Archipelago and Alsace: The Dance of Storms

[Venkage Clos]

Gunther made his way down the white sand beach from the village near the caldera, wading through the water washing against his ankles. He took deep breaths with every other step, both in perfect synchronization. He enjoyed a peaceful lunch and headed towards the largest village on the island, Cornas, where he had some business to take care of before the fall of night. There, he planned to meet with Azul and return to repairing the Sands of Time, but he gained a guest at lunch that day who should have been following right behind him. He hadn't turned around once or said another word since they left, but his quiet determination gained the trust of his people almost without question. Where Gunther went, if one followed, they typically found themselves in favorable winds.

[Shabuto Venkage]

The last few hours had been a bit of an emotional whirlwind for Shabuto personally. The amnesia that had claimed him felt like it was both parts of the whimsical misfortune of those enticed by the Beckoning of the eye and something far more defined and intentional. Regardless as that mental fog began to fade he was bombarded with a ravenous gale of memories that naturally sparked more questions than answers, but, those that did bestowed answers assuaged some things. Namely his roots to his heritage. He…was home.

Just the thought alone felt like something….ill gained, undeserved. Though they never once intentionally made him feel like an outsider, even going as far as needed to reassure him and welcome him warmly, he could not help but notice the chasm that was their differences. His memories her a river of ebon, whilst theirs were a sea of luminance. But the more time he spent here just even walking upon the earth of his ancestral home, he felt a ripple of light stirring those murky depths. Perhaps….perhaps though his life thus far had been marred with unfortunate happenstance, didn’t mean that his present, or even his future had to remain as bleak.

"I get to choose for myself how to wield this power. My hands, are mine to shape my destiny as I see fit!"

He thought back to the fight with the monsters SEED unleashed upon them. Though some of it remained blurred he remembered the feeling of his anthem sparking to life as he channeled Rustal currents through his body. The bliss of that moment, the force coursing through him as he reveled in his own agency. Whatever his path at have been before, here and now he was free to choose his own path. To forge something of his own coloration with these hands, his fate his own. That feeling…that honor, it made him smile.

“Uh…Gunther right?”

Shabuto said sheepishly. He had observed that this one wasn’t much of a talker. But couldn’t ignore the deliberation in his every step. One that moved with purpose, Shabuto found himself growing increasingly curious. When the chef said they Alsace had found him, did he mean that Gunther was one of them?

“You’re…one of the Alsace?”

Shabuto only half expected a response. The topic of the Alsace did really seem like a secret not had Gunther actively ignored him. Though his responses were short and succinct, he was let ride in the slightest so Shabuto didn’t know what to expect. He’d probably just reply yes or no. Perhaps it was more that Shabuto simply wished to distract himself from his own internal storm of thoughts.

[Venkage Clos]

Gunther kept walking with his feet kissed gently by the lapping waves on the white sand beach. He heard Shabuto, but didn’t respond in the slightest being a creature of the least possible words. He was that way for as long as anyone could remember and breaking him of that trait proved to be an otherworldly undertaking nobody on the archipelago embarked on. Still, his silence allowed him to communicate in other ways, like the straight trail their sandy footsteps made toward the largest village on Cornas ahead of them. They walked for about fifteen minutes already and were set to arrive in maybe another ten at their gentle pace, with some silhouettes of other people moving throughout the simple, but uniquely ornate buildings. The Venkage were able to strike a delicate balance between using the bounty of the land and leveraging their local resources and their Anthem’s gifts to bring a unique design to their structures. Back at the hut, the art and fixtures adorning the walls were more for show, the most developed tool in the building probably proved to be the oven itself with special Storm Glass tools within crafted for their local sensibilities. Ahead, the buildings were a bit more ‘modern’, wooden frames were reinforced with storm glass and processed stone to provide support for a larger number of people in and out. Though isolated and fairly simple living, the Venkage made the most out of their idyllic island strip to provide for their people.

