Welcome to Gaia! ::

Zekiel nodded in enthusiastic agreement, rocking to bounce on the balls of his feet as he did.

“Yes, let’s!” He didn’t, however, move. It was the guardsman’s route, after all, and he didn’t feel he even knew which direction to begin in. He folded his hands behind himself. “When we finish, might I hold it once? Even if I oughtn’t think about it being in anyone, they are wondrously long and lovely when they catch the light—I have seen pictures of swords of all shapes and sorts in books. From history and swordsman of times past, and foreigners! From the far shore, though I’ve never met with any of them and Sister Bernyce says we know little about their weapons and I oughtn’t concern myself especially much with them either. Have you ever met a mainlander from the far shore? Do they really come in strange colors like flowers?”

Zekiel bounced, skipping into step at Jalase’s side when he moved and listening with intent.

At the eventual offer, he nodded quickly. “Of course! I’ll be very careful, I promise.” And together, they made the rounds. As they walked, Zekiel talked, sometimes chattering fleetingly about whatever occurred to him, since Jalase didn’t seem to mind his words as much as some, and other times specifically engaging the guardsman with his questions when they occurred to him. The rounds did not take especially long, but long enough so that by the time they neared its finish, the sky was painted in brilliant streaks of orange, mauve, pink and lavender.

Zekiel’s eyes traced the lines, his head tipping as he imagined the colors being paint, melting and smearing together by the hands of the gods. When they stalled, however, back where they had begun, his attention snapped over to his company.

“Now might I?”

Zekiel blinked, pausing with brief surprise, silver eyes wide.

“Should I not—? I am peaceful,” he said, trotting at the guardsman’s side when he moved and following his gaze to glance about. “I couldn’t hurt a man or a bug or a flower or a leaf or a gate with it, but I do like how much must have gone into shaping it as it’s shaped to where the light gleams just so on it. Only certain things inspire light to dance.”

When Jalase offered the blade hilt, though, Zekiel did as bid, taking it carefully as he could into his grip, his lips circling to make a small ‘o’ as the weight of it came to him—and it was heavy, his body bending to accommodate it. But the length of it gleamed in the evening sunlight, catching the rays of orange, gold and pink, and Zekiel’s cheeks flushed his excitement as he hoisted it best he could. Eventually, however, the weight was too much, and the tip dipped until it rested on the ground.

He sent Jalase a beaming grin. “It’s quite heavy.”

Zekiel listened, paying attention to what Jalase said, for the most part, though a good deal of his focus was on the blade—until Jalase mentioned a blade suited to him, at which point his gaze darted up. He opened his mouth, equal parts fascinated by the concept, but also torn knowing that — as the guardsman had already said — it wasn’t really his place to wield a weapon.

Jalase’s next question curtailed that thought, and Zekiel opted to tuck it away for later review. For now, his lower lip edged between his teeth before he gave a smaller, more contained smile. “I think about it,” he said. “Sometimes. I think I might possibly have already joined the gods, if they hadn’t delivered me to the Sanctum. I think perhaps Jevan would have buried me beside my mother, but perhaps he wouldn’t because I think I displeased him, for coming into the world at the same time she left it and he may not have wanted me near to her. Or perhaps I would be working with one of Marleya’s sails…she’s the sailmaker, in the village I was born in. But she was not very young when I was younger. She may also have joined the gods by now…”

Zekiel’s thoughts wandered, wondering what indeed the woman who’d taken him in when his father was too busy for him was doing, whether she was well, and whether he oughtn’t perhaps pay the village a visit sometime to see. He redirected his thoughts back on track best he could.

“When Sister Mortrem found me, I was all of five summers, and as he always had, Jevan would leave his house where he kept me early before the sun met the sky with morning, and because my hands were capable enough then to do some tasks, he had me go to her, and I would work for her so she would feed me and I wouldn’t eat so much of his food. I don’t think it ever pleased Jevan to have me, though I tried to be very quiet, I think my breath displeased him, and when Sister Mortrem came to speak with me she let me say all the words to her that I wanted, and I never had before. I wasn’t a very good or special boy and I am still not, but the gods told her I was chosen just the same and when she took me…I think it must have been the first thing I did which pleased Jevan very much, to leave. And I was very happy…and I have always been happy, and thankful that the gods saw fit as they did. I breathe to be a vessel for their will, and so I will be until I no longer breathe.”

Zekiel blinked, then smiled. “You needn’t be sorry,” he said. “I like to speak, and it will still be what it is and was whether or not I said so to you. And you could not have known until I did, but I think it’s wondrous. The Sanctum is where I belong. I hope your sister feels as though she does, also.”

After returning Jalase’s sword to him and keeping thoughts of such weapons tucked away to himself, they parted ways, Zekiel leaving the guardsman to his own devices as the evening sky darkened and heading up to his own space. After his evening meal, though, and once his affairs were in order for his nightly prayer, he took time out to thank the gods for the new connection in his life, and gave them his hopes that Jalase would remember, in the future, to come visit the Sanctum to satisfy his inquiries about his sister—and so that Zekiel would not go the rest of his days after the trip without seeing the man again.