[ Maybe, if he ever met Jinx, he would understand exactly how unlikely it is that she would understand Silco truly. There is a fracture between them that has always existed; their shared traumas held them together, but it also chipped away at that fracture bit by bit. Silco would never forsake his daughter, and would always choose her, but was that a lonely existence? Yes, fighting tooth and nail, and every bit of his power and prominence were wielded as a cudgel just to protect her. Sevika too, unendingly loyal, is still just that. Loyal. She is easy to work with, accurate and well-placed as a lieutenant, but, he knows that the moment she thinks he is done, she will cut him. She'd done it with Vander, after all.
Oddly, the closest in any world was Set, a god whose soul and his were intertwined in that odd way, some of the sharp fragments and odd angles caused by warping from a matron that too-long had pushed him in that direction, their odd shared stories a promise to kill one another at the end of it all; because what was there except a promise of victory and caring for their children at the end of all worlds? What else could he have done, when at the end of all worlds, there would have only been one Set left standing? A promise from two fathers, to protect the only thing that had left, to make up for how they had flayed their children in their own ways, trying to achieve something like redemption through their children. They were the same; he'd promised that to Set; and they were. But they had been on opposite sides of a war, too. They held understanding, but was it like this? Whatever... this was?
But Silco had flayed and torn every other possibility down. Alienated everyone; he killed a god because she had tried to understand; apologize for the state of his world and his people, because he hated the pity, he didn't want it. His city, his people, and him were stronger for everything that was subjected to them, they had thrived like weeds poking out of the cracks in concrete, thriving despite every rock they placed on their heads. He wanted people to understand that they were the monsters created by circumstance, but they were not pitiable. They were strong, testaments to what could happen, to what they could accomplish.
He was hardened and shaped into the odd angles that required a man to thrive in a place like Zaun. It's a bitter and lonely existence, keeping everyone at arms length, desperately fighting to salve the wound that betrayal leaves. Trying to cut the world to the quick to put something new in its place, and Kenos had only served to harden that distance and madden him at the same time, breaking him into crazed pieces that reforged only to serve someone else, a hateful spark that was burning out as quickly as it consumed all the oxygen around him, ever-focused on only one goal. Reviving that spark that was his daughter, no matter the cost, thinking it was the only way he would ever see her again.
Now that burning fire had nowhere to go. It was all gone; everything he'd thought wrong; it was aimless and struggling to find purchase. All that was left was that angry, hateful man at the center, alone. He had the gods, of course, but Vergilius had seen it too, how often he lashed out, spoke up, or was just plain unpalatable as if it were a coat of armor to protect what was left. Who but a god of conflict and war could enjoy his very presence?
It has been a long; long time β the question and the...
He almost doesn't know what to say for a long moment, Silco very rarely rendered speechless and yet here he was, entirely without anything to say. He closed his mouth β were their mouths still close? β and swallowed. ]
Would... [ Did he? Even want to be understood? Like this? Yes, of course he did, how often had he ranted and raved and cajoled and tried to convince? Sevika, for all of her loyalty, was that. Loyal. She understood Zaun, but him? ] ...I offer you the same, if I didn't? Understanding goes both ways, Vergilius.
[ With their mouths so close, his words are what move against Vergilius's mouth, he can't pull back β but his hands are still, too. ]
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Oddly, the closest in any world was Set, a god whose soul and his were intertwined in that odd way, some of the sharp fragments and odd angles caused by warping from a matron that too-long had pushed him in that direction, their odd shared stories a promise to kill one another at the end of it all; because what was there except a promise of victory and caring for their children at the end of all worlds? What else could he have done, when at the end of all worlds, there would have only been one Set left standing? A promise from two fathers, to protect the only thing that had left, to make up for how they had flayed their children in their own ways, trying to achieve something like redemption through their children. They were the same; he'd promised that to Set; and they were. But they had been on opposite sides of a war, too. They held understanding, but was it like this? Whatever... this was?
But Silco had flayed and torn every other possibility down. Alienated everyone; he killed a god because she had tried to understand; apologize for the state of his world and his people, because he hated the pity, he didn't want it. His city, his people, and him were stronger for everything that was subjected to them, they had thrived like weeds poking out of the cracks in concrete, thriving despite every rock they placed on their heads. He wanted people to understand that they were the monsters created by circumstance, but they were not pitiable. They were strong, testaments to what could happen, to what they could accomplish.
He was hardened and shaped into the odd angles that required a man to thrive in a place like Zaun. It's a bitter and lonely existence, keeping everyone at arms length, desperately fighting to salve the wound that betrayal leaves. Trying to cut the world to the quick to put something new in its place, and Kenos had only served to harden that distance and madden him at the same time, breaking him into crazed pieces that reforged only to serve someone else, a hateful spark that was burning out as quickly as it consumed all the oxygen around him, ever-focused on only one goal. Reviving that spark that was his daughter, no matter the cost, thinking it was the only way he would ever see her again.
Now that burning fire had nowhere to go. It was all gone; everything he'd thought wrong; it was aimless and struggling to find purchase. All that was left was that angry, hateful man at the center, alone. He had the gods, of course, but Vergilius had seen it too, how often he lashed out, spoke up, or was just plain unpalatable as if it were a coat of armor to protect what was left. Who but a god of conflict and war could enjoy his very presence?
It has been a long; long time β the question and the...
He almost doesn't know what to say for a long moment, Silco very rarely rendered speechless and yet here he was, entirely without anything to say. He closed his mouth β were their mouths still close? β and swallowed. ]
Would... [ Did he? Even want to be understood? Like this? Yes, of course he did, how often had he ranted and raved and cajoled and tried to convince? Sevika, for all of her loyalty, was that. Loyal. She understood Zaun, but him? ] ...I offer you the same, if I didn't? Understanding goes both ways, Vergilius.
[ With their mouths so close, his words are what move against Vergilius's mouth, he can't pull back β but his hands are still, too. ]