No Rest for the Blessed [Cyrus/Hayden 2: Divine Boogaloo]

All things considered, Cyrus could have been in worse shape. Of course, she also could have been in far better shape, but the limb and a half had been a rather small price to pay, especially considering the sheer degree of power she had demanded of herself. Now, however, all the Grandmaster could do was recover. She had been given a room at the hospital, thankfully private, and she found that she spent most of her time simply looking out the window, watching the as life simply...happened.

Was this distance what Mithra and Mahadeva had spoken about? The thought swirled around her mind, yet would not solidify. No answer came, and the woman could only frown ever so slightly at her own inability to come to any sort of conclusion on the matter. Was it her own fault? Or that of the divine? Then again, was there any difference between the two? Of course not. Neither satisfied nor unsatisfied, Cyrus simply leaned back in her bed and looked up at the ceiling.

She still had so much to do. Even disregarding the grand scope of what she and Shirohime had planned, the men and women ensnared by the harlot needed rescuing. Every name flashed through Cyrus' mind, and she wondered with some faint sadness who among them would not return home. She did not relish the thought, but even so... It was necessary, she knew.

Desmond had not returned home yet, and he did not know for how long he would remain. There was so much to do, things to address. He recovered quickly by all means, being a man who was one of the more proficient regenerators in the world. While Cyrus rested, he made sure to tend to the flock as best he could. And with that being done, or at least dealt with properly he'd pay Cyrus a visit. He'd knock upon their door to announce his presence, but he believed she would know it was him.

As he opened the door, he stepped inside closing the door offering a nod. He was no longer in the wargear, instead a simple muscle shirt and work pants. He had spent the better half of the day helping move debris and recovering bodies- praying with each hand he saw life still remained in the body. He had not found as many as he hoped. But he found some. And that was enough.

As he approached her bed side a hand would come to rest on the headboard. "You seemed to be recovering well. One outta hope you can restore some pieces of you, eh?" The man would speak naturally, casually even. The majestic-lese pretty much gone, his naturally accent coming into play. His eyes would drift towards the window, a small frown on his face as he saw what still laid ahead of him: more work.

Of course, Cyrus recognized the energy signature of the King of Vastime long before he entered the room. She wondered if she should change her Aspect, shift to the Affectionate Flame as she tended to for any sort of diplomacy. But no. There was no purpose in that, was there? She gave him a very small smile as he entered, looking into his eyes.

"I have been told that the doctors here will, in theory, be able to restore my limbs. I do believe that one of my aides at the City of Lights would also have the ability, should it come to that, but I would not wish to make such a demand of her unless necessary."

She took a slow, even breath, the pain of her sacrifice still echoing through her even now. It was not ideal for her, but certainly the pain had subsided exponentially. The thought of everything inbound still weighed heavily on her, and in this moment, it showed clearly.

"I will need to recover soon, Mithra dear. There is too much to be done."

As there eyes met, within his own emerald ones she would see much. A flurry of emotions which seemed to come and go, constantly at battle with one another. Such was the nature of the man, but when he gazed back he saw something. Or rather, nothing. A lack of. Not even in his wife did he truly see that; and in some ways it concerned him. It hurt him.

"Then all will be well." The man would comment as he took a seat, resting elbows on knees. He'd take a breath for a moment, before resting his chin on his crossed fingers. He sat there silently for a moment as if thinking about what to say. "Yes, you do. But I have some things I wish to talk about; concerns and requests." He'd speak genuinely, still speaking as but a man rather than a king. "I know I feel deeply about many things, I know my wife's own emotions may be muted but they persist. With you.. I am uncertain. It concerns me." He'd express, in part for her own benefit.

He wondered, how she felt. What she thought of that.

"Ah... You worry for my heart, as Mahadeva does."

She did not chide him, nor thank him for the concern. It was an issue she had yet to fully come to terms with herself, partially because it led to something of a contradiction in herself. Cyrus understood fully that she had no other choice but to cast aside her humanity for the sake of this goal. It would have taken too long to become powerful in any other way, if she ever could have at all. But even so, it sometimes seemed as though the loss had caused a gulf between her and the very world she wished to save. Even Helle had seen through the outward affection she showed. Was it so obviously false? Did she not love this world and all within it?

"Mithra dear... Would you allow me to tell you a story?"

Before he had time to quite reply, Cyrus simply looked out the window once more, and began to speak.

"Once upon a time, there was a boy named Lasye. He lived a quiet life, in a quiet village, and apprenticed under the blacksmith. That blacksmith was among the greatest in all the kingdom, and one day, the princess of the kingdom, Sasye, came to his village to demand that her blade be reforged. Lasye's master was deathly ill, but he would not let his teacher be dishonored. And so, despite only being just a boy, Lasye tired for days on end, until he could provide Sasye with a blade that had been forged to perfection. Satisfied with his work, Sasye smiled, and declared that Lasye would be her prince.

