SO BELOW - EVENT LOG

[pluviosamods]

SO BELOW

With a slightly bump that can be felt throughout the ship, progress levels out. The skies above are threatening rain, but there aren't any drops falling from the sky... Yet.

Not that you'd know it, looking out the windows. A foreign ocean stands outside, on the other side of the glass - the ghost of an ocean, long gone from the truth of this world.

Just like so many other things, which have become visible to those who are willing to pay attention.

This is the event log for SO BELOW. Information for the first part of the Event (days 15 and 16) can be found here, along with sign-up options for the second part of the event.

Comments

[highjustice]

Neuvillette's expression lightens to see Sunday, and he gives a nod at the request. "I have nothing but time, as I imagine is true of most of us here," he says, gesturing for Sunday to continue.

And continue the young man does, and... Ah. Neuvillette does not exactly smile - indeed, the polite one falls from his face, his expression growing into a more complex, not-quite frown - but he is familiar enough with this line of questioning.

"I see that you've chosen a topic that may take some time," he says, no admonishment in his tone for something that will, indeed, take far more than 'a minute.' With a long-practiced care for the trailing edges of his robes, he takes a seat at the table, at a slight angle from the direction the young man is facing. "I will attempt to reach all of your concerns, but we may be a while to reach the point of speaking about solutions, rather than causes and philosophies."

"In my view," he begins carefully, "'justice' and 'law' are not synonymous. Rather, the law is one tool or path which can be used to reach justice - the one which, by virtue of my position, I am most beholden to. Indeed, 'justice' itself is not a thing with a single easy definition."

"For example, you speak as justice as punishment." There is, perhaps, a slight disapproval in Neuvillette's voice at the concept. "To me, justice is a matter of settling emotions - of those harmed and those of those who do harm, as well as the people around them - and a matter of fairness. In my view, justice is no less satisfied when people are able to settle their affairs peacefully outside the courtroom; indeed, I find that preferable, if only out of concern for the workload of Fontaine's civil servants."

His expression tightens slightly, and he says, "Similarly, the law is capable of perpetuating injustice, through malice or oversight on the behalf of those who make the laws and through other means. There is a reason that there are people within the legal system who see to its operation. Only those who are capable of compassion and learning are capable of correcting the mistakes that will lead to far greater injustice."

[harmoniousconsecration]

"Of course." Sunday says, nodding. Explaining himself, as he'd known this would likely be a much longer discussion than he'd made it out to be. "I did not wish to make you feel as though you needed to linger. These thoughts have been... I haven't been quite able to let them go, if I must be painfully honest. I did not want you to feel burdened to listen."

He waits until Neuvillette has had his say, before adding his questions, his worries into the mix. It seems they both had a very different opinion of the same subject. Sunday himself.... can't see where the justice lies in such a system.

"Settling emotions..."

It was not all too different than him accepting confessions and not being legally required to act upon them. It was his job to assuage their fears, that their Aeon might never smile upon them again. But what of those they hurt? Could a justice system built on a similar premise still work?

"But what about those who do wrong? What of those who break laws? Should they not receive punishment for that? Is justice itself not just a means for meting out punishment, when someone has committed a crime?"

He remembers fingers at his wing, pressing in, finding a space between the small bones. The pain of a needle being pushed through, once, twice. Golden piercings adorning it like crucifix nails, a symbol of his sins. More over the years, like tally marks across his skin. Reminding him of his place, his lifelong duty. A sacrificial lamb before Ena's altar.

"How could it get to a point where it is perpetuating injustice, if it is meant to guide? Would there not be some oversight, to ensure that the laws are fair and just? At what point is a law too far gone, too unjust to stand? How is that determined?"

Punishment was what he knew. It was all he knew justice to be. Prayer was not always enough. Sometimes the crime required corrective action, a firm hand to guide one back onto their right path, punishments enacted out of love. If Law and Justice were not synonymous... If this Justice was about feelings, about ensuring those harmed felt that enough has been done, what did it mean then, if the person who had hurt them walked freely? When did they know if this person had repented enough, had suffered enough for that forgiveness? That they would not simply make that choice again?

When was the price for their sins considered paid?

