lapping at the edges of the city's construction. Ironeye did so now, content to enjoy the sound for a little while. ]

...Forsaken, I've a confession to make.

[ Ah, the ocean that seemed more to be made of glass than water. Well, save for when he was drowning in it. He wasn't sure that counted as a sea, though admittedly he had thought of it the same.

The Forsaken decided he preferred this one, calm from the shore but alive, lapping at the piers and the shore. His gaze lifted once more to the gull overhead. ] I have only heard of them. [ Or if he had ever seen them, it had been a time he had long since forgotten.

His companion's words earned his attention once again, the god turning with lips parted in slight surprise. The smile returned, gentle. ] What might that be, my friend? I shall gladly hear it.

If we'd brought a snack or two, I'm sure we'd see far more. They've a knack for alerting each other.

[ Though it likely shouldn't have, it came as something as a surprise to the Ironeye that the Forsaken should not have seen a gull before. Perhaps it was because his own work had taken him to distant lands. Ever the traveler. Yet, for all his journeying...

He maintained a straight face for as long as he could, but ultimately, could not hide a smile. ]

...I cannot swim.

For all that I enjoy looking out to sea, I would sink like a stone.

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excuse me sir stop undressing him with your mind 😰

not even a little?? as a treat?? 🥺

maybe a little... as a treat...

huhu ☺️

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