[ In this singular instance, perhaps it is to the Hero King's benefit that he is cursed. Cursed to carry the memories (the heartfelt sorrows and joys, the momentous triumphs and regrets, and all the color and vibrancy of so, so very many hearts) of all those who had come before him: the former vessels for an entity of destruction. Men, women, and children all—the existences of the past 'Sion' are his own, but they do not comprise him. Rather, their experiences (their wisdom and their faults) fortify his own convictions, his own beliefs, and Sion Astal, as he is, is practiced in retaining his sense of self despite the encroachment of madness which weighs upon him.

'Sol Aster' is--... Another addition among many. A consciousness which Sion Astal will honor by ever-so-gently resting his chin atop the crown of Alucard's flaxen hair, the gesture one of comfort and familiarity, seemingly out of place for a battlefield and yet so very needed all the same. ]

The same is true for me, as well. [ —the cadence of Sions' voice is soothing, his certainty of the situation and all things surrounding him producing an air of calm which likely should not have been, all things considered: ] But if we look behind ourselves for too long, we will become lost.

We must find the path we wish to walk here, in this moment, and see it through to its end. [ Drawing back and away, Sion seeks out Alucard's gaze, touching his fingertips lightly against the back of the other man's hand. ] And despite everything... I know I would not regret walking forward with you.

[ And with a nod of his head, the fringe of his hair bouncing lightly (childishly) with the certainty of the motion, Sion insists: ]

Show me your wound. I will do what I can to help.