hugtopia_logs | those crystal blues

Entry tags:

those crystal blues

♥ Who: Noctis and... some people!! CR-related.
♥ Where: @ the Caelum junior house
♥ When: around now, yolo
♥ What: a wall breaks, a flood rushes in. try not to drown.
♥ Rating: PG, thar be some blood

( here be a catch-all for a player plot, prompts in threads below )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Consciousness returns to him sluggishly; for a while he is trapped inside a dreamless sleep as his mind struggles to recover from the damage inflicted upon it. Even with the infinite sea of memories held tightly in check by Pyra's power, like the aftermath of a tsunami, destruction lingers, wounds to be licked and bandaged and given space to heal, peace and clarity to be rebuilt. Three times he nearly wakes, and each time he fights it, stubbornly burying himself beneath a mental blanket. He doesn't want to go back. He doesn't want to remember, to be in pain, to drown in so much that doesn't belong to him. Each time he gasps, he settles, and he returns to the dark where he knows he might be safe.

The fourth time his eyes scrunch, he sighs a breath, and he listens first.

He can hear the bells.

Her bells.

The dark doesn't feel as safe anymore. It's cold and lonely, and... if she's there when he wakes, maybe they'll be okay. Maybe he's still alive after all, maybe he's still... himself. More than any of that, he wants to see her. Whatever's happened, whatever's left of him wants to see her.

His eyes squint again and hesitantly, carefully, he opens them and looks up.

The tears, he sees first, a sheen of reflected light amidst a blur of shapes and colours. He did that, he knows. Mythra's going to kick his ass for making her cry again.

He remembers Mythra.

He remembers his family, his friends, his home. He remembers Lucis, growing up, journeying to save it. The gods, the weapons, the grief. So much that he'd once longed to forget, and now the memory of them grants him an astonishing comfort. He remembers himself, Noctis Lucis Caelum, and... there was a lot more than that, so many memories, so many people, that are now little more than a fleeting glance, like flipping through a photo album of someone else's life, passing by an endless field of wheat rather than picturing and memorizing every individual grain. He takes a deep breath, and he isn't drowning anymore.

He remembers her.

Pyra he mouths again, trying to remember how to speak, trying to remember what his voice is, what language he knows, what anything means. He does it again, the only word that comes to his mind at first, over and over, Pyra, Pyra, Pyra. To see her and know her means so much, in this moment. He's not lost. He's not gone. He didn't lose her, or them. He made her cry, but he's alive to see it. His lip twitches at the corner, trying to smile for her (remember how to smile?), and for a while can only gaze up at her and relish in this feeling of relief, to be so at peace again. It's so... quiet. The world is so quiet again.]

[ She remembers when he had struggled to hold every single light within the palms of his shaky hands. Here she is simply trying to hold one light, his light, and in the time it takes for him to merely stir once, that hold seems precarious at best. Her hope struggles in these moments: still you. He'll still be himself. And if not, she can love any new change, too, for his heart and soul is so much bigger than the Crystal of his world, or so she'd like to believe. His light can surely shine through it all. Surely.

But as the bell slowly tolls, doubt returns as a whisper she wishes not to answer: had she been too late? Had the damage been done?

Her eyes are shining still, but she's stopped crying. Now her fingers brush gently over his forehead, parting his bangs as his lips move, scarcely forming the two silent syllables of her name. She waits for him, watches him as he appears to come to, not wanting to stir him as he navigates out from both memories and slumber. ]

Noct. [ Her voice is soft but strong, beckoning, welcoming, as if she were only greeting him as he would return to their home after a long day. Her other hand gives his a squeeze. ] I'm here. It's going to be okay.

[Her voice calling his name, saying something like that with such certainty, is like a heavy ram breaking through the locked gate of his heart, and all at once he inhales with a sharp gasp as all of his emotions rush back into focus, recognition of thoughts, feelings, panic that he'd felt when it all started to go wrong. Memories. He'd had- he'd had memories, so many, too many. He'd been locked in a cycle of them, he'd been too overwhelmed to function, he was...]

...Pyra, [he finally manages, his voice barely there but audible, in a language he knows and understands. The ability to speak gives him some confidence, so he takes a gulping breath and tries again,] What... happened?

