Rebecca
>>Sadness. Guilt. Anger. Emotions she didn't want to feel but couldn't help let coat her heart as if layers of skin as she gazed upon the destroyed sanctum. Esmeray stood outside, the destruction far greater than she had imagined as she stared at was once the home of the innocent. Home of people who were just seeking safety and harmony from the violence of the very gods and goddesses they once worshipped. She still couldn't understand why. Why they felt as if the mortals were nothing but a playing piece in the game they created, to use as pawns as if they didn't exist for anything other than entertainment. 


Esmeray looked up at the blown out windows and dark soot along the torched trim. From the outside it looked as if the destruction was minimal but she knew it was one small natural phenomenon from becoming nothing but dust and ash. A shutter from the very ground she could control and it could all collapse, burying evidence of godly participation and histories written amongst the bodies of the victims. A small part of her felt as if it would be better that way, instead of it being on full display for anyone to walk in on.

She had been warned of the damage beforehand, told not to go because it would only cause heartache. But she had to see for herself. Had to see the carnage caused by the divine. She lifted the black gaiter over her face before ducking beneath the yellow tape that now resided over the door and stepped inside. 

The interior was far worse than she imagined. The steel beams were prominent against the shattered concrete and brick that formed the walls, the heavy coating of dust on all that was left within. Despite the gaiter, the smell of smoke and burnt flesh was still thick in the air. Days that had passed and the rain that had since hovered over the city like a morbid angst had done nothing to dissolve it. They didn't know which god caused this, the destruction an aftermath of fire and smoke was a power like many of the gods. Deities from all

>>sides of the war could hold the award for the most mortal devastation; many she knew who would take the award with pride. 

The idea that it was Poseidon is what truly made her gut twist in embarrassing gloom. But it wouldn't surprise her either. The thought that the god in which she shared blood, could be the cause for such destruction, such desolation was what kept her on the side of the mortals. His power far too great and far too wide to let win in a war with such importance. 

Esmeray climbed the stairs with caution, stepping around the remnants of decay that seemed to cover each step. The second floor held the center of life for the sanctuary and where she knew she would find the most carnage. The bodies and bones of those who never would have known what their fate would have been that day. She didn't want to think about who they belonged to, far too many faces crossing her mind. But she knew she had to see it, she knew she needed the anger to fester inside so that she could direct it where it needed to go. So that she may find reason. Esmeray stepped into the room and her eyes fell across the corpses, both big and small, bodies that were unrecognizable. The room itself looked as if a bomb went off, holes in a majority of the floor and walls, tears in the existence of a normal day gone array. She felt as if her lungs constricted, the air leaving them.This is not how things were supposed to be. They were suppose to be happy, healthy, safe... Alive. This was genocide.

>>Ping: 
 Notes: I based it off of the ransacked sanctum but changed and altered something's. Hopefully this will work 🫶🏻
Jill
Poseidon did not anticipate that he would stand here once more. The ripe burden of death was not so prominent, but the impression of spirits still lingered in gravel and soot. When lives were taken in great numbers, even the underworld must make room. From kindled flesh to sullen bone, from one darkness to the next. If their souls were deemed as kind, they might be spared the torment of suffering. In this life, however, they were met with the simplicity of the world, with its terminal iniquity. The god of the sea eyed the eroded building with little to feel. He had seen worse than this. He had stood in corners of the earth with such excesses of spilt blood that the iron torched his nose. He had seen caskets in the minuscule shape of newborns, he had seen steeples of skulls. To be done at his hand or to be witnessed with apathy, it made no difference.
⠀
The weight of a demigod was slight, yet it could be felt. His own blood, however, drew to him with innate magnetism. Poseidon could sense her, and with the damning occupancy of her humanity, he knew that she would arrive. With a likeness to her father, she wished to see harsh truths with her eyes. The god did not yet know her, but had been made aware of her dedication to the preservation of mortals. He was irked by this, but his children borne from earthly mothers were often grazed with empathy. The blame could have been placed on himself, as his fascination of the lives that humans led was sporadic and fleeting. Poseidon would force the gift of divine motherhood on short–lived paramours and depart like a vessel. He was, in the end, still faithful to his queen. He became desensitized to the blind devotion of lovers that waited for his return.
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With such detachment came the indifference to many of his children. Poseidon took soundless steps with his arrival to the opening of the sanctum, yet his mind remained on his daughter. How would she appear, he wondered? Did she bear the hue of his eyes, or his affections for the ocean? Would she resemble the dauntless Alexios, or was her heart welded with softer, tactful things? If she was here, then she must be as resolute as himself. It was a shame that she did not see the world as he did— Poseidon's savagery did not always halt at his bloodline.
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It would not be long before the most sinister of mortals neglected the decay and made a playground out of the building. In more modern times, they seemed to decorate the disregarded things in graffiti. The ash of life would meddle with the ash of cigarettes, and just as all crimes did, it would become forgotten with time. He, too, might forget.
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Poseidon could hear tentative footsteps from above. Black boots fell atop embers until they reached the steps that his daughter previously graced. Her shoe–prints were outlined among sheets of dust, and his larger ones trampled hers. He made no effort to conceal the sound of his heels striking the floor, yet he was not so ominous, either. Poseidon came openly, but he could not say that he was without deceit.
⠀

