He haunts the Threshold like a ghost, a blackened spectre hunting for any potential recruits to brainwash to his cause. His plans with Confutatis are about to be set in motion, and it isn't the sun on his back that warms his soul - it is the notion that, after eight months of solitude, he may finally be about to return to the ranks of the elite. Soon, a crown will sit on his head again; soon all will know his name. Soon they will sing their legends of the Warbringer and his Firetongue, and fear his presence as they should.

But before they do anything, they need followers. Whether they are lured by fable or by force, they need loyalists, soldiers willing to give their last breath for their Regime.

Above him, Cynder beats her wings against the air, carrying her high above his head. They have been in the caves for days now, and he can feel her heart soar at the delight of being out in the sunlight again. She bugles streams of flame, looping and chirping like a bird in spring, and the beast cannot help but chuckle. Then her mental voice touches his; "your hatchling", she says, her tones curious. Immediately Tyradon's interest is piqued; could it possibly be that one of his children has found their way to Helovia? He hasn't seen the spawn of his loins for eight long months, not since the war, not since the crushing removal of his magic and his dragon's maturity. He alters his path, massive hooves crunching against the snow as he follows Cynder's cues until he sees the unmistakeable figure of Farkas, staring at the sun. The boy was a strange one, even as a colt, yet his presence is still welcomed - with a guiding hoof and some steel in his soul, he could be great.

The massive stallion slows his pace, gargantuan skull dipping in a nod. He makes no move to touch his child, to welcome him properly; he has never been a particularly affectionate man, even to those born of his lust. "Farkas," he greets. Cynder is not so conservative with her greeting - she swoops down and scoops up a shiny grey rock, hovering in front of Farkas and offering him her gift with a series of happy chirps. She has never had hatchlings of her own, and so treats Tyradon's offspring like they are hers; she shows them far more outward affection than her sullen bonded has ever done. Tyradon chuckles to himself, then returns his attention to Farkas. The boy is a stallion in his own right now, no longer a rangy colt; he can be of use, but first it is time for a catch-up. "What brings you here?" he asks. He remembers the youth's mother, and wonders whatever became of her.