[He'd thought... he'd thought he was over, he'd thought everything was over. His life, his soul, everything that compiled his existence into a person that thought and felt and remembered. He'd become at once thousands, millions of people, all their hopes and dreams, their love and hate, their gain and loss. All the sights witnessed by every individual blade of grass in hundreds of fields across the world, the movement of every grain of sand. Trying to separate himself from it all was impossible; everything was so interconnected, threads woven together like knitted cloth. It's there, but it's distant at the same time. He can look at it and see the whole picture. The wall protecting him is a window, and he can close the curtains if he likes, keep his mind safe and away from it.

She did something, but the muddle of his thoughts won't part enough to give him the answer. Hadn't they talked about this...?]

[ Pyra smiles mournfully at him, not because he's come to, but because it's come to this, to a fear realized that the memories would overwhelm him. Relief returns to her with a quiet inhale as he says her name at last, but what a question it is. ]

I found you... near-collapsed. [ It feels almost like a lifetime away, the moment he had sent her that message. ] You couldn't even speak. Or-- you did, but it was in some strange language I couldn't understand.

[ He had been bleeding. ]

You seemed like you were being possessed by another memory. More than one, one after the other, and-- [ She pauses, controlling the urgency of her tone, slowing it, pausing, composing herself. The worst is over. ]

...Here. [ The hand that holds his own guides it up his torso, allowing his palm to rest upon the cut crystal that's set upon his chest, equal in color to her own. ]

I did what I could.

[His hand is guided up and his fingers make contact with something stiff and smooth, rather than soft fabric or pliant skin, and he blinks slowly, incapable of understanding for a long moment. That's not... supposed to be there. That's not how his body feels. His gaze drifts to the side, staring out towards the field of Elysium, as if the answer could be found in the distance somewhere. The endless waves of greenery and empty buildings tell him nothing, so he turns back to her and tries to focus there instead. She was crying... but she's smiling. That's good. She looks the same as ever, unchanged, infallible, she-

-wait. There's a void of dark in her chest that wasn't there before. His brows furrow, trying to figure it out, and eventually understanding slides into place like a puzzle piece. There's... a section missing from her crystal. On her chest.

On his chest.

His fingers curl, sliding off the warm, smooth surface, and he looks down to find the missing fragment resting on him, below his neck, gleaming with a soft inner light. No blood or wound, just there as if it's been made a part of him, like it's always been a part of her. He can feel it now, not an invasive or painful sliver, but a... pulse, almost. A soft tether wound around him, linking them together, as sure as her magic has done countless times before. Only this time she didn't have to reach out to him for it, didn't have to consciously pour her power into him. It just is, the way his own magic is, the two weaving seamlessly as they always have.

They did talk about this before, he thinks, though the memory is sluggish to emerge in full. He asked for help, for her to save him, and she did. She gave him a part of herself, the way she'd offered months back. Whatever else this might mean for the future, that's... that's what matters.

He closes his eyes, taking a slow, deep breath of the sweet air of Elysium, and brushes his thumb weakly against her hand where she holds him.]

You... did enough. You did plenty.

[She gave him her crystal. Even through the jumbled chaos his mind has become, he can recognize the significance. To save him, she entrusted this with him. More than shared skulls or crystalline bracelets, this is the core of who she is, what those in her world fought, hunted, and killed for, something she'd so carefully hidden and protected, feared would be in the public eye and cause pain to herself or those around them. Despite all of that, she kept her promise, and she used her power to save him. That's more than enough, more than he might even be worthy of. This is her gift, and he'll take it, and his life, gladly.]

Th... thank you. [His hand tightens for a moment, grip too weak to keep that strength up for long but wanting her to feel it, to hold on to her.] Pyra, thank you... you saved me, I thought...

[He was so close. He doesn't know the true scope of it but he knows, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he could have died like that, and he doesn't know who else could have saved him in time. It's a terrifying thought, but at the same time, out of everyone, he's glad that it was her.]

[ It strikes her that mortals must have many near-death experiences in their lifetime, to some of which they may be ignorant, but for him? Sure, he must be exhausted of having too many memorable near-death experiences. First when he was young, then many when he became an combatant, then the Fetter, now this. She's only witnessed two of them, and she's ill of watching him come so close to expiring, to say nothing of what he suffers simply going through them. Ironic that for every time he survives, it's another reminder of what finite time he has, that he'll one day march to this throne and perish.