Gunther kept walking, breathing calmly behind his mask, wading in the lapping waves. He turned back once, just to make sure Shabuto was still following him, making eye contact with him in that moment and trudging on silently. His pit stop at the beach house was good enough for him to regain his energy, but he needed to return to report his work to Azul and make the proper introductions for Shabuto to begin to make sense of his fate. Gunther heard the whole conversation between Shabuto and the chef, recognizing characteristics of Shabuto’s experience that mirrored his own and decided to bring him to Alsace before the chef made the recommendation. The Beckoning was a force that underpinned the Venkage experience, affecting most, if not every citizen on the archipelago i none way or another. Everyone knew somebody who knew somebody who heard the Beckoning and it marked a change in their lives, calling one of their loved ones into the Shadow of Silvaner. Most members of Alsace heard the Beckoning themselves and learned to manage its effects without succumbing to the mysteries of it’s call. From what Gunther overheard, Shabuto could have benefitted from their presence if his former caretaker hadn’t isolated him. The Venkage instinctually took care of one another, whether through direct guidance or community support and greatly valued the support through trying experiences. Whoever Cyrus was, Gunther already didn’t trust them. Shabyto would be much better off in the company of Alsace and his people once again.

[Shabuto Venkage]

"...."

Shabuto scratched the side of his face as his questions went unanswered. Seems Guther had already reached the end of his verbal meter. Shabuto would just have to deal with the swirling of his thoughts alone. After about 15 minutes went by he began to see what appeared to be homes something that reminded him of a city almost. It was large and many other Venkage were gathered going about their daily lives. Gathering food, and repairing ornate buildings. Shabuto's eyes widened, however slightly just watching them all scurry about. The sense of community was so rich, it nearly made his stomach turn. It was going to... take time to get used to. Being amidst such blatant displays of comradery...of purpose. But every bone in his body felt it to be true, he was right where he needed to be. As they continued, Shabuto wondered what his role in the hustle and bustle of the community might have been. Would he have been a chef? Perhaps whatever sort of artisan molded the stormglass. That seemed to be the most probably, given his natural nich for tinkering. It is... the main reason Cyrus laid claim to him. He observes his medallion, a trinket of exceptional make. The nature of storm glass was unlike anything he had ever encountered. To learn its secret, stirred his innate venkage curiosities. Bit by bit he felt like he was regaining pieces of what he had lost, the instincts of his order.

"What...what could I have made, with hands not stained by blood...by war?"

A thread of thought that led him down a rabbit hole of a former battlefield. Painstaking hours in the forge working his calloused hands till his flesh was bare, his very bones used as material to craft tools of death, artifacts of wanton description. The many lives ended by his very art. Could...could he even call it that anymore? The longer he remained here, the deeper the urge to reclaim his craft grew, to reclaim art. To feel once more the joy of creating something just being able to exist, in a space where he could build without worrying what disasters his creations might bring. He saw a group surrounding a child, the boy bore similarities to two of them, his parents. Shabuto could not help but give in to his question about his parents. Cyrus told him they most likely died and vanished without a trace. Now that he knew who Cryus truly was and the truth about the beckoning, he wasn't sure what to believe. Could they have wandered off?...been taken by Shadow of Silvaner just as he was?

[Venkage Clos]

As they approached the town, some of th younger people moving about caught sight of Gunther on the approach and immediately ran over to meet him with wide eyes and open arms. “Gunther!,” one of the younger ones exclaimed, approaching him with a mischievous look in his eye. “I got you this time!” The boy leaped into the air with a flying kick aimed directly at Gunther’s chest. Without missing a step, Gunther grabbed the boy out of midair by his ankle, dragging him behind his body like a bag of refuse. “You can’t do that to him!,”another kid called out from the crowd, charging him with a small squad following behind them. In a moment, Gunther was engulfed in a lazy dance with a gang of children throwing themselves at him seemingly attempting to put him on the back foot. Unfortunately, for every attack they gave him, Gunther danced easily through their attacks, using some of the kids as weapons against the others, throwing them aside, stepping over them without missing a beat.

The villagers watched on amused, quite familiar with the dance with Gunther the kids were so enamored with. That would leave Shabuto by himself in this new town where his curly, black hair put him a bit out of place. Some curious looks gave him.a once over before they all returned to their previously attended business.

