The process takes a few days as from the roots of the Tree, Byleth is reborn.
As he rests and regrows, he dreams. he dreams? Dreams? Is it a dream? Is it really a dream?
He is pursued by something larger than his mind can comprehend; something heavy and cold, fixated upon the spark of his soul. It is a beacon, a lighthouse, a siren's song that calls the Something ( the Nothing ) towards him and onward. Methodical and patient, it chases him slowly and steadily. There is no doubt that it will catch him, that it will find him, that it will lift its head from his fleeing form and see the place he tries to run to for solace and sanctuary and it will
end everything.
In his dreamnightmarevision rebirth, he casts a look over his shoulder. His flight harrowing and motivated by purity of terror, by that ancient and most primal need to save himself at all costs — and behind him, it looms. The sight of the stars being snuffed out, one by one, behind a blanket of darkness. It should remind him of the day he arrived in Kenos, of the vision granted him as he was whisked away from the End of All Things — stars dying, the darkness spreading. But,
However,
There is,
Something there. It is not that the stars are snuffed like candles, like lives ended by the clutching claws of some great beasts. It is,
There are,
Edges. Movement. The stars swallowed by a great moving shadow that lowers its head slowly toward him, seeking him with eyeless, mouthless senses, reaching for him as he keens and wails and brings his hands up to protect himself in these last, unstoppable moments. It is waiting. Waiting for a victory that will open the path for it to finally finish what it started oh-so-long ago.
When Byleth comes to, he’ll find himself encased in a cocoon. The cocoon is filled with a familiar sap, just up to his neck. The thin material of the cocoon isn’t difficult to break through, but it still feels like a great effort because of how weak he feels. It’s as if he’s been doing days of strenuous activity, and the feeling will linger along with general body aches and chills for the next few days as his body demands rest and recovery. During the night, his shard will jump and jolt in his body, as if trying to escape the trauma of his own rebirth.
His sunbeam will feel too warm to the touch, scalding his fingers. It feels, at times, like it might immolate itself and end the last of his hopes.
no subject
As he rests and regrows, he dreams. he dreams? Dreams? Is it a dream? Is it really a dream?
He is pursued by something larger than his mind can comprehend; something heavy and cold, fixated upon the spark of his soul. It is a beacon, a lighthouse, a siren's song that calls the Something ( the Nothing ) towards him and onward. Methodical and patient, it chases him slowly and steadily. There is no doubt that it will catch him, that it will find him, that it will lift its head from his fleeing form and see the place he tries to run to for solace and sanctuary and it will
end everything.
In his
dreamnightmarevisionrebirth, he casts a look over his shoulder. His flight harrowing and motivated by purity of terror, by that ancient and most primal need to save himself at all costs — and behind him, it looms. The sight of the stars being snuffed out, one by one, behind a blanket of darkness. It should remind him of the day he arrived in Kenos, of the vision granted him as he was whisked away from the End of All Things — stars dying, the darkness spreading. But,However,
There is,
Something there. It is not that the stars are snuffed like candles, like lives ended by the clutching claws of some great beasts. It is,
There are,
Edges. Movement. The stars swallowed by a great moving shadow that lowers its head slowly toward him, seeking him with eyeless, mouthless senses, reaching for him as he keens and wails and brings his hands up to protect himself in these last, unstoppable moments. It is waiting. Waiting for a victory that will open the path for it to finally finish what it started oh-so-long ago.
When Byleth comes to, he’ll find himself encased in a cocoon. The cocoon is filled with a familiar sap, just up to his neck. The thin material of the cocoon isn’t difficult to break through, but it still feels like a great effort because of how weak he feels. It’s as if he’s been doing days of strenuous activity, and the feeling will linger along with general body aches and chills for the next few days as his body demands rest and recovery. During the night, his shard will jump and jolt in his body, as if trying to escape the trauma of his own rebirth.
His sunbeam will feel too warm to the touch, scalding his fingers. It feels, at times, like it might immolate itself and end the last of his hopes.