But he's said her name again, he's thanking her. He's there, his mind is not overpowered or overwritten by another's memories. She had been worried for a few moments, worried that he'd wake and no knowing of himself, only that he was carrying the world.

She adjusts him upon her lap, her arm going around his back to prop him up as she leans down at the same time, bringing him up into an angled embrace, tucking her head over his shoulder. ]

And I'd do it again. [ Her voice is hoarse, strained with the desire to holdback another tide of sorrow-- or... relief? She's no longer distraught, though. Sorrow lingers but relief continues to flood her, overwhelming. She's smiling through that sadness, so, so glad and thankful that he's awake and speaking with her.

She thought she'd lose him too. If not physically then in spirit and in mind, to a force that would take over the will of his soul. The threat of his crystal overpowering him is so much more horrifying to quantify. ]

[He's moved willingly into an embrace, and while his arms lack the strength to rise and hold her back properly he closes his eyes and buries his face to her neck, hoping to offer some semblance of comfort to her in return. He can only imagine what a wretched picture she'd come home to, though his memory of it is still fuzzy and buried for the most part. If he looks even half as bad as he feels, and had collapsed as she said, been asleep for long enough... once again, he'd left her worried and crying. There is some guilt to be found there, he knows, but for once he tries not to linger overmuch. He's still exhausted, and that's part of it, but this worry she carried helped save his life when he'd called for it. He's still alive to regret it, and that's better than leaving her lost and grieving his death. He knows deep down what she'd choose, and so would he. He had, months ago, when he'd given her permission to do this should he be too lost to make the decision as he'd been with the Fetter. He can live with this. He will live with this.

It hits him again, then, the cause of her distress, and he blinks rapidly, breath catching. He almost died. He almost died. Why had he almost died? The power of the crystal was supposed to save the world, not destroy its Chosen. Not like this, at least. This isn't anything like what Bahamut had promised. He's grateful she made the decision but it should never have been her responsibility to save him from his own power.]

I... I-I don't understand... [His shoulders tremble, hands clenching and unclenching, brushing subtly against her as he fights the weakness of his body.] You shouldn't have had to...

[Had he just been living on the edge of death's door all this time, one mental barrier away from being overwhelmed by the deluge of his world's history? Had something happened, or was it simply a matter of one ticking clock that finally ran its course? He feels like he has more questions than ever, and no one to answer them.]

[ That she shouldn't have had to doesn't change her answer: she'd do this again, without regrets, always, and she holds him firmly as his body shakes within her arms. She waits for him takes a few breathes, her hand petting softly up and down his forearm. ]

This... this couldn't be the way it was supposed to happen in your world.

[ He's in his crystal in his world. He has ten years to incubate, so to speak. Perhaps the pressure is gentler, than way, the memories-- while still myriad-- are not fed to him all at once, but over time. Still terrible, but able for him to bear all while he's protected and supported by magic.

This seems to have happened all at once. Perhaps by removing him from the Crsytal and the peace of stasis, this realm also removed the one thing that could have protected him from a flood of memories. If so, she's glad she found him. ] It would have killed you.

[He can only nod his head, for lack of a better answer for her. Even if he hadn't been inside the crystal for that long, even if he'd only received a fragment of the memories, it still would have all been too much for him to survive. What if that Providence thing had been complete? How long would he have lasted until he met the same fate, and with no one around who could save him like this?

He wrestles with it for a long moment, struggling to find the answer, finding none that makes sense. When he opens his eyes he meets Carbuncle's, unexpectedly. The little Messenger is sitting behind Pyra, having shuffled away when she'd lifted him up, and is now watching them quietly with mournful eyes. It looks at Noctis, sad but expectant, flicking one ear.

Noctis thinks back at how familiar this all feels, he remembers the last time they talked about this in here where Carbuncle had offered some semblance of answers, and with one more puzzle piece sliding into place he exhales, an indecipherable noise that could be a laugh or sob or both.]

It's... been a while since I woke up here, and started getting those memories. [His journal, left abandoned on the floor with the dates and visions all laid plain. More than a year ago.]

[ Pyra relaxes her embrace, allowing him to rest back down upon her lap. She's smiling down at him, adoring whatever expression it is that he makes. Happy, sad, bittersweet, wry. She'd like him to feel peace, but at this point she'll take anything, so long as he is alive. ...How dismal is that thought. It sounds like settling for misery, which she doesn't wish to do. No, it's different from that-- she's simply grateful that he's not gone.

