[X’rhun would not be wrong. Ardyn is many things, but even he is not immune to curiosity. The delivery beckons him, and he opens it up nearly as soon as he lays eyes upon it.
What he finds is not quite what he expected, though the scarf is something surprising; and yet the moment he sees it, appreciation is quashed by a feeling of knowing. There is something lingering in the air now, something that felt a pieces of the earth crumbling beneath his feet.
But he doesn’t hesitate, his expression doesn’t even change, as he unwraps the rest of it. The scarf goes around his neck to hold its place, and the book-statue soon reveals itself to not be a book-statue at all, but rather a strange sort of contraption that turns into a “proper” sort of tome with “proper” sort of pages.
And a note. A letter, really, from X’rhun.
He reads it, and it is only then that Ardyn’s expression twists into a frown. He expected it, really, for Prompto to have told him everything and for him to believe all of it. And Ardyn is not inclined to call him a liar — all true, every word of it. Every sin and every crime he committed, and he likely would have done it again if given the chance. Simply to reach at his goals one last desperate time.
But X’rhun, he still calls him friend despite it all. Says that he saw something in him that day he healed the red mage, something like vulnerability and pain. He almost stops reading then and there, but he is pulled along. Curiosity is a powerful thing. That strange mix of emotion in the pit of his chest, even more so.
When he’s done, Ardyn doesn’t call. Several days pass and X’rhun will receive no sort of reply at all. Until one day, he’s in Wyver and at the other’s front door, golden book-statue in hand. It matches the scarf around his neck.
no subject
What he finds is not quite what he expected, though the scarf is something surprising; and yet the moment he sees it, appreciation is quashed by a feeling of knowing. There is something lingering in the air now, something that felt a pieces of the earth crumbling beneath his feet.
But he doesn’t hesitate, his expression doesn’t even change, as he unwraps the rest of it. The scarf goes around his neck to hold its place, and the book-statue soon reveals itself to not be a book-statue at all, but rather a strange sort of contraption that turns into a “proper” sort of tome with “proper” sort of pages.
And a note. A letter, really, from X’rhun.
He reads it, and it is only then that Ardyn’s expression twists into a frown. He expected it, really, for Prompto to have told him everything and for him to believe all of it. And Ardyn is not inclined to call him a liar — all true, every word of it. Every sin and every crime he committed, and he likely would have done it again if given the chance. Simply to reach at his goals one last desperate time.
But X’rhun, he still calls him friend despite it all. Says that he saw something in him that day he healed the red mage, something like vulnerability and pain. He almost stops reading then and there, but he is pulled along. Curiosity is a powerful thing. That strange mix of emotion in the pit of his chest, even more so.
When he’s done, Ardyn doesn’t call. Several days pass and X’rhun will receive no sort of reply at all. Until one day, he’s in Wyver and at the other’s front door, golden book-statue in hand. It matches the scarf around his neck.
Knock knock.]