Sunday doesn't understand, but he wants to. He values this input, the Iudex's ideas on all of it, even if it leaves him with more questions.

[highjustice]

"...Allow me to ask you this: What is the purpose of punishment? How does it serve to make things right?"

Neuvillette leaves the question hanging in the air for some time, to give Sunday a chance to begin to formulate a thought before he begins to truly dig in to the examples. The questions this young man asks... While it's certainly true that Fontaine's justice system is unusual, the very form of those questions leaves Neuvillette concerned. Justice, it seems, has not served the young man before him very well.

He takes a deep breath and says, "Allow me to illustrate for you an example. A young man - barely more than a child - kills his foster parents, to protect his siblings from great harm. He turns himself in, and despite the fact that his actions were noble, the law only has proviso for defense of the self, not the defense of others. What purpose is served by punishing this young man, who took the only action he felt he had available to him, in full awareness of the consequences?"

Again he lets that sit, for a much shorter time, before continuing, "And to continue the story a bit - further investigation into the young man's actions revealed that his parents were the entry point by which children were conducted into a human trafficking ring. Due to his actions, we were able to bring many of those who were in collusion with his parents to justice... and forced to sentence them to the same prison in which the young man served his mandatory sentence, where they had the ability to retaliate against him. How can such a situation be considered just?"

He doesn't name Wriothesley - though anyone of a certain age in Fontaine knows the story already, there's no reason to expose the man's history here in full, without his consent. The case merely serves as one of the most illustrative examples - one of the most painful failures Neuvillette has, still lodged in his own heart.

[harmoniousconsecration]

And think Sunday does.

Punishment... Was not a metric to make things right. To make things right, one must repent, must enact good, with their own hands. Punishment was what was deserved, for enacting harm, for stepping out of line, for disobeying.

To him, it was justice. To be punished for their crimes, and then one would spend their time afterwards atoning for it, and proving their worth through actions of good will.

Neuvillette's analogy, the story he tells, brings Sunday pause. But killing was wrong-- And yet, was that child's only choice. There were children being trafficked, and he was trying to rescue his siblings from a similar fate, only to find himself in the same prison as those his parents had been connected to, who had trafficked his siblings, had enabled and encouraged these crimes.

Sunday stays silent, listening. His hands tremble, and he finds it all too easy to find himself in the shoes of that boy. Would he himself have killed his adoptive father if it had meant Robin would be safe? He thinks of his various failures. How each one had been footnoted with the fact that if his failures continued, if he was not pure, if he were found unsuitable, if he faltered, then the duty of Order would fall onto his sister.

If the Charmony Festival had happened when they were but children, if he had failed... If Robin was set to sing in his place. If Sunday were judged impure... If he were to lose her. His sister upon that sacrificial altar.

He imagines his own bare hands around a throat, around a dark feathered bird. He wouldn't have allowed it to continue. He imagines being arrested, along with the rest of the Oak Family. Placed within the same prison, where any of Gopher Wood's most loyal could choose to hurt him.

And... Sunday thinks, after a long moment, there was no justice in that.

"You... are right. There isn't any justice. That boy was left with a target on his back."

Another set of questions, though, arises. He folds his hands, interlacing his fingers to keep them from shaking.

"What is prison, if not punishment? And what is punishment, then, if it isn't justice?"

[highjustice]

Neuvillette simply nods in response to Sunday's conclusion. "It was a function of law, but it could hardly be called justice. Fortunately, that boy grew into a quite remarkable individual, and survived the experience not too much the worse for wear."

There's some fondness in his voice at the tail end, but he leaves the story there. If Sunday should encounter Wriothesley and put two and two together... Well, it might be for the better if he gets to see that someone can come back from such a thing. That the stain of such a crime is not unforgivable.

"Again, there's many answers to that, but I will give you mine," Neuvillette says. "But first, I have to elaborate a bit on Fontaine's court system."

"You see, our operahouse and courthouse are one in the same, and trials are treated as a matter of spectacle in much the same as anything else that comes to the stage at the Opera Epiclese. Non-Fontainians are often quick to question and criticize this system, as the affairs of law in most other nations are handled more privately. They believe that the spectacle devalues the rule of law."