It's true, it has been a while, but his words make her wonder at the impact the torrent of memories he's just had imposed upon him. ]

....The last time you woke up here. That memory... is it distant? [ She has to ask, she wants to know if the memories unique to him have been pushed aside to make room for the others. ]

...I... don't know.

[He truly doesn't. He's struggled with memory before; so much of his life before the Marilith attack is gone, lost to time and trauma, and that was an issue back when it happened, one that never truly mended. It felt similar to this, but now it's infinitely worse: what used to come to mind with speed and clarity is now sluggish and unclear, specifics and dialogue obscured by an overstimulated mind. He doesn't think it's permanent (gods, he hopes it isn't) but how would he even begin to know for sure? He's alive, and he's still himself, but that doesn't make him... whole, or the same as he was before. There's no way he could have gone through that and been left untouched. There'll be scars for this.

It's his own fault for hesitating, for waiting so long without asking her for help before. He'll bear that burden, and would manage to do so without too much regret if it meant she didn't have to bear it with him. She does, though. They're connected now, more than before, and she's felt the weight of all he carried, everything he hadn't known about until today. She knows what almost killed him.

He tries to think back on the times he's been here with her; many of them blur together or break into fragments, thoughts of him with Pyra, with Mythra, curling up under her tree or rolling through the grass, of fish and queens and secret kisses where no one else can see. He remembers that, at least. The feel of her touch and the sound of her voice, even if the specifics of how she held him and what she said are drowned in a waveless lake of more, more, more that does not belong to him. It might take a while for all of that to resurface, or it might just be drowned for good.]

...The lake, [he says finally, visions of blue and green and grey coming slowly to mind, of her holding him, of precious little else.] I remember the lake. [His breathe stutters, and he clenches his eyes shut.] I saw- I saw how lakes were made, Pyra...

[He doesn't want to forget. He doesn't want to remember all of that and forget so much of what matters more to him.]

[ What comfort she might have received from him mentioning the lake is quickly undone by his next words.

He saw how lakes were made. Not just one, many. Not just rainwater collecting into divots of land, only to vanish with the following month. Not just some great monster or deity carving out a chunk of the earth to form one.

Suddenly, and quite jarringly, she understands the true extent of all that's been imposed upon him by the memories of his world. Had he only said that he'd seen civilizations rise and fall, that would be a mere millisecond on a clock of a whole world's time. This is so much more.

He saw how lakes were made: the gruelingly long processes of soil giving way to storms; of deep valleys within the mountains being filled with liters of water over centuries; of ancient glaciers receding over tens of thousands of years, leaving rolling hills and lakes so vast they seem like oceans themselves. Perhaps the memories go further to ancient seas receding inch by inch, leaving pockets of water within deeper ground. Hundreds, thousands, millions of years worth of memories before mankind was ever present, all granted to him within the span of a few minutes.

Her hand brushes over his forehead again, then through his hair, repeating the motion again. ]

I'm so sorry, Noct. [ She whispers, keeping her voice as even as she can. ] You... you were never meant to bear all of that history. [ Pyra leans down to kiss the top of his head, staying close. ] I'm so sorry this has happened to you-- it's.. unfair. It isn't right. You're not a god.

[ Why give him all this knowledge, then? She doesn't know. She closes her eyes, tightly, holding him again. ] But it's over. You're safe. I'm keeping you safe.

[He shudders against her, tilting subtly into her touch, seeking comfort to chase away his lingering fear. His belief that the memories had been coming from the ring is so stupid now, in retrospect. So naive. What had led him to believe that? A desperate hope that it wouldn't be worse? That the memories of a hundred or so rulers over 2000 years was plenty, he wouldn't need more? What changed was the crystal, not the ring. He'd had the ring before. Both times Luna gave it to him, and he'd carried it, worn it, well before meeting with Bahamut. The memories came after, with the promise of Providence and all its power.

He's not a god. He's not even close, even touched by five of the Astrals, by three of their Messengers, he's still just human. Subject to fast healing and incredible power but nonetheless the same limitations as any mortal. He needs a heart to pump blood through his body, lungs to breathe, a brain to function. Human brains have limits, a max capacity. He thinks of Prompto's camera, the journey they'd been on- when they took too many photos, they'd had to delete some, decide every day which to keep and which to discard. Memories of one day erased to make room for another. He's terrified to think about what might've been destroyed to make space for whatever lingers from today, whose memory he'll carry in exchange for something lost. Will he even know it's gone? Will anyone notice, or will the void surprise him one day when he least expects it?