Once he caught sight of her, the frigidity of his eyes was tempted to soften. No matter his absence in the lives of his children, Poseidon valued their seldom closeness. The final step creaked with his weight, and it was alarmingly divine, the way that he overlooked bodies to watch her. If there was any uncertainty that it was his rumored child, it was now squandered. Her backside, even the distinct shade of her hair, felt familiar.
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"Alexios was shaken when I met him here, and rightfully so." Poseidon, now more present than ever, looked to the bodies with little emotion. "I am certain that he would not wish the sight of this scene upon any other. From my understanding, he shows nobility to his compeers."
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There was no introduction, no acknowledgement of their connection. Not yet. His hands folded in front of him, tainted in translucent blood of the past. Eyes looked to her. Would she address him first? "You have entered of your own volition, have you not?"
Rebecca
The world was constantly ablaze, proof residing in the very sanctum in which she stood. The casualties of godly dictatorship were increasing as all sides grew in their numbers. This was just one example of the tactics that some god or goddess had conjured. None of them knew the severity behind their decisions, they just acted without thinking of the repercussions nor did they care. 

Esmeray bent down and grabbed a handful of the ash, letting it slowly fall through her fingers as she listened to the soft sound of footsteps that climbed the stairs. The heels of boots clicked against the floor indiscreetly but unhurried. A sense of unease grew in her stomach. She didn't have to guess who it was, knowing the possibility that he would show. Just as he did with Alexios. 

Though his arrival was expected, yet telling, the sound of his voice struck her. His words pierced her repeatedly as each of them echoed against the walls. The tone of it showed no form of emotion, neither pleasant nor patronizing. Esmeray turned slowly and pulled the gaiter off her face. She kept her breath steady as her emotions and senses were both overwhelmed. 
 
He was handsome. His form was strong and heavily built, his demeanor that of someone who commanded respect the moment he entered a room. She wanted to fully study him before speaking, knowing this may or may not be the only time they stood, alone, in each other's presence. The miraculous god that stood before her was exactly that. The embodiment of the sea. The tide breaker. The earth shatterer. 

"He has more compassion for those that are both his equals and subordinates than anyone that deems themself as superior ever could." She held her head high as her eyes met his. The greenish-blue hue was almost identical to hers.

She could feel it. The minuscule amount of hatred she held for the father in which she tried to deny having any feelings towards. Younger Esmeray begged for a relationship or even an acknowledgment from the very man who stood before her now. But he was no father, at least not to her. She fought the urge to look away from him, direct her line of sight to the destruction that was caused by him. She didn't care if it was indirect. His insubordination caused action. 

"My motives reside in the innocence that met a sudden death." She moved her hands as if to influence him to look at their surroundings as if he had not been there before. "I needed to see it for myself."
Jill
The daughter of the sea met him with a world of affliction in her eyes. He knew strength, and it swayed within her, constraining the vulnerability that came by the sounding of his voice. His tone, deep and decisive, thrummed the building with supremacy. There was purpose on his tongue, ceaselessly putting men to their knees. With her, alone, Poseidon placed hardy reins on his power. He wished to show a slight calm, yet his tranquility was akin to dicey waves. Where he believed he was gentle, he was still violent; Poseidon became desensitized to his harm. There were no restraints that could quiet the density of his divinity, roped over her back like unassailable weights. 
⠀
The gaiter was removed, and with it, the truth was uncloaked before him. He had known her by the color of her hair, like shadowed rosewood, a hue or two darker than his own. Her eyes, her hair, the gracious lines of her figure— it was the makeup of her mother, distant from himself. It was as though her soul entwined with her biological design and rejected the prominence of her father. There he stood, with wide shoulders and eyes of lapis, refusing to be dismissed.
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Further did he disdain the death that rooted within the floorboards like soil, reflective of her mother. She had been beautiful, as were each of his lovers— in her beauty survived both poise and wisdom, that of which charmed Poseidon. Women that were sewn with the thread of benevolence, those that would cherish him fiercely and weep in his absence. Unbeknownst to him, those tears nourished the flame of indignation in his children; for he stood as the earth–shaker, the deserter, the departed ship that had forsaken them. Salt and foam meshed with her blood, and as she spoke to him, he understood that she could not vanquish him completely. The girl had a fraction of his spine, the stillness of his breath.
⠀
In response, the remnants of a smile graced his face. It twitched and fell gingerly, entertained by the suggestion of her assertion. She kept his stare. If he had not been amused, perhaps he would have forced her to bow. To avert her gaze from the one that she had gone a lifetime without.
⠀
"You speak as if you feel deeply for him." He nearly held the tone of a goading father, but their disconnect caused a harsh translation, off–putting and distant. Poseidon stepped to her, dust lifting and loitering the black of his shoe. He did not look away. "Alexios has acquired the qualities of a righteous leader, yes. The astray and the weak, they resort to men of his caliber." A paradoxical remark, dancing between respect and prejudice.
⠀

