R'alma still has nightmares sometimes. About becoming a Lightwarden. About being possessed by Zenos.
About dying at the edge of the universe.
In those moments of terror upon waking, he clings to what grounds him...
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WolGraha Week 2023 - Day 4: ~Sacrifice~
The atmosphere is tense aboard the Ragnarok when R'alma returns a beaten, bloody mess. G'raha is compelled to do something incredibly reckless to try to save his life.
Preview and link under the cut. This one got away from me real bad, it's about 2300 words. Oops.
The waiting was truly unbearable. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this anxious waiting for something.
“R’alma’s coming, right behind me,” Meteion had said, before disappearing again without so much as an explanation.
That was nearly a bell past now. G’raha had taken to pacing the Ragnarok’s deck in an attempt to cope with his trepidation.
It had been even longer since they had all been forcibly transported back to the ship – an act for which he would have no shortage of harsh words upon R’alma’s eventual return. A moment of stunned silence fell between them as they sat there collecting themselves, realizing what had just happened, before all erupted into a flurry of startled shouting and arguing.
Unable to come to a unified consensus, they had been just about to split up and conduct an array of separate investigations and searches when the small bluebird had appeared in their midst and delivered her hope-filled message.
Leaving them no choice but to wait for their friend’s imminent arrival. An arrival that was still pending at present.
After some time with no sign, Thancred and Estinien had set out to scout for any leads or clues as to the whereabouts of the Warrior of Light. They had returned just moments ago, empty-handed and thoroughly unnerved. No one was arguing anymore, or speaking much at all for that matter, too caught up in private thoughts or anxiety or prayers to whatever deity might be listening. Even the twins’ bickering had long since fizzled out in favor of uneasy silence.
G’raha fiddled with his bracer, turning to pace the length of the deck once more. Thancred and Estinien were discussing in low tones some other route they might take. Or perhaps the merits of setting out again at all. He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t particularly care, his ears straining instead for other sounds that were not his footsteps on the metal plating or the quiet voices of his companions.
And then they flicked and swiveled as they finally caught it – a low, soft hum in the air, like one might frequently detect around a busy Aetheryte plaza. The sound of aether being shifted and coalesced.
A teleportation spell resolving.
The hum rose to a sharp, swift hiss as a dark mass appeared on the floor in the middle of the deck. G’raha stepped toward it, noting the familiar sight of velvety black robes…
...and then froze in place as his heart jumped into his throat.
“Oh, gods, no,” he murmured.
(Keep reading here!)
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