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Orym’s eyes drift closed as Prism’s hand lifts him in the air, and his mind drifts back, plucking a memory of Dorian playing something slow and soft as they rode in the back of the Glitter Shitter on their way out of Emon. The memory is hazy and a little rose colored because Orym is sure the back of that wagon was never actually as clean as he thinks it was and he smiles as he spins on his toes, arms raised in a perfect 4th form. He can hear Dorian’s voice, though; that part is crystal clear and he lets the remembered sound carry him through his entire routine twice over.
“You looked comfortable up there,” Prism says once he’s back on flat ground, one knee pulled up against his chest as they perch on a fallen log to finish their watch.
“I – I suppose I was. We did a form of training where we had to balance on a board that had a metal cylinder under it while also doing our sword forms,” Orym says, a grin just barely tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“That sounds – hard ,” Prism says, nose scrunching up.
“It was. But balance is incredibly important when it comes to the Zeph'aeratam.”
“Is that what you were doing? The –” she pauses, eyes narrowing for a split second – “The Zeph'aeratam?”
“Good job on the pronunciation. And yes, it’s what our combat training is called in Zephrah. As you can tell, we are really killing the whole name game thing.”
Prism laughs, throwing her head back and having to catch her beret as it almost dislodges itself from her head. “I think it’s a better name than Daniyos –” “I heard that!” comes out muffled from her bag and Prism rolls her eyes – “And I think it’s lovely but I can’t imagine trying to do that while balancing too!”
“My Dad was really good at it, the best really,” Liam says, cheek resting on his knee and his tail curled up around his ankle as he smiles at the memories of watching Derrig best everyone else at the balance board. “One time I did manage to outlast him; he didn’t realize I’d gotten my Ma to turn a rock invisible and I used that to keep from tipping over.”
That gets another laugh from Prism, her beret falling all the way off as she tips backwards and then falls off the log with a yelp. Orym is quick to offer her a hand back up and she accepts it with a faint blush on her cheeks.
“Your parents sound amazing.”
“Oh. I – um I say Dad but he was my father-in-law? He just…he did more raising than my actual father. And he also – he died that day. The same day as my husband,” Orym says, eyes distant now as Prism lets out a muffled gasp.
“You – I knew you said widower but you lost – oh, Orym,” she says softly, one hand over her mouth as her eyes start to glisten.
“I’d say it’s fine but it really isn't, not when he is still out there. Still walking around like the cock of the walk and thinking he can just continue to kill whoever he wants to get his way,” Orym says, his voice soft but intense.
Prism lays a hand on his shoulder, “I am so sorry you lost – you lost your family that way.”
Orym sighs, looking up at Catha as his left hand comes up to rest over the tattoo on his bicep. “Me too. But Derrig taught me a lot about how to be a good swordsman and how to protect those I care about. And Will…Will taught me how to be a better person.”
“I admit, I may be just a tiny bit jealous.” Prism says. “I’ve been on this plane for ten years and I don’t know that I truly have anyone I could call a friend.”
“You do now. And if – if we get through this I will personally make sure the Cobalt Soul knows how much you did and that you should be a full time mage. And I’ll come to your – uh – ceremony? If there is one?”
Prism giggles, “You’re incredibly kind. Now, how can we kill some more time?”
“You mentioned teaching me about eyeliner?” Orym says, smiling up at Catha as she starts to chatter on and pull things out of her bag.