[He doesn't speak to Jing Yuan's words, past that same tired smile that loses some of its mirth, eyes that trace down slightly at the path this conversation seems to trend.
And then their space swirls up again in unfamiliar shades, and they are rendered into silence.
It's a familiar story. A crushingly unfortunate story. Cliche, perhaps, in beats, of the student who must fight the master. He sees the dedication to the craft, the admiration of his superior, the words that stuck like burrs to the fabric of his soul in the paces of his training. Feeling and focus in rotation, the highs of determination, the lows of hesitance. The hard lessons, and unfortunate truths exposed.
And, ultimately, the worst case scenario unfolding. Whether in his control or not, some things could simply not be undone. And to remember the wish of the ones so deeply cared for, above the wishes and sentiment of yourself... it shows a heart forged fully in those beliefs. To honor until the end, to show respect to what possibly could just be the corpse, the memory, the shadow, of that which he'd once loved.
...
The silence settles as the memory dies back to white. And Solomon has to take a moment, memories of his own so raw in the opposite direction that shake the exhale that pushes out of his throat, eyes settling closed to center himself with a tightened brow.
But it's a moment he needs, and only that, before he lifts a hand to meet the arm against his shoulder, a careful and chilled touch. Loose, gentle, the careful weight of condolence.]
...
She would have been proud of your choice.
[As a teacher himself... it would serve him no greater joy than to know his apprentice had so faithfully committed to not only his teachings, but their own strength of heart.]
no subject
And then their space swirls up again in unfamiliar shades, and they are rendered into silence.
It's a familiar story. A crushingly unfortunate story. Cliche, perhaps, in beats, of the student who must fight the master. He sees the dedication to the craft, the admiration of his superior, the words that stuck like burrs to the fabric of his soul in the paces of his training. Feeling and focus in rotation, the highs of determination, the lows of hesitance. The hard lessons, and unfortunate truths exposed.
And, ultimately, the worst case scenario unfolding. Whether in his control or not, some things could simply not be undone. And to remember the wish of the ones so deeply cared for, above the wishes and sentiment of yourself... it shows a heart forged fully in those beliefs. To honor until the end, to show respect to what possibly could just be the corpse, the memory, the shadow, of that which he'd once loved.
...
The silence settles as the memory dies back to white. And Solomon has to take a moment, memories of his own so raw in the opposite direction that shake the exhale that pushes out of his throat, eyes settling closed to center himself with a tightened brow.
But it's a moment he needs, and only that, before he lifts a hand to meet the arm against his shoulder, a careful and chilled touch. Loose, gentle, the careful weight of condolence.]
...
She would have been proud of your choice.
[As a teacher himself... it would serve him no greater joy than to know his apprentice had so faithfully committed to not only his teachings, but their own strength of heart.]