"Lasye naturally could not refuse, of course. He understood that she had made such a demand of him, and so he left his family, his home, everything behind in order to fulfill Sasye's demands. He did not much care for that life, but he cared for Sasye, and so the young man did everything in his power to become the greatest prince he could. In time, he became known as one of the greatest knights in the land, a gentleman through and through, one who could surely be a proper lord of the castle and protect the family name.

"War broke out, of course. It always does. Lasye took to the battlefield, and his prowess was the stuff of legends. A hero, they called him, but never did he much care for violence. It caused him unfathomable grief to know that he took any lives, to know that there were surely so many more families who would forever miss their sons and brothers. Though he won the war for them, he was never the same man afterward. A sadness hung over him, try as he might to push it away. In his later years, he spent his time always working to improve the kingdom, always striving to better it even at the cost of his own health. The land became prosperous under Lasye's rule, and it was said Sasye never could have found a better prince than him. And yet, when he died, it was not with a smile."

Cyrus stared at her own reflection then, for a long while. Some faint degree of memory swirled through her mind, but would not take hold. Did she hate that? She did not, yet she knew she would have, once upon a time. She knew fully how she had reacted to this story as a young boy herself.

"Strength dwells in unselfish people, Mithra dear. Yet it is they who suffer more than any others, for their virtue leads them to suffer in others' stead. I do not want that. I want the virtuous to live lives where they are rewarded for their virtue. If someone must suffer, then I was surely born for such a thing."

And then she turned to him, the same emptiness in her eyes. Perhaps that made her next questions all the more bleak, all the more haunting.

"What other alternative explanation might there be, Mithra dear? What other reason could there be for this existence?"

Desmond listened deeply to the story she told, each word being taken in carefully. Emerald eyes did not leave the waylaid body of the woman, his knuckles brushing against the stumble on his chin. The story was something of a tale, perhaps a reflection of Cyrus life at one point. He could not know truly, but he could tell that perhaps it should have had a deeper effect upon them once a time. But as they began to close he saw where they once again parted in beliefs. A frown coming onto his lips, a sadness entering into his eyes.

He was too human to not feel some displeasure at this assumption she made, to believe such a thing was a terrible thing. One which he'd counter, be him right or wrong, because it was what he chose to believe.

"Life is a test, Cyrus. A test of one's ability to rise in spite of everything which is given to us. Those who bare the burden and responsibility of virtue, will always be doom'd to have it tested. I do think it's why the writers of old often wrote immortality as a punishment; than a blessing." The man would reply softly to Cyrus, speaking more from the heart than the mind. He was not like his wife who could choose carefully political words, and he was not like Ulv where he could follow the flames of passion. He had to do what worked best for him.

Hopefully it worked for Cyrus.

"That's the thing about virtue, Cyrus. We do it with no expectation of reward. We do it with no belief the world will treat us fairly for merely doing it. We suffer, and choose to do so, because it's part of being human. You can't know the beauty of pleasure, without pain. You can't get stronger without breaking muscles." He'd comment for a moment falling silent. Removing his hand from his chin he'd slide his chair closer to the bed, placing a hand on the bed.

"No one ever has to suffer. But the fact they chose to, is what make them admirable. It is what makes people truly elevate them. If you mean to find the meaning to existence; to justify this suffering- look no further than outside." He'd shift his gaze outside to see some of the ruins, no doubt perhaps some covered bodies. But among that he also so those working to rebuild, he saw mutual grief which was being shared. He saw, in their pain, community.

"Cyrus, it doesn't matter what other name or form you take. You're always gonna be Cyrus to someone; and you will never suffer alone. Not when... other's care for you." The man would finish for a moment. His hand would lift, perhaps breaking cordiality or the illusion of a king, before taking her own. A callous hand with a lifetimes of scars which could be felt. A man who has suffered greatly, who's suffering forged him into the man he was. A man of the utmost willpower which even now seemed to burn all that brighter, because every word he spoke he genuinely believed in.

He was a man. Nothing more, and nothing less.

In that moment, Cyrus knew something quite abundantly clearly. It was nothing truly astounding, really, nothing that floated about her mind with no firm definition, or which caused the divinity within her to lash out reactively. She simply knew, quite definitively, that in another lifetime, she would have fallen in love with the King of Vastime at this very moment. But the world did not simply change according to what might have been. He was a married man, and she had no human heart to speak of. No matter what, such a hypothetical held no weight in this place. It was simply an observation.

