Being the youngest souls in Den Thelyss meant Verin and Essek had to try harder to make themselves stand apart. Neither of them have lifetimes of experience to call on: all of their achievements are their own. It is, at times, a source of chafing and at others a source of pride. Essek flew through his training at the Marble Tomes, more clever and sharper than his cohort and wizards more experienced. He's brilliant, which Verin has always known, but the day Essek stepped out from under his tutors and teachers was one of brilliant pride. Perhaps he alone knew how hard Essek worked, the hours he spent in study and practice, because Verin was often the only one to see his brother in those moments. Essek hid his failures and his stumbles, only ever showing a perfected final result.
Verin's trials were different, but no less intense. Essek had proven himself a prodigy, so what could Verin do but excel? Even at such a young age, he's mastered several styles of fighting and he is an (almost) peerless Echo Knight. Rising among his cohort - many of them carrying the memories of those who spent centuries fighting - had taken a dedication that few of his peers showed. Verin, like Essek, could take nothing for granted. So when Quana Kryn herself offers him a place in the Lucid Bastion, Verin can say that he's earned it. Even with the benefit of being an Umavi's son, such positions at merely granted as symbols of status. Such an offer means he has proven both his faith and his martial capabilities; beyond that, it is proof that his mind is just as sharp, even if he as not applied it in the same way as his brother. Beyond all of that, he is simply excited to continue his training under such an accomplished figure. She has taken an interest, and Verin cannot rest on this celebration of advancement if he means to be--worthy. Worthy of the care and attention of his trainers and tutors, worthy of what his den has invested in his education, worthy of being Deirta's son.
Though their father is happy to praise Verin's accomplishments, the man really had relatively little to do with either his son's advancement or his training in general. And even from across a crowded room, Verin can see the disdain on Essek's face whenever he does. He can always find Essek in a crowd, and he has spent all night looking toward his brother, the only person in the room who understands.
Verin is everything he should be at the celebration: he's gracious and exuberant, respectful and proud. He socializes throughout the night, moving from one circle to another, often on the arm of their mother. Essek had not allowed this kind of social steering, but Verin has always been the more outwardly complacent. He is able to get away from her long enough to celebrate with new comrades and members of his cohort, and long enough to have one dance with the modest, the reserved, the exacting Essek Thelyss. Verin is not beyond noticing it is the only time Essek dances the entire night, and while it shouldn't, that knowledge leaves something warm deep in his chest.
It's early morning when the festivities finally end and Verin is able to escape. He knows Essek left at least half an hour ago, able to politely leave at the earliest convenience while Verin is somewhat trapped until the last guests leave. He disappears to his small suite of rooms to decompress. Verin takes the time to clean himself, rinsing away the sweat of the evening in a simple but thorough sponge bath with the basin of water in his bedroom rather than a full bath. It takes longer to get the ornaments out of his hair, but thankfully he's never been as decorated as Essek.
Essek. Verin's thoughts drift to his brother, who remains the center of gravity in his life. He was beautiful tonight, and Verin could see the quiet pride in his eyes. That meant more than most of the praise he's heard since the day began, and he remembers the scent of Essek's perfume as they danced, and how it felt to hold his brother in his arms. Light, he has missed him.
Verin knows that any attempt to trance will be wasted, and so he dresses in his sleep clothes - soft linen pants tied at his hips - with a light silk robe thrown on and loosely belted. During their dance, Essek had whispered the password to get past the arcane locks on his doors, and so they are easy enough to bypass. Soft steps carry him through the familiar rooms to his brother's bedroom, which Verin does not hesitate to enter. Essek looks like he's trancing, but Verin is almost certain the arcane locks are not the only wards between the entryway and here.
So, with that confidence, he sinks down onto Essek's bed and turns toward his beautiful brother. It's effortless to pull his willowy body close against his chest, head tipped down to kiss the bare tip of Essek's ear.
"I doubt you are still trancing," he murmurs, a smile in his voice. "If you were at all."
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Verin's trials were different, but no less intense. Essek had proven himself a prodigy, so what could Verin do but excel? Even at such a young age, he's mastered several styles of fighting and he is an (almost) peerless Echo Knight. Rising among his cohort - many of them carrying the memories of those who spent centuries fighting - had taken a dedication that few of his peers showed. Verin, like Essek, could take nothing for granted. So when Quana Kryn herself offers him a place in the Lucid Bastion, Verin can say that he's earned it. Even with the benefit of being an Umavi's son, such positions at merely granted as symbols of status. Such an offer means he has proven both his faith and his martial capabilities; beyond that, it is proof that his mind is just as sharp, even if he as not applied it in the same way as his brother. Beyond all of that, he is simply excited to continue his training under such an accomplished figure. She has taken an interest, and Verin cannot rest on this celebration of advancement if he means to be--worthy. Worthy of the care and attention of his trainers and tutors, worthy of what his den has invested in his education, worthy of being Deirta's son.
Though their father is happy to praise Verin's accomplishments, the man really had relatively little to do with either his son's advancement or his training in general. And even from across a crowded room, Verin can see the disdain on Essek's face whenever he does. He can always find Essek in a crowd, and he has spent all night looking toward his brother, the only person in the room who understands.
Verin is everything he should be at the celebration: he's gracious and exuberant, respectful and proud. He socializes throughout the night, moving from one circle to another, often on the arm of their mother. Essek had not allowed this kind of social steering, but Verin has always been the more outwardly complacent. He is able to get away from her long enough to celebrate with new comrades and members of his cohort, and long enough to have one dance with the modest, the reserved, the exacting Essek Thelyss. Verin is not beyond noticing it is the only time Essek dances the entire night, and while it shouldn't, that knowledge leaves something warm deep in his chest.
It's early morning when the festivities finally end and Verin is able to escape. He knows Essek left at least half an hour ago, able to politely leave at the earliest convenience while Verin is somewhat trapped until the last guests leave. He disappears to his small suite of rooms to decompress. Verin takes the time to clean himself, rinsing away the sweat of the evening in a simple but thorough sponge bath with the basin of water in his bedroom rather than a full bath. It takes longer to get the ornaments out of his hair, but thankfully he's never been as decorated as Essek.
Essek. Verin's thoughts drift to his brother, who remains the center of gravity in his life. He was beautiful tonight, and Verin could see the quiet pride in his eyes. That meant more than most of the praise he's heard since the day began, and he remembers the scent of Essek's perfume as they danced, and how it felt to hold his brother in his arms. Light, he has missed him.
Verin knows that any attempt to trance will be wasted, and so he dresses in his sleep clothes - soft linen pants tied at his hips - with a light silk robe thrown on and loosely belted. During their dance, Essek had whispered the password to get past the arcane locks on his doors, and so they are easy enough to bypass. Soft steps carry him through the familiar rooms to his brother's bedroom, which Verin does not hesitate to enter. Essek looks like he's trancing, but Verin is almost certain the arcane locks are not the only wards between the entryway and here.
So, with that confidence, he sinks down onto Essek's bed and turns toward his beautiful brother. It's effortless to pull his willowy body close against his chest, head tipped down to kiss the bare tip of Essek's ear.
"I doubt you are still trancing," he murmurs, a smile in his voice. "If you were at all."