[It's the call for him by name that has Solomon's attention immediately snapped towards Akira.
Swallowing thickly, Solomon stumbles to Akira's side, a sharp inhale and shaking exhale at the contact. In Akira's mind, in his ears, like it's him and yet not, he hears the dry and pained gasps of a phantom; a young man, a pained man, a desperate man, not him and not his fellow wizard, but of a fledgling sorcerer hardly in his twenties. Yelling. Mourning. Gasping for pain against the ground, the ache of utter tragedy. The magic exists regardless.
It hurts, and from how Solomon physically shudders along with Akira at the waves of power, it's affecting both of them. But he grips the boy by the shoulders, pulling him just enough away from the corpse to focus on him instead.]
I'm here.
Breathe. Follow instinct or it's just going to keep happening.
[The death. The destruction.
"Please------- Please, let me take it back!!!!!"
Hoarse words to the dead. Pointless crying from the wolf among the slaughtered lambs. Heaven won't hear you.
So call for help. Make them come from elsewhere. The mind rushes in desperation. To make a circle, a spell, a pleading. Drawing from phantom memories, phantom theories, the mystical and dark and forbidden.
Instinct says a circle is possible. Logic says you will die. Fear smells the blood in the air and feels the burn of your magic like bile in your throat.
Solomon keeps his touch firm. He's here. Even though the phantom, the memory, has no one at all.]
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Swallowing thickly, Solomon stumbles to Akira's side, a sharp inhale and shaking exhale at the contact. In Akira's mind, in his ears, like it's him and yet not, he hears the dry and pained gasps of a phantom; a young man, a pained man, a desperate man, not him and not his fellow wizard, but of a fledgling sorcerer hardly in his twenties. Yelling. Mourning. Gasping for pain against the ground, the ache of utter tragedy. The magic exists regardless.
It hurts, and from how Solomon physically shudders along with Akira at the waves of power, it's affecting both of them. But he grips the boy by the shoulders, pulling him just enough away from the corpse to focus on him instead.]
I'm here.
Breathe. Follow instinct or it's just going to keep happening.
[The death. The destruction.
"Please------- Please, let me take it back!!!!!"
Hoarse words to the dead. Pointless crying from the wolf among the slaughtered lambs. Heaven won't hear you.
So call for help. Make them come from elsewhere. The mind rushes in desperation. To make a circle, a spell, a pleading. Drawing from phantom memories, phantom theories, the mystical and dark and forbidden.
Instinct says a circle is possible. Logic says you will die. Fear smells the blood in the air and feels the burn of your magic like bile in your throat.
Solomon keeps his touch firm. He's here. Even though the phantom, the memory, has no one at all.]