Aerys was quiet for a long while after Zeik spoke.
The air around them grew thin, as if the world itself awaited the young man's reply to this vestige of prophecy before him— but in Aerys’ mind, things moved less like prophecy and more like… calculations.
“..Raethos? Temples of who?”
Aerys had never heard of these places before, but didn’t doubt the truth in Zeik’s words. He spoke with a mystifying certainty; the kind that only came from centuries of watching things fall and reform and fall again.
He sighed before casually raking his fingers through his hair, taking a beat to think about what he wanted to say, and how he wanted it to sound before this esteemed wizard sage. He seemed too settled in his ambitions for Aerys' words to reach him, but he had to say something. How often would he have the opportunity to speak with this guy? Let alone convince him to return home.. He had to say something.
“Listen..I won’t pretend I understood half of what you said. I mean, not entirely but.." He paused, his voice quieter than usual. "You speak like someone who’s already seen the end.. Like, you've lived long enough to pull patterns out of history I haven’t even read about yet.” He gave a faint, crooked smile. “..let alone ever experience.”
His gaze lifted to Zeik again.
“But I will say this mate: you sound… tired. Not weak, mind ya’. Or broken in the faintest. Just.. tired in a way I don’t think any human should have to be.”
For the first time, there was something like disappointment in his eyes.
“I remember growing up, hearing your name spoken like a bloody legend. The Hellgates’ living myth. I figured you’d be the first to step forward when everything started falling apart— not the first one talking about dissolving your ties like they never meant nothin’ to begin with.”
He exhaled through his nose, slow.
“You say all life is your people. That’s noble, truly mate I mean it.” His jaw tightened slightly. “But to those who actually have people — a home, a place they bled for — those wise words can start sounding a lot like indifference.”
Aerys turned slightly, glancing toward the east — where acres of this once vibrant forest now lay razed by war.
“Thing is… we don’t have the luxury of a worldview that broad. Not right now. We’re talking about real cities. Real faces. And a very real Empire getting closer every day.”
His eyes sharpened when he looked back at Zeik.
“And Akundae.” he repeated, testing the sound of it, and shaking his head. “Never heard the name.. But it sounds like you’re going after the head of the snake..”
A pause.
“…which if you are, then you might actually be the only reason the Acrix doesn’t end up like this place. But wars aren't usually won alone mate..” he said, crossing his arms and leaning on a decrepit tree.
“I was thinking.. what's the harm in letting me come with? Think i'll slow ya down?”
The Union of Earth and Sky
-
Aerys Hellgate
- Drifter
- Posts: 44
- Joined: Sun Sep 18, 2022 11:18 am
Re: The Union of Earth and Sky
Zeik did not answer at once.
When Aerys spoke the words “you’ve already seen the end,” something in Zeik shifted—sharply, involuntarily. The calm he had worn like a second skin fractured, and what lay beneath it surged forward.
His face twisted but not in anger. His posture stiffened as though a coiled thing inside him had been struck awake. The air around him grew heavy, oppressive, his aura flaring outward with a feral intensity—wrath tangled with fear, like a vast and cornered dragon realizing the walls were real.
His eyes widened.
Then the color drained from them, leaving behind a pale, glassy white. They fixed on nothing and everything at once, unfocused in the way of a man no longer entirely present—like the vacant sheen of someone seized by a fit, consciousness slipping its tether.
Because he had been called many things across the ages. Monster. Savior. Executioner.
But rarely—almost never—had anyone named the weight itself.
The quiet accumulation.
The erosion that came not from wounds or losses, but from knowing
Zeik recognized the cadence in Aerys: a mind reaching for patterns even without the language to hold them. A mind trying to calculate meaning from fragments. The young Crown was not wrong.
He had seen the end.
Not once. Not symbolically. Not in prophecy or abstraction.
He had seen.
Civilizations folding in on themselves like tired animals. Empires burning not in spectacle, but in moral accounting errors, bad faith, and the slow corrosion of empathy. He had watched dreams rot from the inside out—long before swords were ever drawn.
His thoughts dragged him backward, unbidden, to the first war he had witnessed. Not the bloodiest.
The first that taught him the shape of inevitability.
How it had begun with nations banners and vows, oaths shouted into open skies. How it had ended with children scavenging in fields that no longer remembered their names.
And yet—here stood a young Crown who listened. Not to be impressed. Not to agree. But to understand.
That alone earned a measure of respect he did not give lightly.
The white in his eyes receded. The pressure in the air collapsed inward, mastered rather than dismissed. His breath steadied, slow and deliberate. The dragon did not vanish—it simply remained coiled and watchful in his Aura
He studied Aerys without turning his head, reading him the way he read weather fronts and fault lines. The boy’s posture was relaxed, but not careless. His humor did not undercut his seriousness. There was weight there—unshaped, untested, but real. Potential not yet made full by certainty.