The kids’ attack on Gunther placed him and Shabuto in front of a simple building with a second floor balcony above them. A man with long hair draping in front of his eyes, well built with a silvery white stripe adorning each of his forearms stepped from behind a beaded curtain out onto the balcony to watch Gunther do away with his young assailants as he made his way to the building. “Welcome back, friend,” the man said, leaning over the balcony. The kids assault made him chuckle, but setting eyes on Shabuto gave him a curious pause. “Who’s your friend?,” the man asked, moving some of the hair out of the way to get a good look with both eyes. He was dressed like he was from the archipelago, but something about him definitely was… not.

“Azul…,” Gunther said, seemingly slightly annoyed to the man on the balcony before stepping up to the doorway to the building, turning to the gang of kids behind him and holding up both hands to them, not in forfeit, but to cease their coordinated strike as the time for games was over. The shortest child and the prime aggressor slid to a stop, holding back his compatriots as well.

“We’ll get you next time! The AJ Tag Team Crew never gives up!” Their declaration was followed by their swift retreat into the village, disappearing with their laughter into the crowds. Gunther quietly turned around to enter the building, holding the beaded curtain open for Shabuto for the slightest moment to invite him inside.

“You know you could be a little more descriptive sometimes,” the man from the balcony said to Gunther from behind them, already alighted from the second floor to the first outside. He followed Shabuto in, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as they entered. “Which island are you from, friend? It looks like you could use a better conversation partner.” The room opened to a simple room with a few chairs and tables, an open floor with a tatami patterned mat, some crystal sculptures on the floors. The walls were lined with crystal masks and complementary tools with a ceremonial flair to them. Each set looked unique, but they were all made of the same shimmering crystal substance. Gunther disappeared into another doorway with beaded curtains, seeming thoroughly finished with people for the time being. That just left Shabuto and the man from the balcony to talk freely.

[Shabuto Venkage]

Strolling around was kind of nice for Shabuto. TO witness the foundation of his lineage with his own eyes, something he had given up hope on the moment he met Grixas. It was strange to feel this odd semblance of what he could only assume was hopefulness. Little remains of one's personality after one meets the Gaze of the avaricious one. Not because he alters it in any way but because it is the simple, stark revelation of the chasm, which is his power, and the wind, which is his reach. But at least, for now, Shabuto would again feel the winds of freedom, as Mara had once called them, how he terribly missed his friends. In due time, their reunion would happen.

Gunther!,” one of the younger ones exclaimed, approaching him with a mischievous look in his eye. “I got you this time!” The boy leaped into the air with a flying kick aimed directly at Gunther’s chest.

Shabuto's fragile contentment was shattered like fine glass as the child's voice cut through the bustling clamor of the crowd. Every bone in his body and cell activated in preparation for a defensive strike. He nearly removed his hands from his pocket, his face falling into a sharp glare. One that faded quickly as he witnessed Gunther interacting casually with them. They were...playing? Or at least something of the sort, his senses began to escalate; as much as he tried to convince himself he was safe here, his body actively objected. This place was a precarious realm. They knew of the lurking shadows, the temptation of Silvaner's Shadow, yet...they could gather, eat, and play as if none mattered. He couldn't comprehend it. To know a foe exists, yet to not strike it, to galavant around it...

“Who’s your friend?,” the man asked, moving some of the hair out of the way to get a good look with both eyes. He was dressed like he was from the archipelago, but something about him definitely was… not.

Shabuto's contemplation was severed as Azul appeared. Just standing this close to him, Shabuto could sense that he was a capable man. The currents danced effortlessly around him as if they were intertwined in some passive dance. Shabuto didn't respond readily, his eyes tracing Azul's features until their gazes fully met.

Which island are you from, friend? It looks like you could use a better conversation partner.”

It was odd. On the way here, Shabuto sought to explain his thoughts with the conversation, yet standing in front of Azul was bringing up something for him, something he could not place. Perhaps his demeanor reminded him of someone, someone whom he had forgotten. It must have been a deep emotion tied to the memory. Even after his others returned, some remained locked away. How much did the Beckoning take from him?

"I'm...Shabuto."

