((I should be the one apologizing, guys. I haven't been able to do Aren justice lately, but that's no reason to delay for this long. So... sorry about this. Fortunately, I had a burst of creative genius today. To be honest, that's the way Aren should be played--running on creative genius like a warrior runs on adrenaline.))
Several hours before then, Aren had actually intended to go to where his fellow Chosens were and train. Hopefully he would have been able to find something lighter to fight with than his typical longsword. But fortune did not smile upon him that day. Or rather, Nayru was being rude. Very rude.
Val would find Aren stumbling half-blind around his house, which seemed about three times messier than usual, screeching like he was having a prolonged argument between his oaths. One of his hands was clutching his head, very nearly tearing his hair out from the migraine. It was just his luck that Nayru would slap him in the face with a thousand predictions at once, especially when he was almost out of paper and canvas. He sometimes thought that she tormented him just for the fun of it. Granted, it was pretty damn amusing to see a person that typically seemed so dignified running around his home like an angry cucco, more paint-splattered than usual. Through his shirt, the mark on his shoulder glowed a blindingly bright shade of blue.