Paul laughs, a bright sound that turns uncanny as it bounces deeper into the dark below. He doesn't regret it, but he does decide not to repeat it until they're somewhere with acoustics that remind him less of how far there is to fall below them, perfectly safe or not.
The rest of the walk goes smoothly. Paul takes in their surroundings with interest, balancing his disciplined impulse to scout sight lines and hazards with admiring the eerie, ethereal glow of this jewel buried so deep in the earth.
The world is a different place when taken for what it is, not what purpose it might serve you. Paul wouldn't have marvelled at the depth of the shadows here so much if all he could think of was what dangers might be hidden within them.
But this slight wandering of attention isn't the same thing as going forward without care. As soon as the lights ahead begin to take shape, he stops short, slightly tightening his grip on Midoriya's arm. Judging by how his partner doesn't immediately fling himself into protective action, Paul knows that the presences in front of them aren't necessarily an immediate danger, but caution is a habit.
"None may pass without a cause," the figures say, a chorus in perfect unison, "Name your masters."
Paul recognizes them. His father and mother, as the world so loves to dangle in front of him (and he'd think it would ache less, one day, but not this one). The stooped, slender figure of Lazarus, who Paul would prefer to focus on. And, at the back, a mild, unremarkable man, with eyes of punched out black in the otherwise gleaming planes of his face.
His fingers dig into Midoriya's arm as his nostrils flare. He stills himself and wills them to loosen. Another test, like so many others that have come before and the many surely still in his future.
He doesn't answer right away. First, he looks to Midoriya, his tongue kept still until he sees how the young Hero is taking the sight in front of them.
no subject
The rest of the walk goes smoothly. Paul takes in their surroundings with interest, balancing his disciplined impulse to scout sight lines and hazards with admiring the eerie, ethereal glow of this jewel buried so deep in the earth.
The world is a different place when taken for what it is, not what purpose it might serve you. Paul wouldn't have marvelled at the depth of the shadows here so much if all he could think of was what dangers might be hidden within them.
But this slight wandering of attention isn't the same thing as going forward without care. As soon as the lights ahead begin to take shape, he stops short, slightly tightening his grip on Midoriya's arm. Judging by how his partner doesn't immediately fling himself into protective action, Paul knows that the presences in front of them aren't necessarily an immediate danger, but caution is a habit.
"None may pass without a cause," the figures say, a chorus in perfect unison, "Name your masters."
Paul recognizes them. His father and mother, as the world so loves to dangle in front of him (and he'd think it would ache less, one day, but not this one). The stooped, slender figure of Lazarus, who Paul would prefer to focus on. And, at the back, a mild, unremarkable man, with eyes of punched out black in the otherwise gleaming planes of his face.
His fingers dig into Midoriya's arm as his nostrils flare. He stills himself and wills them to loosen. Another test, like so many others that have come before and the many surely still in his future.
He doesn't answer right away. First, he looks to Midoriya, his tongue kept still until he sees how the young Hero is taking the sight in front of them.