Cylus 10, Arc 720
Since he had stopped making use of Thespian, one of the abilities that Syroa’s Blessings afforded him so frequently, the Mortalborn had struggled to clear his mind and enter a meditative trance, even more than before. He didn’t regret the choice that he had made though, and he was not tempted to turn his feelings off again, despite those new challenges. The world was so much better and brighter now that he allowed himself to feel, to experience joy and love and happiness, and even sadness on occasion – besides, in order to connect with the world around you and understand it completely, you needed to allow yourself to feel.
That was what he realized now. Without feelings, he would always remain apart and never belong.
He was sitting behind his desk that Cylus morning, the notes on his newest research project – he was trying to develop a new branch of alchemy – in front of him, but he was not looking at them at the moment, and neither was he looking at anything else in his study, at the fire that was crackling in the fireplace, not at the bookshelves and not at any of the other luxurious furniture that surrounded him. Instead, he was looking inwards, trying to find that sense of calm, focusing on his heartbeat and his breathing that was slow and steady.
Meditation posed more of a challenge nowadays; but he didn’t mind. It would just take time for him to find that certain clarity again. It might just require a slightly different approach. One of the techniques that he had used on occasion in the past involved envisioning a flame, a flame that consumed everything around him until there was nothing left; he was not in the mood for destruction though. Since he had been initiated into Transmutation and Dreamwalking, he wished to create and reshape and make something new more frequently than not.
He realized what he was doing abruptly. He had planned to not think. The memories of what he had seen in Emea, the Veil and all the events that had followed, that had changed his life fundamentally, stubbornly stayed at the forefront of his mind for a while, until he abruptly closed his eyes. If he closed his eyes, if he didn’t see, maybe it would be easier then. Darkness was his domain after all. Wouldn’t it be logical if not seeing anything helped him?
After a while, after what seemed like eternity, after too many setbacks to count them all – although the passing of time mattered little to someone who could potentially live forever, who had already been alive for centuries – there was a brief moment where there was only calm, a brief moment of intense, precious focus – and then there was suddenly a knock on the door. It seemed unusually loud, almost painfully loud in the silence that surrounded him. His eyes snapped open abruptly. For a moment, he furrowed his brow fractionally, but he didn’t move, as he was reluctant to let go of that state completely.
There was another knock though, slightly more persistent, and whatever he had felt before disappeared for good. He rose to his feet and walked over to the door in order to open it, only to find himself face to face with Elias, his mortal servant. The expression on his face betrayed little of what he thought, of course. There was no point in commenting on the interruption or being irritated. It was such a minor thing and insignificant in the long run.
“Several letters just arrived, my lord”, the brown-haired human explained and bowed. Doran was not a noble. Elias, who had worked for him since Etzos where he had been treated like a hero – because of a deed that he wished he were able to undo nowadays – frequently refused to call him anything but my lord though; for that reason, he’d decided to just leave the matter be. Elias seemed to be happier like that, so who was he to deny him?
“Several letters?” he asked and raised an eyebrow fractionally as he looked at the envelopes that Elias was holding in his hands before he finally accepted them, wondering what they could be about. Whatever he had felt before, when Elias had interrupted him, had been replaced by curiosity. He was a professor, of course, a famous alchemist and an exceptionally skilled swordsman, but he had never received what looked like nearly a dozen letter on the same trial.
Furrowing his brow, the Mortalborn who was dressed in comparatively casual clothes – a dressing gown, among other things – there was no need to wear an elegant suit inside his own home where only those that were closest to him would be able to see him – retreated into his study, closing the door behind him as he did so. A moment later, he removed a bottle of wine from a shelf – a Rynmeran wine that was somewhat harder to come by after a plague had ravaged the kingdom – poured himself a glass and sat down behind his desk again in order to open the envelopes and read the letters that were contained within them.
Since he had stopped making use of Thespian, one of the abilities that Syroa’s Blessings afforded him so frequently, the Mortalborn had struggled to clear his mind and enter a meditative trance, even more than before. He didn’t regret the choice that he had made though, and he was not tempted to turn his feelings off again, despite those new challenges. The world was so much better and brighter now that he allowed himself to feel, to experience joy and love and happiness, and even sadness on occasion – besides, in order to connect with the world around you and understand it completely, you needed to allow yourself to feel.
That was what he realized now. Without feelings, he would always remain apart and never belong.
He was sitting behind his desk that Cylus morning, the notes on his newest research project – he was trying to develop a new branch of alchemy – in front of him, but he was not looking at them at the moment, and neither was he looking at anything else in his study, at the fire that was crackling in the fireplace, not at the bookshelves and not at any of the other luxurious furniture that surrounded him. Instead, he was looking inwards, trying to find that sense of calm, focusing on his heartbeat and his breathing that was slow and steady.
Meditation posed more of a challenge nowadays; but he didn’t mind. It would just take time for him to find that certain clarity again. It might just require a slightly different approach. One of the techniques that he had used on occasion in the past involved envisioning a flame, a flame that consumed everything around him until there was nothing left; he was not in the mood for destruction though. Since he had been initiated into Transmutation and Dreamwalking, he wished to create and reshape and make something new more frequently than not.
He realized what he was doing abruptly. He had planned to not think. The memories of what he had seen in Emea, the Veil and all the events that had followed, that had changed his life fundamentally, stubbornly stayed at the forefront of his mind for a while, until he abruptly closed his eyes. If he closed his eyes, if he didn’t see, maybe it would be easier then. Darkness was his domain after all. Wouldn’t it be logical if not seeing anything helped him?
After a while, after what seemed like eternity, after too many setbacks to count them all – although the passing of time mattered little to someone who could potentially live forever, who had already been alive for centuries – there was a brief moment where there was only calm, a brief moment of intense, precious focus – and then there was suddenly a knock on the door. It seemed unusually loud, almost painfully loud in the silence that surrounded him. His eyes snapped open abruptly. For a moment, he furrowed his brow fractionally, but he didn’t move, as he was reluctant to let go of that state completely.
There was another knock though, slightly more persistent, and whatever he had felt before disappeared for good. He rose to his feet and walked over to the door in order to open it, only to find himself face to face with Elias, his mortal servant. The expression on his face betrayed little of what he thought, of course. There was no point in commenting on the interruption or being irritated. It was such a minor thing and insignificant in the long run.
“Several letters just arrived, my lord”, the brown-haired human explained and bowed. Doran was not a noble. Elias, who had worked for him since Etzos where he had been treated like a hero – because of a deed that he wished he were able to undo nowadays – frequently refused to call him anything but my lord though; for that reason, he’d decided to just leave the matter be. Elias seemed to be happier like that, so who was he to deny him?
“Several letters?” he asked and raised an eyebrow fractionally as he looked at the envelopes that Elias was holding in his hands before he finally accepted them, wondering what they could be about. Whatever he had felt before, when Elias had interrupted him, had been replaced by curiosity. He was a professor, of course, a famous alchemist and an exceptionally skilled swordsman, but he had never received what looked like nearly a dozen letter on the same trial.
Furrowing his brow, the Mortalborn who was dressed in comparatively casual clothes – a dressing gown, among other things – there was no need to wear an elegant suit inside his own home where only those that were closest to him would be able to see him – retreated into his study, closing the door behind him as he did so. A moment later, he removed a bottle of wine from a shelf – a Rynmeran wine that was somewhat harder to come by after a plague had ravaged the kingdom – poured himself a glass and sat down behind his desk again in order to open the envelopes and read the letters that were contained within them.