Neuvillette folds his own hands in front of himself. "However, in spite of that, I find the effect to be much the opposite," he says. "The public affair of the trial is an opera to reconfirm the people's belief in justice, in much the same way a romantic reaffirms the audience's belief in love, or a horror film allows them to experience the rush of fear and the relief of safety without any risk of actual harm."

"In that theatre of justice, punishment is a tool for the audience, moreso than it is for the perpetrators of crimes. It allows others to walk away with the belief that justice has been upheld; it discourages those who have the potential to commit crimes, but not the desperation to see that as their only option. And of course, it allows the victims to satisfy their need to be heard and have the wrongs against them righted - not all are satisfied with the court's decision, of course, but most are able to return to their lives satisfied that justice has been upheld, and continue living peacefully."

With a slight smile, he says, "Behind the scenes, Fontaine's prison, the Fortress of Meropide, is more of a rehabilitation facility than a prison. Although there are guards and strict curfews, convicts have the ability to learn skills that will give them a way of living other than criminal activity at the end of their sentences, as well as guaranteed meals and the best medical treatment in Fontaine. Admittedly, it was not always so; the current administrator has done a magnificent job improving the quality of life."

[harmoniousconsecration]

That boy had become someone Neuvillette seemed to be proud of. Even a judge, on the other side of the law, could find something worth admiring. Even in a criminal. Even in someone with blood on their hands. Even in one that the justice system had failed.

Neuvillette's perspective on trial and court, the way Fontaine regarded such important matters... It was confounding. Almost horrifying. A spectacle? One at the same level as theatre? Sunday thinks of the Festival--- Was it not the same? Such an important moment on Penacony, his song, Ena's dream, televised, broadcasted for all to see, to witness, to follow the call to slumber. It was not court, but it was intended to last forever.

And for a moment, Sunday feels he sort of understands. But when Neuvillette broaches the topic of punishment... He bristles, his hands trembling. He knows this man is above simple gods. But to think so flippantly of this... To toy with a tool so vital. Why exist at all, if not to dissuade the perpetrator, to force submission, to put one in their place? Fontaine's punishments being not for the accused, but for the audience, to dissuade, to reaffirm, to prove that making a bad choice was not all that you are.... He can't help but apply that logic to how he had been raised, to Penacony as a whole, to The Family. He wants to understand, even as the concept unsettles, horrifies him.

When his wings had been run through, his ears, the only audience had been-- A chill cuts through, deep into his core. Sunday... doesn't like the thought of it. He refuses to continue it. Sunday crosses his arms in a sort of self hug, deeply uncomfortable. His hands brush against his feathers idly.

"...Who invented such a system? Why?"

He holds his tongue despite wanting to complain of how barbaric he finds it. The man before him is not the one who bears the mark of prior failings, and Fontaine itself has done him no wrong. Could a show, a stage, truly be as barbaric, as cruel and inhumane as a society that forced him to be perfect above all else, dangling his own sister's life above his head if he did not make an acceptable offering?

Was Fontaine truly as cruel as he thinks it, when those that commit crimes are given the tools to change their ways, a chance at a life that did not lead them to sin, a prison that was more than just bars and cells? Was Penacony truly the paradise he dreamed of, if people leaned heavily on dreams to escape the harshness of their realities?

Were his own attempts at giving people a second chance through good deeds and prayer so clumsy and hamfisted in comparison? Sunday's chest feels tight, like he is struggling to breathe. A question burns at the back of his throat, and he speaks it as though his mouth were aflame.

"What would you do then, if one came before your court. The crime at hand is selling his own children into slavery, as he could no longer provide for them, that he felt he truly had no other choice. And then he begs you, to allow him to walk free, to allow him to work and earn money, so that he may buy them back at a later date?"

What powers existed in this case? What could be reasonably be called justice, then?

And what of a bird within a cage, faced with impossible decisions? One expected to speak on behalf of a god that had never once regarded him? What was the justice? What was the punishment?

[highjustice]

Sunday may not be showing it with his words, but to Neuvillette's senses, the shock reels back (the wave going out) and then the disgust and almost anger crashes back in, staining the sand.

