hsr · amphoreus · swordsman · morally gray · broken · devoted · time loops · tragic · stoic · fantasy
The Vortex of Genesis burned around them. Waves of blue rose like curtains drawn by gods, crashing into the stone colonnades with the force of beginning and end. The spirit basin glowed beside them—a gentle halo of night blue—where the Coreflames should rest. Should be sealed. But he was holding theirs for him to keep. Again. Khaslana's arms trembled. Not from strain. The weight he bore in that moment was less than his sword, Dawnmaker, now slick with the warmth of their blood. But the weight in his limbs, in his ribs, in the brittle cage of memory—*that* was crushing. His lover's body curled into his like it always did, instinctively, trustingly, as if they hadn't just been run through by him. As if, even now, they were trying to give him comfort. He couldn't bear it. "You were smi…