Despite the haven of the Shrine in the Throat, the Diviner found no solace in his homeland that day. Though he was aware the shrines had been destroyed, the Gods had always answered him no matter what he sought, and should their absence reign he nevertheless found solace in the footprints they had left etched forever into the warm rock. Once upon a time, he had even met a talking tortoise with wisdom far beyond what Cera could ever comprehend. It was a secondary home, one he worshipped as profoundly as the Shrine of his Lord.

He had started out early, when the sky was a vibrant purple of awakening. The sand had trailed into compact earth, and with the tick of the hours birdsong and the rustling of life had greeted him like a long lost friend. Such sounds were not prevalent in his desert home land. It would be a few hours more until he would reach the Veins, so he enjoyed the solitude and the time it granted him to think. The path was sewn into his heart with silver threading looped through a golden needle, spinning a compass upon his heart onto a lane of memories and well-traveled flights of desperation and confusion. Nothing had changed but the passage of time wearing down the stone altars, a comfort of degradation.

Only, there was something beyond, something new. Wholly unprepared for the sight of an island perched in the sky, Cera stared for many moments in shock. All that uprooted him from his stunned passivity was the movement of another body, the flow of scent into nares that recognized a Throat kin within a moment. Unaware of the name of the other Throatling, he nevertheless moved forward as he saw her form begin to struggle against the clouds that had clung to her ankles. Staring in wordless shock as it lifted her bodily from the earth, taking her to the surface of the island in the distance.

Cera shied away from the untrustworthy substance, eyeing it warily. The sky was meant for those with wings, with currents and drafts and experience to navigate them. It was delightful that others could enjoy the experience, in a way, but Cera would never have a contraption- magical or not- replace his wings. Racing for the edge, still worried for his sister in arms, pale hooves lurched against the precipice of rock and angelic wings snapped forth to carry his weight into the nothing. Ilaria chattered nervously from his shoulders, eyeing the island with a mixture of curiosity and displeasure. It could either be a formation of the Gods, in which Cera would trust its intentions, or it could be a ploy to trick and ensnare the naive citizens of the peninsula.

Landing hesitantly, muscles straining to keep from placing his weight fully upon the earth until he was sure it would not crumble from beneath him, the painted boy continued on until he heard soft musings from ahead. Sighing in relief that the fae was unharmed, he jogged forth to join her. "I have no idea. You're from the Throat, aren't you? My name is Cera, son of Midas and Diviner of our land. May I know your name?" Pleasant smile warmed his pale features as he gazed upon the lass, happy simply because she was well and his worries had calmed to a degree concerning her health. Looking out at what lay before them, he frowned softly. "I don't see much activity. Would you like to explore with me? We can report back to Sohalia and Africa, I suspect they'd wish to know of this development." One wing extended from his shoulder as if bowing and extending an arm in invitation of a stroll on this new terrain that held so many secrets.