What's done is done, he knows. He chose this path, stubbornly, worriedly, determined to carry what the Draconian gave to him without much complaint, so that he might learn the truth of what it all meant one day, fulfill his destiny, complete the duty assigned to him. If the memories were important, he shouldn't lock them away and hide from it. He'd been trying to handle it.

The truth of it, now, makes it so much worse: he was never supposed to live this long. A year, outside of the crystal? He'd be lucky if he had a week. He would never have had to carry this for months, years. The knowledge of all his world's history, how it grew and shaped over the centuries, how many people lived there, all their hopes and dreams for the future- these memories weren't for him to carry the rest of his life. They were thousands of hands pushing at his back, pulling him towards the throne and his death. Reminders, were he ever to doubt or balk from his fate, that his life didn't belong to him anymore, that there was no happy ending to be found years down the road. He would die for the world or the world would kill him, and that was that.

If that's the case, then... he'd rather give his life to her. She'll care for him better than any god of his own world ever has. She can have it, all of it- these memories, his power, his trust, his love. Whatever he's lost, he'll make new memories, if he's allowed to keep them. He'll make more and more, burying fate and duty and loss and pain with time spent in better company, those who love him and wish him well, who want him to live. No more gods. No more prophecy. Not here. He's given enough.]

Please...

[He doesn't know what else to say. Keep me safe, protect me, love me, stay with me, help me. His thoughts swirl and resonate, and it's all he can do to cling to her and depend on that promise of safety. He doesn't want to be strong, infallible, powerful, carrying the fate and every burden of an entire world. He wants to be small and weak and held by someone who loves him and will fight to protect him from everything else that wishes him harm.]

[ He needn't say anything more besides please. He asks-- he finally asks for something-- and she understands everything he doesn't say. She'll stay, she'll help, she'll be with him, love him, hold him, support him. She'd do that even if he wouldn't ask. ]

Always.

[ Her whisper is low and soft enough to be a promise. Strengthened by their new connection that binds them, it resonates to both of their crystals. He doesn't deserve all of this burden upon him, and if this is the least she can do to help, she would support him for as long as she can. ] Always, always, always...

[ She'll hold him like that for as long as he needs, whispering words of encouragement as needed and occasionally petting along his upper arm or brushing her fingers over his hair. She reminds him that he's here, that she's there, that outside of this place there are so many others here, too.

Pyra squeezes his shoulder gently, attempting to be encouraging, wanting him to express himself, to share what he feels safe with sharing. They've come this far not to be so silent, and if she cannot help him with every worry that passes through his mind, she can at least hold him throughout it. The can watch his thoughts pass by from a distance together. It's easier that way. ]

Talk to me, Noct. What are you feeling.

[Her answer is a balm and the sweetest gift she could have offered; without him even saying it, she knew. He's so grateful for that, and he only nods and clings to her hand, letting her presence, the grass, the sweet air of Elysium soothe his rattled nerves and bring him some semblance of peace that he's so desperately needed. He loves this. He loves her. He wants to remember this, moments like this, and the feelings they inspire within him.

When she asks him that very fair question, he can't answer right away. He's feeling so much all at once, his thoughts a tumbling mess, not sure of where to even begin. And of course there's the issue of how much he might say that would hurt her, when she's already struggling because of him and the state she'd had to find him in. He doesn't want to add to that.

It's true that they're well passed that stage, however; even without their strengthened connection, they've trusted one another with these thoughts and fears before, misgivings and anger and grief, gains and losses alike. She'll worry if he tells her. She'll worry if he doesn't. He knows which one they'd both prefer, even if it's difficult.

He lays like that for a little bit longer, breathing deep, feeling her hand in his hair, looking almost as if he might be asleep if not for the unsteady way his chest rises and falls. Finally his eyes creep open once more, and he's able to look up at her. She looks... better than before, as if his voice and presence has helped her, too. He feels better. It'll be okay.]

...I... was thinking. When we talked about it with Carbuncle... it said that Bahamut had something to do with this, right?

