it’s in springstar, it’s in highstorm, and worry for the balance of the world has dextera going to what feels like the center of it all. it may be fate or just a cosmic coincidence, but someone is there—he sees them at the same time they see him, a familiar voice calling out. dextera’s breath stops in his throat, and his slow, cautious steps grow stumbling in his sudden haste. mud splatters the pristine hem of his uniform and nearly soaks his knees as well when he trips over a root and only catches himself by his palms.
although he knows now he can commune without removing his shard, it simply doesn’t occur to him here and now, in the face of such an unexpected reunion. ]
—!
[ his breath is ragged in his throat from surprise rather than exertion, as if his heart is beating so violently that air has no place to rest in his lungs.
unable to decide where to look, dextera is already clumsily unbuttoning his overcoat, glancing down at himself and at makoto a few times alternating until he’s shrugged it half off and has a wild look in his eyes.
it’s makoto, makoto. there’s no one else he’s thought of so much since the collapse of horos—makoto is one of the only names he’s kept etched into his heart, when so many others have faded from memory to spare him the despair of loss.
he wonders: is this a manifestation of hope? a sign that those lives aren’t gone, as meridian has promised? ]
no subject
it’s in springstar, it’s in highstorm, and worry for the balance of the world has dextera going to what feels like the center of it all. it may be fate or just a cosmic coincidence, but someone is there—he sees them at the same time they see him, a familiar voice calling out. dextera’s breath stops in his throat, and his slow, cautious steps grow stumbling in his sudden haste. mud splatters the pristine hem of his uniform and nearly soaks his knees as well when he trips over a root and only catches himself by his palms.
although he knows now he can commune without removing his shard, it simply doesn’t occur to him here and now, in the face of such an unexpected reunion. ]
—!
[ his breath is ragged in his throat from surprise rather than exertion, as if his heart is beating so violently that air has no place to rest in his lungs.
unable to decide where to look, dextera is already clumsily unbuttoning his overcoat, glancing down at himself and at makoto a few times alternating until he’s shrugged it half off and has a wild look in his eyes.
it’s makoto, makoto. there’s no one else he’s thought of so much since the collapse of horos—makoto is one of the only names he’s kept etched into his heart, when so many others have faded from memory to spare him the despair of loss.
he wonders: is this a manifestation of hope? a sign that those lives aren’t gone, as meridian has promised? ]