#hoping this makes sense
Imagine if PoF had happened before HoT. Mainly, imagine Trahearne coming off the ship, to find the Commanders body after the departing. Imagine him dropping to his knees with an earth shattering keen as he finds them, twisted beyond recognition, burned to a lump, and swears to the shattered armour that he will show that impostor of a God what real fury looks like.
Imagine his reaction when the Commanders chest stretches with breath, as they gasp and choke as they come to. As he cradles them as they ask about Aurene and stagger to their feet, him holding them up as they did for him in Orr
Damnit Sole!
Kasmeer teleports them to the smouldering and smoke covered pillar of rock and the first thing that greets Trahearne is the colour of dark grey smoke.
The second thing to greet him is the smell.
Thick and choking.
Tear summoning and gag inducing.
Stomach turning and hope plummeting.
The smell of spilt and burnt blood, of overcooked flesh and meat, of melted metal at too high of a heat, of hair caught on fire.
He weezes as he steps away from the teleportation pool and the sound of beating sap drowns out Rytlock’s whine, drowns out Kasmeer’s gagging, drowns out Canach’s swearing, drowns out Vlast’s cry as the Dragon lands.
And for a second, the smoke clears.
The last thing to greet Trahearne is the Commander.
Near ripped in two, charred black skin cracked into tiny sections, hair burnt away, splayed out over blood soaked sand and eyes open but unseeing.
He doesn’t remember screeming.
He doesn’t remember stumbling over.
He doesn’t remember his knees hitting the mixture of sand, glass and blood.
He does remember throwing out one of the few group healing spells he knows.
He does remember gently laying his hands on the Commanders’ cheeks, trying to get unseeing eyes to focus on him.
He remembers thinking “I can raise the dead.”
Alleviate some of the (extreme) expectations you have for yourself by seeing things as extensions of yourself, rather than defining yourself by them.
Your talent for art is an extension of who you are: you’re enjoying it, you’re good at it and it might earn you money or a following. But if this extension were to fall away, it wouldn’t change you at your core. It would affect you, but it wouldn’t suddenly make you less worthy. Same goes for sports, songwriting, giving out advice, editing photos; they’re extensions of you because you’re the one who built them and invests time into them.
Your core is what (who) remains when all of those things are taken away. The person who had the courage to try in the first place, fell down and got up again, the intelligence and kindness, the perseverance and the boldness. That person is already whole and already enough. Even if there’s no extensions, talents, good grades, even if there’s just you being- it’s completely okay and good. Everything else is a bonus. You’re already worth celebrating just as you are.
