The call came, and for a long moment Cera did not so much as twitch a muscle towards the call he would have normally leaped for. Only when Ilaria whined and pulled on his mane did he move listlessly towards the flaming birds on the horizon. He didn't care enough to fly, to make his appearance post-haste. He was broken, shattered into unrecognizable pieces. Faithless, fatherless, brotherless...even he and Ranjiri had not managed to make up. Not that Cera had cared to return to their magnolia after Hototo's death. His doubts had consumed him, broken apart what little spirit and soul he had left to give to the Gods, to his people, to himself.

Sand crunched beneath his hooves as he approached the mass of horses gathered beneath his Sultan's gaze, shoulders drooped like broken wings, flight feathers dragging carelessly on the ground. Death would be a kinder fate than what had happened to the poor young bastard. For a moment he considered asking Gaucho to do just that, and though Cera did not dismiss it, he bitterly told himself that it was a question better asked in private. Ilaria whined helplessly from his shoulder, her heart breaking as she panicked, and were she capable of shedding tears they would be matting her fur to hear Cera speak so seriously about ending his own life.

For a moment, the Prince wished he had arrived sooner, if only to bask in Ampere's kindly greetings. The smallest of kindness was all he desired, but he did not deserve it. Besides, she likely wouldn't have deigned to say anything to him, not with Ilaria present on his nape. Cera snorted to himself, feeling suddenly like crying with that realization. Was his only saving grace also a deterrent, a curse, when it came to the Mother's kindness?

He stands apart, at the back of everything, staring into space. He does not deem to lift his eyes to Gaucho, for the strength it would take would surely break him. For a moment he entertains the idea that he will be demoted, if only because the moment Gaucho gazed upon him he would see how useless and broken up the youth was. Didn't he see that Cera was going to be of no use in the future? That he would sooner plummet to his own death than craft something?

And so he remained, silent and still, as easily overlooked as a ghost.