It isn't the worst he's felt, for certain. Neuvillette can bear this tide easily. But the way the young man before him reacts... He cannot help but wonder, and the places his wonderings will lead him towards are inevitably painful.

He says, "It has been through various iterations throughout Fontaine's history. The original laws were written by the original Hydro Archon, Egeria, when the nation was founded several millennia ago. At that time, the sentence for all crimes was banishment, not prison. Egeria herself later altered the sentence to prison - or, rather, she altered the destination of the sentence of exile. The Fortress of Meropide is her invention, and though it lies beneath Fontaine's waters, it is nominally a separate nation, outside of Fontaine's jurisdiction."

From the tone of his voice, Neuvillette actually does disapprove of this decision. The fact that the Fortress is legally a nation into which his court cannot reach has enabled many, many abuses over the course of Fontaine's history.

"The current mechanisms of the court, on the other hand, are the creation of her successor, Focalors. At the center of Fontaine's court is a divine artifice, the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, which is her creation. It turns the emotions of those in the courtroom, audience and participants alike, into an energy called Indemnitium which provides energy upon which the majority of Fontaine's infrastructure functions." He pauses, and then adds, "Though I am not privy to its exact mechanisms, it was designed to function autonomously. Furina herself has no ability to influence the Oratrice, which generates verdicts based upon the reactions of the audience, in effect turning them into an anonymized jury."

Hopefully that will settle the young man's questions, or at least provide a more productive avenue. Ideally, one away from Focalors and her creation, from Damocles Sola and her divine guillotine.

In response to the question, Neuvillette's response is immediate. "I would open an investigation to locate the children," he says. "Putting aside that Fontaine has systems in place to prevent such a scenario as much as possible - " Because the reality of Fontaine is that far more children than he would like slip through the cracks; the House of the Hearth settings its primary operations there is evidence enough. " - reducing the harm to which those children may be exposed is the highest priority. Additionally, there may be other children with them in that situation who are also in need of rescue." Those who traffic human beings in slavery never stop once they've begun, not of their own accord; someone has to step in and stop them.

"...As for the father, that matter would go before the court," he adds, perhaps a touch belatedly. "It is not my place to prosecute the matter, but to ensure that the law is followed fairly by all parties. If it were a confession made personally, I would turn the matter over to the Gardes for that investigation as well."

[harmoniousconsecration]

The original Archon. Her successor, Focalors. The reality of it cuts through him, leaving cracks in its wake. His perception of gods being these... Unerring, unfaltering deities. Creating something as foolish and fraught as this? Devising law and punishment as a spectacle for an audience?

He thinks of Xipe. How THEIR gaze, THEIR blessing, had not been enough to keep Robin safe. No amount of prayer he gave THEM could have rescued her from that bullet. Was that a god being fallible, or perhaps an act of god in and of itself, of Ena proving to him that THEY were the way, that THEY were truth? Or perhaps even, just terrible, awful luck?

No, it... It had to mean something. It had meant something. It had been a sign, Sunday was sure.

"But aren't gods... They are perfect beings, are they not? Why implement such a system? If we aren't meant to question them..."

His mind drifts again to Fou-Lu, one who was worshipped once, god-like and yet the most human of any he had heard of, who simply regretted, fearing what the mortal woman he'd cared for would think if she knew what he had committed in her name.

"For some time, I was a Bronze Melodia, at the request of my father. He wished for me to hear the confessions of the world, to understand the suffering we all inflict on one another. To try to bring hope to those that came before me. It was... a difficult job. It left me with much to think about. It left me questioning my own faith, at times." His hands shake as he leads into his next words. "My... father taught me that to question a god, an Aeon, was enacting a great sin, something worthy of punishment. If gods can be as foolish as us, as foolish as I... What point is there? If they are not law, nor right or wrong..."

Neuvillette absolutely shuts down the possibility of either of Sunday's own answers to the same dilemma. He would have sought to locate the children. The halovian's chest felt tight. He hadn't realized that was an option. He'd trusted in that man, to earn his keep, and buy the children back. Sunday had allowed him to walk free in Penacony, rather than allow the Bloodhounds to arrest and investigate.

