eons stretch mercilessly. her breath is slow, every nerve ending on fire, every bit of her that hurts, that feels wrong and put back together in all the worst ways, festers in her shocked, frozen silence. waiting, waiting, waiting. 

not for him to see her and to leave her, but to see her and to understand that for all his work, for all his effort, for all his love, he could not hold onto the pieces of her that mattered. she would give him her heart, and her soul, but she can't. 

they're not hers to give. 

and when he finds her, when he finally looks her over, her lashes wet. she looks away, nods stiffly, but frozen limbs twist awkwardly around him, and then melt into him as she buries her forehead to his chest. she narrowly scrapes his jaw with the tips of her horns. 

"i thought maybe it would go back to normal if i gave it time." her eyes squeeze shut. her fingers curve against his spine. "walsh was there. in kyogre, walsh was there."

KING WAYLAND

☉

"that's it?" she says incredulously as he folds himself like a pretzel over her, trapping her in touches meant to promise safety. "your wife comes home with horns and you say 'it looks fine?'"

laughter quakes down her sides - sharp and shrill and frightening. her crown doesn't move. her head doesn't lift. she sinks her nose into his shirt, smelling their shared detergent, a bit of sweat, and what is distinctly king. 

whatever warped mirth had worked its way into her words disappears as she nods. bites her lip. 

"we have a treatise, forced by his hand. all of it, king. all of it was orchestrated. we thought we were following kyogre here, but we were following him. and now i'm - " she starts, chokes, stops. 

he never learned the details (but he did, sweet child of the stars. he saw the mist and the bastardization of what was done to you, and he saw it for what it is, what it was) but he knew she'd been chained.

"i had no other choice."

KING WAYLAND

☉

somehow, like this, the despair isn't as strong. she squeezes her eyes shut, tries despite her better judgment to sink into it, but finds only warmth. solace. his hand on her back, his chest rumbling as he talks. 

slowly, she extracts herself, brushes away some wetness from her eyes. the scales on her cheeks glow a soft gold. muted anguish lingers and she exhales. 

she wants to tell him that home is her prison, and that there is no end in sight, and that her body does not feel her own because it was made to be shackled, and was she always only meant to be chained?

"will you move here with me?" she asks instead. "will you help me rebuild?"

KING WAYLAND

☉

her jaw tightens. 

"they won't touch her. nor you." but it's an impossible ask. she can't guarantee something wouldn't happen, that tensions wouldn't get too high that it resorts to violence. and asking for any guarantee from walsh turns her stomach. 

"they need me. and i think they know i'll burn this godsdamned world down if i ever lost you or delta."

KING WAYLAND

☉

he's right. in every way, he's right, and even though he compromises, she wants to stomp her foot. she wants to scream. she wants to find that stupid submarine and send it to the bottom of the ocean, deep enough where it will implode. 

prophecy couldn't protect him from that, certainly.

"no, you're right," she says miserably. "you'll stay in slateport with her. but i have to split my time. i have to help them rebuild."

she extracts herself and looks down at her palm. nothing remains there save for a few more glittering scales, no reminder of the ways she's changed, every promise made in blood. 

"and because of him, i have to keep kyogre contained."

KING WAYLAND

☉

it's non-negotiable. she'd only just cleared her home of rocket scum. it will be some time before it feels her own, and would she ever feel at ease, thinking of delta here without her? surrounded on all sides by enemies while an unstable leviathan lay smothered in faux death miles below. 

she flinches when he asks and she looks down at her hands, rubs the invisible chains around her wrists. 

"why do you think we have a stalemate truce in the first place, king?" she whispers. "i wasn't posturing when i said i'll burn the world if i lost you or delta, but that was the wrong turn of phrase.

"he shackled me here." stolid determination, the cool affliction forced to her voice, breaks all at once, surprising even her. 

tears blur her vision and her mouth squirrels, too-sharp teeth digging into her lower lip, and she starts to withdraw, extracting as she feels every awful, painful reminder that she has come so, so far and despite it all, she is that same trapped, damned woman. 

"only my blood can keep it contained."

KING WAYLAND

☉