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Absorbed in his task, the demonic prince laid foundations to the whistling embers and the withering flames, attempting to coax it to further fruition, to damnation, to heresy, to condemnation amidst the clambering swallow songs and daffodil bulrushes. His gaze narrowed and his spine straightened, elongated the power of his neck as he measured its prowess and faculty. Too little, too mundane, not nearly potent enough to swallow and devour an army, not nearly puissant or pernicious: a minute fortification, tired and soulless, wavering and festering. He uttered an earnest sigh, as though he traveled great lengths and scoured many a countryside for the answer to life’s riddles instead of spending several moments strengthening a waning, dying coal – but he was not a creature of grand patience like his father or mother. Too frivolous, too zealous, too energetic and ebullient, bounding in deer leaps and stag crescendos with no presiding factions or fables to deliver his audacious splendor, the notion of forbearance was lost to him. While he could bear and endure the wake of perseverance, the stubborn bridges of tenacity, the harpooning lances of resolution, he was also too quick to indulge in whims and fancies. The world took its time, nurtured and developed, explored and unraveled, coaxed and enticed, and he already been tempted and allured by the gravity, by the spellbinding conventions of power and prestige to let it waste another moment wrenched away from his grasp. Unfortunately, either his young body couldn’t pour the entire livelihood of its corporeal abyss into the tiny fire, or he simply hadn’t amassed and conjured the heartless, rancorous bits of his dominion. It was another interesting puzzle to reflect upon, and he may have stayed there a few junctures more, lost in wayward trains of thought, had a familiar, albeit befuddled, voice not broken into the mind muddling and the furrowed brow.
Poseidon’s scion was very nearly run over, and he swiftly backed away from the last coils of his invocations, eyes enlarged and alarmed for a fraction; only to return to their normal composure once he realized who swiftly tore amidst his ardent rehearsal. Aithniel, still intact, still unimpaired, unscathed from the calculations of elders and machinations of otherworldly pursuits – the thought alone etched and sketched a boyish grin across his features, failed endeavors forgotten for the sight, the vision, of his untarnished friend. She even seemed excited for him, jumping and bouncing, bounding and vaulting in mid-air, and he could barely get a word in before she exalted the harmonious too and the beast realized he wasn’t alone. Prowess and abilities were nestled in both of them, alive and well, beating and fleeting, fire and ash, cinders and embers, sprinkled in idle, unknown treachery; danger not a notion, not a thought, as they increased their abilities, scaled and laced them across empires and factions. He was rendered partially speechless as she danced her volcanic solo, plumes extending an undying flourish, bits and pieces of phoenix dust and resurrected incantations, finding his voice only after she’d completed her renewal recital. “Amazing!” An understatement of the moment, perhaps, but his eyes were more enlightened, more ignited, more kindled than junctures before, staring down at the fallen ash, at the evidence of her capability, and all at once he wanted to seize and possess the extended instances for a chance, for an opportunity, to learn and be a disciple of the wicked. “How can you do that so easily?” Erebos frowned, dared to peer at the little barb of choked, stifled, smothered grass already extinguished and dead, crumbling from the unnecessary damage done to its soul. Why had it seemed so simple for her, and so difficult for him? Had she had more practice? Had she found a way to hone her skill, instead of discovering it on mere whim and circumstance?
@[Aithniel]
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