[ There are times when Sage Date is infinitely grateful for his guiding virtue. Because it's by grace alone that all his nerves go alight in time to figure out what's happened. A whistle in the air. A bright, terrible whistle. In one swift movement, he's carved his blade through the armor of a dynasty trooper, releasing its soul in a great cloud of dark steam. He switches his grip, bringing the sword into a low curve. Of the five of them, Sage has a firm grasp on the armor of Halo. He accepts its nature, its willingness to do battle - to wage war. That acceptance has kept it aligned to his wishes, to the fiber of his soul that would like nothing more than to lay down his sword.
Never has that dream seemed more far away than it does now. The armor's influence roars through him with the strength of lightning, its residual thunder booming through the sudden emptiness in his chest. Sage swings his no-dachi up in a tight arc, its blade streaking alive with brilliant energy. It collides with the arrow that's been sent flying for him. The sound of the weapons clashing is loud and horrible, like an explosion. At his feet, the ground splits. Wind roars past him, and he can feel the jolt of electricity in his skin.
The golden arrow spins harmlessly in the air and lands several yards away behind him, sunk into the soil. After that, things go quiet. He swallows and his throat is dry with the taste of metal and ozone. Halo hums angrily around him. It wills him to shift into a more confident stance.
But when he stands to face his attacker, he sees nothing but a friend. ]
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Never has that dream seemed more far away than it does now. The armor's influence roars through him with the strength of lightning, its residual thunder booming through the sudden emptiness in his chest. Sage swings his no-dachi up in a tight arc, its blade streaking alive with brilliant energy. It collides with the arrow that's been sent flying for him. The sound of the weapons clashing is loud and horrible, like an explosion. At his feet, the ground splits. Wind roars past him, and he can feel the jolt of electricity in his skin.
The golden arrow spins harmlessly in the air and lands several yards away behind him, sunk into the soil. After that, things go quiet. He swallows and his throat is dry with the taste of metal and ozone. Halo hums angrily around him. It wills him to shift into a more confident stance.
But when he stands to face his attacker, he sees nothing but a friend. ]
Rowen!
[ Not a question. A demand for an answer. ]