[His question is tentative, bordering on hopeful. Carbuncle is his guide and protector, but those words could have come from another's memory, some conversation the Draconian shared with Somnus or Ardyn or a different ancestor who'd held the god's favour at one point. He won't be sure how true his own memories are for a while, and for that one, she's the only person he can ask.]

[ She nods at him, quiet as she brings up the memory within her own mind. Finally, she repeats: ]

'The Draconian's claws sink deep.'

[ Carbuncle's other words implied that what's done was done... But that he could also 'figure something out', as if there was something they could do to help Noctis remain at ease away from the Draconian in another world, because he's not alone.

And they did figure something out, albeit a little late.

Her gaze drops to the crystal upon his chest. It's helping him so far, and their energies seem to be integrating well. But what if Bahamut were to appear here? Would she have to fight against him to keep her own Crystal on Noctis, to prevent the damage of Eos' irreparably harming him? ]

[He's not even thinking about Bahamut coming here- though if he realized it, he would share those fears himself. Rather, he's worrying about motive after the fact. Maybe it matters less now that the memories are sealed up so neatly, but it's... disappointing? Distressing? He's not sure. But it hurts to know that the Six had so little faith in him that their added security measure would take his life, that they would rather doom the planet than risk granting him a little extra time to say farewell to the world he would die for. Did they think that the memories of the planet would make him love it more? He would die for his friends alone, he didn't need all of the crystal's history to do that.

He notices the shift in direction of her gaze, and his hand is drawn to it again, idly brushing over the surface, feeling where skin becomes crystal. It's a strange sensation, one that's difficult to name and come to terms with. He can't (and would never) say it's a bad thing - it's hers, and it saved his life - but there's undeniably conflicting feelings about it, now that it's happened. She'd worried so much over her existence as a crystal or some non-human entity. What does this make him, now? What does it change for the both of them?]

What... [His brows furrow, and he pauses to consider his words carefully, lest he choose the wrong thing and say something unintentionally hurtful.] What does this mean, for me? And for you?

It means...

[ She follows his fingers as they trail up to the crystal on his chest, watching them palpate at object now set there. Her words trail off into silent thought for a moment, and then she begins again. ]

We're not less than we were before. Us, meaning you and I. [ She's not any less of who she is for having placed the crystal upon him, not in personhood, at least. He's not being overridden by any impact of the effects of her own crystal, either. In the aftermath of all of those memories trying to overwhelm him, she feels that must at least be clarified first.

Pyra's gaze lifts up to meet his eyes, a little more sure now that she's said that aloud. Hearing those words has helped to ground her, too. ] We're more connected than we were before.

[ Her brow puckers slightly, and she asks, hesitant: ] Do you feel it...?

Mm...

[He nods before he thinks about it, because he can, he knows that much. He'd felt it in waves before, but now that he's able to focus on it, it's all the stronger. Like his usual well of energy is a little beefier than before, or at least the potential might be there, since he's more or less drained from everything that just happened. Or that it would be easier, were she to share her power with him, that connection weaving seamlessly around his own magic, twisting ribbons and support structures to strengthen what already exists. It feels almost as if there's more clarity to the world around him, like he's seeing it differently- though maybe that's just because now he's seeing it through his own eyes, rather than ones clouded by the visions, thoughts, and memories of those who came before seeping into the corners. Hard to say.

He can definitely feel something, though.]

It's sort of like... when I gave you my power, isn't it? The way it felt different, then... it's that, again. But it's yours.

[Not less, though... that's good. He's not sure what he'd expected when she brought it up the first time, but it was some time ago and they hadn't really discussed it since, nor had he pried too hard into the details. At least... he doesn't recall doing so. Maybe he should have, but they'd both been riding pretty high on emotions back then. And here they are again, feeling similarly because he'd almost kicked it a second time.

He... should probably not let this happen again, if he can help it.]

Mm.

[ Her hand trails up his chest, resting upon his that's over his crystal. Knowing him, he'll probably cover it in some way. No one would be the wiser, if he wanted to hide it. But is that really the way to go, moving forward? Not that it might inconvenience him too much, granted that he never dresses himself like Gladio without a shirt or wears low-cut necklines, but... ]

And just in case you didn't know, I like how we're connected in this way, too. [ Her eyes are bittersweet, if only because she wishes he didn't have to suffer, but there is no regret to be found upon her expression. ] I'm not ashamed of it. If someone sees that crystal on you, that's fine with me.