He said sheepishly as Azul's hand landed on his shoulder. He wasn't used to such casual exchanges of touch, but he couldn't feel the slightest bit of malice from Azul, which only helped to disarm his earlier anxiety. He needed to chill.

"And I'm not sure...I don't remember. Elgin, maybe? I'm still wrapping my head around the names..."

He said just before sitting down. There were so many names, so many terms being thrown around. Shabuto, newly freed from fogged memories, was trying to keep up.

"Are...you one of the Alsace?"

[Venkage Clos]

“Elgin? Tiny island with big history!” Azul said, walking past Shabuto into the center of the room. The evenly spaced crystal sconces lit up, illuminating the whole room with a warm glow. The light bounced off of and passed through the various sculptures and items adorning the walls, giving them a light and life all their own. Azul turned back to face Shabuto, beckoning him closer, into the center of the room and the mat.

“I could be Alsace, you could be Alsace, we’re all Alsace if you think about it. But you seem to be having trouble pulling it together. Come, tell me what ails you, friend.”

Azul sat legs crossed in the middle of the room on one side of the mat’s median. It was quiet, but not eerie. More a cozy silence like a clean bedroom or a furnished foyer waiting to be filled with guests. It was cool inside, not chilly and a perfect balance of humidity and airflow to being a refreshing calm to the space. It was calm and open, just like Azul’s demeanor, something Alsace cultivated for generations and passed on to the community at every chance they could. The Beckoning of the Eye loomed over every life, family, and household across the strip of islands, and had afflicted so many people from every shore of Marlboro. The collective of Alsace provided support for every island of Marlboro from their sunny beaches to the depths of the Shadow of Silvaner, so Shabuto’s could start here.

[Shabuto Venkage]

He was having difficulty wrapping his head around Azul's words. They were all Alscace? At this point, he felt it would be easier to focus on the few things he did know rather than struggle with the logic of a language he was still barely grasping. The serenity in the air was a perfect means to doing that. There was something...inviting about how the gales curled through the space. The temperature was perfect for him, an avid fan of mid-spring when it was just warming up, but it still carried a chill in the wind that invigorated rather than bite. Even the way things were arranged, in a way, he half expected it to be some interrogation room. But as he was constantly reminded, not unkindly, he was the anomaly here; the Venkage did things differently than those on the mainland.

"..."

He didn't say much initially; his earlier anxiety began to untangle like a fisherman's net freed from a stubborn rock. The knots in his stomach unraveled with each breath he took, each deeper and more relaxing than the last. Azul's aura was…disarming. His voice was like the gentle pull of the receding waves, a soothing rhythm against the shore. His presence was as severe and grand as the winds sweeping across the open plains, yet something was electrifying about him that Shabuto couldn't quite place. If he could tell nothing else, he could tell Azul was powerful, a current of energy humming beneath a placid surface. His shoulders dropped, as did his guard, a subtle release he hadn't consciously realized he was holding onto. He made his way to the woven mat, sinking onto it with a sigh. He folded his legs, his curly ebon lock landing sobering over his face, a dark veil against the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Come, tell me what ails you, friend."

"What ails me?"

The question, posed with such genuine, low-toned curiosity, resonated deeper than Shabuto had initially thought. It wasn't accusatory or demanding, just…an invitation. But where to even begin? It felt like his life was a shattered mosaic, fragmented pieces scattered across time and emotion. Events themselves didn't flow in a neat line but surged in chaotic waves, a montage of fragmented memories that left him breathless and disoriented. He supposed… he should relay what he relayed to the chef, the kind-faced man who had listened with such attentive gravity, especially concerning his medallion.

So he did just that, with the hesitant tremor of someone unwrapping a long-held secret. He spoke to Azul about everything he previously shared with the chef. He told of Cyrus, his mentor, the man who had taught him his craft and fostered his nascent abilities… and then sold him off the island like chattel. He recounted the sting of betrayal, the confusion that had morphed into a slow-burning resentment. He described the years of servitude, exploiting his talents for someone else's gain and stifling his creative spirit. As he neared the end of his disjointed retelling, his fingers tightened around the smooth object clutched in his palm. He extended his hand, holding the medallion towards Azul, offering it as physical proof of his fractured past.

