Legend of Ransera

Sivan smiled and nodded, acknowledging the thanks without disrupting the flow of what was becoming a mission. Thankfully, there wasn't anything bubbling in an alembic that needed tending just now, and so he could continue to be spontaneous for Destyn and for Laurevere.

His mouth silently formed 'Grauschweig' so he would remember where to mark it on his map. The map was not the sort one would purchase from a cartographer, but rather specific to Sivan's interests and his work with the Kindred of Zaichaer. Thankfully, it seemed to be just what Rath needed.

Relevant aid given, Sivan went back to playing host as they broke their fast and made their plans.

When the time came to go through the portal, he took his turn. Laurevere hung back with him while Destyn's new friends aided and abetted him. They weren't near the Grove; Sivan knew that much. The coven kept their environs harmonious, and they were farther from human habitations. These woods, it seemed, were taking longer to recover from the Eclipse, and perhaps even the rift that tore through Zaichaer before that, spewing Dread Mists and decay.

Perhaps it just needed time. The Zaichaeri were rebuilding quickly, but he gathered that they were rebuilding in a manner more sustainable than their forebears, although that might only be a mild correction in the grand scheme of things. In any case, he was likely here for moral support, so he was quiet and watchful.

"Thirty-two," he murmured sadly.

While he could hear and sense some of what Rath was doing, Sivan was largely present as moral support for Destyn. Laurevere was too, he thought, though he would likely say he just wanted to keep Sivan safe while in the wild. It was nice to have a good neighbor.

Lips pursed slightly as he considered the rock daimon, but he followed just as the rest of them did.

When the marten stopped, Sivan stopped short and Laurevere bumped into him. The elemental creature was terrified, though perhaps not everyone could sense it as it merely stood stock still. It took a moment for Sivan to suss what might have caused that fear. His first impression of the small clearing was understandable: the Metal and Water of spilled blood; the faint sweet scent of decay.

There, was more, however: the flora almost seemed to weep blood, and whether he sensed that through one rune or another, the others didn't seem to react to it. But he felt a tension within him, Exael alert to his opposite. There was a darkness clinging to this place and it was almost certainly...

"Infernal," he murmured.

Though he wanted to reach for his blade, he knew that diplomacy might prove the better part of valor.

"ځان راته ښکاره کړه، شیطانه." Whatever it was he said, it was stilted, formal, and grating, yet strangely melodic. His call to the tyran to reveal itself, spoken in the infernal tongue, made Exael scream in his head. But if he let Exael out, no doubt diplomacy would become impossible.

Grief presented itself on the periphery of his senses like the sound of falling rain. Petrichor drifted to his nose and at once he felt a gentle warmth well up in his chest. Talon looked up from his desk, pausing in his review of documents and matters of State. Aoren sat across from him revising patrol and battle plans for both the Sky Guard and the Dawnmartyrs. His gaze turned inward, feeling the distress flowing from one of his marked faithful. As soon as he felt the swell of emotions, beheld the soul that was tethered to his divinity, his expression softened.

Oh Destyn…

He remembered vividly the day that Destyn had landed on the sky ship, the loss of his family, the desperation with which he had clung to all that remained of a loved one. Talon set his pen down. Pressing the flat of his palms down upon his desk, he rose to his feet. Aoren peered up at him curiously. Across their Bond, he lent his bondmate insight. Understanding gentled Aoren's expression, he gave a silent nod before returning to the documents in front of him.

Talon moved, stepping between the realms material and aethereal not via the power of his Traversion, but guided by the link between mortal and divine. Between one breath and the next, he was walking through the quiet of his office in Kalzasi, then stepping into the hallowed fields of the Plane of Light. Bringing up a hand he beheld the glittering thread that represented the tether between himself and Destyn. He followed it, the corona of dawnfire's light serving as a beacon to him.

He walked, following that beacon, stepping across the threshold of his divine realm until his boots set foot upon the solid earth of the material realm. The light of his nimbus shone brightly as he returned to the mortal world. The silver feathers of his wings were wreathed in the flames of Justice. Dawn's rising light burned softly in his eyes. Hope emanated from him as an aura that made the nightmares at the hard edges of the world seem smaller and less frightening.

He stood behind the young Fae, wings spread around the weeping young man's form in a protective circle.

“Destyn?” His voice was soft, a gentle offer of comfort and support.

Almost as soon as he posed the infernal question, Destyn's prayers reached out and called forth a draegir. To protect himself, he lessened the acuity of his Semblance lest Talon's nimbus blind him once more. That might handicap him with the demon, but better handicapped than blind.

He couldn't be sure whether the demon was replying to him or to the draegir whose light it was trying to block out. But since he had engaged, he continued.

"We have come to aid one's filial responsibility," he said in the infernal. "We do not seek conflict, but we will not be dissuaded."

Having Talon on hand definitely gave them more bargaining power, and if it came to conflict, he could handle a tyran. With a draegir, it was no question.