Cera
_{I'm an angel with a shotgun, fighting till the war's won, and I don't care if heaven won't take me back}

Fear does not keep him below land for long. When there is word that the outside lands have been freed from shadow, he escapes, uncaring of the wraiths that are rumored to still linger. He is a child of sun, he yearns for the rays that touch his back, and his only desire is to leave the place his father roams. The place he is not meant to be. Midas was a hard stallion to avoid, but Cera had done his best, despite Ilaria hissing and fighting all the while. Cera had despised himself for a long time now, wondering why he had to be the weak one, the one who crumbled into tears at every new discovery and change in his life. He was not bold and fearless like Ranjiri. He was not strong and stable like Hototo. He was nothing. He was a fake son to a lead everyone adored. And before then, he was the quiet, invisible adopted child of their beloved General. Just an orphan taken in by the oh-so-loving and considerate golden boy. Cera loved his father, but he hated how in a family of glowing, beautiful, perfect souls he was the stain between them all. The black sheep. The ugly duckling.

So he is back where it all began. The scar upon his chest burns idly, as if sentient and knowing that this place is where it had been made. Cera still vividly remembers that day, with the twisting golden light in the trees, the joyous day he'd been having. Even now he can recall the burn of the poison in his veins, the way the earth had scratched him in his sensitivity as he curled upon the ground, prone and useless. Remembers the howling and shrieking of pain that tore his body apart, the screaming in his head as Ilaria, just a newborn at that point, felt every sear along his heart. She had been so young, he laments in his head, seasons later. He would never forgive himself for bonding to her at that time. She had forgiven him so long ago, but he would never be able to forget.

Ilaria, for once, is not resting upon him in some fashion. Instead she takes to the trees, exhilarated to be free once more. A climber at heart, there is not a day that passes where she doesn't seek solitude in the branches of a tree. It was why she loved the Magnolia tree so much. Pain strikes at Cera's heart, and his throat makes a pathetic choked sound. He lifts his head to the skies and gives a restrained scream of anger. Whirling about he lunges at the closest tree, letting his pale hooves strike into the surface with a vengeance, eyes wild and teeth bared, ears pinned deep into the locks of his mane. It hurts, splintering up his ankles and bleeding idly, but he refuses to stop. He wants to hurt, because it's better than feeling numb. With a decisive move he digs his teeth into the bark and rips it off, muffling his yell into it before spitting it out distastefully. Narrow chest heaves and he stalks off, Ilaria chittering fearfully behind him, scampering from branch to branch, trying to keep up. She's scared, wants to know what's wrong, but there is a thick wall keeping her out of his thoughts as he moves away from her.

He doesn't stop until he is facing the bloodied pond. He stares down into his reflection as Ilaria winds between his ankles, focusing her magic to heal the scrapes along his legs, knowing he would not allow her into his mind just then. Scowling, he cusses violently, a slew of words that don't fit his personality. When he has finished, too tired for such anger, he stares down at the watery image staring back at him and wishes he had the tears left to cry. "I wish I'd never survived my mother abandoning me," he grit out, voice rough and hoarse from screaming. "I'll never amount to the perfection of my supposed family. What is love, alone, when faced with a mix of blood and love? Nothing," he spat. Absolutely nothing. So what was he?

@[Snö] maybe @[Midas] later!