"The chef said this was made from storm glass. Cyrus gave this to me the day he sent me away.”

He gripped it tightly, the cool glass a small anchor in the storm of his emotions. Although its weight was insignificant, it felt heavy with unspoken promises and broken trust.

"I…I feel robbed; he stole everything from me. He abused my craft and my powers, so many years gone, and the black I've seen, I… I could've been like you all. Happy, connected, but instead…"

His voice trailed off, the unsaid words hanging heavy in the air. His red eyes, usually vibrant, now held a muted intensity, a faint hum of suppressed energy flickering at their edges.

"But instead… I'm… stuck with this…"

Hate. The word pulsed in his mind, raw and undeniable, like a freshly opened wound. Hate. Hate. Hate. It echoed silently, a discordant chant in the otherwise serene space. His mind scrambled to make sense of the tangled mess of feelings, to identify the one emotion that had taken root and was now flourishing, choking out all other sentiments.

Even though Cyrus had betrayed him in the most profound way and had callously discarded him for profit, he was also… the reason. The reason Shabuto knew how to channel the very energies that now thrummed beneath his skin. He had fed his artistry, ignited the spark within him, nurtured it… only to twist it, exploit it, steal it for himself. The word hatred slithered into his heart, not as a sudden, violent strike, but like a snaking ember, its heat spreading slowly, insidiously. He didn't want to accept it or admit he could harbor such a corrosive feeling towards the man who was once his mentor, his guide. But it was there, undeniable and potent, growing in the fertile ground of betrayal and pain.

"This anger…" he began, his voice barely a whisper, the word itself feeling foreign and dangerous on his tongue. He looked down at the medallion in his hand, the storm glass catching the light, swirling with captured tempests. Was this what Cyrus had gifted him truly? Not a keepsake, but a seed of storm, planted within him on the day he was cast adrift? The weight seemed to shift, becoming heavier and colder in his grasp. He was more than just angry. He was… consumed. But it didn't feel all directed at Cryus but anyone who used others for personal gain. In his mind...they were demons.

We...eat...demons...

[Venkage Clos]

Azul took the lightweight medallion from Shabuto’s hand, holding it up between the two of them. It caught the light in the room and glowed just as gently as the masks and tools on the walls. Storm glass was found mostly in the Silvaner Storm Shadow, sometimes it made its way to the bright side of the island, but it was a very rare material to be found off of the island. Handing it back to Shabuto, Azul ran his fingers along his chin, scouring his memory for the name Cyrus, but drew a blank repeatedly. Shabuto looked like the trials he weathered took more from him than the Beckoning of the Eye was known to do and it troubled him.

The Beckoning typically emerged in Venkage with a specific twinkle in their eye, a worldly sight that saw beyond the horizon, calling them to venture first into the Silvaner Storm Shadow, and then out into the wider world of Vescrutia alone. The Beckoning as a phenomena had been around as long as the Venkage had, recorded in some of their first and oldest legends and emerging in individuals all throughout time. Lucky for Shabuto, he ran into some of the best people to help guide him to where he needed to be, within the reach of Alsace, whose members all had dealt with the Beckoning of the Eye with firsthand experience. It was this experience that situated them as pillars of their communities, gracefully guiding their peers and supporting each island of the Archipelago through whatever challenges they face.

Azul handed the medallion back to Shabuto, noting the shift in the currents around him, he clearly felt much distress, the wind trembled in his aura, vibrating oddly from within him. This Cyrus exploited the boy and sold him off as chattel and disappeared, keeping him isolated from anyone who could have done anything to stop him. Alsace was founded to bring grace and understanding to those dealing with the Beckoning and Azul felt a very personal guilt for one of his family falling through the cracks. Unfortunately, he heard more than one story of people lost in the storm, and even more sinister were the stories that said a dark force whisked them off the island. He took a personal interest in the latter note, and had taken some journeys off the archipelago himself so he could relate to Shabuto in the harrowing travels he experienced, the journey to the nearest mainland across the currents that surrounded the archipelago started most famously from deep within the Silvaner Storm Shadow at a shrine he’d seen some people smiled trying to reach.

