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084 » your voice resonates in the corners of summer
[they had to have known that he wasn't what he claimed to be.
from the start, the man whom the scions of the seventh dawn welcomed into their own as just another operative, and then the warrior of light — from the start, his story was not one that could be believed. he was doman, clearly, by his appearance and demeanor, but not of the resistance; he was not someone yugiri or any of her people remembered from the garlean occupation. asahi, he called himself. just asahi. no surnames, no country of origin, because asahi oen brutus said too much, and asahi naeuri told more of his story than he needed them to know. but he knew they knew he was a liar. he knew they would learn, eventually, the awful and terrible truth of who their savior really was.
hand-picked and blessed by hydaelyn. it means nothing now that the doman resistance camp is engulfed in flames. y'shtola is lying a distance behind asahi, bleeding out; alphinaud and krile are doing their best to keep her alive, their trembling hands belying their fear, because y'shtola was always the better healer, and what will they do if they fail where she would have succeeded, if only she could save herself?
yugiri would scream in frustration if she had the voice for it now. she charges forward in one last desperate gambit, her hitherto collected demeanor falling to pieces as the weight of her country's plight crashes down around her and the whole hopeless futile struggle drives her to near-tears, but she's lost too much of her cool. a disinterested sweep of the crown prince's blade sends her flying, and then, when she skids to a halt in the rain-soaked mud by asahi's feet, she is too still. her arm is resting at too unnatural an angle. the rain stains her hair and her face and her tanto, and she doesn't get up.
coldly, asahi steps around her, his eyes keen and focused and unmoving on his prize.]
Alisaie. Take Yugiri and retreat.
from the start, the man whom the scions of the seventh dawn welcomed into their own as just another operative, and then the warrior of light — from the start, his story was not one that could be believed. he was doman, clearly, by his appearance and demeanor, but not of the resistance; he was not someone yugiri or any of her people remembered from the garlean occupation. asahi, he called himself. just asahi. no surnames, no country of origin, because asahi oen brutus said too much, and asahi naeuri told more of his story than he needed them to know. but he knew they knew he was a liar. he knew they would learn, eventually, the awful and terrible truth of who their savior really was.
hand-picked and blessed by hydaelyn. it means nothing now that the doman resistance camp is engulfed in flames. y'shtola is lying a distance behind asahi, bleeding out; alphinaud and krile are doing their best to keep her alive, their trembling hands belying their fear, because y'shtola was always the better healer, and what will they do if they fail where she would have succeeded, if only she could save herself?
yugiri would scream in frustration if she had the voice for it now. she charges forward in one last desperate gambit, her hitherto collected demeanor falling to pieces as the weight of her country's plight crashes down around her and the whole hopeless futile struggle drives her to near-tears, but she's lost too much of her cool. a disinterested sweep of the crown prince's blade sends her flying, and then, when she skids to a halt in the rain-soaked mud by asahi's feet, she is too still. her arm is resting at too unnatural an angle. the rain stains her hair and her face and her tanto, and she doesn't get up.
coldly, asahi steps around her, his eyes keen and focused and unmoving on his prize.]
Alisaie. Take Yugiri and retreat.