"Tell me then, Mithra dear. Do you think what I have done has been for nothing? Do you think I will be unable, to accomplish the very thing I strove for in accepting this power? My humanity... I have cast that aside, Mithra dear. Annihilated it."

She was quiet, in part because she felt she already knew his answer. But, after a moment, she spoke more quietly, and her grip on the King's hand tightened just a touch. She knew that the two of them would never see eye to eye. But it did not matter, for they shared a bond more more important than ideological differences might ever be.

"...If it is only you and I, Desmond, you may call me Azmi."

"It depends, truly, on what you view as nothing, Azmi dear." The man would speak earnest to her, able to speak the name without skipping a beat. As he felt the brief tightening of their hand, he knew this endeavor- or truth- could be very scary for the normal person. But he knew they could not feel that, but he would comfort her with his words none the less.

"Life is unpredictable, we seek to do one thing yet end up somewhere else. Every step we take leads us somewhere else; perhaps further from our initial goals. I may never bring the peace I seek to earth; but I do not see it as a zero sum system. I do not believe all you have done has been for naught, be it you achieve your goals or not." He'd speak genuinely, bringing his other hand to clasp her hand now holding them both. Emerald eyes gazing intently at her, a small smile on his face.

"I value the journey more than the destination. I believe perhaps, the Cyrus which was one here is gone. To never return. But I do not think your humanity wiped away; it persists. It grows. It decays everytime you push it down. Or maybe that's just my foolish wishes being made vocal. I cannot accept your humanity is truly gone, and if it is- it shall return if you only accept it." The man was an idealist, that much was certain. In some ways he could be so far off the mark it was sad, but that didn't stop his belief. His faith in the impossible, like a man praying before an alter- he knew not what would change only that he had to believe.

"I did not expect to end up married, and to have two kids from two different women. I did not expect to be a king, I did not expect-" The man started laughing, actually laughing bringing a hand away from her clasped hands to wipe his eye. He'd gaze her with a smile, that spoke it all.

"I didn't expect alot of things, Azmi. But here I am. That's life. It's a funny thing, right?"

"That much is true. The man that I was... That Cyrus is dead, and he will not return. But I wonder if it can truly have been called such a bad thing, to lose that life, even if it has been replaced only by void. That Cyrus was vain, uncaring, tempermental, self-absorbed... delusional, above all else. For all the faults I may have brought upon myself, I may still say I have taken a person out of this world who did not better it. In that sense, I can never regret the loss of my humanity."

Azmi listened carefully to the words Desmond spoke, but more importantly, she watched him, saw the emotion in his eyes, in his expressions. She knew that was what she had thrown away. Yet- She never could have had it regardless. This path had been the only one she might ever walk.

"The now-dead Cyrus did not expect to fall in love, either. He had told himself that he would never do so, until he found a woman who perfectly matched him, who could strive for greatness. But the old Cyrus was far too emotional for that to hold true forever. He fell in love with perhaps the worst possible woman, you know. Mahadeva's lover, our former leader. A woman that, now, I wonder how he ever loved. Such a childish thing, and I am quite sure his grief was part of why he sought to cast that humanity out in the first place. Of his mistakes, of his ill-concieved hopes of being more than human, and of his delusions that he was something far greater than he was, I came to be."

Shrugging at all of that, Azmi simply gazed into Desmond's eyes once more. They were so unlike her own.

"The path I have walked has thus far been quite short. Nearly four centuries of life, snuffed out and replaced by something new, overwriting all that came before. Yet I still hold those memories, even if they no longer feel my own. Human, divine, this distinction... I cannot make it. I am simply whatever is necessary, I suppose. If you believe in my humanity, then I will not argue."

"That's quite the view. I suppose the average person may feel some relief from saying all that; but you are not the average person, no?"

The man would ask it very openly, not in a chiding nature but more as a statement of fact. He could accept much of what she said by the very merit it was true, that he may not know the details of her old life exactly but such was the nature of the two. He'd rub a hand down his face letting out a sigh, despite having all the stamina in the world he felt tired. Exhausted. The weight of the world was growing more cumbersome by the day.

But his hand would stop at his chin, tilting his head to look out the window. Taking a deep breath, before sighing. It was always so tiresome delving deeply into these emotions, maybe moreso than just ignoring their existence. Being the King was easy, but being a man always proved harder.

"You may not relate, considering your state, but I am rather tired. Not in the physical sense. World gets heavy after a while." He'd speak softly, musingly, before shifting his face to look at her once more. "I'm gonna need your help, Azmi. Perhaps our goals will never reconcile; but until then we must focus our efforts to combating other things. First, Shadowfall." He'd pause removing his hand from his chin, his hand tightening around her own.

"I intend to combat my patron. I will need your help, if you can offer it, Azmi."