EREBOS

Today’s adventure held no enjoyment, cajoling, or flagrant niceties, instead, it reminded the child that despite his kingdom being strong, stalwart, hardy and rigid, the world still presided in chaotic fragments, just for a chance, just for a bite, of the potent and vicious. Danger loomed and the lad’s heart pounded with the ringing sound of alarms, shrill, harsh, caustic; and he tried not to fill with panic and dread. His father was gone in an instant, flashing through the tundra with a Reaper’s indulgence, and the swinging pinnacles of the wind brought forth the oddest smells: unfamiliar, but distinctly canine. Deep in the thicket, his body trembled, little limbs shivering together despite the balmy summer, and while he knew his sire wouldn’t want him following, had no urge to place his child in the reaches of treachery, he didn’t know what else to do. Quaking feet were placed upon the forest floor, one after another, until the flourishing sound of Zikar-Sin, Storyteller and foal savior, it seemed, roared and keened throughout the wilderness. The boy, the watery prince, the young scion, struggled to place the whereabouts of the monocled beast – and only when he’d tumbled out of the woods, breathing hasty and wild, eyes widened and shocked, did he witness others, Aithniel, Rikyn, and maybe Illynx, flickering towards the caves. Torn and tangled, for some portion of him wanted to be bold, wanted to be brave, wanted to defend the walls of his home, he had naught in his grasp to do so (water-walking wouldn’t impress a pack of baying wolves, eager for the hunt, hoping to rip sinew and muscle from bone, feast on juvenile carcasses). With partial reluctance, he followed them, dashing across the open, twisting his head to gaze towards the borders, looking over the columns of marching soldiers, Deimos at the helm, sentinel swinging towards intruders, then turning back amongst the caves, blinking at the brilliant fire igniting nearby.

He nearly panicked again, until he noticed others gathered in the same grotto; someone had set the bushes alight, probably hoping to hasten away enemies. Swallowing the bile clogging his throat, Erebos gestured and called in an untamed whisper, fighting away the apprehension festering in his wake. “Hello?” Then, charging onward into the dark columns, his misgivings turned into some quiet acceptance, a calmer void, at the sight of his friends, protected and ensconced in the makeshift sanctuary. The limber boy tucked himself closer towards Rikyn and Aithniel, dipping a nod in gratitude towards the GildedBlade and Zikar-Sin, uttering vague whispers of confidence, hoping he could share them across the hallowed hole, bolster the credence and faith they had in their home, in their soldiers, in their might and power. “We’ll be safe. My father will hold them off.” He gave an assured nod, cloistering himself in the sable sanctions, thought to ask questions, but held them off for fear of a scolding, or if the wolves managed to pass by the defenders, could find them based on his carrying voice, sequestered into sudden silence.