Zeik saw both the danger of it… and the promise.
“Yes. I am tired. Not of living. of remembering. Of carrying outcomes long after everyone else had buried causes.”
The world had always expected fury from him. Or grandeur. Or sermons carved into fire and ruin. He had delivered all of those, in one age or another.
When he spoke again, his voice was low, restrained.
“I have,” he said.
A pause.
“I have seen how this ends. Many times. Some parts of this war...i must venture alone. But i wont abandon the Acrix, nor will going there change anything...i cant convince you of that."
When Aerys spoke the words “you’ve already seen the end,” something in Zeik shifted—sharply, involuntarily. The calm he had worn like a second skin fractured, and what lay beneath it surged forward.
His face twisted but not in anger. His posture stiffened as though a coiled thing inside him had been struck awake. The air around him grew heavy, oppressive, his aura flaring outward with a feral intensity—wrath tangled with fear, like a vast and cornered dragon realizing the walls were real.
His eyes widened.
Then the color drained from them, leaving behind a pale, glassy white. They fixed on nothing and everything at once, unfocused in the way of a man no longer entirely present—like the vacant sheen of someone seized by a fit, consciousness slipping its tether.
Because he had been called many things across the ages. Monster. Savior. Executioner.
But rarely—almost never—had anyone named the weight itself.
The quiet accumulation.
The erosion that came not from wounds or losses, but from knowing
Zeik recognized the cadence in Aerys: a mind reaching for patterns even without the language to hold them. A mind trying to calculate meaning from fragments. The young Crown was not wrong.
He had seen the end.
Not once. Not symbolically. Not in prophecy or abstraction.
He had seen.
Civilizations folding in on themselves like tired animals. Empires burning not in spectacle, but in moral accounting errors, bad faith, and the slow corrosion of empathy. He had watched dreams rot from the inside out—long before swords were ever drawn.
His thoughts dragged him backward, unbidden, to the first war he had witnessed. Not the bloodiest.
The first that taught him the shape of inevitability.
How it had begun with nations banners and vows, oaths shouted into open skies. How it had ended with children scavenging in fields that no longer remembered their names.
And yet—here stood a young Crown who listened. Not to be impressed. Not to agree. But to understand.
That alone earned a measure of respect he did not give lightly.
The white in his eyes receded. The pressure in the air collapsed inward, mastered rather than dismissed. His breath steadied, slow and deliberate. The dragon did not vanish—it simply remained coiled and watchful in his Aura
He studied Aerys without turning his head, reading him the way he read weather fronts and fault lines. The boy’s posture was relaxed, but not careless. His humor did not undercut his seriousness. There was weight there—unshaped, untested, but real. Potential not yet made full by certainty.
Zeik saw both the danger of it… and the promise.
“Yes. I am tired. Not of living. of remembering. Of carrying outcomes long after everyone else had buried causes.”
The world had always expected fury from him. Or grandeur. Or sermons carved into fire and ruin. He had delivered all of those, in one age or another.
When he spoke again, his voice was low, restrained.
“I have,” he said.
A pause.
“I have seen how this ends. Many times. Some parts of this war...i must venture alone. But i wont abandon the Acrix, nor will going there change anything...i cant convince you of that."
Everything posted by this account is official property of ©Vescrutia2018, no reproduction, or reposting of this content identical to or closely resembling is allowed.
-
Aerys Hellgate
- Drifter
- Posts: 44
- Joined: Sun Sep 18, 2022 11:18 am
Re: The Union of Earth and Sky
Aerys listened in silence—like, truly listened.
Not with the restless impatience of a Crown waiting for his turn to speak, but with the stillness of a man who understood that some words lost their weight the moment they were interrupted. He allowed Zeik's words to land with the impact he intended, and marinated on them.
When he finally spoke, his voice had changed.
Softer than before—not diminished, not reverent in the way of awe, but tempered. Sharpened by intent.
“…well,” he said quietly, a faint exhale following the word, “if I’m bein’ honest— You’ve convinced me of a lot already.”
He shifted his weight and leaned back against the blackened husk of a tree, crossing his arms as though grounding himself there. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth, not amusement so much as acceptance.
“Listen.. When I came out here lookin’ for you,” Aerys admitted, “I didn’t know what I’d find.” His gaze drifted briefly across the trench, over the scorched earth and the bodies pressed into it like some macabre garden. “A king hidin’ from the world and the weight of his own shadow? A reclusive war-god sharpenin’ his ego? Or hell, maybe just a ghost—the vestige of somethin' that used to be, hauntin’ the places he couldn’t save.”
His eyes returned to Zeik’s, steady and unflinching.