It was something he'd already spent nights, years even, agonizing about. But now... He'd been presented with... few choices, in his life. With his father, it was either one or the other. In listening to confessions, it was always about helping that specific person feel absolved or forgiven, rather than holding them accountable for the cruelty. Perhaps there was where Sunday's helplessness had lied, where he felt he had little power to assist, beyond suggesting prayers and good deeds.

"And that is an error I can never forget."

He could have done something, then. He should have, he thinks. He had an obligation to say something. And yet... Those children had been left there. Sunday breathes in, deeply, slowly.

"I... Only ask that, as I found myself in that position, once. A man, came to confess to me, that the Bloodhounds, our security, were chasing after him. He wished to be granted clemency, as he could not afford to care for his children any longer, and sold them into slavery for the time being, until he could work, and earn enough to buy them back. I... I granted him that. I did not do my due diligence. I... Trusted his word."

His fingers root around in the feathers of his wings, searching anxiously for imperfections.

"I was young, foolish. And yet that is still no excuse. He came before me again, some time later, in much better shape than before. I asked him about his children, how they were. He..." A pause. Sunday finds a pinfeather, the sheath fragile, dusty. He twists it gently, crumbling the sheath away, freeing the new feather. "He didn't remember them."

[highjustice]

"I do not believe gods to be any more perfect than the humans over whom they reign," Neuvillette says. "Egeria more than most. Her godly ideal of 'purity' fettered her more than it did her good; she did not understand humanity, despite making every effort to do so. To understand the infinite variety of nuances within them was beyond a being who down to her core could not but to think of things of 'pure' and 'impure,' and many of the laws she handed down contain flaws accordingly. If there is a thing that is most admirable about her, it is that she never ceased to try, and to love her people regardless."

As Sunday explains his history, Neuvillette listens, and closes his eyes for a moment. "Such is not the nature of the gods of Teyvat," he says, before opening them again. "The God of Freedom does not rule over his land at all, out of concern that his very presence may restrict his people's freedom of thought; he comes and goes only in disguise, as fickle as the wind itself. Rex Lapis imparted to the people of Liyue that one must question and consider carefully before signing to a contract, for once given, one's bond cannot be changed or broken. The God of Wisdom delights in questions and learning, so much so that Sumeru's primary instrument of governance is the Akademiya itself. And Focalors gave unto the people of Fontaine the responsibility to determine justice for themselves, without her direct guidance."

It isn't a list of the nations in full, of course. But touching on the Electro Archon or Cryo Archons and how they govern their nations with tight fists might be a bit much for Sunday at the moment - and Inazuma's recent history, if anything, shows why blind fealty to the word of a god is more of a mistake than anything.

The sound of robes shifting, as Neuvillette folds his legs under the table. "And then, once more, there is Egeria," he says. "Though the Seven rule over the nations of Teyvat directly - well, excepting Barbatos - they themselves are subject to 'laws' passed down from the Heavenly Principles. Egeria, out of the love without impurity she held for humanity, violated such a law; she trespassed into the realm of creation that the heavens had taken for themselves, and created humans from the pure waters without their permission.

"It was her very nature; she was created by those same heavens to serve as the heart of the Primordial Sea, and by possessing its power ensure that no dragons would be born capable of doing so. One cannot deny a being created out of the source of all life the ability to create. But for her transgression, she was imprisoned for thousands of years, and the people of Fontaine left stained with an 'original sin' that marked them for death hundreds of years after she was gone. Lacrimae Dei, the god who weeps, was her constellation - but I have no reason to believe that she ever regretted her actions. Her tears were wept for the people she knew not how to save."

It is a lot to digest. In some ways, Neuvillette is still digesting it, himself - trying to determine who she was, the god born at the heart of the Primordial Sea, just like him, the god whose presence prevented him from being born. The Hydro Archon he never once bothered to meet, whose death he did not celebrate only because he knew that the death of one god led only to the creation of another, and no true change in his own circumstances.

"Right and wrong," he says, "can only be determined by the justice within your own heart. For some, the rule of law is their primary guidance; some take guidance from specific individuals; still others disregard any guidance offered to them. To choose one's own path is the more difficult one, but it is by no means lesser or more flawed. It is my belief that true justice can only be reached through the study of one's own heart; that justice is something which each person must discover for themselves."