“Comparison is the thief of joy,” Azul said calmly. “The things you’ve seen, the journey you’ve endured, they all have paved the way for your path to return to where you belong. You’ve done well and should find joy in that. Whatever you have left after that is a gift that you’ve earned.”

Azul spoke quietly, candidly, and with a smile. What is anger but another gift that we get to experience? A tool that we can use? Finding the sliver lining in the storm clouds was the whole point of Alsace’s existence, and he was adept in knowing how to corral and channel the power lying deep in one’s heart. Azul had a sixth, maybe even seventh sense in understanding the nature of the individuals that he came into contact with. His calm demeanor and inviting aura garnered him respect across every island, his skill and knowledge cemented him as a leader among his people, but he’d never say something like that himself.

“And what do we do with the gifts we’ve gathered? Why not put them to use? You say this Cyrus saw something special within you that he used for his own benefit? How do you use your gift, hmmm?”

Azul leaned forward, moving his long, side parted hair into a quick slick back, revealing mismatched pupils, bright silver and pale lavender.

“Why not show me what Cyrus saw in you before this anger took hold in you? What Saltare had you learned by the time he had his way with you?”

Azul pulled his hair back in a ponytail, wrapping it with itself, and crossed his arms in front of Shabuto. If he was so gifted, Shabuto had to have some amazing Saltare about him. The currents between them were unique, full of emotion, but every Venkage had a Saltare to show, it was in their blood.

[Shabuto Venkage]

“Comparison is the thief of joy,” Azul said calmly. “The things you’ve seen, the journey you’ve endured, they all have paved the way for your path to return to where you belong. You’ve done well and should find joy in that. Whatever you have left after that is a gift that you’ve earned.”

“The thief of joy…”

Shabuto echoed the words reverberating in the cavernous chamber of his mind. Azul’s pronouncement clung to him, a persistent echo in the silence perpetually surrounding him. He repeated the phrase, examining it like a tarnished coin – comparison is the thief of joy. It was painfully accurate.

He glanced around the room, the flickering of light twinkling through the crystal on the walls. His mind eye painted the encounter with the others earlier. Across the flames, the chef chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that filled the air with warmth. Around him, the others bright laughter, and even Gunther, ever calm and observant – moved with an easy familiarity, a camaraderie that resonated like a perfectly tuned instrument.

And that was where the thief had first crept in. He’d seen their easy smiles, shared jokes, the way they moved as a cohesive unit, and an insidious voice whispered in the back of his mind: They have this. You don’t. He'd compared their laughter to his own silence, their easy banter to his guarded pronouncements, their shared purpose to his… aimless wandering. Each comparison was a minor theft, chipping away at any nascent joy that dared to bloom within him.

Rudral. The memory surfaced, sharp and bittersweet. His party, back on Rudral. They had a similar bond, and though it was hard fought, it became an unshakeable connection. But even then, even among companions, he had allowed comparison to fester. He’d fixated on his perceived shortcomings, on the ways he was different – quieter, more analytical, less… outwardly demonstrative. As a result of his life as a pawn of Nightmare Wolves.

Azul’s words were a mirror, reflecting back his own self-imposed prison. He was building walls where bridges should be, widening the gap between himself and others instead of seeking common ground. It couldn't be blamed on Cyrus or Grixas anymore; it was his own mind, meticulously constructing barriers out of self-doubt and perceived inadequacy. He was now the architect and the prisoner of his own solitude.

“You’ve done well and should find joy in that,”

Azul’s calm voice drifted back to him, a gentle counterpoint to the turmoil in his thoughts. What had he done well? He’d survived. He’d endured trials that would have broken lesser men. He’d navigated treacherous landscapes, both external and internal. He’d learned, he’d adapted, he’d… persisted. Was that not something? Was the sheer act of survival not a testament to some inner strength, some resilience he was failing to acknowledge?

Perhaps… perhaps Azul was right. Possibly, his journey, though fraught with hardship and seclusion, had forged him, shaped him, and prepared him for something. Prepared him for… what? He didn't know. But the path he’d walked, the burdens he’d carried, they were his own. They had led him here, to this moment, to this flickering fire, to these strangers who now seemed less like distant figures of comparison and more like… potential companions.