[ She didn't have to be 'brave' to decide to save his life. The decision came instantly.

Similarly, she no longer has to find inspiration to be brave to continue to be connected to him to keep his life ensured, a failsafe in place. If this somehow gives away to others that she's more than what she is (if they didn't figure it out already), then so be it. As it turns out, love is the greatest motivator for change. ]

Shame isn't what I worry about.

[His gaze shifts back to her, first her face, then her own crystal. It isn't that he'd expected her to regret doing something that saved him, but her words are a little surprising to him nonetheless.]

I know you don't usually hide yours, but... me having one, too. Won't that make people question you?

[What she is, who she is... she's been so careful, and he's kept her secrets as best he could all of this time. Wearing one of her crystals on his arm is one thing- that's just jewelry, easily explained. A crystal embedded into his own chest, though? That seems like something that would merit more justification than an aesthetic choice. He hates the idea of her having to feel uneasy or unsafe just for his sake, or that the truth might come out accidentally or through more prying than they can fend off.]

Maybe, but... [ She exhales, wanting nothing but to shake her head and smile at him. Really, he's concerned about her right now, in the midst of his recovery? It's such a him thing to do.

Pyra's hand lifts from his head, curling all fingers into her palm save for her index finger, which she taps upon his nose lightly. ] Don't you worry about that. If people question it, people question it. I--... I think I'm ready for any that come my way, and you can tell them that I've lent you a part of my crystal, to help you, if you want.

[ Perhaps this had been the final push needed for her to realize that there are so many more important things to worry about than be concerned about all of her secrets. She's not saying that she'd simply spill all of them, just that helping him and the means how isn't something she should fear hiding. That fear didn't prevent her from making the decision save him. That fear won't stop her from continuing to have her crystal spliced. ] I'll face those questions without regrets. Without fear.

[He takes those words in, stunned into silence for a bit, recognizing the weight of them, what it means- and what it means for them, that she's willing to risk this for him, go to such lengths to keep on protecting him. He's known for a long time that she'd do a lot for him, they've both said as much plenty of times before, and she's fought alongside him, aided him when he needed with her power and all her support. She's coaxed him away from dozens of metaphorical ledges in all their time together. This is different, though. Like a proclamation to the world that his life matters more than her fear of what might happen if she's exposed. Considering that he's seen what could happen, should her power be abused... he's no fool, he knows the worth of what she's offering him. Not just that, but he's proud of her, too. He's respected her wishes and kept those secrets, but if this somehow is able to help her come out of her shell a little, share more of herself with the friends she's made here... she'll be better for it, he thinks. To have not just him as a confidant but more people who've grown to care for her as he has. She deserves that.

With that promise as inspiration, at last he's able to find enough strength to slide his hand up and take hers, twining their fingers, and muster a smile. He still feels like garbage, and it's taking more energy than he cares to admit, but he can't not smile at such a gift.]

They're... gonna love you, all the same. [Hard to imagine anyone not loving her, no matter what she is or the danger she might represent.] And if anyone comes at you for it, they'll have to go through me. I'll protect you, too.

[ It's not strange how it's easy to smile when she sees his own, because his provides greater relief than when he had initially woken up.

For all of her worry and fear of being secretive-- and it's not as if she's going to go around declaring what she is outright-- it is so easy to make this choice, to continue to make this choice daily, to keep her crystal spliced, a part on him, the rest on her. ]

For one who looks so beat up, that took no time at all for you to worry about me. Stop that. [ Spoken affectionately, of course, and it's followed by a soft, breathy chuckle, a grateful look shining in her eyes. How does she know that he's still him? After the throes of suffering, after a near death experience:

"I'll protect you, too."

Honestly, this man...

Oh. She knows what might cheer him up a little more, on that same note, and not wanting to come right back to the topic of memories and something more unpleasant, she adds: ]

You'll be able to use my sword.

[Her gentle reprimand earns a mild pout from him, no more bothered by it than she was. That's all he'll say on the matter, though. She doesn't need to hear from him that he'll support her; she knows he will, just like he knows she'd do the same (and is, currently). He'll prove it with his actions if the opportunity arises, though he hopes - and doubts - it'll happen. Havenwell's full of good people. He'd like it to stay that way.

Her comment on the sword makes him blink, looking up at her in surprise.]

Your sword? What, Durandal? [He could already use that one if he wanted...]

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