EREBOS

The scion heard his father’s voice, but it wasn’t reserved solely for him. Instead, it boomed and ricocheted, commanded and called for everyone in the vast, open world. Curiosity, and because he followed his sire’s orders (he knew better than to disobey and wander off into the ravines, the caverns, hide and shiver in the cold, become lost in the dark), compelled him onward from the reaches of pine he’d nestled and stretched beneath. Intrigue stained his mottled brow into furrowed contemplation, queries leaping and bounding as one dipped and drenched in youth often adheres: how many were going to be at this meeting? What made up the converging, the throng, the din, or the information spilled forth? Was it exciting, to watch and bear witness to the crowd gather, wander into the depths of the valley, of the Basin, wild, powerful, dominant and strong? Part of him yearned to go merely to see so many others; he’d met a few along the peaks and icy trails, ventured into empires and loams beyond, but had yet to encounter everyone. Everything was new, enticing, and inviting, so his steps sprang into action, raucous and frenzied, chaotic and juvenile; Peter Pan, Cheshire expanse, delving into swift, nurtured flames (for a moment or two, he thought to skip over the lake entirely; basilisk and divine all at once, but the notion quickly disappeared once he was distracted by the sight of so many horned brethren). A babe of infidel prowess and scholarly conjectures, his eyes widened at the unveiling of his fellow patriots; some gilded, some brooding, some contemplative, some bedazzled in smiles, and he remained stock still on the edge, wondering which mask he was supposed to wear. Should he trail beside his father, bright and proud, aloft and curious, like the other one nearest his dam (golden – that’s what he’d remember about the Bladed Lady and her offspring, the slight notion to go towards the other colt and ponder if he wanted to play)? Or should he sift between the crowd, forget and forgo his princeling crown? An instant passed before the impulsive slate of his youthful glow gave flight, lanky columns prancing through the nipping entrails of frost, grinning at all the other assembled creatures, before dipping his head towards the Reaper, anointed scythes and swords, and the fellow leader, piecing himself in a nearby section of Deimos, not missing his father’s subtle smirk in his direction. Not shy, not bashful or diffident, believing himself mighty, in some way or form, Erebos’s cranium remained high thereafter, surveying the rest of the wicked world and not truly understanding most of the words assembled (something about alliances, ranks, lessons, festivals sounded fun…). But youthful ignorance couldn’t last forever, and so his mind drifted through the words and phrases, pledged to ask his parents later on over all of the circumstances, revel in their answers.