Soft humming accompanies the young stallion that attends to the fires of the Shrine. It is a job he finds pride and comfort in, but one that is generally taken upon in solitude. Those that come to find solace or guidance in the fires are met with a warm smile that echoes that of the patron they look to, soft words or silence depending upon what they need in that moment. Maybe others find him too young for the task, for the heavy weight of advising and guiding, informing and sharing. Cera has never minded the quizzical looks or even the doubtful ones. It is his calling, and in his magic he finds further comfort. Two paths he'd claimed, one he'd never anticipated, so long desiring to become a Crafter or follow in his father's steps to be a warrior. Yet somehow, he had become everything. Ilaria the healer, he had woven into his life the duties of a fighter, informer, crafter...who said you had to stick to one expertise? So he hadn't.

Even if it was a lonely job at times, the crackling of the flames was the sound that always accompanied him. The humming was merely an addition, a way to pass the time. Lithe form flickered above the sands, a passing shadow upon the particles the only sign of his passing as he drifted among the sparks and cinders above. Heat touched pale sides and licked at snowy flanks. But it didn't last for long, hovering above the pit and beating expansive wings to fuel the fires below, heaving softly feathered appendages to encourage the flames to grow and consume the fuel he'd given it. Certainly a job that always built up sweat. Ilaria preferred to keep to the sands during this particular step, already meant for cooler climates than the Throat her bonded dwelled within.

It was she who spotted the approaching warrior first, her prince's gaze consumed with the glow of the light below. Hector is approaching, she interrupted, the soft humming dwindling as Cera's crown lifted to spy the aforementioned Spear. Checking the fires below one last time, the youth let the warm currents above the Shrine take the weight of flight off his shoulders after expending so much energy keeping the glow going. Drifting down to the sands he landed with a patter of snowy hooves, jogging off the momentum as he came to face the approaching stag.

Smiling, he stretched the ache from his shoulders as wings expanded and withdrew repeatedly. Ilaria came to Cera's side, curling round his ankle pleasantly, eyeing Hector with curious eyes. "Good afternoon, Hector," he called out pleasantly. Whether Hector recognized him or not, Cera's memory was especially vivid and exact, and he had seen the warrior around frequently as Midas' son. Though he was a generally easily overlooked figure at his father's flank, he knew Hector's face well and was pleased to see him again after such a long time since their last crossing of paths. "What brings you to the Shrine? If I may ask," he amended. After all there were plenty of his kin who would travel to his carefully tended fires and would not wish to share their troubles with him, Diviner or otherwise. Cera respected such wishes, and always ensured they would never be pressed to share their convoluted thoughts with him if they did not so desire. Whether or not he was meant to advise others, he could not press upon his herdmates advice they did not wish to hear.