He regards Sunday seriously, and says, "That you made such a mistake must bring you great pain. I will not admonish you; it seems you are doing a well enough job at that yourself. But unbearable as the outcome may feel, it seems to me that it is a mistake you will not make again, and that is all that anyone has any right to ask of you."

[harmoniousconsecration]

Sunday can understand Neuvillette's own perspective on it, but... the idea of applying that same line of thinking to an Aeon, is... It feels wrong, impossible. A bridge he could not cross. Perhaps Teyvat's gods were imperfect and human-like, but an Aeon... Xipe's eyes would never fall upon him. He had only experienced that gaze from afar, when another had gained THEIR favour, like the warmth of a hearth from a room he could not cross the threshold of.

For Egeria's concept of purity to fetter her, to make her flawed, was something that Sunday found... difficult to come to terms with. And furthermore, it being because of those flaws that such strange laws seemed to... persist, in Fontaine. Her flaws had made her nation flawed, her people. Their laws, their justice.

"But how does the pursuit of purity make one flawed? It is not the ideal version of the self, to be pure, untouched by sin?"

Untempted.

Were the desires of Teyvat's gods so shallow and simple? Could he even begin to compare that to an Aeon, that followed a singular Path, that represented an ultimate idea? And yet... While Aeons were not theirs to understand, perhaps was true of the gods of Teyvat.

Neuvillette explains, how some of the archons ruled, one region nearly untouched. How each had their means of imparting wisdom and faith upon their people. And of the laws that governed even the gods. How Egeria had committed a cardinal sin, and had created life-- humans, from water itself. Out of love for humanity, from the waters she oversaw.

She and the people she had touched were left punished for this sin, and she had wept for them, but did not regret it. And where was the justice in that? To deny a god of life the ability to create said life, to punish them and their people for thousands of years.

"Aeons cannot act outside of THEIR Primum Mobile. They are incapable of straying from THEIR Path. For Egeria to have been denied what was her right... Everywhere I look seems rife with cruel laws."

Sunday folds his hands in his lap. More than just Teyvat, it seemed. It wasn't a comforting thought. Sobering, difficult. He thinks of the ghost woman he'd met, how she had felt that breaking the laws put in place was the only right decision. that she had a duty to fulfill, a planet to attempt to save.

A thread lingers, one he's not yet ready to face: Could Penacony's laws, as he knew them, also be cruel? It's a thought that makes its bed in the back of his mind, unsettles him. His feathers splay out, and he struggles in reconciling with it existing at all. Neuvillette continues anyways, telling him that right and wrong were weighed within his own heart, that everyone had their own set of scales. That through studying one's heart, one could find what their own true justice is. Perhaps a belief Sunday is not... entirely prepared to grasp, but it was enlightening, in a sense: Justice as a means of self-determinism, rather than a blade wielded by one meant to punish.

"I... thank you, for your perspective. It is... Different, than I am used to. My own teachings often involved justice being a means of meting out punishment for sins. If there is truly another way, as you put it, it seems I have much to think about."

Neuvillette regards him, after his story, his experience. The other... seemed to understand, how heavily this had weighed on Sunday's heart. How much more it did now, that he knew that he'd had other options, that he could have chosen differently. That he could have asked questions.

It was a choice he could never unmake.

But it was one he would never repeat.

"It follows me, everywhere I go. There are... a few decisions I have made in life, that I think of, when I have yet another choice to make. I appreciate your grace, and thoughts on the matter. I will admit, it feels as though I have been walking around blindfolded this whole time."

A pause, searching for the right words. He did not want Neuvillette to think that he was just here to demand answers from him.

"I have always been... Fearful, of questioning. My father always asked that I believe him as I believe in THEM. That his word may as well be THEIRS." Sunday closes his eyes, breathing deeply and relaxing his frame. "For you to allow me this moment... It means very much to me."

[highjustice]

"Whether the pursuit of purity is helpful to you is also something you must discover for yourself," Neuvillette says. "But, in general, I find that anything that discourages growing and learning from our mistakes causes more harm than good in the long run."

