(it's as though being rebirthed opened his third eye. from the moment he could stand and walk, lost, through the shadowlands—before that, the hour he woke his stepsister up after tearing reality open—jonas has encountered supernatural nightmares and miracles, and now, standing on the bow of a ship navigating a storm of screams and dead bodies, he witnesses another.
a dagger and flask form from glass and light. thrown at the ocean, three eruptions result from it shattering; ice freezes rain into flakes and beads of hail pelt the deck. their feet leave it altogether at the ship's sudden halting, the next crest of the approaching tidal wave not made of water anymore but of solid ice. jonas is certain that it'll look like it's always been there, this grey mountain at the heart of the storm. this was a sight god wanted him to see—the next parting of the red sea—but his vision blackens when the rope snaps taut around his waist.
for a long time, he's unable to breathe. lying on his belly, his diaphragm refuses any effort to expand and contract, but on slamming his fist into frozen wooden boards, jonas forces in a hiccough.
stay down, he's encouraged. play dead. let him leave alone. you'll regret becoming a burden.
the moment jonas notices the warm fog of his laboured exhales, he shoves down at the deck and sobs into his first bend to get to his feet. burden or not, it's less selfish to try. if it feels like something crucial has been damaged in his own chest and stomach, then noctis might be in a similar position—or worse.)
You alright? (he croaks, having lost track of noctis in the creation of a new landscape ahead of them. one hand is folded with its forearm across his middle, so the other is the one assigned to check on him.)
You did something... incredible. I just—I've never seen... (after a low gasp, jonas shakes his head.) This is unbelievable...
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a dagger and flask form from glass and light. thrown at the ocean, three eruptions result from it shattering; ice freezes rain into flakes and beads of hail pelt the deck. their feet leave it altogether at the ship's sudden halting, the next crest of the approaching tidal wave not made of water anymore but of solid ice. jonas is certain that it'll look like it's always been there, this grey mountain at the heart of the storm. this was a sight god wanted him to see—the next parting of the red sea—but his vision blackens when the rope snaps taut around his waist.
for a long time, he's unable to breathe. lying on his belly, his diaphragm refuses any effort to expand and contract, but on slamming his fist into frozen wooden boards, jonas forces in a hiccough.
stay down, he's encouraged. play dead. let him leave alone. you'll regret becoming a burden.
the moment jonas notices the warm fog of his laboured exhales, he shoves down at the deck and sobs into his first bend to get to his feet. burden or not, it's less selfish to try. if it feels like something crucial has been damaged in his own chest and stomach, then noctis might be in a similar position—or worse.)
You alright? (he croaks, having lost track of noctis in the creation of a new landscape ahead of them. one hand is folded with its forearm across his middle, so the other is the one assigned to check on him.)
You did something... incredible. I just—I've never seen... (after a low gasp, jonas shakes his head.) This is unbelievable...