það var farið að skyggja og fuglarnir þagnaðir As if it had heard him, the fire hissed, a tongue of flame unfurling and licking up towards the night sky before fading. Did it not like to hear him curse himself for a fool, or was it mocking him? Fire had never been his friend, and his gaze narrowed, dark lashes shielding his pupils from the harshest glare. Sun, Moon and Time — they were no friends of his, and he felt his heart grow colder even as the hurt seeped through his veins. The Sun had ever been his enemy, volatile and tempestuous, burning his land and manhandling his poor Seer. Controlled as Mauja was, he would never excuse such a raging monster, someone who could not even bridle his own anger. And Moon.. he felt his heart do a little spasm in his chest, remembering a small green-eyed filly telling him that the Moon could be just as cruel, just as angry, and how he'd told her how beautiful she was. He'd admitted to it, blind faith and foolishness, and here he stood, alone, mortal — wiser, bitterer. It tasted like ash in his mouth, like months with no rain and charred trees. It tasted like memory, and the sulfur from the Heart rose upon the warm wind and taunted his mind.

The flames stained his throat orange, shimmered along the lines of his face and darkened the silver shadow across his eyes to red, but his back was cast into cold darkness, a contrast of sensations as the waves of heat lapped against his face. So long ago it was that the raven feathers had been woven into his hair, one on each side of his neck, and three within his long tail — he barely noticed them anymore, but felt them now, their restless shifting against his skin as the unruly air buffeted them.

Slowly he became aware of another presence, of Leyra standing by his side and peering into the churning flames alongside him. For a moment he peered at her from the corner of his eye, wondering where she'd been. He hadn't seen her since the unfortunate accident with Zar'roc, Elizabeth and Roland, and by the smell of her, she'd been outside of Helovia. Her dark body seemed more angular, harder, the tip of her horn glinting malevolently in the firelight and her face was impassive. It was alien upon her usually soft face, as if a stranger resided in her body, but her apology was a thing of the past. She had abandoned them — him — and now she had come back, like everyone else did.. running away, only to return. But some, would not return. Some, he would not let back in. His heart grew colder and colder as the frost settled upon the mental wound, slowly tempering his blood until it felt less painful. He had been a fool, but would he be fooled again? Would Gods keep appearing, a fifth, a sixth, a seventh, until he had been well and truly torn apart by their fickle faiths and games?

Another approached, but still Mauja held his silence, perched upon the rim of the inferno, his body a blend of fire-shades and cold blue shadows. The stranger spoke hesitantly, as if not sure what he had stumbled upon, and the wind shifted to blow against them from behind, as if wanting to push them over the edge and incinerate their mortal shells. Wouldn't it be a feat, even for a God, to be the one to have finally conquered the body and mind of Mauja, the faithless?

His heart struck a beat of finality, a hollow ring within a chamber of doom.

The silver mask across his eyes receded, faded, despite the Moon's strong presence above the clouds, and the playful tug of wind loosened the raven feathers from behind his ears, followed by those in his tail; they rose, lazily almost, with the curve of the breeze, for a moment rising upon the thermals the fires spat out. Beautiful and elegant they spun within the restless air, twirling in some intricate dance of near-magic, and he watched them with impassive, unclouded eyes. He felt naked without them, but lighter, too.

And then, they fell, little specks of black against the too-bright flames, until they crumbled in the heat and were swallowed by the fiery depths, and Mauja was free.

"Morning," he replied in an even, emotionless voice, still staring into the flames, a closed look on his face hiding the empty soul beneath.
þegar úlfarnir opnaði augu hans í myrkrinu.