“Didn’t expect to find someone tryin’ to shoulder the entire bloody planet instead.” Relief touched his expression, subtle but unmistakable. He smiled and closed his eyes.
“I mean yeah, I won’t pretend it doesn’t sting,” he continued, voice lighter but no less sincere. “I would've liked to be the mate who convinced ya’ back to the Acrix. Make things a helluva lot simpler. Gods know we could use ya’.” Aerys shrugged faintly, looking at the clouds. “But.. I think the trip was worth it if only to learn you’re not turnin’ your back on home.”
A small, crooked grin slipped through despite himself. “Turns out you’re one of the only bastards actually doin’ somethin’ about protectin’ it.” He scoffed softly. “Which means a few loud mouths back there weren’t just arguin’ themselves hoarse over a fairy tale.”
He straightened then and inclined his head—not a bow, but something close. A gesture born of recognition rather than submission.
“For what it’s worth,” Aerys said, “I’m glad I got to meet you like this. Not as a Crown. Not as some half-rotted legend folks like to fear or worship.” His eyes searched Zeik’s face, thoughtful. “But as men… or, whatever the hell you actually are.”
His gaze lifted again, toward the invisible line of Zeik’s intent—eastward, beyond the forest, toward the throes of war and smoke.. and a name that carried too much weight for how little it was known.
“This Akundae,” Aerys repeated, the unfamiliar word tasting bitter on his tongue. He spat lightly into the ash. “Whoever he is… if you’re really walkin’ into the Empire’s throat to cut the head off the head of the snake..”
Flames sparked faintly beneath his feet, lifting him a few inches from the ground as his hands casually slid back into his pockets.
“Just—be careful, mate..” he added, a note of something rare threading his voice. Not fear. Not doubt. Something closer to hope. “I’ve got a feelin’ the world’s better off with you still breathin’. And… I’d like to have another chat someday. If you'd have me.”
.
Not with the restless impatience of a Crown waiting for his turn to speak, but with the stillness of a man who understood that some words lost their weight the moment they were interrupted. He allowed Zeik's words to land with the impact he intended, and marinated on them.
When he finally spoke, his voice had changed.
Softer than before—not diminished, not reverent in the way of awe, but tempered. Sharpened by intent.
“…well,” he said quietly, a faint exhale following the word, “if I’m bein’ honest— You’ve convinced me of a lot already.”
He shifted his weight and leaned back against the blackened husk of a tree, crossing his arms as though grounding himself there. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth, not amusement so much as acceptance.
“Listen.. When I came out here lookin’ for you,” Aerys admitted, “I didn’t know what I’d find.” His gaze drifted briefly across the trench, over the scorched earth and the bodies pressed into it like some macabre garden. “A king hidin’ from the world and the weight of his own shadow? A reclusive war-god sharpenin’ his ego? Or hell, maybe just a ghost—the vestige of somethin' that used to be, hauntin’ the places he couldn’t save.”
His eyes returned to Zeik’s, steady and unflinching.
“Didn’t expect to find someone tryin’ to shoulder the entire bloody planet instead.” Relief touched his expression, subtle but unmistakable. He smiled and closed his eyes.
“I mean yeah, I won’t pretend it doesn’t sting,” he continued, voice lighter but no less sincere. “I would've liked to be the mate who convinced ya’ back to the Acrix. Make things a helluva lot simpler. Gods know we could use ya’.” Aerys shrugged faintly, looking at the clouds. “But.. I think the trip was worth it if only to learn you’re not turnin’ your back on home.”
A small, crooked grin slipped through despite himself. “Turns out you’re one of the only bastards actually doin’ somethin’ about protectin’ it.” He scoffed softly. “Which means a few loud mouths back there weren’t just arguin’ themselves hoarse over a fairy tale.”
He straightened then and inclined his head—not a bow, but something close. A gesture born of recognition rather than submission.
“For what it’s worth,” Aerys said, “I’m glad I got to meet you like this. Not as a Crown. Not as some half-rotted legend folks like to fear or worship.” His eyes searched Zeik’s face, thoughtful. “But as men… or, whatever the hell you actually are.”
His gaze lifted again, toward the invisible line of Zeik’s intent—eastward, beyond the forest, toward the throes of war and smoke.. and a name that carried too much weight for how little it was known.
“This Akundae,” Aerys repeated, the unfamiliar word tasting bitter on his tongue. He spat lightly into the ash. “Whoever he is… if you’re really walkin’ into the Empire’s throat to cut the head off the head of the snake..”
Flames sparked faintly beneath his feet, lifting him a few inches from the ground as his hands casually slid back into his pockets.
“Just—be careful, mate..” he added, a note of something rare threading his voice. Not fear. Not doubt. Something closer to hope. “I’ve got a feelin’ the world’s better off with you still breathin’. And… I’d like to have another chat someday. If you'd have me.”
.
The team