I know. [ He says it so softly, so quietly. ] I know.

[ His palm settles over Aventurine's brand. He presses his hand against it, as if the heat from his palms could melt the mark away; then he shifts his fingers, running his thumb along the barcode once, twice. It doesn't go away, but he didn't expect it to, anyway. He's so gentle, so slow with his movements, as if Aventurine is a stray cat he's finally managed to lull into relaxation, and he doesn't want to startle the poor thing.

The Trailblazer's golden eyes still speak of impossible sorrow. And he does feel that way, when he thinks about it. The young man who was once just a boy named Kakavasha, in his rags and chains, getting ready to stain his hands bloody for sport and cold amusement. Caelus lets out a long breath. ]

You deserved better. [ He says this with great certainty, as if this is just an immutable truth he would die to prove. ] You still deserve better.

[ He moves his hand just slightly upward, so that instead of tracing the brand of Aventurine's slavery, his fingers are cradling Aventurine's jaw instead. It's not his first time noticing this — Caelus has eyes, he just wasn't willing to compromise the mission before this — but Aventurine really is beautiful beyond words. It makes Caelus want to treat him like he's something precious. ]

I wish I could help you. [ He swallows on a dry throat. ] You probably don't need my help. But I wish... I wish there was something I could do.