Lá·za·ro

Alignment: south-west

In that early morning where the nameless, faceless crowds gathered under their umbrellas, he was the rain, being dragged away without resistance; he wasn’t sure for how long he wandered, but he knew he would eventually find his way back home, just like a water droplet always found its way back to the sea.

“You’re far too cruel, making promises like that.”

And like the sea, the one who found him was welcoming, holding his arm in a tight and stern grip, not letting him go and dragging him away with the flow of a current so he would never again be found. So Lázaro sighed, looking down and staring at the man under the red umbrella — the owner of that voice that managed to be low and high at the same time, filled with life and murmuring depths like a river. “Tell me something I don’t know already.”

— he, one of the few who Lázaro could call an acquaintance, or perhaps even a friend.

 “Leo.”

He stood proud and stood tall, for the years couldn’t tame the wild spirit that was Leonardo Mata: in his thirties, he wasn’t a tall man by any stretch — his build was lean and muscular, and maybe even short — but no one would ever dare to comment on it, for his sheer presence was so imposing that it filled the entire room, with twenty one piercings adorning his face and ears and a wicked smile on his lips. It was clear that his nose was broken more times than one, and his skin beared the scars to tell the story, but he also looked delicate in a way, with long hair shittily dyed blonde and dark roots showing as they cascaded behind his back, with black eyes that seemed to look right through him.

“Honestly,” Leo complained, shielding Lázaro from the storm with his umbrella. “What were you thinking, standing around like this?”

“‘Tis raining,” the Sorcerer simply stated as he was guided to black car parked nearby and Leo cursed under his breath. The vehicle was perhaps fancy, but he knew it wasn’t new; he had seen it multiple times since he came to Sete, but never helmed by Leo. Although, judging by its true owner, the place they were going was…—

“Start carrying an umbrella,” Leo ordered, closing the back door for Lázaro — but not before shoving back his now wet hair and offering his charge a handkerchief — and maybe Lázaro thought of protesting, but that was Leonardo he was talking about, so without any resistance, he took it and watched as the older man set himself in the driver’s seat, turning on the engine and allowing the car to murmur the song of power and burning spirit. “Do you plan on attending a formal meeting like that?”

As an answer, Lázaro whispered something noncommittal as he turned his gaze to the window, watching as the raindrops raced towards the earth, merging together in search of strength — becoming one without any barriers between them, for ultimately they were all the same.

“He was there again today — Gabriela’s younger brother.”

“What did you expect?” the man behind the wheel asked, not turning around to face his charge. Instead, he stared impassively at the long road ahead, guiding the car through the traffic with an almost machine-like efficiency — and for a long while there was silence; the glass and concrete colossal buildings passed by them like so many others before as they kept on moving, blending with each other both slowly and at an unmatched speed, until all that remained was the road and their goal.

At least until the Sorcerer spoke.

“He is always there —” And yet the city always changed, growing with industrious and near malignant vitality  — for it had no other purpose other than dominate and subjugate, clawing and devouring everything in sight until the entire island of Sete came under the dominion of a single parasite, vibrating and pulsating with the same disgusting half life of a demon as it sucked the seas and land dry  —  with skyscrapers yearning to touch the both the firmament and the godless heavens alike, with the tallest of them being the Empyrean Tower: as it challenged rhyme and reason, it stood tall as the testament of the mastery of the Source like a splintered bone coming out of the earth, reaching taller than anything manmade — where, in a cradle atop it, rested their artificial Star. “Always praying, always waiting for his master’s return — like a beautiful doll, worthy of pity.”

“And what will you do with this doll?” Leo asked, amusement clear in his voice.

“Anything.” Lázaro promised, clenching his fists. “Everything.” And yet, why was he shaking? Why did the words tasted bitter in his tongue? After all, it was— “All for the sake of our dream.”

But even he had a heart, once.

— even if now, it grew ever cold.