"Nobility, however, does not always save the flock of sheep." Poseidon flared his nostrils to the smell of the room. Only then did he look to the contents of it for a second time, lacking the mortal apprehension of death. With her motion, he eyed her hands, eager to know if her palms were calloused with experience. If he squinted, he could see the remnants of a little girl.
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In a far corner of the room, a gray mouse scurried through the ash. It would not take long for the decomposition to attract lesser beings. The shelter was abandoned, and now it remained for the taking.
⠀
"There is not much left to see, child." A confirmation— a swift one, spoken with a mere blink of the eye. "Must you see all things, to know that they are true?" It was not a question regarding the fate of innocents. His glare, glacial and grating, made that known. Poseidon thought to advance further, but he stood where he was, watching.
Rebecca
The silence between their words sat on her psyche like a stiff drink on the brink of sending her mind into a haze of bad decisions and heartbreak. The harshness in his tone congruent with a surprising undertone of inconclusivity. Esmeray watched as he analyzed her, studying how stark her appearance matched her mother's, the delicate lines of her face met big round eyes and high cheekbones. She was always told growing up that she was blessed with her mother's looks but where she matched her mother's beauty, she was destitute in her nature. 

The thought that the nature in which she bloomed was formed by sea and stone was inscrutable. A thought that she had wished was fleeting but was as evident as the dregs from destruction in which she stood and the harshness in which she was bred. 

Esmeray tried not to move as he stepped forward, the fear that she tried to hold in slowly working against her as her chin slightly dipped. His words were meant to spark something within her. What that was, she had no idea. Too many feelings already involved where they shouldn't. A life running away from hurt, pain, and even love had all been thrown out the window as she stood in front of the man who ignited them from her in the first place. 

"I tend to speak highly of those who earn my loyalties," She stepped towards him this time, just the beginning of a game of chess . "He has followers because he stands against those who do not show any remorse for those who have no one to attest for them. Followers who are sick of inessential death." She did not move as his eyes trailed her hands and then the squeak that she could only assume an indication of what the decay would attract.

"Nobility may not garner the flock but neither will slaying those who have strayed." Her jaw tightened in anger. He had the gull to talk like this as they stood in a graveyard, examined the bones and watched as they were carried off by rodents. She felt as if she were walking a tightrope, the balancing act of civility and death. 

She stepped to the side, a bone cracking underneath her weight as he almost whispered the confirmation into the air as if it were nothing. Esmeray bit her bottom lip before she spoke, the sharp pain reminding her of her position, to control her emotions yet again. 

"The lack of what is left is precisely why I came. I didn't need to see to believe but to ignite." She tucked the gator into her pocket and took a few steps towards the broken window, turning away from his deafening glare. "Ignite the fire that had long been dimmed."
Jill
He could see it, her trembling capitulation— it was as though Poseidon was fastened to her, with an emotive weight that one could not disregard. Her attributes, made intense by a brief remembrance, cautiously hid and revealed with simultaneous intent. There was a tussle of feeling behind her eyes, an innocence in the dipping of her chin, and with ease did he see a woman grappling with a girlhood lost. With a contorted determination did the God of Seas believe that he must have been the chosen source of her every tribulation. A family tree sprouted by mangled roots, melded stubbornly into the earth. With branches that drooped like wearied limbs, furnished in thorns. A tree that would provide no shade, no sugared fruit.
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She could not flit from him, not even from spans apart.
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It was in her willing advancement, however, that he was confounded. Purposefully, Poseidon made his daze known, lifting his brow to her. In vicinity did her features amplify, and he could have known the scent of her if it weren't for their climate of stilled calamity. His daughter spoke further of the unshrinking Alexios, and the tint of his eyes appeared to dim in their mutual values. She kept still, as inert as he was, and in silence did he beckon for her tongue to unravel once again in confession.
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Her chilled verve, a flame that kindled similarly in his chest, did not please him. 
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"When the weak do not have a shield of patronage, they must become it, or shrivel in their timidity. Your chosen leader fights for slain sheep, and in his persistence, bodies multiply at his door. Blood taints the hands, just as it taints his failed benevolence."
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Poseidon, with a churning vexation, allowed his vocals to ascend and carry. The sanctum's vacancy cradled his overawing resonance with a reiteration that would not dwindle, and by happenstance, the clenching of his jaw mirrored hers. There was a boneyard beneath their heels, crunching quietly in the trail of his almighty inflection. The God interpreted the woman's abroad steps with offense, as if it was only him that could renounce her without notice and consolation.
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"To *Ignite*?"
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His physique turned, and with a capacity that was beyond the lengths of man, Poseidon's voice bellowed. Where did her momentary gallantry go, as she observed through a grime–embedded window?
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"You would be wise to flatten that flame. If you share my blood, *Child*, I would aspire that you share my instinct."
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With a redundant ferocity, he stepped closer to her, marking ownership of the space. No, she could never flee from him. His voice dropped, in an unsettling but articulate murmur. All of him was unearthly; all of him was polluted, desecrated by eons of experience.
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"I have seen masses of bodies so tall that men could make pillars from their bones. I have observed as structures crumbled, and made the tide smother the glory of cities. This is only the onset of a God's prowess."
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