Altair said nothing to Diens, though it seemed like he believed him to some degree now. Cygnus himself had admitted to being a sadist. He'd enjoyed, watching Altair for any misstep so that he might exact punishment. It was never a game Altair had any hope of winning. Only perhaps cutting some of his losses. At the expense of his pride, of course, which as it stood now remained in tatters. Altair was still as the fabric was stripped away, sweating through the pain and fever until he drifted completely, unaware of the goings on around him or the addition of Snow.<br/><br/><br/>–<br/><br/><br/><i>Altair was warm and he felt light. Floating. He was in water but it wasn't chilly, nor did it rock him like the sea. On his back, the sun on his face. Long fingers dance through the calm water. He licked his lips, tasting the mineral content. It was refreshing, not toxic and salty. Long tendrils of greenery hung down from the open of the cavern. He knew exactly where he was at; his Goddesses' hands. He'd stay forever, sprawled out beneath the Dusanian sun, letting those waters cleanse him of his impurity. He wasn't in pain. His skin was a healthy tan, free of wounds left to scar and purple-yellow bruises. Altair was himself again. He wasn't bitter, simply calm and content, held in Lain's palm.  <br/>
<br/>
He swam, and then he dove, picking up a stone from one of the cavern shelves. He brought it up, coming to the edge where he propped himself to pray. He held the stone between his hands, opening his eyes when he felt fingers brush his shoulders. It was Lain herself, dressed in colorful Dusanian summersilks. Her eyes were a cloudy amber. Everything about her besides the silk were ethereally pale. She was tall and lithe, but strong. She extended her hand to him and he took it, dropping the stone back into the water. Her bare feet made no noise on the stone stairs that were carved on the outskirts of the cavern. She was bringing him up, and at the top, someone handed her a dull brown fur coat. She slipped into it and it enveloped her, looking wrong against her skin. Too consuming.  <br/>
<br/>
Altair followed her still, long fingers intertwined. Altair had expected greenery and sunshine but all that was gone. He wasn't in Dusan any longer. All he could see were sheets of snow and he wanted to wrap his hands around his body but wouldn't let go of Lain's hand. He hadn't wanted to leave and a resentful gaze swept his goddess for bringing him to such an unforgiving place. <br/>
<br/>
“I want to go back,” he told her, looking behind him but that wasn't an option. Ice had closed over the entrance of the cavern, sealing him out. She pulled her hand away from his and removed her coat, leaning close to wrap it around his body. He was still cold. She kissed him just at the corner of each eye, and then directed him with a soft hand against the small of his back. It wasn't forceful but Altair's body obeyed the command. He didn't want to, but he did.<br/>
<br/>
“Haere,” she said.  <br/>
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</div></i><br/><br/>–<br/><br/><br/>Altair woke to his fever dream in hysterics. He'd wanted to stay. He was furious, and he was cold, yet covered in a sheen of sweat. He was struggling against someone for what felt like hours but in reality wasn't probably any longer than a few minutes. He gave in to them easily, going pliant. The tranquility had been broken. There was pain and weakness. He wasn't whole anymore. He never would be again. He'd been ruined yet his Goddess would ask more of him.<br/><br/>He cursed her in all the languages that he knew.<br/><br/>Lain didn't come to him again. He could never achieve the peace during the time he'd been floating in her hands but there were times he found some comfort. Warmth for a time before the sapping cold returned to him. Altair was angry that she hadn't returned to him with more, yet part of him hoped that she wouldn't. He was so tired and he didn't know what she wanted; what she'd expected him to do. It was all too much for one person. He wanted to remain forever in those comforting waters and to never wake up again.<br/><br/><br/>It was nothing but blankets of white and chilling storms. He was clawing his way through it, unsure why he was trying or where he was going, only that she'd told him to<i>go</i>.<br/><br/><br/>-<br/><br/><br/><i>Cygnus visited him one evening. He was looking smug, sitting at his desk. Altair was in his bed. He'd thought he'd memorized the exact taste of fear but was reminded again as bile rose in the back of his throat.  <br/>
<br/>
“You make a lovely corpse,” Cygnus said, grinning mockingly.<br/>
<br/>
Altair looked down at his body. Flesh was sloughing away from bone, decaying. His belly had opened where he'd bloated, intestine no longer contained. The skin that remained was discolored far more than any bruising he could have suffered.</i><br/><br/><br/>–<br/><br/><br/>Altair woke screaming, though it was weak and raspy, trying to put himself back together. Someone he didn't know was wrestling with him and his panic rose, thinking it might have been death itself come to eat the flesh from his bones. He fought to break free of it's hold to the best of his ability, not giving in so easily this time. He wasn't sure where he was beyond that, only that he hadn't wanted Cygnus to win.