Aoba, having never seen snow of this scale before, found it very easy to decide that he hadn’t been missing out on anything. Grateful for the cloak he found draped on his shoulders, and ignoring idle thoughts regarding the Guardian’s scent upon it, he bundled up and followed the Titan along. A combination of the cold, the awe-inspiring environment, and Declan’s thorough explanations kept his thoughts well-distracted from a question that had suddenly risen in them, sharp as a knife’s edge.
So if the Guardians were like an ‘organization’ at large, then the Iron Lords were a specific faction that Declan was aligned with. Aoba took that much away from it, at least, though when he was left alone (with Ghost and Ren, the later peeking from his satchel once again) he found himself not terribly captivated by the architecture, stunning though it should have been. He wandered a little among the frescoes, since that seemed less awkward than just standing around like the stranger that he was, but his own attention fell back on Declan just as much as he was sought out in turn—not that he was particularly cognizant of that latter fact, though.
What had his words even meant? Pre-Golden Age? Wasn’t that what Aoba was, if the Traveler’s arrival was somewhere ‘ahead’ of his home time? Was Declan some kind of time traveler too?
He was very old? He never asked much? More choices? Just…what?
“Ghost?” The movement of the little construct in his periphery reminded Aoba that he was there to be asked, meaning Aoba didn’t just have to stare at art and make no sense of his own confused guessing. “What did Declan mean, he’s pre-Golden Age? Is he from my time?”
no subject
So if the Guardians were like an ‘organization’ at large, then the Iron Lords were a specific faction that Declan was aligned with. Aoba took that much away from it, at least, though when he was left alone (with Ghost and Ren, the later peeking from his satchel once again) he found himself not terribly captivated by the architecture, stunning though it should have been. He wandered a little among the frescoes, since that seemed less awkward than just standing around like the stranger that he was, but his own attention fell back on Declan just as much as he was sought out in turn—not that he was particularly cognizant of that latter fact, though.
What had his words even meant? Pre-Golden Age? Wasn’t that what Aoba was, if the Traveler’s arrival was somewhere ‘ahead’ of his home time? Was Declan some kind of time traveler too?
He was very old? He never asked much? More choices? Just…what?
“Ghost?” The movement of the little construct in his periphery reminded Aoba that he was there to be asked, meaning Aoba didn’t just have to stare at art and make no sense of his own confused guessing. “What did Declan mean, he’s pre-Golden Age? Is he from my time?”