“Whatever you have left after that is a gift that you’ve earned.”

Azul’s words resonated deeply. What did he have left? Anger, yes, a simmering resentment at the unfairness of fate, the urge to get back at the Nightmare Wolves...Cyrus, all of them. But beneath the anger… there was something else. A flicker of determination. A stubborn refusal to be consumed by the darkness.

Could this anger be a gift? He pondered the notion. Anger was a fire. Uncontrolled, it could be destructive, consuming everything in its path. If he allowed his fury to control him. But focused, channeled… fire could forge steel, provide warmth, and illuminate the darkest corners. Could his anger, this burning ember within him, be fashioned into something… beneficial? Could it be the fuel that propelled him forward, that broke down the walls he had so carefully constructed?

Just as the thought began to solidify, Azul moved. He reached up, his long fingers deftly gathering his hair, tying it back in a swift, practiced motion. And in that moment, as Azul secured the tie, his head tilted slightly, revealing his eyes fully. They were… extraordinary. Oddly colored, one a deep emerald green, the other a startling sapphire blue. They were unlike anything Shabuto had ever seen.

And suddenly, a new layer of understanding peeled back. Azul, with his calm demeanor and wise pronouncements, was not some flawless being untouched by the vagaries of life. He carried his own story etched in the very anomaly of his eyes, a story Shabuto could only guess at, but one that hinted at journeys endured, at unique paths walked. He wasn't some ideal against which to measure himself; he was simply another traveler, further down his own distinct road.

Azul met Shabuto’s gaze, a quiet knowing in his mismatched eyes. There was no judgment, only acceptance, only the gentle encouragement woven into his earlier words. The thief of joy, comparison… it was a prison of Shabuto’s own making. But the key to unlocking that prison, perhaps, lay not in erasing the past, but in accepting it, in recognizing the value of his own unique journey, and in finding the gift within the embers of his anger. And maybe, just maybe, in choosing to see not the differences that separated him, but the shared humanity that bound them all together. The journey back to where he belonged, wherever that may be, had already begun.

“Why not show me what Cyrus saw in you before this anger took hold in you? What Saltare had you learned by the time he had his way with you?”

Shbuto tilted his head to the side. CONfused by what was being asked of him.

"I..don't have any saltre to speak of, not one that I can remember at the moment...but...I can do this..."

Shabuto resolved to show Azul what he asked for, a tangible demonstration of the journey Azul spoke of. He focused inward, drawing upon the strange, deep well of power that resided within him. A faint tremor ran through his hand, a subtle shift in the very structure of his being. Then, pushing outwards, he willed it to manifest.

A pale white material began to extrude from the back of his hand, flowing and solidifying simultaneously. It was bone yet unlike any bone found in nature. This substance shimmered almost crystalline, catching the light and refracting it into miniature rainbows that danced across the walls. Slowly, deliberately, Shabuto shaped it with his will, the bone morphing and elongating, sharpening at one end, becoming a small, elegant dagger.

With the bone blade complete, resting cool and solid in his palm, Shabuto switched his focus to his other hand. He drew upon the naten. A flicker ignited at his fingertips, a hesitant spark at first, then growing, coalescing into a controlled flame.

He watched the fire dance, its light painting his face in hues of orange and red. Then, with a precise movement, he brought the flaming hand towards the bone dagger. He imagined the rune for ‘Ein,’ a single stroke of power imbuing the weapon with focus and intent. As the flame touched the bone, it was absorbed, not extinguished. Instead, the bone itself began to glow, the crystalline structure now laced with veins of fire that pulsed with a gentle, contained heat. The blade was no longer merely bone but a weapon of solidified will and controlled chaos, blazing with an inner light.

He extended the flaming bone dagger towards Azul, offering it silently. The flames danced around the blade, casting long, flickering shadows that moved like living things on the cavern walls. The air crackled with subtle energy, a tangible hum that resonated in the stillness.

"I can...create Mistral from my bones, which regenerate pretty fast...and from there, I can... enfold things into it. Elements...and..."

He hesitated to finish, unsure Azul would even believe him if he told him.