Storms of Truth (HIATUS)

8 (REVISED)

"Who?"

Orilion rubbed his back again with a soft hiss. "Faceless, but I know her, but I don't understand how..."

"Maybe we should wait another hour for you to get your bearings?" Falora questioned. "You're still unwell, Asen'Orilion."

"I said you can just call me Orilion," he replied weakly. "It's a title that means nothing to me. You continue to insist on calling you Falora. You can call me Orilion." He shook his head at her when she opened her mouth to argue. "What is the use of titles here?"

"Respect?"

"Fear," Orilion corrected with a smile. "Is it truly worth the meaning in a title if those who speak it, speak in fearful reverence?"

Falora raised an eyebrow. "I... guess not?"

"Then Orilion will do," he said and sat cross-legged.

Falora checked outside while the rain dripped off the stones. Trails of smoke lifted out of the trees. "We're heading over there," she said. "I'm hoping they'll have Celestial Templars searching for high concentrations of dragon power back at Crackjaw, leaving us free to make our escape... but first." Falora twisted to him. "If you're starting to remember some things, then I have to ask, if you want to look for Lady Lesinia... do you remember what she looks like?"

His brow furrowed as he got onto his wobbly knees. "I... I think so, but whether she's changed across these ages is another," he mumbled. "We are twins though... so maybe I do remember." He tipped his head at her. "I am going to try."

"Try... what?" Falora questioned when he wandered out into the last droplets of rain, which shone against his cheeks and slipped down his jaw as he turned to her, where the cyan twirled into the eye of a hurricane. "What are you planning?"

"I don't have a lot of power left in me," he observed when he studied his arms. "But, maybe I still have something left. I want to see how much of my memory was burned away." He breathed deep with the wind, and stretched his arms out while sparkled pockets of bubbly mist bounced around his feet. It raised higher in a tornadic circumference, slowed down with the mirage. Falora gaped and kept herself out of the visible force of power as Orilion opened his eyes into a hurricane, but a different person took shape. He knelt into the inflow, but stood back up with the wispy clouds as his black hair tangled into gorgeous waves of the ocean, braided with golden hoops which criss-crossed in her hair.

It dissipated in a single breeze, and Orilion brought his hands to the back of his neck, fluffing the pitch black hair with a small shake of his head to twist the braid, which clinkled with the ornaments.

"I'm surprised I was strong enough to do this, but I suppose it would never take that much strength to become my twin," his windswept voice disappeared to something more imposing, knowledgeable, curious and ancient. Orilion looked straight at her with the same cyan blue eyes. "This is the approximate appearance of when I last saw Lesinia. It appears there are some parts of me that'll never disappear."

Falora blinked. "You can do that?"

"Only me and her," Orilion said, but he ruffled the top of his head with a grimace, and the family resemblance was even more comically uncanny. "I had hoped I'd be able to reconnect through this but... I guess not." He folded his arms with a twist of his lips.

"She's pretty."

Orilion returned her blink. "If we ever meet her, you can tell her that." Inflow bands swirled around his feet, and the solid mirage disapepared and returned the god she shoved in her closet to her. "She always found great joy in 'acting' my part. I remember that too, she would also always use me as a mirror."