10th of Ashan, Arc 719, Morning
He longed to see flowers that bloomed naturally again. And the beauty of a forest, far from the thicket that lingered hungrily outside of Quacia's walls. Every trial was met with deep contemplation, thoughts wandering towards the North. Even with all that he'd secured for himself in this place - this odd sanctuary - never once had he forgotten what he'd left behind. And now... he had a life to provide for more than just himself. Everyone down below, in the estate, needed him. He was a pillar of support for many of them, and when Fridgar and Winston came, he would be a pillar for two more.
Gods... that would be a mess. He hadn't even thought to tell Zarik about Fridgar yet - he didn't want to ruin everything. But now they were married, quite legally, and a part of that pact was honesty.
The mage had no shirt on, just a pair of linen trousers, and the sandals he'd worn to their marriage last night. It felt good, to have the wind upon his skin again. Not having to fear the wroth of the cold wintry storm, the blizzard that seemed to follow each pale particle of ice. He felt liberated by all of it, and as he viewed the sun breach the horizon, he was reminded again of Zarik. It was crazy, the nostalgia, already; every sunrise would remind him of him. Even if... he died. As everyone around him seemed to. Even then.
It was strange that after everything, he felt almost melancholy. His marriage to Zarik was a tribute to everything he'd lost before. This sunrise, the first of his new life, was made in memory of all of them. Doran, Jonathan, Theodore, Zvezdana, Andraska, Patrick, Ebony, Ellasin, Xander, Tristan, Faith, Duncan, Willow and Kaleb. Not all of them were gone. Some of them were alive. Some of them were enemies, now, and some of them missed him dearly. Some of them, even though they were alive, he would never see them again.
The man exhaled a warm breath. All he wanted was a forest, a place away from everyone where he could sink away his worries. A place not littered with the shrill cries of the Theocratum's devout, nor the shrewd stone that wandered the streets of this place.
His hands gripped a small, linear pipe he'd left on the rail, as he brought it to his lips and blew. Embers developed at the end, though he did not smoke any conventional substance, nor any ash. It was a strange peppery brew he'd found in Lair, one that wasn't addictive nor harmful. It just made him feel warm. Not having conventional blood often gave him a shivering sensation, one that was difficult to manage. And in all of his melancholy, right now, the last thing he needed was the bitter bite of cold.
"Zarik..." he began. He felt the man's presence grow closer. His wife. Though it warmed him immeasurably to feel him near, the man realized what he needed to say. Before anything else. "I need to tell you something. It's not fair to you to continue to let the words wander through my throat." As he said this, he lowered his gaze, as a puff of smoke and embers breathed out through the meager pipe. He toyed with it between his fingers, and watched the sun rise, even the brightness of a naked star unable to damage the sight of his vortex eyes.
He felt warm, and cold all in the same. The shivering, the chills, came upon him again. But not because of his blood. It was worries that marked this feeling upon him.