The answers that come as a result of listening to one's heart are not always easy to bear, but it seems to him that Sunday is at least willing to open his ears, and that is as good a start as any could hope for.

The people of Egeria's Fontaine were different from those who lived and blossomed under Focalors, and not just for the inclusion of Melusines in the latter group. He cannot help but wonder what they will look like in the future, after a few centuries of his leadership. (He hopes that she will look upon them and smile, if any traces of her remain in the waters.)

"An Aeon's Path seems more alike to a god's divine ideal, then, if it is bound up in them and immutable. It is something of a double-edged sword, for them. Egeria could not abide impurity, which made it difficult to entreat her to change her path if she made a mistake; she could not abide the stain of such a flaw within herself. In that regard, I think that we who are not gods are fortunate indeed."

There's a soft smile on his face as he looks down at the table that lies between him and Sunday's folded hands. The young man's words paint a certain picture of his father, one which Neuvillette does not find flattering - but he keeps that opinion to himself, for now. There's no need to add to Sunday's burdens when he is so clearly struggling.

"That it is to me that you would pose such questions is a privilege I can only do my utmost to be worthy of," he says instead. "To give voice to your questions in spite of your fear is an act of significant courage."

[harmoniousconsecration]

Neuvillette's words, his perspective... It had given the halovian much to think about. This pursuit of a true, right answer, the pursuit of his own purity, without flaw or ideological stain. A single universal truth, for everyone. If this was not a world he could create within a land of dreams (lies), he wonders if perhaps a better angle could be found in reality (truth).

And yet, even with this conversation swirling around his head, the gentle, thoughtful ways that Neuvillette engaged his questions, providing answers from his own observations and experiences... The idea was a difficult thought to let go of, to lay to rest. Perhaps he had miscalculated before, somewhere. Perhaps he could still try. Perhaps there was yet still something to salvage from the wreckage of that dream... Perhaps there was still a dream to have. There is an ache in his chest and it has been there since he was a child, and all it has done is grow. Hindsight may be 20/20, and he might not have ever predicted that turn of events, but the worst of his actions, both what he has done and what he has not done, has marred his soul, and Sunday can see its cracks as though it were a window of stained glass.

"It's... difficult. I only wish that by questioning what I have learned that I may choose another path to walk, and not make those same mistakes again."

But was The Ship either truth or lie as he knew them? He knew dreams well, and it did not feel like a dream in ways he would recognize, and yet very little of this place seemed to make sense, from a standpoint in a reality he was not quiet accustomed to. Should he even try to enact his desires upon this place, upon his fellow passengers?

(Sunday does not think they are full of hate. He does not think any of these people would simply sell their loved ones into slavery and forget them. He does not think they would act cruelly the moment they perceived a lack of consequences. He does not think they would walk into his confessional and make a mockery of all that he held dear. He does not think they would shoot someone aiding the sick and dying.)

Protecting them was different. It always would be.

We who are not gods are fortunate indeed. The words leave a certain pang in the halovian's chest. Gods, archons, aeons. Forever bound to their structures and the rules imposed upon them, forced to operate only within the means they were designated. Perhaps there was truth there in that mortals and others that were not gods were lucky to not be so confined. Able to grow, and learn, and choose. It was another perspective Sunday had not yet considered, and it overturned his understanding of these concepts entirely. Was it better, more honourable, venerable, to be shackled in this way? Could freedom of thought, of choice, truly be a blessing?

"But is it really fortunate, if all this choice does is lead to harm? Could it really be something good, if all it allows for is more suffering?"

He doesn't know, and the questions only lead to evermore, but the soft smile on Neuvillette's face seems to be an answer in and of itself. Maybe it wasn't for him to understand, not yet. Maybe time and experience could also be an answer.

"Your perspective on much of this is... unique, I believe. With your proximity to the Archon, with your experience among people. The fact that you have seen humanity at its worst, for so long, and still find it in you to feel fond of it, to have hope in this way..." Sunday closes his eyes, reaching for what he's trying to say. "To know that you don't look upon any of us and feel that all is lost is... deeply valuable to me."

Sunday's faith in humanity had died long ago. And yet, knowing that Neuvillette could still find the strength to find hope... Perhaps it was enough to spark some faith in himself, too.